Chapter Text

It occurred to Tim, sitting at a diner counter and scratching out a lab justification at 12:07 Tuesday night (... Or Wednesday morning?), that most of his issues were demons of his own design. No one had ever accused him of making the best decisions (at least in regards to himself) and that was probably a fair omission in his "personhood resumé".

"Waxing poetic about your issues doesn't make them artistic nor does it solve them," Tim muttered under his breath, parroting Dr. Sinclair.

Dr. Sinclair had gotten right down to brass tacks during Tim's third stilted visit and pointed out that just acknowledging his abandonment and commitment (fun combo) issues wouldn't actually solve them. Again, a fair evaluation. As such, she had tasked Tim to reflect on his day and self-validate in a journal while also keeping a list of "facts" vs. "feelings". They helped somewhat, but it couldn't address the real underlying cause of his issues. It's not like Tim could be 100% honest with the therapist assigned to him when he tripped his way into foster care. What would he even say?

"Hey, doc, I accidentally rewrote time when presented with an ultimatum by some...guy or gal or demon? I'm not really sure what the guy was exactly, but they made me choose between 'them' or 'me' during some messed up shonen-esque gauntlet house of horrors BS. I chose 'them' because…because the needs of the many, y'know? Count Grumps McGoo world-class butthole smirked and I woke up age 10 at boarding school. Knowing that my memory would start to fizzle and futz and be rewritten I jotted down a list of things I had the obligation to change: Jason Todd's death... Which I guess he died somehow? Damian Wayne's upbringing though that hardly seems to be my business. Cass' years of running. From where to where, I have no idea. Kon’s…everything, which is especially unclear because I've never met anyone by that name. My parents' fateful trip to Haiti…So far, I have a pretty good record…only 'officially' failed on the parents thing. It wasn't Haiti though so I count that as more of a tie than anything else…Also, despite listing all of that out I only have vague notions of what most of that means."

Tim scrubbed at his tired eyes and tried to concentrate on the results of the lab he'd completed last Friday. Most of the time, his old memories just faded into the background. It was like the persistent buzzing of his tinnitus. Only he could hear it and it was part of him but it didn't usually become a problem unless he was around loud noises all day. His old life was just memory tinnitus. He couldn't remember much from his old life, just the broad strokes and most of the time he didn't even notice the dull buzzing of another life's worth of memories unless something big triggered them. There were actually a few close calls during the lead up to Jason Todd’s (potential?) death because Tim's memory got so fuzzy and he had been excited about his school's photography exhibition. Two of his friends had turned in good submissions! At the last minute, Tim had come across a note from himself to call an Agent Metta at Interpol to look into Felipe Garzonasa. Given that Jason Todd was currently a Junior at Gotham Academy with several award-winning essays under his belt, Tim assumed he had averted whatever “Ethiopia, Sheila, crowbar, clown bastard, explosion” was.

"Concentrate…" Tim muttered as he rubbed at his eyes once more. "You absolutely cannot fail freshman science."

Tim knew he shouldn't be out, but… The apartment was empty and it was always harder to be alone around this time of year. The next month would be four years in this new timeline and it was like the mere proximity to the date made his entire brain itch. The anniversary shouldn't gnaw at him so much. Most of what "old Tim” wanted to accomplish in this new timeline was done according to his notes. He'd even gotten a headstart on “Kon's Ordeal” by setting up several watchdog journalists with information about Lex Corp. An absolutely brilliant investigative reporter named Lois Lane had broken a story about successful clone creation. Something about that whole debacle made Tim's muscles twitchy… He couldn't fully remember who Kon was exactly other than he was a net positive in the world. The details in his notes were thorough, but they were more about how to avert disasters as opposed to why. Still, it felt right that Ms. Lane uncovered the whole thing and demanded that the clones be given good homes with some sort of witness protection. Tim was fairly good at research (a holdover from before he was sure) so he knew that two were sent to Vermont, one was sent to Kansas, three were sent to California, and one was sent to Minnesota. Apparently, Luthor had cloned more than just himself.

Of course, reminiscing about his exploits was not helping him with his current problem: high school science. Tim wasn't bad at the science part. At the risk of being cocky, Tim would say he was actually excellent at labs and testing and drawing conclusions from data. The trouble was writing out the results.

"Hey, kid, we close in twenty!" Gio called from the kitchen.

Tim yawned, stretched, and glanced at the clock. He'd gotten lost in his head for a half hour and all he had to show for it was three quickly discarded sentences.

"Gio, how do you use a semicolon?" Tim asked finally.

The aforementioned stepped out of the kitchen with a tray to collect condiments, "Why you asking me when you got that English teacher sister of yours at home?"

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes while he watched Gio wrangle ketchup and ranch, "Helena isn't my sister and she's been busy with the fall musical. She wasn't gonna take on the extra contract because of me, but she loves it… I told her I could handle a little time on my own."

"Sure, that's why you're here past midnight on a school night," a voice called from the back.

Tim shrugged, "What social services and Helena don't know won't hurt me…or them. She dropped a lot of things to take me in. I still want her to enjoy her life."

Gio had returned with his assortment of half filled bottles, "Helena is enjoying her life. You being in it adds to her stress, sure, but it also adds to her happiness. I guarantee you she wouldn't go back and change a thing."

Tim…didn't know what to say to that given how he got to this point. When Tim's first foster home had been a bust (of the drugs and human trafficking variety) he had been drawn to Ms. Bertinelli's room with his evidence. Tim didn't even know her that well, but the same itching that had led Tim to suggest a donation to the research of a Dr. Sandsmark in lieu of flowers at his parents' funeral drove him to seek out the new English teacher. She was quick to report what she knew to the proper authorities. Which was great given they'd ignored Tim and his foster brother the week before. Apparently, Tim’s home had been the key to uncovering several other shady foster homes. Tim felt conflicted as his foster siblings were whisked off to emergency placements. He knew he did the right thing, but he wasn’t sure it was the right way. A few weeks later he landed in a more permanent placement with Ms. Bertinelli (“It’s Helena, kid”) which seemed like a conflict of interest in some way, but Gotham was desperate and Tim wasn’t complaining. He felt safe with Helena in a way he didn’t with almost anyone else. He was 100% sure he knew her in the other timeline, but he didn’t know how or why. What mattered to the state was that she managed to have a significant amount of savings for a young teacher (inheritance) and provided Tim some stability (he didn’t have to change schools). The state didn’t seem to know that three nights a week, Helena would leave around 10:30 and not return until 2:15 in the morning. Tim didn’t mind, he was used to limited supervision, but he had a feeling the state might frown upon whatever she got up to when she snuck out the window next to the guest bathroom.

“I don’t know, Gio,” Tim sighs as he hears the diner door jingle open behind him. “Given the choice, I think most of us would change some things about our lives.”

“Closing in ten so I can only offer drinks,” Gio announces to the newcomers then he pauses looking thoughtful, “That’s the rub of it, isn’t it, Timbo? Our lives aren’t just our lives. There’s no unilateral decision that fixes everything and we can’t really know what changing things will really do. Too many of those dependent variables you’re always rambling on about. Can’t know what waves you’ll make in other people’s lives. Best not to fight destiny and all that.”

Tim grinned down at his notebook and scratched out a sentence about how long it took for potatoes to start decomposing, “I don’t believe in destiny. It’s just an excuse to not take responsibility for your actions.”

“Ahh, but what is destiny, then, but other people,” a new voice pontificates and Tim’s brain starts to itch. “We may control ourselves, but we cannot control others. As much as we may try, we cannot survive without others. So if destiny were to exist it would be the result of the people who we surround ourselves with. The ones we can’t shake. They change our world without our permission all the time, just as we change theirs.”

Rhonda, who had been taking inventory in the kitchen, was looking out the order window with stars in her eyes, “I thought you vigilante types punched your problems. Now I’m thinking you might just bore them into submission with philosophy.”

Tim’s brain was sweating. He desperately wanted to keep his head down. He wanted to go back to the Bertinelli abode and ignore the fact that the name on the lease wasn’t actually asleep in the other room. He wanted to skip the next month and a half. He wanted the buzzing in his head to stop. He wanted the oddly familiar voice to walk right back out the door and leave him be.

Instead, the universe punished Tim’s hubris as the voice took up residence on the stool to his left, “Rhonda, you wound me. I’ll have you know that thesis won me a debate in Speech 212.”

“Seriously, Blue, we close in eight,” Gio interrupted. “I’m happy to get you something, but I’d like to get home before 2.”

The voice has the sense to sound ashamed, “Sorry, Gio, can’t turn down the opportunity for a spirited debate with Gotham’s youth.” As if to punctuate his point the arm belonging to the voice elbows Tim gently.

Tim keeps his eyes on his papers as he starts to pack things away, “I should get going, Gio, thanks for letting me stay. Final bill was $7.40, right?”

As if sensing Tim’s distress (he wasn’t exactly hiding it well), the voice says, “Just add it to the sodas for me and the birds, Gio. It’d be nice to aid the people of Gotham in a legal way for once.”

Tim resists the urge to tear his eyes away from his things, “That’s okay, sir. Actually, I’ll pay for your drinks. Least I can do for the heroes of Gotham, right? You managed to stop the Firefly before he burned down my favorite skate park. Figure I can pay it forward.”

“Uhh, that’s really not–”

“Now, now, Wing is not solely responsible for that bit of heroics,” another voice complains. “If anybody deserves your admiration it’s me. I played decoy–”

“Three sodas, please,” a third and final voice orders.

Tim slapped down $15 on the counter and slung his bag over his shoulder, “See you, Gio, I’ll ask Helena about the tickets. I’m sure we can get you the best seat in the house.”

Without lifting his head up or looking where he was going, Tim rushed out the diner door. Years of following after his parents at museums had left him with a pretty good spatial awareness. His brain was still itching when Tim exited, but at least he could breathe again. In celebration of this accomplishment, Tim took a moment to roll out his stiff shoulders before he headed…to the place where he lived.

“Hey, kid, wait!”

Without his permission, Tim’s head shot up and he regretted it immediately when he made (admittedly masked) eye contact with the voice from the diner, “Huh?”

The voice was clad in blue and black with a domino mask Tim knew covered blue eyes, “You forgot your notebook. What kind of hero would I be if I let a civilian fail 9th grade Science?”

“Umm, a normal one,” Tim replied without thinking. “Based on the demographics, your villains seem to have more PhDs than you guys do. And college degrees in general.”

Blue and black chuckled and handed Tim the green notebook he’d poured over for the last three hours, “Fair enough, but honestly I’m more worried about you walking home alone. It’s one in the morning in Gotham. I can’t let you wander the streets in good conscience.”

For some reason that irritated Tim more than anything else, “I can take care of myself and I live like two blocks away.”

“Still–”

“It’s not necessary, sir!”

“Sir? I’m not that ol-”

“I don’t need you to walk me to the place where I live,” Tim continued without missing a beat. “I make this walk all the time. Ill-advised as it may be. I have nothing anyone wants.”

“‘The place where you live’ is a weird way to describe a home, kid,” is the response. “Are you sure that you’re okay? I mean, you don’t have to answer that…that can be a hard question. Maybe we can talk about something else while I walk you to…the place where you live. You said you liked skateboarding maybe we coul-”

“Wing! We have to hoof it. B says that the targets showed up early at the docks!” Tim looks to see the other two voices exiting the diner. Red and brown. Black and yellow. He wondered, vaguely, if him throwing up would get them to leave or just worry them more.

“You guys go ahead, I’m going to get this kid ho–”

Tim was off like a shot. He might not remember much from “before”, but he had the sense to take self-defense and parkour classes at the local rec center. Travis had smiled and ruffled his hair after the first two weeks claiming that Tim had a lot of potential. Tim had spent the rest of the day wondering if his half-memories of the original timeline meant that he was cheating his way through his classes. Previous life training and education weren’t exactly natural talent after all. Either way, he used it now to scurry to a nearby alley and out of sight before…before…Nightwing could offer to walk him back to the Bertinelli residence again. Tim didn’t bother to cover his tracks as he clambered up the fire escape ten minutes later. It’s not like he’d really be able to keep things from members of the vigilante community anyway.

By 1:15 Tim had changed into an old t-shirt and shorts, brushed his teeth, and was lying in bed. Helena wouldn’t be back from wherever for another hour at least so Tim didn’t feel the need to hide his frustrated yell, “Four years! I couldn’t make it FOUR YEARS!”

Tim curled up and laid on his left side…another old habit from “before”. His brain was still itchy…his everything felt restless. He pushed away half-memories of circuses and apartments and…train surfing? Tim breathed (“In through the nose, out through the mouth”) and reminded himself that chance meetings meant nothing in Gotham. Coincidences happen and there are only so many diners open until 1 AM, right? Forty-five minutes later Tim hears the window down the hall open and he relaxes just a little. A few more deep breaths. It occurs to Tim as he drifts into an uneasy sleep that, although most of his issues are demons of his own design, some of them are just…bats.

Chapter Text

It occurred to Nightwing as he watched the boy he'd dubbed "Diner Scientist" slip out of sight that he might be having an off night. Or, perhaps, an off month.

"Wow, Wing, I see why you insisted on being the one to walk the kid home," Robin drawled. "He was clearly way more comfortable with dark, broody Nightwing instead of bright, brilliant, effortlessly charming, intelligent, ha-"

Nightwing rolled his eyes dramatically enough that he hoped his "Junior associate" would catch on, "Sure, Robin. You're definitely the best Gotham has to offer at 1 AM."

Robin grinned cheekily and ignored the clear sarcasm, "Glad you finally see that I perfected your prototype, Wing."

"Time to go," Batgirl states. "Save honor fights for The Cave."

Nightwing hesitated. Gio had left a bottle of mustard on the table under the ‘Open’ sign. It was a code Nightwing had never shared with the younger birds. ‘Late patron, an escort would be appreciated.’ He didn’t pass by every night of course, but Nightwing was happy to help whenever he was in the neighborhood. It felt like one of the last ties he had to Gotham that didn’t come with the emotional baggage of his family. Which is why he never shared his membership in the “Gotham Convoy Exchange”. Robin and Batgirl would do great, but Nightwing felt like he had the right to be a little bit selfish. Most of his trips to Gotham were stilted and tense. He could chase away the wariness when he remembered keeping company with regular citizens.

Nightwing sighed, “Yeah, we should be go-”

The diner door jingled open once more and Gio scanned the assorted vigilantes on the sidewalk, “Kid run off already?”

Robin snickered, “Yeah, Blue tried to talk to him and he took off like a 747.”

Nightwing took a deep breath and tried to remember how lonely it had been being an only child, “Sorry, Gio, kid is pretty squirrely. Must be new to Gotham, huh? Not used to the nightlife.”

Gio shook his head, “Nah, he’s born and bred, trust me. He’s an odd duck, but usually a laidback one. Imagine he won’t be so calm when he realizes he forgot his phone.”

Nightwing grinned despite himself as Gio displayed the phone. Its screen held the telltale scratches of teenage ownership, but the well-loved case had been designed to look like an old-fashioned camera. If viewed from the right angle, the kid would look like a pint-sized paparazzo snapping pictures of the stars. He could imagine an unabashed grin on the teen’s face as he caught a particularly embarrassing candid. It made a certain sense, Nightwing thought, perhaps the kid was just used to engaging with the world through a lens. Vigilantes could be pretty intimidating when you had only seen them in pictures.

“Birds, what is your ETA to the docks?” a gruff voice broke into Nightwing’s thoughts through his comm.

“Uhh,” he responded helpfully.

“Five minutes, B, don’t worry,” Robin replied more confidently as he took out his grapple. “See ya, Gio.”

Batgirl moved more slowly, eyeing Nightwing in a way that made him feel naked, “Nightwing can take the phone to him.”

Nightwing was startled for the second time in fifteen seconds, “B will want all hands on deck, Batgirl, we need to go.”

The other shook her head, “No, just recon tonight. I’ll cover. You make sure he gets home. Tired and frazzled, might get hurt.”

She wasn’t wrong and it might settle his nerves to ensure "Diner Photographer" made it home. Batman had only called him in so Nightwing could refamiliarize himself with the layout of the docks before a planned bust on Thursday. It wasn’t necessary, Nightwing had known the area like the back of his hand since he was 10. It wasn’t like they needed five sets of eyes on the docks. Lord knows that Oracle would have the most complete picture of the situation and Nightwing could probably bribe his way into seeing her footage by bringing her coffee from "Destin’s" anyway.

Gio looked between the two masked parties and cleared his throat, “If it’s too much trouble I can just give it to him tomorrow. He usually wanders in before school for a scone.”

Nightwing shook his head, “Nah, I’ll make sure the little duck makes his way home and leave the phone somewhere he can find it. Not a problem.”

Gio quirked an eyebrow, but handed the phone to Nightwing, “If you’re sure. Kid lives four blocks over. Apartment's on Lincoln, I think.”

Batgirl nodded to both of them before shooting off her grapple to follow after Robin. She had taken to using Bat-tools like a fish to water. Nightwing was proud of her progress, but felt some regret for his lack of involvement. When she had shown up in Gotham a year ago, Nightwing had been avoiding the city altogether. Batman had been particularly testy and harsh for some reason so Nightwing took the opportunity to take a vacation. Said vacation had turned into an investigation at the circus. Nightwing successfully apprehended a murderer for Mr. Haly, but he’d left the circus feeling unsettled–like he’d missed a vital clue. He had spent the next few weeks going over the evidence again and again, but nothing new jumped out to him. The circus continued to tour with no issues and they even got invited to San Francisco to perform on Nightwing’s birthday. VIP tickets had been donated to the Titans and the team was thankful for the gift even though Haly denied having been involved…some lie about an anonymous caller wanting to thank the young heroes for their service. The break had been good for Nightwing, but returning to the Batcave to find another kid B hadn’t told him about…was a shock. After the introduction of the new Robin and the reveal of a secret biological child, B should know to inform Nightwing of new members of the family before he visits. It had been okay in the end, but… Just another in a long line of communication failures that Nightwing could not shake.

After seeing Batgirl off, Nightwing saluted Gio and easily scaled the side of the building to gain roof access. The city was much easier to navigate from above and Nightwing felt the need to run off some of his nervous energy.

“Going off book, Wing?” Oracle's voice asked after he passed an obnoxiously obvious security camera.

“Course not, O,” Nightwing bantered. “I do have a few extra tickets to my improv class’ graduation though. Interested?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied easily. “Seriously, where you off to? B hasn’t driven you away yet, right?”

Nightwing slowed to a stop, dangling one-armed from a rooftop clothesline and scanning the street for his target, “Not sure actually. I’m on delivery for Gio.”

“Gig work during the night job?”

“Nah, just a favor. Can you give me a location for a kid who left the diner about five minutes ago?” This would go a lot faster if he had a more precise location to aim for.

The distant clacking of mechanical keys was as good as a nod when it came to Oracle. She had been rather distant lately. The Bats were a lower priority than before, but that was okay. From what Batgirl had said, Oracle was working on her own ‘projects’. Whatever it was, Nightwing was sure to be impressed. After all, he had been her first fan.

“Teen, male, black hair, navy hoody?” Oracle asked.

“Got it in one, O.” Nightwing said unsurprised. “Know which apartment he was headed to?”

More keys clicking and a pause… A few taps of the mouse and a confused, “Huh?”

Nightwing hopped down on one of the many roofs that lined Lincoln and flipped into a lazy headstand, “There a problem, Oracle?”

She sighs, “No…no, I got him. He’s just kinda slippery.”

“Ooo, is Oracle being bested by a teen?” Nightwing joked. Even as he said it, the hairs on the back of his neck started prickling and he flipped up into a sitting position next to Primgast the gargoyle.

“Yeah, no…Obviously not, but when he ducks out of view of one camera he seems to avoid the next three most logical views. That hoody doesn’t help either,” Oracle explains.

Nightwing considered that while scanning the street below, “Yeah, navy blends better than one would expect. Maybe he was right about not needing a chaperone to get home.”

Silence. More keys, quicker.

“Hey, O, if he’s giving you this much trou-”

Nightwing cuts himself off as he catches sight of a shadow melting in and out of existence. Target acquired and Oracle wasn’t kidding. "Diner Shadow" wasn’t a professional by any means, but he was hard to spot if you weren't careful. As a matter of fact, Nightwing almost lost him when he slipped unexpectedly down an alley between a craft store and a Chinese restaurant.

“Uhh, Nightwing, I think I lo-” Oracle started.

“Don’t worry, O, I’ve got him,” Nightwing admitted leaping off his roof and using a street lamp to slow his descent to the street proper. “He must live above one of the businesses instead of the actual apartment buildings.”

“...Okay, do you need anything else?” Oracle asked. “I got a notification from a..from an independent contractor.”

Nightwing blinked, so Batgirl was right about Oracle helping out some of the newer masks popping up, “Uhh, nah, I’m good. Just gonna drop off this phone and then head home for the night.”

“Kay, stop by the Clock Tower before you leave town this time,” Oracle signed off.

Nightwing sprinted and used a planter to propel himself to a drain pipe that led to the roof of Kaylee’s Krafts and Krazes. He was just in time to watch the hooded escape artist scramble on top of a dumpster. The extra height was needed for him to reach the fire escape. Nightwing’s heart nearly stopped when he watched the kid leap the extra two feet to grab the lowest rung and hoist himself upwards. The blood pressure spike wasn’t necessary though as (with a fair amount of kicking) the kid hoisted himself onto the ladder and scaled it easily. Without fanfare, the teen silently made his way to the third floor and a window that had been left just slightly cracked. Before he slid it open though, "Diner American Ninja Warrior" startled and scanned his surroundings. The past few minutes he’d been much more relaxed, but the tense anxiety from the diner seemed to have returned. He curled his right hand into a fist and rubbed his left arm absently, sparing a glance in Nightwing's direction. Another spike in blood pressure but no real threat as the vigilante ducked a bit more into the shadows. Finally, the kid shook himself and slid open the window, disappearing into the dark bedroom beyond.

“Weird kid,” Nightwing muttered to himself. He didn’t have a good angle on the kid’s room but, based on the shadows, the kid had wandered deeper into the apartment. Perhaps he’d headed to the restroom.

Nightwing silently leapt to the roof of the kid’s building (living above a Chinese restaurant must be divine) and climbed the fire escape down. The window was still slightly open, probably for the early autumn breeze. A quick peek into the room revealed nothing unexpected about the kid. It was cluttered, but not outright messy. The (partially made) bed was below the window and a skateboard was propped up next to the door. Papers were stacked in haphazard piles on a card table-turned-desk. The backpack from the diner was unzipped and hanging from the doorknob. "Diner Teen", it seemed, was just that, a regular teen. Nightwing scratched absently above his left ear as spotted a corkboard of photos hung up above the “desk”. Before he could get a better look though, a shadow appeared in the hall. Nightwing, taken by surprise once more, ducked out of sight and listened to the telltale sounds of a light switch and the creak of bedsprings. For a few moments, it was silent.

Then, “Four years! I couldn’t make it FOUR YEARS!” Full of teenage exasperation and fatigue.

Nightwing barely managed to bite back an instinctive chuckle. This whole situation was ridiculous. He was basically stalking some poor random kid and it was the most fun since he’d gotten to Gotham this week. Nightwing loved his time with his family, but… They weren’t exactly playful or chill. Robin was in an “I actually know better than all of you” phase which wasn’t entirely unwarranted when it came to Crime Alley, but wasn’t really fun to compete with because of it. Batgirl was still adjusting to being a teen and didn’t really understand the point of unstructured games. The “Littlest Bat” at home was still on pins and needles after three years in Gotham. He’d adjusted pretty well all things considered, but he mostly stuck to quieter pursuits with his art and his pets. Nightwing always felt like he wandered into a carefully structured playdate when returned to the Manor. It took a long time to get them all to relax and by then Nightwing was tense. Nightwing’s one-sided game of hide-and-go-seek with "Diner Sk8ter" had been more chill than all day with his siblings. His opponent was jumpy, but quick on the draw with a comeback (how many of their rogues did have PhDs, he wondered).

The familiar sounds of a restless sleeper brought Nightwing back to the present. He shook his head and extracted the kid’s phone from the holster holding his escrima sticks. The screen lit up to display a few stray notifications: an email reminder from science class, two texts from someone named ‘Ives’, an alarm set for 6:30, and a song on some cheap music player. “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure blinked up at him, paused at 1:32. Nightwing grinned. "Diner DJ" had decent taste in music.

Nightwing’s comm scratched back on, “Hey, Nightwing, you’d better get going.”

“Yeah, O, I’m heading out,” he whispered as he laid the phone next to the cracked window.

“Might want to make it quick, N,” Oracle muttered. “Bats and bird are headed back to the cave to compare notes.”

Nightwing silently made his way back to the roof, “No worries, O, I’ll just say I stopped in to see you on my way back. No harm, no foul.”

“Seriously, hurry it up,” Oracle responded, sounding frazzled.

Nightwing paused and frowned, “Everything good, O?”

“Maybe she just wants you to mind your turf, Blue.”

Nightwing startled at the new voice and immediately turned to the source. A masked woman clad in purple leaned against the roof access looking sufficiently unimpressed.

“I didn’t realize the vigilantes of Gotham recognized…or even defined turf, Miss…?” he replied mildly.

Nightwing had heard whispers of a new cape in this area. He’d suspected, privately, that Oracle might be working with them since they always seemed to pop up on nights where the Bats’ patrol was on the other side of the city. Looks like Nightwing had screwed that up. Oops.

“Miss…?” he tried again injecting as much charisma as he could muster at 1:30 in the morning. So…not an inconsiderable amount.

Purple’s mask didn’t have white-out lenses so Nightwing could clearly see her roll her eyes, “Yeah, no… I don’t owe you anything, names or otherwise, on my side of town. Hell, this ain’t even your city, Blue.”

Nightwing shrugs and saunters a bit closer, “Nah, just in town doing a favor for the Bat. Decided to take a break and remembered the best orange chicken I’d ever had was on Lincoln and voila.”

“They close at 10,” she replies, still unimpressed. “You Bats got no sense for courtesy.”

Nightwing switched his approach, “Eh, the Big Bat is up his own ass tonight so I decided to split. No use gettin’ worked up when I’m a guest here after all.”

His banter partner considered him, “He’s always up his own ass. You’re just figuring that out now? I thought you’d been in the game longer than that.”

Progress, he thought. If there’s one thing everyone in Gotham can agree on it’s that Batman could take it down several dozen notches.

“Eh, just cause the Bat is a handful doesn’t mean I would neglect the people of Gotham,” Nightwing adds a bow to his vocal flourish while never taking his eyes off Purple. “They’re such an attractive bunch that I can’t really stand to stay away for long.”

Another eye roll, but with the quirk of a smile, “Uh-huh, sure.”

“No, honestly,” he said pushing his luck just a little bit further, “I love Gotham. One grumpy Bat isn’t enough to keep me out when she needs me… Though the Croc in the sewers is a pretty big deterrent.”

Nightwing could see the moment it all went wrong for him. Purple’s posture straightened up and she replaced her smirk with a sneer. In less time than was really fair given the laid back nature of their back and forth, she marched into his personal bubble.

“Yeah, you Bats really love Gotham,” she snarled. “Spend all your time playing with other losers in cosplay while seven crime families have been tearing the streets apart. You’ve got all the time in the world to solve Riddler's stupid games while people are being trafficked two blocks away in some nail bar.”

Nightwing blinked and attempted to deescalate, “Uhh, I'm a Bird, actually.”

Purple backed off, her face drenched with disgust, “Yeah, no, it’s not Gotham you love. It’s the spotlight. Lucky for all those attractive Gothamites that some of us are actually addressing the real issues in this city.”

That’s not really fair, he thought, Robin has increased funding across the board at city rec centers and shelters…Though not as Robin.

“Miss…I’m sure that we’ve just got off on the wrong foo-”

Purple was gone though, leapt from one roof to the other and into the shadows of the next street over.

“So…That’s Huntress,” Oracle remarks. “She’s a riot at parties, trust me. Been active for about a year. You’re gonna love her.”

“Mmhmm.”

Another voice joins their line, “Hey, N, might want to get back to the cave. B wants us to compare reports.”

“Sure, Robin, I’ll be back in twenty,” Nightwing sighs as he starts swinging through the night and back to where he’d stowed his bike on Jefferson. “Keep the big guy entertained until I get there.”

“You got it.”

In a brilliant display of casual disregard for speed limits, Nightwing pulls into the cave in a solid 15. Batman is alone at the computer comparing schematics of Gotham Harbor. The atmosphere is, as to be expected, broody. No use in trying to lighten the mood at 2 in the morning, he supposes.

“Fancy meeting you here, B,” Nightwing tries anyway. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

“Hnn.”

“I’m going to need country of origin, B. Not all of us speak 40 languages,” still pushing his luck.

“Batgirl covered your portion of the docks,” was the response.

Nightwing sat down heavily in the extra chair by the console, “Sorry, neighborhood vigilante duty. I’ll go back out tomorrow if you want me to… Bust isn’t until Thursday so I’ve got time.”

Batman doesn’t look up as he cycles through video feeds, “Not necessary. You should know the Harbor well enough.”

“...Okay, well I’m gonna shower and head up,” Nightwing said as he started to peel off his mask.

“Hnn. I’ll want a full report on the new cape you engaged with on Lincoln by tomorrow night,” Batman states matter-of-factly.

In the privacy of the gear room, Dick Grayson slumps against the lockers. It occurs to him, as he mentally plans his report, that he might be having a bad year.

Chapter Text

Tim felt like Wednesday was out to get him. Although he’d managed to fall asleep by 2:30, real rest had evaded him. Usually, he couldn’t remember his dreams, but his fatigued brain saw fit to serve up a ridiculous nightmare that ended with Tim jolting awake before a brick could make contact with his face.

His heart rate returned to normal after a few moments and a glance at the clock informed him that he had beat his alarm by about five minutes, “Ugh. Not fair."

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Apparently, timeline disruptions had the nasty side effect of making Tim a restless sleeper. He could get to sleep, sure, but struggled to remain that way. If he woke up, he was up for the day whether it was 3:30 or 9:00.

Giving into the inevitable day that lay ahead, Tim rolled over to grab his phone only to find it was missing from its usual charging spot. In his scramble to leave Gio’s last night, Tim must have left it behind.

“Farts McCoy,” he muttered under his breath. His parents had always frowned upon profanity so Tim had created a collection of slightly less crass alternatives… They had frowned upon those as well, but Tim couldn’t shake the habit. “Piss, lard, crap darn-it.”

Before Tim could restructure his entire morning around a trip to Gio’s before school, a familiar melody met his ears. His 6:30 alarm! Tim had set it to play “Body Movin’” in the hopes it would kickstart his morning, but all it had really done was create a mental association between Ad Rock and Tim’s anxiety. The song had never sounded more delightful though as Tim hurried to find its source. A full minute later he realized it was sitting just outside his cracked window.

“There’s definitely a logical and completely normal explanation for this,” Tim lied to himself. “I’m sure some friendly nocturnal animal was just doing me a solid and I’m not being stalked by a murderer.”

“Yo, Chief!”

“Uh-huh?” Tim unlocked his phone and dismissed several superfluous notifications, but found nothing else of note on the device.

“I need to head in early for PD.”

Tim shook his head and hastily dressed, “Okay, I’ll be ready in a sec!”

Tim was nothing if not a man of his word (...maybe…something told him he wasn’t always so truthful before) and sock slid his way down the hall with his school things in under a minute. Helena looked mildly amused at his display as she nursed some chartreuse-colored shake. She was always on a bit of a health kick. Not fad diets or anything…more protein shakes and leafy greens and lentils and fish and other lean meats. Tim liked most of it, but snuck in muffin mixes and Poptarts for breakfast. Doing so always made him feel a little ashamed…like he was disappointing someone, but Helena just smiled and told him to enjoy having “teen boy metabolism” while it lasted. Still, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was deceiving someone.

“You sure you want to head in with me so early?” Helena asked as she sorted through the mail Tim had brought up the afternoon before.

Tim nodded, pouring granola and fruit into a bowl, “Yeah, Janine asked me to check over Liam’s Yearbook pages. Apparently, he promised to sneak male genitalia onto every page after he was passed over for editor.”

Helena snorted into her shake, “And he wonders why Anders picked someone else?”

“I just hope that he’s gotten a little more creative,” Tim admitted. “If he’s going to waste our time he might as well make it a challenge.”

“Can’t just take the easy way out, can ya, Chief?”

Tim shrugged and Helena went back to getting ready for her day a little more slowly than usual. Mornings at the Bertinelli Apartment were relaxed if a bit rushed. Tim had spent most of his younger years at boarding schools with constant supervision. Outside of school, Tim’s parents adhered to strict timetables. He hadn’t mined–Tim liked to be busy and it helped distract from his memory tinnitus. Helena’s home, though, was cozy and casual. Tim wasn’t 100% comfortable, but it was better than most places he’d lived since being sent back. He couldn’t tell if it was the location or the company though it was probably the latter. If he thought hard about it, Tim could conjure up images of some apartment. The memories didn’t match up with Helena’s though. His current residence was tidy and boasted a purple color palette. Tim was sure that “Memory Apartment” had an ugly yellow couch and old pizza boxes and…was gone(?).

Tim ruffled a hand through his hair and sighed, “Was it in Gotham? Metropolis? Maybe Star…I lived there for a hot minute, right? Or maybe Bl–”

“What’s that, Chief?” Helena had returned with her dark hair pulled up into a bun and her comically large “teacher bag” slung over her shoulder.

Tim cracked his neck and scratched absently above his right ear, “Nothing–just trying to remember my parents’ favorite Thai place.”

Helena didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. She seemed to have a sixth sense about when to push and when to let things slide. It was a toss up whether that particular skill was due to her teaching license or the fostering courses. From the first day of classes, it was clear that she had little patience for entitlement or immature fits. Students either fell in line or fell behind. Her “no time for morons” attitude seemed to extend to her social life as well. Guys who attempted to hit on her rarely got far. Neighborhood gossip claimed she got bored of men almost immediately. Helena’s friend from the Gotham Library contended that the guys wouldn’t be able to keep pace with her anyway. Tim didn’t care to unpack all of that. Helena was reliable if…unavailable...some nights. As long as she wasn’t in some fight club or secretly dating a spy things would probably be fine.

“Ready to go?”

Tim grabbed his bag, his pre-packed lunch from the fridge, and followed Helena out the door. Living above a Chinese Restaurant had a few perks, but made it awkward to sneak through the residential exit out back. Tim usually just avoided the three separate doors and seven locks (because, Gotham…) by sneaking out the window. Social Services would probably not like that any more than Helena’s hypothetical midnight fight club. Of course, CPS had enough problems all over the constantly-in-crisis Gotham so both of their night time habit were blessedly overlooked.

“I think I’ll head to the Rec Center after school,” Tim said. “Alec is back this week and I’d like to ask him for some help with my Computer Programming project.”

Helena leaned against the sign for the bus stop, “Really? Isn’t Wednesdays comics with Ives and then an ill-advised trip to the skatepark?”

Tim kicked a pebble and shrugged, “Usually, yeah, guess I’m just not feeling up to tales of daring-do today.”

Helena waited for him to explain further. Tim stubbornly ignored her silent prodding. He was used to the “pause trick”. His parents had used it on him enough that it had no effect anymore. Sometimes, Tim got the urge to ramble on and on about nothing, but only with certain people. Like famously-stoic Travis down at the Rec Center. Tim got a hit of dopamine and a rush of pride anytime the man cracked a smile. It didn’t last though. Travis' hard-won amusement was…fine, but the…aftertaste(?) of the interaction lacked something. Surprise? Warmth? Gratitude?

The screech of bus brakes shook Tim from his thoughts as he flashed his pass to the driver. Helena and Tim remained silent as they were whisked the rest of the way to school. Helena–Ms. Bertinelli now– hurried off to the middle school for a Curriculum Team meeting and Tim wandered to the Media Center to check out a Yearbook Laptop. He spent the next hour listening to music and weeding out genitalia from the completed Student Council pages. In a burst of unusual creativity from Liam, Tim even managed to discover and purge a funny but inappropriate acrostic about a member of the swim team.

Tim allowed his mind to wander while sorting through photographs. Something about it calmed him, like all his atoms were vibrating at the right frequency for once. Skateboarding and hanging out with Ives had similarly calming effects…and slinking in and out of Gotham’s shadows the night before had made him feel like…something. Resonate maybe? Even with the brain itchiness and the general discomfort of proximity to Gotham’s masks, he felt safe all the way back to the apartment. It had been a new sensation–Tim was no stranger to wandering the streets at night but he’d never felt particularly safe…it was Gotham after all. Perhaps the guardian angel Mrs. Fitzmartin claimed he had watching over him had finally gotten off their rear and done something for once. His parents’ old assistant had taken their death almost as hard as Tim had though probably for different reasons. Tim’s grief was mixed with a heaping dose of guilt and regret. After all, “Before Tim’s” notes had warned of Haiti (and boomerangs for some reason), but had nothing to say about an earthquake in the Philippines.

Even a year and a half later, Tim felt overwhelming shame over the catastrophe. If he hadn’t been so distracted by “Before Tim’s” directions on how to contact a 'Rahul Lama' he might have… What? Prevented a natural disaster? If he hadn’t been tracking strange sightings of a young woman across Eurasia he might’ve...begged his parents to visit him for Family Weekend at his school? If he wasn’t deciphering notes about some new crime family making waves around Crime Alley he could’ve…called them one last time and talked about what they were presenting to eager college students. The director of student health had pulled Tim out of Geography to inform him of his parents’ deaths.

“Your parents were helping evacuate the university,” Dr. Larsen had explained. “They went back in over a dozen times between them and are personally responsible for saving twenty-seven students and staff.”

Tim remembers how still the hallway was, his clenched fists, the man’s stupid argyle sweater, “But..they weren’t in Haiti though…”

Dr. Larsen was careful when he responded, “No…they were in Manilla for a conference.”

“No, but…that makes no sense. That’s not…I didn’t…The list,” Tim’s eyes blurred with unshed, defiant tears. Dr. Larsen stepped away for just a moment to grab some tissues before taking Tim back to the Nurses’ Office.

Tim was gone before the man returned.

He moved on instinct and felt hopelessly lost at the same time. He had to get out of the school, but he had nowhere to go. When Tim returned to his senses he was at a train station. All Tim had on him was $20… It wasn’t enough for a ticket back to Gotham, but (at $19.89 one-way) he could get to Blüdhaven. From there, he planned to hitchhike the rest of the way to his parents’ Brownstone. Unfortunately (or fortunately if you were the legal team and security officers of Sellers’ Preparatory Boarding School), that strategy was rendered null and void when a “School Resource Officer” managed to catch up with him.

The funeral was held a week later. Most attendees were old college friends, business partners, and members of Gotham’s “new money”. Tim was numb to the entire ordeal as he tried to decipher something about an ‘Uncle Eddie’ that was buried at the back of his mind. Perhaps the esper…edgelord guy had actually sent him to an alternate dimension? After all, he was sure his father was an only child…and he was sure his parents had lived to see his thirteenth birthday. He vaguely remembered a trip to a Metropolis museum and then a rather stuffy dinner. It was…nice…even though he’d wanted to go to a Gotham Knights game... It didn’t matter what he wanted though. His parents were gone…they had died and Tim hadn’t even had the opportunity to manipulate things to fix it. With no living relatives, Tim had instead spent his thirteenth birthday wandering around Robinson Park to avoid his crowded foster home.

Suddenly, a freckled hand obscured his view of the ‘Homecoming’ page. A quick glance from the screen and he was making eye-contact with a confused Janine. Tim slid off his headphones and cut off “Can I Kick it?” somewhere between the twentieth and sixty-seventh repetition of the titular question.

“Hey, Janine, Liam’s evil scheme has been thwarted,” Tim declared by way of greeting. “I wonder if we can jerryrig a program that recognizes patterns and automatically reformats the layout into something less…phallic.”

Janine shook her tight, dark curls, “That’s great, kid, but it’s 8:30… Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Tim’s stomach dropped as he caught sight of the little digital clock in the laptop’s taskbar, “Cabbage larceny! Levi’s gonna kill me.”

Tim had forgotten to set an alarm for class. Stupid, useless, magical, transporting phone couldn’t even predict that he’d need a reminder to GO TO CLASS! Janine assured him that she would handle returning the loaner laptop and Tim sprinted towards the Science Department.

“You absolutely cannot fail Freshman Science,” Tim muttered for what felt like the twenty-seventh time that year. “You will not allow that entitled, insecure lab jockey beat you.”

Mr. Levi’s door was in sight and blessedly open. All he’d have to do is wait in the hall and look for an opening to slip into the ro–

“Decided to show up, Timothy?”

As uncomfortable as last night’s diner meeting was, Tim would rather relive that a thousand times if he could avoid this interaction. Apparently, Tim’s guardian angel must be on break again because he was still in this phosphorescent-tinged hell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Levi, I got caught up with Yearbook stuff.”

Mr. Levi looked bored as he scribbled out something illegible on a sticky note pad, “An unexcused tardy either way, Timothy. Take this to the office.”

Tim’s frustrations bubbled up against his will, “How can kicking students out of class really be the solution to tardiness?”

“Take it up with the administration,” his teacher replied. “The Office. Now.”

Tim groaned and stalked off in the direction of the Administrative Wing.

Yeah, Tim thought, Wednesday was definitely out to get him.

Chapter Text

Wednesday couldn’t end soon enough Dick thought as he jolted awake at 8:35. In lieu of an extra two hours of sleep, he’d stayed up until four writing up a report on Huntress. The details were kept deliberately (but deceptively) vague. While Dick postulated that she worked on the west side of Gotham, he neglected to mention her potential association with Oracle. He noted her concern about the growth of organized crime and forgot to include her dismissal of the threat posed by Gotham’s Rogues. Huntress’ preference for purple and her impressive physique were dutifully recorded and…well, Dick didn’t really feel the need to fudge the details there. If it got B to roll his eyes it would be worth it.

After futilely tossing and turning in an attempt to slip back into slumber, Dick rolled out of bed to start his morning stretches. While loosening up his stiff neck muscles he contemplated the dream that had woken him. Train surfing between Blud and Gotham. He hadn’t been alone…red, green, yellow…black(?). Must’ve been Jason–the colors didn’t quite match up, but dreams weren’t exactly lauded for their accuracy. Either way, the younger of the two had been thrown from the train at Sea Isle Junction. The curve there was particularly nasty. No worries though, 'Dream Dick' had performed his big-brotherly duty and wrangled Jason back on board… Right? No, the dream had ended with Jason falling–that’s why it woke him–but Dick was sure he’d caught his brother. Hmm…

A short and very British knock broke his concentration, “Master Richard, if you’ve woken, your presence is requested at breakfast.”

Dick smiled, “Chocolate chip muffins, right Alfie?”

“Of course, young sir, and then we’ll have Hot Pockets for luncheon and the Baconater at afternoon tea.”

Dick was 0-3 in the charm department this Wednesday morning, “Right, yogurt and granola it is. I’ll be down in a few.”

“With reasonable haste, Master Richard,” was followed by the sound of retreating Oxfords.

Dick eyed his bed with longing, but went about dressing for the day. Bruce insisted they avoid their signature colors while outside the masks so Dick was sure to grab a blue hoodie to finish his ensemble. After all, the man wore black turtlenecks three times a week–hypocrite. A few stretches later and Dick was ready to face the world…or at least the Wayne Manor breakfast nook. He slipped out of his room and down the hall.

It was remarkable to think how empty the family wing had been just five years ago. Jason’s door was right across from Dick’s–left slightly ajar. The room was clean (Alfred expected nothing less of his charges) but bursting with bookshelves. Sometimes Dick wondered if they should just relocate the teen to the library on the second floor and be done with it.

Titus, Damian’s nigh-constant companion, padded out of the room across from Bruce’s in search of ear scritches. Dick was happy to oblige as he scanned the youngest Wayne’s room. Spotless, as usual, even his drawings were neatly stacked and organized on his art table.

“Everyone at school, Titus?”

The Great Dane offered no answer and instead trundled down the stairs. Cass’ room was just off the second story landing to give her space from the boys, while preventing total isolation from the family. She was probably with Babs just then. Private tutors were helpful for his little sister, but Babs connected with Cass so easily. They met up three times a week to provide Cass with an outlet and supplemental lessons.

If all three of his siblings were off “learning” it would just be Dick and Bruce at breakfast…Great…No way that could go wrong. Still, no use delaying the inevitable.

The kitchen smelled divine and was, of course, absolutely pristine. How did Alfred do it? Dick’s apartment was at least 20% pizza boxes at this point (empty and “cleaned” ones…he wasn’t a total monster).

“Mornin’, Alfie,” Dick said through a yawn. “Thanks for the wake up call. I’d like to get a run before it gets too warm out.”

“Indeed,” Alfred replied from his station at the sink. “Do be sure to deposit any soiled clothing in the proper receptacle this time.”

Dick felt thoroughly chastised and it wasn’t even nine o’clock, “‘Course. I don’t wanna make more work for you.”

Alfred turned to face Dick with typical buterler-y professionalism, but his eyes were soft when he said, “Your presence alone is not work, Master Richard. Your requested breakfast is in the dining hall.”

Dick cringed. Breakfast should be eaten while running out the front door. Had no one in this family ever watched a single episode of anime?

“Actually, I’d love to keep you company if that’s alri–”

Alfred cut him off with propriety, “The Dining Hall to the right, if you please.”

Dick sighed but nodded, “Right, thanks.”

Bruce was still in his bathrobe reading the paper when Dick joined him at the unnecessarily large “Dining Hall Luncheon Table”. What even was a luncheon? Was it actually different from just lunch? Was a luncheon table even an actual category of furniture?

“Mornin, B.”

“Mmm,” and a sip of coffee.

“News really newsy today?” Dick tried while stirring his breakfast…he hated yogurt.

“Hnn.”

“So…what makes this a luncheon table? Should we even be using it for breakfast at all?" Might as well go for broke this morning.

“It refers to the setting, not the table itself. While it is currently set for breakfast with bread plates and cereal bowls, many of the pieces–like the main plate and the right hand knife–are designated as ‘luncheon’ items.”

Dick shouldn’t be surprised, but… “Eh, right, thanks. I’ve been looking for new banter material. Probably save that for Condiment King.”

Bruce folded his paper and began to butter a roll, “Just be sure to hose off after the encounter. His new mustard stains.”

A joke? And on a Wednesday? The least funny day of the week? Well…maybe Tuesday was the least funny. Monday had Garfield, Thursday was comedy night on NBC…Wednesday was, of course, ‘Hump Day’. Was Sunday funny?

Lost in thought, Dick missed much of what Bruce said next, “So, you’ll need to drive them to the Westside Rec Center.”

“Uhh…sorry. I missed all of that because I wasn’t listening. Whomst am I taking where and why?” Dick asked with no shame.

Bruce’s face was blank. Couldn’t the old man do the rest of the world the courtesy of at least rolling his eyes like any normal dad-shaped person?

“Jason is scheduled to sort donations at the Westside Rec Center. Cass has her ballet class and Damian wanted to try their photography class,” Bruce repeated patiently. “You’ll need to collect them after school and drive them there.”

Dick bit his lip and stirred his yogurt some more. He’d been planning on visiting Babs to get more info on “Huntress” and maybe do a conference call with the Titans. Blüdhaven had been a mess for the last month (although, honestly, when wasn’t it a dumpster fire) and Dick hadn’t had much time to check in with his team. Playing chauffeur to the Wayne Crew would derail those plans completely.

“And you can’t because…?”

Bruce didn’t bother to look up from his grapefruit, “Lucius has requested my presence in an R&D meeting this afternoon. I’ll head to the Rec Center later, but not until at least six-thirty.”

The younger man repressed a sigh, trapped. Alfred had his afternoon off on Wednesdays. Dick wouldn’t dream of pulling the man away from his gardening club and tea with his lady friend at Destin’s.

“Okay, yeah, I can wrangle the Wayne-lettes,” Dick said. He might still have time to talk to Babs if he picked up Cass first, “Damian’s out at three-fifteen, right?”

“Two-fifteen, actually,” Bruce corrected. “Professional Development in the afternoon. The high school lets out ten minutes later.”

“Sure, sure…I bet the teachers love losing instruction time tso they can be lectured at based on out-dated educational research,” Dick grumbled as he stabbed at a blueberry.

“Continued education is important in keeping up with the modern concerns of today’s youth,” Bruce countered.

Dick blinked, “B, let me be intransigent. A rant a day keeps the crow’s feet away.”

Bruce looked like he was about to cite some medical journal on the health benefits of always being factually correct about everything all the time, but he stopped himself.

Small mercies, Dick thought. Bruce might just be human after all.

Alfred entered then to clear the “luncheon settings” and shoo Bruce off to get presentable for the office. Dick was left to himself. It was too early to call the Titans three time zones away. Babs would be busy with Cass until the early afternoon.

“Guess I’ll go on that run,” he muttered to himself. “Gotta keep things tight for the Titans Holiday Card.”

As usual in Gotham, Dick’s winning wit went unacknowledged. At least the Rogues seemed to appreciate the effort he put into his banter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick managed an eight-mile run and a quick call to San Francisco by the time he headed out in the afternoon. Sure, he only got to talk to Raven, but it was nice to hear things were going smoothly with his team. Their competence made him feel a little better about being so swamped with east-coast messes. He made Raven promise to call if anything exceptional came up and signed off.

Given the logistics of everything, Dick chose to pick up Damian first. The pick-up line at Gotham Academy was hellish. Maybe he could get a decent spot if he got there early enough. Because Wednesday insisted on…Wednesday-ing…he did not.

After three Spotify commercial breaks (Dick refused to pay for it due to sheer stubbornness), Damian piled into the back of Dick’s second-hand Camry looking suitably annoyed…Which was honestly the kid’s baseline so no harm, no foul.

“Hey, Damian, good day at school?”

Damian fidgeted his way into his booster seat and frowned. Dick sympathized, but car safety was an absolute must in the Wayne family,“School was…okay. I don’t have to take the spelling test on Friday…I got 100% on the pre-test.”

Dick smiled, “Way to go, bud! I always sucked at those things. Alfred would spend the night before quizzing me and I still did awful.”

Damian tilted his head thoughtfully, “You spoke four languages by the time you were eight. Spelling hardly seems as impressive.”

“Eh, what are you gonna do?” Dick replied casually hoping to put an end to this particular conversation.

His little brother, predictably, didn’t let it go, “Communication skills are highly coveted–no matter the language or medium. Your…aptitude…should be appreciated and ack…ack…umm.”

Dick felt a rush of affection for the kid reflected in the rearview mirror. He was still a bit stiff from spending his first five years as the heir to a death cult, but he had moments where he reminded everyone that he was just a kid.

“Acknowledged?” Dick supplied.

“Yes, thank you.”

“It’s okay, kiddo, I don’t need accolades for my communication skills. Anyone standing next to your dad would sound like a wunderkind in that department.”

Damian seemed to think about that but, instead of continuing their conversation, took out his phone and started tapping away on a game. Dick took his cue to act as silent chauffeur and pulled into the, much more empty, high school lot.

Jason was sitting upside down on a bench reading something that was surely A) Old, B) Boring, and C) “High Art”. He’d apparently taken the time to change out of his uniform and into casual clothes when he realized his ride would be late. Honestly, it was a miracle Jason agreed to wear the uniform at all. The teen had little patience for the “accouterments of the rich”. Dick, similarly, had no patience for the “loquaciousness of emo little brothers”.

Dick rolled down his window and called, “Your chariot has arrived, my lord.”

Jason startled, sat up, and frowned when he saw who had graciously agreed to pick him up, “Knock it off. You sound like a moron.”

Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes (Jason did not share Dick’s fondness for that particular visual cue), “Okay, get in or hoof it to the Rec Center yourself, butthole.”

“Butthole?” Damian parrotted from the backseat as Jason climbed in next to him.

Oops, Dick thought, that’s gonna come back to haunt me later, isn’t it?

“Uh, yeah,” Dick said. “Don’t say that. I shouldn’t have either. Maybe my communication skill could use some work too.”

“No surprises there,” Jason agreed as the car turned in the general direction of Babs’ apartment.

“Thanks,” Dick muttered. “How was your day, Jay? Destroy someone in World Lit fishbowl again?”

Jason shrugged and turned to stare out his window.

Okay, Dick thought. What did I do this time?

Or…maybe not. Jason hadn’t been in the cave when Dick got back this morning despite promising to distract the big man. Bruce had been pretty tense lately. That’s why Dick had suggested rooftop tag during patrol. Give Jason and Bruce some time apart, space. Allow both of them to blow off some steam… Whenever the two were in a room together it felt like the final countdown to an explosion that never quite came. Like a bunch of mini-arguments to avoid a nuclear one. Neither wanted to start it nor put an end to the suffocating atmosphere.

Instead of poking that bear, Dick and his passengers fell into a comfortable silence until Cass jumped in the car twenty minutes later. Between the pickup line at GA and the traffic the Wayne Caravan was falling behind schedule. Even if they could hit all the lights right they’d just barely make it for Cass’ pre-class warm-up at three forty-five.

“Good day?” Cass asked the car as a whole.

“Fine,” Jason muttered opening up his book again.

“Mmhmm,” Damian answered, clearly concentrating on beating his high score on Kitchen Scramble.

“Yeah, how about you, Cass? Good day?” Dick said, remembering his manners.

Cass’ eyebrows scrunched up in thought, “Maybe. It’s too early still.”

Dick nodded and signaled a left turn, “Fair.”

“I think…Hmm,” Cass tried.

Dick waited, giving Cass a chance to put her thoughts into words on her own. She deserved the opportunity.

“I think Babs is worried. Tired,” she said after a minute. “She’s…anxious? I don’t know how to help.”

It was sweet to see Cassandra care so much. The worry was clearly weighing on her if her slouched posture was any indication. She probably wasn’t used to Babs’ brand of overwork. Bruce and Jason’s turbulence was easy to see and she understood why they let that simmer, but Babs’ intensity was always more cold–-shut off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason offered from the backseat. “Babs knows when to ask for help.”

Dick wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but didn’t say so. Babs was fiercely independent and smarter than all of them combined some days. It made her reluctant to reach out when she needed to. Which was…reasonable...she could handle most things on her own for the most part.

“I’m sure she just needs a break,” Dick said instead. “We all do. Hopefully, after tomorrow things will calm down.”

His siblings didn’t respond and that was fair. Things rarely calmed down in Gotham. Or Blüdhaven. Dick loved both cities, but they were hot messes. Dumpster fires. Train wrecks (literally). Constantly-in-crisis. But…that’s life.

Dick dropped his siblings off at the door and spent the next ten minutes searching for a place to park. There had to be a way to blackmail the city into investing more in public transit, right? That way, Dick could just tell Jason to pick up Damian and take him across town by train. He didn’t want to miss out on all the older-brother things, but he’d sacrifice a little bit if it meant he didn’t have to park three blocks away from his destination.

With feelings of disdain for Gothams City Council, Dick nudged open the door to the Westside Rec Center. It was cramped, but well-managed. Apparently, Jason had spent much of his childhood here taking kiddie classes and partaking in their summer lunch program. He’d desperately wanted to give back when Bruce took him in and had been volunteering ever since. It was nice, really, to see his little brother so passionate about serving others. It was essential to their nightlife.

“I told you already, Miss Eliza is out this week so Cory is in charge of the pantry,” a voice was explaining from the front desk where Jason stood, clearly annoyed.

“And I told you that Cory is a moron and is screwing everything up. He ain’t even using the right system,” Jason shot back.

It wasn’t so nice to see his little brother’s temper directed at some pipsqueak teen boy volunteer in public.

“I know, those reformatted spreadsheets are the new system that we created so he couldn’t screw it up!” Apparently the kid had a backbone.

“Oh, really, and what gives you the authority to do that, Junior?” Jason asked snappishly.

Dick sped up his pace. Jason’s fuse had been so short lately and he’d never forgive himself if he blew his top at the Rec Center. He worked hard to make it a safe place for the neighborhood. A teen at the front desk wasn’t worth losing all that progress.

“Hey, Jay. Cass and Damian get to their classes alright?”

Jason ignored that, “Cory and this snot-nosed brat are messing everything up.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed, “It’s not perfect, but Alec and I did a test run of the new system with Eliza before she left on vacation. If there are bugs or issues, we’ll try to fix them, but you have no right to–”

Jason cut him off, “I do if it makes everything harder for the people who use the pantry. Who even are you?”

Without warning or fanfare the kid marched off, shoulders tense with…something.

“Yeah, go off and pout, Junior!” Jason called after him.

Dick shushed him, “Lay off him, Jay, I’m sure it’s not a bad system if Liza approved it."

Jason was not ready to be talked down yet, “The old system worked fine, Dick! And now they’re replacing it for what? So, some rich kid can net a few community service hours? It’ll take months to communicate the way the system works now. All that hassle might discourage people from using it when they need it!”

Dick took a deep breath and said, “Okay, Jay, okay, but shouting isn’t going to solve this. That kid is just trying to help.”

Speak of the devil and he shall march back to the sign-in desk with his dark mop of hair held high, “Here,” he slapped a pamphlet on the counter.

Jason chose to scowl instead so Dick picked it up. The boy quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Something about the stubborn posture and appraising stare made Dick’s ears itch.

“It says here that the old system will remain in place for the patrons for another six months,” Dick read. “And they’ve got over two dozen workshops scheduled to demonstrate the new one.”

Jason seemed unconvinced, but snatched the pamphlet from Dick anyway. The kid turned his appraising stare to Jason as if to catalog the older boy's response. Dick took the time to return the favor by studying the kid. He was kind of scrawny, but nothing in his stance implied he was intimidated by Jason’s temper. On the contrary, his dark blue eyes implied that he would go tit-for-tat all afternoon with Dick’s younger brother out of sheer stubbornness. The sweatshirt he was wearing was much too big for him and the sleeves had been shoved up past his elbows to reveal freckles and a smattering of bruises familiar to anyone who’d ever even looked at a skateboard. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, but…Dick was sure he’d have no trouble finding him in one if asked.

“And this information is being publicized?” Jason asked finally.

The kid fished a phone out of his pocket and tapped a few times, “We’ve posted on all the socials, we’ve got several explainer videos cooking, and those pamphlets are being distibuted to everyone who visits. Anyone who takes classes here is getting one too.”

Apparently satisfied with whatever was now displayed on his phone screen, the kid shoved the device into Jason’s hands. A video played covering the same info found in the pamphlet and even included several email addresses and phone numbers for additional information.

Jason watched silently and then handed the phone back, “You’ve thought this through.”

The kid set his phone down, revealing a familiar case, “Yeah, we didn’t do this on a whim. We want this to be sustainable,” he paused. “I’m sorry…We didn’t want the replacement system to throw anyone for a loop. We just want to help as many people as possible. I don’t mean to be defensive, but…”

“You don’t like it when people question your integrity,” Dick finished automatically.

‘Diner Rec Center Volunteer’ looked up at Dick, scrutinizing him, “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

A man stepped out of the back room, “Hey, Jason, sorry, we’re running a bit behind today. New system launch and we want it to go smoothly”

“It’s okay, Alec.”

‘Alec’ smiled and offered Jason one of the lanyards he was holding, “New name tags for regular volunteers.”

“Cool, I’m gonna head over.” Jason said, pausing after turning he added, “The system looks…decent, kid.”

Dick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. This Wednesday has lasted eighty-seven years, he thought.

Alec started to follow after Jason, but stopped to hand another one of the lanyards to the remaining boy, “Here ya go, Chief, stay out of trouble."

‘Diner Computer Programmer’ nodded and yanked the cord over his messy black hair.

‘Hello’ the name tag declared. ‘My name is Tim Drake’.

Chapter Text

Why did Tim even bother?

His day had gotten slightly better after the disaster that was Freshman Science. The office staff took pity on him when they realized who he had been sent by. Tim could accept the unexcused tardy–he had been late–but getting kicked out of class altogether seemed unreasonable and the administrative assistant seemed to agree. Tim was set up in a side room off the main office where he could work on his assignments and write an (slightly passive aggressive) apology to Mr. Levi for his tardiness. The rest of the school day went smoothly. He talked to Ives, finished And Then There Were None (even with the fakeout, the ending was pretty obvious), and put the finishing touches on his Computer Programming project. At the end of the day, he waved goodbye to Ives and hopped on the bus to the Westside Rec Center.

Tim was actually kinda nervous about showing up on a Wednesday. He hated to throw the staff of the center for a loop, but…he wanted to be there on “Rollout Day”. Alec had even sounded pleased when Tim offered to help with troubleshooting any issues that cropped up. Of course, all those welcome feelings flew out the window when some jerk started shouting at him. Tim hadn’t even had the chance to sign in or slap on a name tag and this guy was throwing hands? The confrontation and accusations threw him off so much that it took him a full five minutes to realize that he was going tete-a-tete with Jason Todd–aka Robin II–aka a guy whose life Tim saved...maybe. Okay, Tim still wasn’t 100% sure how getting some doctor overseas arrested for embezzlement affected Jason, but…Eh… Either way, RUDE!

Tim, honestly, was at his wit’s end with the Waynes. Most of “Before Tim’s” instructions were to help the family, but he had no idea why. The first entry on the list proclaimed: Bruce Wayne is Batman. Which was, ya know, a security risk, but also…yeah, duh. Tim had already known that for like a year. As far as he was concerned, Bruce Wayne wasn’t even that good at hiding his fursona. After that ~shocker~, the list had devolved into a vague progression of various mantles–like Jason as Robin and Cassandra as Batgirl. To a certain extent, Tim understood “Before’s” fixation on the Bats–Gotham needed them. “Before’s” interest in their private lives was…less clear. Knowing vague–but intimate–details of their lives behind closed doors made Tim feel like a stalker. Yet…he couldn’t maintain that disdain whenever he saw that they were together and reasonably happy and…whole. It was nice, comforting even.

Still, all those warm feelings abadoned him when Jason started jabbing fingers in his direction. Tim was not prone to a quick temper, but he wasn’t going to just lie down and take the abuse. Alec and Eliza and a dozen other people had collaborated for months on how to best update and streamline the system for everyone involved–patrons, donors, and volunteers. Honestly, screw Jason Todd for sauntering in and acting like Tim was an intruder. After a thorough rundown of the new system and some calming words from Dick Grayson–the oldest Wayne–flipping NIGHTWING–Jason left with Alec to go sort donations.

And then there were two…

Before Tim could come up with a brilliant and airtight reason why he had to leave immediately, Dick smiled and started chatting.

Well, Fork in a Garbage Disposal, Tim thought.

“Sorry about Jay,” Dick was saying. “I promise it’s not you, he’s not usually like this. He just really cares about this place."

Tim nodded and considered how much he’d really said the night before at Gio’s. He'd kept his hood up the entire time so his appearance was less of a concern. Still, would Nightwing recognize him? If so, what would he do? Tell Helena? How would he even know to d-

“Gotta admit you’ve got guts standing up to him like that,” Dick continued in Tim’s silence. “You gave as good as you got. Bravo!”

Oh, right, he’d literally spent the last ten minutes in a shouting match with the guy’s little brother… While he stood there…watching and listening.

Am I an actual moron? he thought. The Bats are literal detectives. Dick and Jason probably figured it out right when they walked through the door.

“So… You help out a lot around here?” Dick asked, starting to sound uncomfortable. “I don’t think we’ve seen you before.”

“Yeah, right,” Tim muttered sarcastically before he could stop himself.

Dick’s face fell, just a little, “Huh?”

Tim rallied, “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t have seen me here if you come on Wednesdays. I’m almost never here on Wednesdays, but–”

“You wanted to be here for the launch of the new system,” Dick finished for him.

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

Dick grinned apparently happy that Tim was actually responding now, “You should be proud of yourself. This is a big project for a high schooler.”

Tim flushed and stepped back a bit so he was leaning on the counter, “I didn’t do much. Just another set of eyes, really.”

Dick placed his arms on the front desk and leaned forward–like he was planning to stay awhile, “Still, more than I accomplished at your age.”

Tim actually scoffed at that, “BS.”

“Hmm?”

“BS,” Tim repeated with no shame. “You were a world-renowned athlete before starting elementary school.”

Dick somehow smiled brighter, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re not exactly some rando,” Tim stated mildly. “You’re Dick Grayson of the Flying Graysons. You probably learned to walk on an actual tightrope.”

“You a fan?” Dick chuckled.

“Of one of the most groundbreaking acrobat troops in the history of the artform?” Tim replied. “Obviously. Who wouldn’t be? You out-classed people three times your age before you lost your first tooth and that’s not even mentioning your years as…”

Tim stopped himself before he could reveal just how creepy he really was.

Dick blinked and furrowed his eyebrow, “My years as what?”

Tim blanched, “Uhh… Your years as captain of GA’s gymnastics team. You dominated state all four years of high school! No one’s even come close to matching your uneven bars routine!”

“Wow, Gotham Academy Propaganda Department is working overtime.”

Tim shrugged, “Uhh, wouldn’t know. I’ve never gone there.”

Tim went silent after, feeling uncomfortable. Maybe he was a stalker. It was like…all that “Dick Grayson” knowledge was just sitting up in his brain ready to explode all over someone. Weird, since Tim hadn’t thought of Dick Grayon much at all since…well. It was hard not to feel a little guilty when Tim had become a fan the night the guy’s parents had fallen. Even as a little kid Tim had felt bad over his fascination with acrobats and the Flying Graysons especially. It’d be like if some weird kid started spouting “fun facts” to Tim about earthquakes.

“Sorry,” Tim said finally.

Dick’s eyes screwed up in confusion, “For what?”

“I…Umm… I don’t know. Just felt like the right thing to say.”

“What do y-”

Tim took a deep breath, “People probably freak out around you all the time and… It might not feel great all the time. You might still love acrobatics and gymnastics, but I bet it’s hard. Since…that’s how you lost your parents.”

Yeah, Tim thought. I am a moron.

But…instead of stomping off in a huff or telling Tim to shut up, Dick looked thoughtful, “I don’t think anyone’s ever… I don’t know if I’ve ever even considered that there’s…No one’s ever been that blunt about it before.”

“Sorry,” Tim repeated and ducked his head, ashamed.

And then Dick was laughing, “Wow, you’ve got a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease, don’t ya?”

Tim clenched his fists and considered how quickly he could stage a fake emergency that would require him to run across town and never speak to a Wayne again, but Dick was still smiling. A closer look revealed no malice behind his eyes.

“I’m…I don’t…I’m sor–” Tim tried, but Dick waved him off.

“Nah, don’t be,” the older man said. “You’re trying to be considerate of my feelings and you’re not trying to hide behind ‘pleasantries’ and ‘manners’ and ‘propriety’--”

“I think air quotes start to lose meaning when they’re used that much.”

“Hush, I’m monologuing. Where was I?”

“That all the effort my parents and teachers put into teaching me manners was wasted.”

“Right,” Dick nodded. “My point is, you’ve got no ulterior motives. You're blunt, but it’s probably just because you care loudly. It’s probably annoying for people trying to ‘keep up appearances’--”

“Again with the air quotes.”

“Shh! What I’m trying to say is you’re outspoken and that’s not necessarily a bad thing… It’s refreshing,” Dick finished.

“Umm, thank you?”

“Yeah, no worries, kid,” Dick said and he leaned back to stretch. “I mean, I won’t tell you to expect everyone else to appreciate it. I think it’s hilarious.”

“You’re…picking on me?” Tim was confused.

Dick contemplated for a moment, “Maybe? I think you’re probably a good kid though so I didn't mean… I guess I’m sorry too.”

Tim’s ears itched. He should be offended, but… “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind. People don’t… Everyone always acts like I’m one bad day from a complete mental meltdown which is…annoying. No one is really willing to joke around with me. I like it.”

“You like being picked on?” Dick looked unconvinced, but leaned forward on the desk again–was he intrigued? Curious? Invested in the weird kid in front of him and his desire to be picked on?

Tim shrugged, “Sometimes, yeah. If I know–I mean, if the other person still– When it’s for fun, I guess. Because it means you're comfortable with each other. You get each other. Being serious and appropriate and intense all the time seems exhausting. Goofing around is…relaxing.”

Dick was quiet for a moment, scrutinizing Tim, “I see, yeah, kinda like a litmus test for a friendship. You know you can joke around with people who get you. You can be chill and not worry if the other is going to agonize over everything you said.”

“Exactly,” Tim agreed.

“So, you think I get you?”

Tim cringed, “No, uhh… You just seem…nice, I guess.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem half bad either, kiddo. Might even say you’re vaguely decent,” Dick said and then he turned and called to the staircase. “Hear that, Damian, Tim here thinks I’m nice.”

A young, but clearly Wayne, child was hurrying over to Dick. He looked uncomfortable, but that seemed par for the course with this kid. Damian, the youngest Wayne, had arrived in Gotham three years prior. Apparently, that was the intended result of another of “Before Tim’s” missions. For as insane as the revelation of a biological Wayne was, the plan only included one step. Tim was tasked with delivering a one-sentence note to the Waynes: ‘Talia lied to you’. Tim had slipped the message into Mr. Wayne’s checked coat during some museum opening. The man had disappeared from Gotham two days later and Tim imagined whatever happened next was…bad to say the least. So, it was probably fair that Damian was still adjusting. Wherever he came from was built on lies after all.

“I’m ready to go,” Damian declared.

Dick frowned and crouched down to talk to his brother, “Sorry, bud, we can’t leave without Jay and Cass.”

Damian fidgeted, “I want to leave though.”

“Okay, I hear you, but–”

“Father can take them home later,” Damian insisted, looking more and more upset.

“Is that so?” Speak of the devil... Bat?... And he shall appear.

And that sealed it. After FOUR YEARS of avoiding the family “Before Tim” was obsessed with, “Now Tim” had run into all its members in less than a day… Maybe? Probably not, the family was like a Hydra… “Save” one of them and two more came out of the woodwork. Tim tugged at his ears feeling slightly ill.

“Yes, I would like to go home now,” Damian repeated.

“I thought you were trying out a new class.”

Damian nodded, “Yes, but the class was stupid and I don’t want to stay.”

“Now, Damian, you can’t just call things stupid and you shouldn’t just run out of classes,” Dick attempted to soothe his brother. “What if the teachers are looking for you?”

“And you shouldn’t get in the habit of quitting things, Damian,” their father rumbled.

“But Father!”

“No, Damian, this behavior is immature. You need to finish what you star--”

Before Mr. Wayne could complete his response, Damian stomped over to the sitting area. If Tim wasn’t mistaken, the kid was scrubbing at his eyes.

Mr. Wayne sighed and made to follow, but Dick stopped him, “I’ll talk to him, Bruce, see if I can find out what happened.”

And then there were two...again...but a different two.

“Wow, that was bad,” Tim muttered, stupidly forgetting that other people could see and hear him.

Apparently Mr. Wayne had forgotten too because he visibly startled, “Oh, I’m sorry. Damian’s not normally prone to pouting."

This idiot is Batman? Tim thought.

“Not him, you.”

Wow, I really do have foot-in-mouth disease.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Wayne said, his expression hovering somewhere between annoyed and angry.

Tim considered his options and chose the stupidest one, “You didn’t even ask him why he was upset.”

Mr. Wayne looked surprised and said nothing.

“I've always hated when people complain that I've ‘gone off to pout’,” Tim continued. “When you consider the options, pouting isn't really that bad. Your son might just need time to cool down or think or whatever. You don’t have to agree with or like his behavior, but you shouldn’t just ignore his feelings.”

“Well–”

“Whether the feelings are petty or immature or whatever; they’re real. He chose to walk away from a class that was clearly upsetting him instead of yelling or kicking or even whining all that much. Instead of running off; he found Dick,” Tim steamrolled over the grown man.

“I’m not ignoring his feelings,” Mr. Wayne muttered, sounding…ashamed.

Tim sighed, “Well, he doesn’t know that. You’ve got to tell people what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling. You’re the adult here and if you want your kids to communicate with you; you have to model how to do it. They learn all that stuff from you. You've got to talk to them. Humans aren’t mind readers.”

“No,” the man agreed. “They’re not.”

“So, you tell them how you're feeling and then you listen when they tell you,” Tim was on a roll–he could almost forget how itchy his brain was. “The human race has enough problems, communication shouldn't still be one of them. We've had written language for like...over five thousand years and verbal language for much longer. We should be able to talk about things. We may not agree with others, but we should at least take the time to listen.”

“That’s very wise.”

Tim shook his head, “Nah, I learned all that from Ryan Reynolds.”

“Excuse me?” this time the question sounded…amused instead of annoyed.

“Yup, he talked about ‘Conflict Resolution’ on some podcast I was listening to,” Tim explained eagerly. “Mirror, empathize, and validate.”

Mr. Wayne was almost smiling and Tim suddenly felt very self-conscious. He had just lectured an adult man on how to talk to his children. What did Tim know about parenting? His parents had been…okay. They loved him and said so, but they sure as hell didn’t model Conflict Resolution.

“Go on,” Mr. Wayne urged. “What does ‘mirror, empathize, and validate’ mean?”

Tim took a breath, “Uhh…mirror. You repeat back what you’ve been told to ensure that you know what the issue is. Show that you’re listening.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, “Makes sense.”

“Empathize,” Tim continued. “You verbalize how that must feel for the other person. Like, uhh…I’m sure it’s really frustrating for you to be lectured by some random kid.”

Mr. Wayne chuckled, “Wouldn’t be the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last. My children are a…passionate bunch.”

Tim didn't point out that his children weren’t “some random kids”.

“Right and validate. You tell them that their feelings are understandable… You still don’t have to agree, but…”

“It lets them know that I hear them. That I’m listening to them,” Mr. Wayne finished for him.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed lamely.

Before they could lapse into a truly awkward silence, Cassandra Wayne popped up behind her father. Her dance class must have ended if the shoes slung over her shoulder was any indication. She leaned into Mr. Wayne’s side.

“Good class?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Cassandra nodded, “Good work?”

Mr. Wayne huffed out a chuckle, “It was okay… Long meeting.”

Cassandra nodded and spared a wave at Tim before trotting off to join her brothers. Damian was looking less upset, but Dick…he looked exhausted.

“Well, thank you for your time, Tim,” Mr. Wayne said.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Mr. Wayne finally broke into a genuine smile, “You might’ve saved me, honestly. I love my kids, but… Sometimes it takes an outside perspective to see things as they are. To explain things…make them clear. I’m sure it was scary to speak up and point out a flaw you saw–especially to an adult.”

Try absolutely terrifying, Tim thought. And yet I can’t ever seem to shut up.

“Just be sure to remain aware of your own weaknesses and stay humble. I’m sure you’ll grow into a very wise young man.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, slightly awed at receiving a compliment from The Batman.

Mr. Wayne nodded, still smiling, and wandered over to his children. Tim couldn’t hear what they were saying. They looked okay though. Dick was gesticulating wildly, Damian was giggling, and Cassandra was mesmerized by the display. Mr. Wayne was shaking his head, but there was a deep fondness in his eyes. They may mess up sometimes, but it was clear how happy they all were together. They all loved each other so much. Tim warmed at the thought and scratched at his ears again.

Okay, maybe that’s why “Before Time” bothered, Tim thought.

Chapter Text

Something was bothering Dick… But he couldn’t tell what.

He mentally cataloged his afternoon. Traffic? No, that was normal for Gotham. Jason’s outburst? No, he was a moody teenager…it’d be weirder if he didn’t have a temper. Bruce fumbling again with Damian? Eh, closer, but that was normal too. Bruce was…working on it. It wasn’t good enough, but he would probably apologize when he walked over to join them… Which he wasn’t doing. A quick glance behind him confirmed that he was still standing at the Welcome Desk talking to ‘Diner Fanboy’... Or, well, Tim if his name tag was to be believed.

Dick scratched absently above his ears and turned his attention back to his youngest brother, “So, I know you probably don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you...”

“That’s right.”

Dick huffed out a breath, “That’s great because I want to talk about everything that’s bothering me.”

“Huh-”

“So, first of all, I’m still mad that they haven’t ported The Wind Waker onto the Switch. I desperately want to replay that game, but I sold my WiiU ages ago,” Dick rattled off.

“Jason says Twilight Princess is better.”

Dick rolled his eyes dramatically, “Of course he would. That game’s almost as moody as he is. The wolf thing is too weird for me though.”

“Wolves are…noble animals,” Damian replied, trying his hardest to sound grown up.

“Sure, but that game doesn’t have a TALKING BOAT!”

Damian was fighting a smile.

“Okay, what else? Nectarines are out of season and I love nectarines,” Dick continued. “Even when they are in season it’s hard to get good ones.”

“Pears are better.”

“Ugh, they’re so slimy though. Also, Wally stole my waffle iron the last time he visited,” Dick bemoaned. “Now I have to eat pancakes! PANCAKES, Damian, truly the worst breakfast option…after yogurt.”

“And English Muffins.”

“Yeah, those things have a terrible texture,” Dick agreed.

Damian was smiling, but he still looked unsure, “...Is there anything else bothering you?”

Dick thought, really thought, and glanced back at Bruce. He was in the same spot where had Dick left him up front. He seemed to be having a conversation with ‘Tim Drake’... Well, more like Tim was talking at Bruce, gesticulating wildly and looking determined.

…Huh…

“Dick?”

Dick shook his head, “Uhh, yeah, I’m also upset because you’re upset, kiddo.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know that words are hard sometimes…for all of us, but… If you’re willing to try to tell me what’s wrong, I’m listening,” Dick said softly.

Damian pulled his feet up onto his chair and wrapped his arms around his knees, “You’ll just think I’m being…’immature’.”

Stupid, dumb, means-well-but-screws-up-constantly Bruce.

“Do you think that I’m immature because of what’s bothering me?” Dick asked.

“Of course not! They’re not the most serious things, but they’ve upset you.”

“Well, then I assure you that your feelings aren’t immature either. Some of my things may not be life-or-death and yours might not be either, but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter.”

Damian took a deep breath, “You’ll take me seriously?”

“Always, kiddo, always.”

“I…I left the photography class.”

“Yeah, and why did you feel the need to do that?” Dick urged gently.

“All the other students…they’re older than me.”

“Okay.”

“They already know a lot and I don’t know anything,” Damian continued. “They were talking about the different parts of the camera and I didn’t know what an ap…aper…apa…”

“Aperture,” Dick offered.

“Yes, I didn’t know what it did.”

“That happens, Damian, that’s what classes are for,” Dick soothed. “To learn more about things.”

Damian nodded, “I tried to ask, but…some other child laughed.”

Now, Dick knew it wasn’t reasonable to immediately want to strangle some random child, but he was so out of sorts lately. It was like all of the nerves in his body were tensed in anticipation of something that never came. So…perhaps it made sense that his temper had flared to life so quickly, even if he knew he couldn’t let it out. Dick just barely prevented himself from getting up and hunting down whoever had laughed at his little brother. The only thing that stopped him was another glance over at Bruce who was now nodding at something Tim was saying. Hmm…

Tim had been lambasted by Jason not too long ago. And, although he’d gotten a little haughty, he hadn’t lost his temper. He’d been blamed by someone older than him who didn’t have all the facts. He hadn’t really done anything wrong even though someone else thought he had. No one ran to his defense in anger and he was…fine. He had worked to deescalate the situation instead…on his own.

In a building full of responsible adults. He had to handle that alone.

Dick felt another flair of temper so strong that it shocked him back to the present.

He shook his head and scratched above his ear again, hoping his eczema wasn’t acting up.

“So, you asked a question and someone laughed at you?”

Damian nodded, “It…made me feel bad. Stupid. I think the teacher missed it. So, when they all got up to look at example photos I told the teacher you texted. I told her you said it was time to go.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Damian,” Dick said, curling an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “You must have felt embarrassed and unwelcome."

Damian hmm’ed and leaned into Dick’s side.

“I can understand why you felt that way. That kid wasn’t being very nice or fair. They had to have been a beginner once too,” Dick continued. “It’s okay to want to get out of those kinds of situations, but you can’t lie to your teachers, okay?”

“But I–”

“I know, bud,” Dick said quickly. “But you could have texted me. I would’ve come to get you, no explanation needed. If you ever need out of a situation all you have to do is get a hold of one of us and, I promise, we will show up for you.”

Damian had nothing to say to that apparently.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

“Okay, what, Damian?”

The younger boy huffed, annoyed, “If I need out of a bad situation, I will call one of you to come get me.”

“Good, because no one messes with my little siblings, but me,” Dick concluded.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, you guys are a bunch of weirdos. Jason with all his books and Cass with her obsession with Tetris and you with that collection of frogs I know you’re keeping in the back shed–”

“What?”

“Yeah, don’t deny it. I get to make fun of you guys because I love you. I tolerate all the crazy stuff because I love you all so much… I don’t even notice the things I used to just tolerate.”

Dick had meant for that to be funny, but…it was so very true. He loved them so much, even with all their blemishes and flaws. The things that annoyed him so much at the beginning of having siblings had just…faded into the background. Just thinking about the lengths he’d go to protect them made him exhausted. He’d go to the ends of the universe and back for them…eighty-seven times… And that was a lot for a sleep-deprived mind. He felt things intensely…and it was like he had no break from that lately.

“You’re crazy, but…I love you too,” Damian replied, a little bit shy.

“Oh, yeah?” Dick asked as Cass wandered over.

“Yes, of course and I love Cass and Jason and Father and Alfred too,” Damian said with a satisfied nod. “We are the best family even if…we’re a bit broken.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Cass said.

Dick worried a bit about the ‘broken’ comment. It was…true. The Wayne family was a mosaic created from the broken pieces of each member’s lives. It was a beautiful picture filled with love and empathy even though it was born of many tragedies. As far as Dick was concerned, it was worthy of being hung in the Louvre. Still, he didn’t want his little siblings to think that they themselves were broken.

Instead of unpacking all of that, Dick joked, “But you guys love me the most, right?”

“I love you all equally,” Damian replied.

“Oh, come on. I’ll hold up my hands and you tell me to stop when I get to how much you love me,” Dick said with all the mock seriousness he could muster and proceeded to wave his arms around like an octopus on heroin.

Damian gave in and giggled at the antics and Cass seemed just as delighted. Bruce had apparently joined them and looked like he always did when he thought no one was looking: fondly amused. It had been more rare recently…like he was fighting the same exhaustion and frustration that Dick was. Apparently, the break from his children he got while talking to Tim had rejuvenated him.

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick greeted cheerily. “Done harassing the help?”

Bruce smiled briefly, but focused his eyes on Damian. They butted heads often because they were so similar. It didn’t help that Bruce hadn’t known about the kid until he was five years old. Dick remembered waking up to an urgent phone call from Bruce one evening. He’d rambled something about a security breach and Talia and needing to check something. A week later, the Bat returned to Gotham with another new Wayne in tow. It was a shock, to be sure, but Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and Dick had worked hard to make Damian feel welcome and to undo all the damage done by being born to the League of Assassins. Still, sometimes Bruce really stepped in it with Damian… Probably hard to look at a reflection of yourself and not be absolutely terrified of screwing them up.

“Apparently, the Westside Rec Center offers impromptu Conflict Resolution courses,” Bruce stated.

“Uh…huh?” Dick said.

“Yes, they do,” Bruce assured them. “And one of the best ways to learn is through practice. I would like to try if you’re willing.”

“Okay?”

“So, Damian, I am sorry that I ignored your feelings. Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Damian looked hesitant, but launched into his story again. Bruce nodded along, asked clarifying questions, and did not comment once on how the situation could have been handled differently.

It felt strangely like a miracle.

Dick cut a glance back to the Welcome Desk where ‘Tim Drake’ was now talking to a woman with a comically large bag on her shoulder. He gestured to the computer and she nodded along. Despite the ease of their interaction, Tim looked a bit nervous…like he felt like he was talking too much. He’d worn the expression while talking to Dick earlier too, but it hadn’t hindered him nearly as much during their conversation as it seemed to now. After a while their innocuous conversation had just…flowed. Tim would stumble over his words, sure, but he had seemed relaxed before Damian had arrived in distress. Talking to the woman, Tim was still casual…but it was like the night before at Gio’s… The kid must have felt like he was being a bother even though it was clear that his conversation companion was fond of him. Hmm…

“...I imagine it was really upsetting when I just dismissed you without letting you explain yourself,” Bruce was saying when Dick tuned back into the conversation. “That wasn’t fair of me and your feelings matter. I shouldn’t have steamrolled over you. I want you to be able to talk to me.”

Damian looked a little astonished, “I would like that.”

“I think we all would like that, B,” Dick agreed.

Cass nodded, “Talking can be hard, but we should all try harder.”

“What’s up, losers!”

Jason wandered up and shoved Dick over a bit so he could sit on the couch. Despite his outburst an hour ago, he looked happy. Jason was always in a better mood after volunteering and Dick couldn’t really blame him. The Westside Rec Center had a calming energy…a vibe that just made things feel more settled…even with all the issues. Two Wayne Tantrums had been thrown in the building and somehow no one got hurt. After today, Dick was definitely suggesting that the Martha Wayne Foundation increase their charitable funding to the place. He hadn’t planned on going at the beginning of the day, but he was so glad to get the chance to spend time with his entire family (sans Alfred, but he deserved his afternoon off).

The three youngest Wayne’s chatted about their afternoon endeavors and Dick decided to check-in with Bruce.

“Conflict Resolution courses?”

Bruce grinned, “That’s what I was told.”

Dick got serious, “This can’t be a one-off thing, you know? If you only do this sometimes it’s really gonna mess them up.”

“I know,” Bruce sighed. “I’ve screwed up a lot with all of you and I need to get better. You all deserve that.”

Dick was silent.

“It’s going to take a while, I think, to get used to it. For all of us,” Bruce said finally.

Dick thought for a moment, “Maybe we need some kind of codeword. A reminder of sorts to get us all on the same page.”

Bruce grinned and glanced back over at Tim who was alone again, “How about ‘Ryan Reynolds’?”

“Like the actor?”

“Yeah, why not?” Bruce asked. “It’s surely a bizarre enough codephrase that I’m sure it will stop us all in our tracks.”

“Sure, why not?” Dick says. “‘Ryan Reynolds’ it is. I’m sure that we have many wonderful Conflict Resolution sessions ahead of us.”

After a few more comfortable minutes of joking and talking about their days, it was time for the Wayne Crew to head out. There was still dinner to be eaten and homework to complete and patrol to finish. Bruce, Cass, and Damian headed out first to pick up the pizza that Bruce had ordered since Alfred was still out. Jason begged Dick for a driving lesson back to the Manor in the Camry. He’d get a rude awakening once he realized how far away the car was parked.

“Just a second,” Jason said and he sprinted back over to the Welcome Desk.

“Jay, we need to get going,” Dick said, but followed after.

“Hey,” Jason said to the top of Tim’s head.

The teen was under the desk fussing with cords, but he stood up when he realized he had company again.

“Can I help you?” he asked politely.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck, “I just… I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. It probably sucked for you.”

Tim just shrugged.

“Seriously, the system actually looks like it might work,” Jason continued, a little nervous now. “I was being a jerk and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Thanks. I hope that it does work.”

The woman from earlier stepped out of the back room, “Hey, Chief, I’m gonna have to head back to the school again tonight. They’re painting the sets and if I’m not there they’ll make River City look like Oklahoma Territory.”

“Okay, I’ve got to catch up on Freshman Science so I’ll keep myself busy,” Tim replied lightly.

Something was…hmm. Something was familiar here. Dick decided to pursue his hunch.

“You must be Tim’s sister,” Dick said, holding out his hand.

It would make sense. They both had dark hair. They seemed comfortable with each other…familiar. She clearly was in charge of him in some way, but she wasn’t nearly old enough to be his mother. Still…something told him that ‘sister’ wasn’t right.

“Umm,” Tim looked up at the woman. “No, Helena is a foster parent. I mean, she’s my foster parent.”

‘Helena’ was eyeing Dick, but she smiled anyway and shook his hand, “The Chief here is very insistent that people know that about us. I let him take the lead there…whatever he’s comfortable with.”

“Well, it’s good to see the foster system in Gotham is finally doing its job,” Jason muttered. “It’s been a mess for forever.”

Helena’s eyes grew stormy, “Yes, well, we are working hard to address the real issues in this city.”

It was amazing how easy it is to get newbie vigilantes to give themselves away.

Yup, Dick thought. That makes sense. If Huntress is a foster parent she would have firsthand knowledge of corruption in Gotham. She must have been heading home last night when she caught me…escorting Tim home… Which explains how defensive she was… Probably thought I was stalking her kid or something.

“Jason volunteers at the Food Bank,” Tim said quietly. “That’s a real issue that he’s addressing.”

Helena smiled, “Yes, all help is appreciated. Thank you. It’s good to see you’re making friends, Chief.”

“Uhh, that’s no-”

Dick cut him off, “Yeah, Tim’s a great kid. You’re lucky to have him.”

And Dick really means it he realizes as Tim ducks his head, clearly smiling. Dick finds himself mirroring the expression.

They say their ‘goodbyes’ and trudge three blocks back to the car, Jason swearing the entire way. As Dick climbs into the passenger seat he begins to feel unsettled once more. He swipes again at his ears while his younger brother pulls into traffic. Jason monologues about his day in good spirits. The teen is the happiest Dick’s seen him in weeks, but…

Something was still bothering Dick. He had miraculously gotten his answers about Huntress in less than a day… Why did he feel like he missed something?

Chapter Text

Holy mother of Canadian flapjacks, Tim thought as the sound of a dumpster slamming shut startled him from his daydreaming (evening dreaming?).

He really needed to get better at focusing. Imagining a baseball game for the fate of the universe wasn't going to help him pass Geometry… Seems more like a Physics thing. Or maybe Stats? That's what that 'Money Sport' movie was about, right? Whatever, he'd always preferred tennis anyways.

Tim just couldn't shake the nerves he'd been having all week. He'd like to blame Gotham's Nocturnal Set, but it was more that they…heightened what had already been happening all month. The Bats always made him a bit twitchy, but it was normally from a distance. Now, Tim was having like…full conversations with some of them. There was no way that would end well for him. He was essentially a creepy stalker puppeteer from afar who'd manipulated events like a child playing house with their dolls…with an espionage subplot. So, exactly like most kid's childhood playtime. There was no way that secret stayed under wraps with continued contact. Unfortunately, "Before Tim" had left no notes on how to keep his distance from the family… Which was insane! "Now Tim" needed to know how the other had managed to keep the Bats off his tail. It was seriously stressing him out.

So…maybe it was fair that Tim had let his mind wander…to daydream (about high stakes sporting events apparently)… It was about the only time the mind itching subsided as of late.

Tim stood up and stretched. A glance around the empty apartment provided no answers to the final Geometry proof he'd been working on. It was starting to get late and his stomach had already forgotten its supper. Perhaps a snack would help him focus.

Helena had taken Tim out to eat–Thai food –and then made sure he got back to the apartment. He was reasonably sure that she wasn't really going back to the school (Everett High didn't even have activities on Wednesday nights), but he was trying not to think about it. It's just… Helena usually didn't "go out" on Wednesdays.

"Maybe her hypothetical spy boyfriend is in town," Tim joked to himself as he scanned the cupboard for some low-sodium crackers. "Or maybe her fight club also has a spinoff book club and they finally got through Eye of the World… Robert Jordan was never accused of brevity."

After a few minutes of searching, Tim had not found any snacks that looked particularly appetizing. The cupboards were fully stocked, but… It just felt like a whole lot of nothing.

Out of nowhere, Tim’s phone buzzed to life on the coffee table. Five short buzzes that indicated a text message. This was...abnormal. It wasn’t like Tim was devoid of a social life. All things considered, Tim made friends easily. He had to at boarding school where most of his time was spent in the mundane formality of a business transaction (“Here, take this obscene amount of money and watch my child 24-7, please. Maybe teach them something if you've got time.” “Of course, very rich person…we’ll be sure to be as distant and stern as possible so your child will never fully comprehend the idea of unconditional care and concern.”). Still, most of Tim’s friendships were…casual? Chat at school, joke around at lunch, hang at the skatepark on the weekend… His presence on social media was nearly nonexistent–he preferred the underrated nature of anonymity. So… He wasn’t in the habit of handing out his phone number to just anyone.

Tim glanced at the clock. 10:27. Ives worked every Wednesday after grabbing comics with Tim. By the time he got home from his uncle’s bodega in Little Odessa he was exhausted. It could be Helena explaining why she was late, but she tended to prefer phone calls to texts. Perhaps it was someone from the Hiking Club confirming that he would be coming along on Saturday to take pictures for the Yearbook…

The phone buzzed again and Tim realized that he could easily solve the mystery by just crossing the room and…ya know, picking up his phone. He was still a teen though so he let out a dramatic sigh as he dropped himself back onto the couch. Before he could grab the device, the phone buzzed rhythmically once more.

“Mildew mattress, hold your horses,” he grumbled as he picked it up.

Jinny John’s-Yo Tim long time, no chat (22:27)
Jinny John’s-Srry to bthr u (22:29)
Jinny John’s-Cn u meet me? Destin’s? In 20 (22:30)

It had, in fact, been ‘long time, no chat’. Jin lived next door to Tim’s old foster home. The tree outside Jin’s window had been perfect for midnight escapes into the city. One evening (well, morning), Tim fell while climbing back inside and the resulting *thump* had woken Jin… Who proceeded to laugh hysterically (once he’d confirmed that Tim hadn’t died) and invited Tim over for breakfast. The Lim family had been warm and welcoming and so kind. Heck, it was Jin who had convinced Tim that he should take his evidence to someone. It had sucked when Jin went radio silent after Tim was placed with Helena.

Ruby Timsday’s-Uhh, yeah. (22:34)
Ruby Timsday’s-Is smthng wrng? (22:35)

Jinny Jon’s-Expln there (22:36)

Tim sighed and prepared to head out. His bag was still packed from the night before so he only stopped to put on a dark blue sweatshirt. After all, historically accurate ninjas usually wore blue. In less than five minutes, Tim was slipping out of his window and heading towards the cafe.

Night was Tim’s favorite time in Gotham…probably proof that he was crazy. As long as there were no rogues creating mayhem, it was fairly quiet. Most people were afraid to be out once the streetlights came on, worried that mob hitmen and Two-Face lackeys were around every corner. So, hilariously, the city was oddly empty (except for the mob hitmen and Two-Face lackeys…they were out all the time, but they tended to ignore kids like Tim). Thus, he arrived at Destin’s in record time.

Destin’s was relatively empty. A barista was doing spot cleaning behind the counter, a bleary-eyed college student was hunched over a laptop at a round table, an older couple sat near the window, and Jin was tucked away in a corner booth. Tim bought a cinnamon scone and some water before sitting across from his friend.

“Hey, Tim,” Jin was smiling, but looked tired.

“What’s up?” Tim decided to cut to the chase. He wanted to be asleep by midnight if at all possible.

Jin took a deep breath and rolled his empty glass between his hands, “I think…I think something weird is going on.”

“Yeah, it’s eleven o’clock and we’re both at an upscale cafe instead of playing video games,” Tim deadpanned.

Jin managed a strangled sort of grin, “I mean on my block.”

“Well, you do live in Gotham… It’d probably be weirder if you guys were just having barbecues and spreading gossip on Nextdoor.”

“Tess is gone!”

Jin had apparently found the end of his patience because he nearly shouted it. It was loud enough that the old couple shot them a dirty look. Tim tried to reign in the tense atmosphere before they got the attention of the entire establishment.

“What do you mean?”

“Tess just…she’s just gone,” Jin repeated. “Her parents are having an absolute conniption.”

“Well, yeah, any parent would if their kid left,” Tim replied reasonably.

Tess and the Estler family were fairly average (for Gotham anyway). A blended one. Tess’ stepmom escaped an abusive marriage with her four-year old son. Tess’ father got sole-custody of his daughter when her bio mom ran off. Tess and her stepbrother were half a year apart in age and got along like normal siblings (read: they were just as likely to kill for each other as they were to end the other themselves). The Estler parents popped out a set of twins a few years after they got together. They had a tough past, but they managed to create a good life for themselves. When he still lived in the neighborhood, Tim would see them working in the yard or jumping on the trampoline. Mrs. Estler had once brought out a First-Aid kit and helped Tim patch up his elbow when he somehow managed to completely faceplant while doing a run-of-the-mill Vanilla Milkshake on his old skateboard.

“Her parents…they think it was Trina,” Jin said slowly.

“Her mom? I thought she was in Arizona being a ‘struggling artist’ and finding her ‘center’ or whatever.”

“That’s the thing. She is.” Jin explained. “All of her social media has been geotagged outside of someplace called Wickenburg. She’s been there for the past three months.”

“...Okay, well she could have set things to post while she was traveling to Gotham,” Tim said. “It would give her an alibi as long as no one looked too deeply into it… Which they would because it’s an abduction case.”

Jin was shaking his head, “I just… The past few weeks Tess has been on edge. She said she felt like she was being followed.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “She probably would if her mom was stalking her.”

“No, I was with her one afternoon at Robinson Park,” Jin said, getting more frantic as he pulled out his phone. “We were filming stuff for the ‘Gotham Shorts Festival’. I went back through the footage and there were these guys in a ton of my shots. Heck, there’s a few selfies of us eating churros that have them in the background.”

Jin handed the device to Tim, displaying the cinnamon-flavored evidence. Sure enough, what looked to be three separate men (and maybe one woman) made repeat appearances in the background.

“Okay, so you think she got kidnapped?” Tim asked. “By randos in the park? Most kidnappings are carried out by family members. So, maybe Tess’ mom paid these guys to take her.”

Jin was silent.

“What?”

“I think…” Jin stopped and took a deep breath. “I think she might have been trafficked.”

Tim didn’t say anything for a while. Jin sat nervously fidgeting with his phone. The college student had got up and left. It was quiet.

“Jin, trafficking… It’s not like in the movies, ya know?” Tim started. “A lot, if not most, trafficking is labor-based and still perpetrated by family members or people that know the victim personally. While the white vans and targeting can happen that's the exception, not the rule. Even people who are taken away in a van tend to be well-acquainted with the people who take them.”

“I know, I know,” Jin muttered. “I looked up all that stuff after…well, you know. It’s just…it’s not just Tess.”

“What do you mean?”

“At least four other people from my grade have just up and vanished over the last four months,” Jin mumbled. “A girl on the soccer team, a guy who spends most of his time vaping in the bathroom, the student council treasurer, and a transfer student from Everett. There’s no pattern or anything. They’re at school one day and the next they’re gone.”

“People move, Jin. People transfer in as often as they transfer out,” Tim sighed. “Some kids run away.”

“It’s different, Tim. There’s missing posters and everything.”

“Why are you telling me this, Jin? What can I do that the police can’t?”

“I…I don’t know, but…” Jin paused. “You gathered all that evidence on those jerks who fostered you. My mom and dad…they didn’t even expect any of that stuff was going on. The police and social services had no idea either.”

“Yeah, well, I was living through it. First-hand experience is a hell of a motivator,” Tim grumbled. “And they were labor traffickers. Used homeschooling as a front for the younger kids and sent the older kids to sell phony weight-loss supplements. The kids never even left the zip code.”

Jin looked thoroughly chastised, “Yeah, but… Your evidence also indicated six other families doing similar things. Even before all that you were solving stuff. Like when you figured out who sent those creepy anonymous messages to Kat… Or when you helped that Stephanie girl crack the password on her dad’s laptop. You even managed to clear Simon’s name when he was accused of cheating on those stupid state tests they give us. You’re like…good at this, ya know? I just…The police are looking in all the wrong places and half of them are dirty anyway. All the parents in the neighborhood are freaking out. Every family on the block now has a curfew. I'm only out now because my dad's at the grocery store across the street. I can't do anything. I thought…if anyone would be able to help, it would be you. I didn’t want to ask you, I promise, you’ve been through enough crap for two lifetimes, but…I didn’t know who else to ask.”

Tim slumped back in the booth. The cafe was so quiet and it was making it hard to think. He looked over at Jin. It was clear that the guy was panicking, he and Tess were like family to each other. Jin was smart. He would’ve run through the possibilities two hundred times before settling on something like trafficking.

“Okay,” Tim said finally. “Okay. There’s clearly something going on here. I’ll…I’ll look into it.”

Jin lit up, “Thank you. THANK YOU!”

“But,” Tim cut him off, “if the authorities start dogging us or things start to get even shadier, I’m out. I don’t want Helena to get in trouble because of me.”

“Yeah, dude, of course,” Jin’s phone buzzed. “Sorry, I gotta go. My dad’s here. I’ll email you the stuff I’ve got so far.”

“Okay, let’s meet up on Friday after school…at Gio’s,” Tim said. “That way we can lay out what you have and I can ask more specific questions.”

“Definitely. Of course,” Jin started to slide out of the booth. “Thanks again, Tim, see you on Friday.”

The bell over the door chimed to announce Jin’s exit.

Tim slumped even further in the cafe booth. His brain was warring with itself. He wanted to help Jin and Tess and all those other kids, but… He wasn't qualified. What did he know about an actual police-level investigation? All of the evidence he’d gathered on the foster family had been easy to get, it was just a matter of handing it over to the right person. The GCPD was notorious for its corruption and DCF was overwhelmed with cases. Tim still felt guilt over the time his foster siblings had spent suffering because he hesitated. So…he couldn’t ignore Jin’s plea for help. He was just sure that his old friend had the wrong person. He liked solving puzzles, but he wasn't some detective or genius. Tim’s greatest feats in life were the result of “Before Tim’s” instructions… He didn’t know if he could crack a case like this without his assistance. Tim sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

The bell over the cafe door chimed again and the flustered teen barely had enough time to think about how late it was before someone dropped into the seat across from him.

Holy Mother of Canadian Flapjacks, he thought. What is Robin doing here?

Chapter Text

Holy boring patrol, Batman! Robin thought as he swung his way through the Diamond District.

Batman had insisted that the team work in pairs Wednesday evening. News through the back channels (*cough Oracle cough*) was that Two Face knew about the bust planned for the next night. His lackeys were under orders to do as much damage as possible to any Bat they came across. So, it was a reasonable precaution for the team to be paired off so they could watch each other's backs…

Robin hadn't been feeling very *reasonable* lately… more…sabotage-y. So, of course, he requested to work with Nightwing and then promptly ditched that loser.

A sigh, "Just keep your comm line open, okay?"

And Robin deliberately didn't answer (but kept comms on…he was being intransigent, not stupid).

The night was quiet (barring the Two-Face lackeys… he'd taken out four so far) and Robin was becoming bored. This particular…discomfort had become more frequent as of late and it made no sense. He'd been doing well in school, eating healthy, getting sleep, won an essay contest…he'd even been making great strides in training as he hit back-to-back growth spurts.

Yet he still felt unsettled… like he was being asked to define a word he'd never heard before while the entire world watched…and judged. It felt bigger than teen angst, but he couldn't pinpoint the cause.

"It's getting worse," Batgirl had said matter-of-factly the night before.

"I agree," Robin had grumbled in return. "So, tell me what's causing it!"

"I…don't know," she'd admitted. "There's just…pain…and yet no wound."

"Brilliant, thanks for absolutely nothing."

Robin felt bad about snapping, but… it felt out of his control.

A short buzz from his comm informed Robin of an incoming text message. He groaned.

"Bet Nightwing ratted me out," he seethed even as he landed on a rooftop to read the communication.

Agent A-Possible civilian safety concern. Any mask available to diffuse?

It was Agent A's night off so whatever the concern was, it must be serious.

The other members of the team all reported business they needed to tend to.

Batman-BG and I tracking chemical transport. Can't redirect

Nightwing-Following low-level lead, can redirect if necessary

Perhaps a little unsupervised hero work was exactly what the youngest vigilante needed.

Robin-Available. Location?

Agent A transmitted an address and Robin returned to the skies. It was oddly freeing to have a directive. When the entire future was wide open it could be daunting… all the choices could be suffocating… the lack of clear direction or boundaries was isolating. Robin hated that he found comfort in the smallest of tasks.

In less than ten minutes, Robin was perched on a street lamp outside a hoity-toity cafe. He was confused though, as the biggest threat there was probably the high prices and low wages. Nothing was on fire, there was no screaming… Heck, even the lackeys seemed absent on this boring street.

Robin-At location. No sign of distress or trouble. Please advise.

Agent A-Patching in audio. Listen

Robin frowned… were the tea-drinkers of Gotham planning a coup…a Gotham Tea Party, if you will? The vigilante would be more likely to join than hinder that movement. Robin settled in like a good Bat and listened.

Disappointingly, they were not planning the downfall of the bourgeoisie. No, the two voices on the recording were teens. In hushed and harried tones, they were discussing the disappearances of several kids. One voice theorized trafficking and Robin immediately rolled his eyes… No one in Gotham actually knew what trafficking looked like…always referencing bogus signals and harrowing escapes and online auctions for unrelated furniture. He really didn't feel like listening to teeny-bopper true crime fanatics fumble the facts.

Just as he was about to tune out though, the other voice laid down actual truths about the trade and alternative ideas. Robin rubbed the back of his neck in a bit of a daze. Maybe not everyone in this city was a fear-mongering idiot. Small miracles… Even when Voice 1 appealed to the other's ego to secure aid in his investigations, Voice 2 sounded more weary and resigned than flattered. Like he was too old for this…case, but couldn't ignore a call for help.

Robin could relate.

The jingle of a bell informed Robin that one of the voices had left the cafe. The owner of the voice jogged across the street to meet up with a man and they both wandered towards the paid parking lot at the end of the street.

Agent A-Return to cave. Cross-reference new info with old reports.

Normally, Robin would not deliberately disobey Agent A. Such a violation of trust would most likely result in a week’s worth of his least favorite breakfasts. But… Voice 2 was still in the cafe. If they were going to do this, they should really get all the information in one go.

Robin hopped down from his perch, adjusted his domino, and strode right through the jingly cafe door. He purposely avoided Agent A’s gaze where he was chatting amicably with his lady friend at a table in front of the window. The cafe only had two other occupants and Robin wasn’t craving a snack this late so he plopped down in front of sweatshirted teen in a corner booth. The teen in question startled for a half second and looked up.

Then, it was Robin’s turn to startle.

He’d seen this kid before. He’d seen this kid multiple befores. He’d seen this kid less than five hours ago. The revelation was almost enough to throw Robin off his game, but he was a professional so instead…

“A bit late for scones isn’t it, Junior?”

The kid across from him was silent for a moment before abruptly standing and walking out of the cafe with no preamble.

Uhh…rude.

Robin spared a glance at Agent A whose rendez-vous was just distracted enough that he was able to send back an eye-roll. This evening was very much not going according to plan. It was time to improvise…again.

Robin scrambled out of the booth and hit the door running. At first, it seemed like overkill…an overreaction caused by the sheer improbability of the actions of the “Cafe Detective”. But Robin knew that if he gave the kid enough lead time he’d disappear into the shadows–never to be seen again. Still, the quickened pace was undignified…it was insulting. What kid in Gotham (teen or not) would turn down the chance to chill with the Robin. He was practically magic! And this kid had the audacity to just walk away without a word?

“Hey, kid, where’s the fire?” Robin called as soon as he hit the sidewalk.

Predictably, the kid was not immediately visible, but Robin had been blending in with shadows himself for years. He knew these streets like the back of his hand. “Cafe Disappearing Act” was not getting away that easily. The young vigilante scanned the street methodically.

Bingo! Half a block, across the road…a flicker of movement. Robin followed from above for a few blocks, but he’d never been a fan of stealth work and recon. He could do them, obviously, but Robin was more of a either a “make an elaborate plan and carry it out with vicious efficiency” or “drop in with no plan and set the place on fire” kind of guy. No real in between.

So…Robin dropped out of the sky right as the kid was about to cross to Lincoln Avenue.

“You’re slippery, Junior, I’ll give you that,” Robin huffed.

“Cafe Escape Artist” had the gall to look unimpressed, “Don’t call me ‘Junior’.”

Robin blinked behind white-out lenses, “Huh?”

“I’m not a ‘Junior’ so I’d appreciate not being called that, thanks.”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck, a bit ashamed, “Sorry, but I don’t know your name so…”

‘Not Junior’ crossed his arms, “You don’t need to know my name.”

How had this gone so poorly so quickly?

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Robin admitted, feeling a resurgence of the guilt he’d earned earlier that afternoon. “I probably wouldn’t want to talk to random traffic-light clad randos on the street either.”

“I assume you didn’t pick the color scheme?”

“Alas, no, twas my forebear,” Robin whined dramatically. “This would not be my aesthetic otherwise. I had to petition for pants! While Wing got no pushback for the deep V he was rocking a year ago.”

The kid quirked a small smile, “Yeah, no…I’m in that boat with you. I can’t defend that particular fashion decision… He should be embarrassed and ashamed.”

“Not a fan?”

“Of the outfits, no… The hero, yeah, I am,” the kid admitted as the two started to walk down the sidewalk.

“Say it ain’t so!”

“Don’t worry,” the kid said, patting Robin on the shoulder. “You aren’t half bad either.”

Against his will, Robin grinned…just a bit.

“Wow, high praise.”

“Yeah, you should feel honored, honestly.”

“So, why’d you bolt?” Robin asked, realizing he’d let the easy conversation distract from his mission.

The kid paused and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, thinking, “It’s been a long day…a weird day. I just needed to…”

“Get out?”

The kid leaned heavily against a USPS mailbox, “Maybe? I feel like the universe is testing me, I guess.”

“How so?”

The kid looked up at him…and promptly changed the subject, “Eh, what are you even doing here? Is there a Vigilante Escort Service that I’m unaware of?”

Why was Robin still here? The kid was unlikely to just spill that he was planning an elaborate investigation into local disappearances. Robin had enough information to head back to the cave and do some digging into the incidents. If he acted right then this kid would be in less danger…his fact-finding mission would be rendered obsolete because Robin would be on the case. He should be going… He should joke. He should lie. He should not interact unnecessarily with a civilian…

“There have been some disappearances lately,” Robin says instead. “I’d rather not add you to that list if at all possible.”

The kid blinked, surprised for the first time, “Uhh, yeah, I’ve heard about those…”

“Yeah…It’s been…bad,” Robin admitted.

It was…bad, that is. At least in Robin’s opinion it was bad. The rest of his team were sympathetic, but reminded him more than once that the statistics weren’t actually abnormal. It was one of a million little disagreements between them all lately. Everyone was on edge… Like a harmless prank gone wrong… Like the entire universe was shifted two inches to the left and no one was feeling the effects but them. Like they were all constantly walking into a room and immediately forgetting why they went there in the first place. Was the universe even capable of gaslamping people in that way?

“So… What have you guys found, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Robin scrutinized the literal civilian in front of him, but found himself saying, “Not much. A few are probably runaways… One of them looks like a textbook familial kidnapping. We try to leave those cases to the actual authorities.”

The kid started to wander down the street again and paused in front of a Chinese restaurant, “One of them… They’re a friend of mine.”

Robin followed, “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

The kid nodded and stalked into the alley, “Yeah, I mean…I haven’t talked to her in awhile. It was probably her mom, but…”

“Something feels off.”

“Yeah,” the kid said as he began climbing up the fire escape.

Robin ascends afterward and then perches on the railing, “Yeah, people look for patterns or explanations when they’re too close to a case… Sometimes they notice things that others don’t, but most of the time–”

“They’re seeing connections that don’t exist, I know,” the kid sat heavily on the steel steps. “I know, but there’s something there. It’s not just a feeling.”

Robin wanted to scoff. Did this kid think he was a mini-detective? He’d just been saying to his friend that jumping to conclusions was irrational. Yet…hadn’t Robin been thinking the same thing for weeks? Something about this rash of disappearances was different. Some of the kids who vanished fit the profile for runaways, while others didn’t. Some of the kids were most likely kidnapped by family, but others had no family to be kidnapped by.

Thinking about all of this was creating a stabbing pain behind Robin’s eyes.

“Stay out of it, kid,” he said finally as he turned to leave. “You’ll only get in the way and put more people at risk.”

The kid looked up at Robin, steel behind blue eyes, “No.”

“Excuse me?”

The kid stood up and stretched, “No.”

Robin was flabbergasted, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’ve got no righ-”

“I’ve got as much right as you do, Robin,” the kid stated calmly. “You said yourself that you guys aren’t looking into it and we both know the police have no incentive to actually investigate.”

“So, what, you’re going to solve a dozen disappearance cases?”

Again, the kid was remarkably calm, “Maybe. Maybe not, but–”

“But what?” Robin was yelling now, pacing on the fire escape landing. “Can you honestly tell me that you won’t make it worse? You’re just a kid…one who apparently goes out at night without any real protection. You have no training. You have no backup. You have no CLUE! You think that you're fixing things when you might just make it worse! You think it's your job to save people? The entire world is an absolute mess and you’re just going to mess it up even more! Why would you even waste your time with this in the first place? You said it yourself you haven’t even heard from this person in who knows how long? Why do this at all?”

The kid looked up again and Robin was sure, for half a second, that he could see right through the domino, “She has people waiting for her to come home…”

Robin lets go of the kid’s shoulders… He hadn’t even realized that he’d grabbed them. The kid seemed nonplussed about the whole thing… A TRAINED VIGILANTE had grabbed him and shouted at him and the kid had no reaction. Like he knew Robin wouldn’t hurt him.

“That’s real noble and all, bu-”

“Shh!”

“Are you ser-”

“Shh!” again and a finger pointing towards the roof.

Robin narrowed his eyes at the little snot, but listened. A pair of voices were volleying back and forth.

“...no better than hi–”

“Who’s that?”

“SHHHH!!!!” the boy crept quietly up the stairs towards the top of the building. Robin followed.

“--I want to help, but–”

“Sure, you Bats want to help! All week you’ve been casing out Harvey Dent and you’ve missed that the Dunphy’s have been making moves in Carlisle territory. You’ve missed that seven working girls have been found beaten within an inch of their lives. You’ve missed another TWO KIDS going missing!”

The kid and Robin poked their heads over the edge of the roof. Two figures stood out against the the dark skyline: Nightwing and a purple-caped woman. The body next to Robin’s went eerily still.

“I understand. Things are getting worse, but if you coul–” Nightwing started…obviously not for the first time.

Purple was not having it, “Oh no! I know how you Bats operate. I’m not going to knee-cap all my hard work by following your idiotic rules. I don’t need to be part of your little club to help this city.”

“Huntress, if we aren’t working together we’re really just working against each other,” Nightwing all but shouted. “What if we end up completely botching each other’s investigations because we have no idea what the other is doing?”

‘Huntress’ scoffs, “Unlikely, since you spend ninety-five percent of your time on costumed idiots!”

“Believe it or not those ‘costumed idiots’ are a legitimate threat to this city!”

“Only because you keep letting them be! You have the power to put them down for good and you don’t!”

“We can’t ju-”

“STOP!”

Robin hadn’t even noticed the kid scrambling the rest of the way up to the roof. He skids to a stop once he has the vigilantes’ attention. Robin slips up after him.

“Ti-”

“You two will wake the whole block,” the kid said to both of the previously screaming adults…but he was only looking at Huntress.

“Oh, kiddo, we’re sor–” Nightwing started.

The kid paid him no mind, “Just… Be quiet.”

Huntress lurched forward looking…ill.

“Hey, lady, back off!” Robin was between them before he even noticed moving.

The kid glanced at Robin then shifted his gaze back to Huntress for a moment more. He seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion as he took a breath and then marched back over to the fire escape. A few moments later, Robin heard a window slide shut.

The youngest masked individual on the roof looked between the older two. Nightwing looked completely dazed as he scratched at the side of his head. Huntress had regained a bit of her composure though.

“Let me make this clear,” she snarled quietly. “This is my turf. You Bats have no place here! Get out and stay out!”

She took off before the other two could respond. It was quiet for a long moment then–

“Holy batballs, Wing! What was that about?”

Chapter Text

A positive mindset breeds positive results.

It was a phrase that Dick had repeated over and over and over throughout his life. The words were practically written onto his bones, etched onto his mitochondria, incsribed on his very DNA. It was a fundamental aspect of who he was… So, of course, years and years ago, Bruce had once chastised Dick for the mantra, pontificating on how "wishing for things" was a waste of time and indicative of negligence. So, of course, Dick had spent the next half hour tearing the man's argument apart.

"It's my 'do or do not, there is no try'!" Dick had shouted. "It's me taking responsibility for my actions by not giving myself an out! Things won't always be good, but I go into EVERYTHING in my life with determination… with the belief that at least one thing can go right. Even…even with my parents…Zucco can't hurt anyone anymore. I did that. We won't save everyone, but I will NOT go into a situation thinking I can't save anyone…"

It wasn’t a half-bad speech all things considered.

Dick, in all his fourteen year old glory, had broken down sobbing… but before he could dissolve into a puddle on the floor strong arms wrapped around him.

"Okay, okay… You're right, of course you're right," Bruce said, gently rocking the teen back and forth. "Hoping and wishing aren't the same thing. Hope takes work and dedication and grit… I shouldn't…I'm so-... I should've known better. I'm sorry. You give me hope everyday. No matter what I do, everyday you're my positive result."

Dick had never admitted it, but that was the first time he realized that Bruce was his dad. John and Mary would always, always be his mom and dad. Their memories were a source of joy, but Dick knew their lives hadn't been perfect. Anytime things got bad though, they always made it right…they always found their way back to each other. They'd always make it up to each other. He'd always love them… just like he'd always love Bruce. They'd argue and disagree and laugh and share and change each other. Bruce and Alfred and Jason and Damian and Cass and Barbara and the Titans and Gotham and Blüdhaven… they were Dick's positive result.

Lately though, Dick was finding his mantra harder and harder to maintain.

After a rough start (and middle for Damian), the trip to the Rec Center was a boon to the collective Wayne Family spirits. The good vibes continued as Jason successfully navigated the Camry back to the Manor and as they shared an ill-advised amount of pizza. Dick still felt a bit unsettled, but things were good… And just like every respite over the last year, it was short-lived.

The thing was, nothing apocalyptic happened. No one was fighting (verbally or physically), no one was under the weather, no one was angry. Everyone was just…fine, but the air around them was thick with apprehension… It was like the irritable crash after a sugar high or the steadily worsening ache of pain meds wearing off or the rising discomfort that comes from finishing a cough drop. They'd all somehow managed to get their little fix of FDA-approved contentment and it was already wearing off.

So, yeah, Nightwing hadn't been surprised when Robin ditched him. The teen could hardly verbalize his feelings when things were good (Jason was always so much better with a pen and paper) so it was understandable he'd want space. Nightwing could give him space, had to give him space…because he needed space too.

All that space led him right to Huntress as she gathered intel on the Carlisle Family. Even though he wasn't at his best, Nightwing couldn't turn down the opportunity to earn a little trust. They managed to make contact with a potential defector to get information on what was making all the families so twitchy lately. Something about an operation running right on the edge of the city…right before the suburbs. A half-dozen people had just up and vanished with no warning. Unfortunately, that's as far as the two vigilantes got before steel got involved in the conversation.

See the Carlisle family wasn’t “Mafia”... After all, they didn’t hail from Sicily. No, they immigrated from Naples…which means they’re Camorra…which means knives. Lots and lots of knives.

“You know,” Nigthwing said conversationally as he dodged another downward slice, “the Carlisle name is actually Scottish.”

“Ergh!” was his fighting companion's response as she deftly kicked out the knee of a rather dour-looking bagman.

“It’s true,” Nightwing continued, elbowing another guy in the face and swiftly disarming him. “Apparently, the founding capo fell in love with the daughter of a Scottish immigrant. The father, of course, didn’t want his daughter to marry some kid with no future.”

“GrRRrr!”

“So, he tells the kid to start a successful business. If he’s cornered some local market in five years, he can marry the daughter… Which is kinda messed up, y’know? Like, what did she think about this?”

“Erf..Hngh!”

“Unfortunately, the father never specified that the market he cornered needed to be legal… So…well, you get it, ‘Prohibition’. Got their fingers into every illegal thing of the era and threw some racketeering in…for flavor,” Nightwing sighed. “Everything’s looking up for the kid and then a rival family starts their own racket on the Westside… They end up particularly fixated on a bakery called 'Carlisles'.”

“Puh..hrgh!”

“Yup, you guessed it. The daughter was caught in the crossfire,” Nightwing is thoughtful for a moment as he ties up his last guy. “Her father wouldn’t pay up… She jumped in front of the gun.”

Huntress was huffing a bit, but had effectively dismantled her half of the goons as well, “What are you on about?”

“The kid, well man now I guess, finds out and rains down hellfire upon the family that did it,” Nightwing explained.

“What family?” Huntress actually looks a little bit interested now that the threat had been neutralized.

Nightwing shakes his head, “No one knows… The family was completely wiped off the map. It was brutal. Then, the capo rebranded. Took on the name ‘Carlisle’ in memory of his lost love…and to make it clear what would happen if other families crossed them. They wiped two family names from the history books of Gotham: their enemy’s and their own. No one speaks of either because they were so…thorough. And they made it clear that they’d do it again.”

"Because this city let's them," Huntress muttered, eyes narrowed at one of the unconscious bodies scattered around them.

Nightwing barely suppressed a sigh, "I know you know it's not that simple. While we were dealing with a threat on one side of the city, they'd just burn the other side down… They don't care if the city is in ruins as long as it's theirs."

Huntress clenched her fists, she was shaking, "It wasn't always this way. There were rules… Certain things were off limits. They'd shoot the husband and give the wife flowers… They'd put daddy in his grave and money in the bank for his kids."

Nightwing stared. He'd sent a message to Cyborg asking him to look up "Bertinelli" after dinner. Based on the dossier he'd gotten back, it seemed that "Huntress" was speaking from terrible, traumatic experience.

"Things have…changed," Nightwing said slowly. "I'm dedicated to mitigating the damage."

"Sure, spandex."

"Pot, kettle," Nightwing muttered. "We can work together on this."

"No…I don't think we can," and she took off.

Nightwing wasn't letting it go that easily. He verified that police were on their way to clean up and then followed after her.

Huntress cared, but she was brutal. Other than an unofficial alliance with Oracle, she had no backup. If reports were to be believed, she hit fast and hard…and she was sloppy. Proven by how easy it was for Nightwing to track her back to the same apartment from the night before.

The conversation there devolved immediately as both their tempers flared. Huntress wanted swift, decisive, and definitive action. She wouldn't hesitate to put people in the ground. Nightwing understood, to an extent, but he'd been in this game long enough to know that nothing was that simple. Growing up in violence did not necessitate the perpetuation of it.

Honestly, they'd probably have gone another ten rounds had they not been interrupted. By Tim Drake…and Robin? Everything sort of…deflated after Tim had called for quiet. He was clearly unnerved and Nightwing felt himself following after the boy before Huntress caught his attention one final time.

Nightwing couldn't handle being on the roof anymore. Not when Robin was there confused, not when it put innocent civilians like Tim at risk. So, he grappled away and had to hope Robin would understand enough to just follow.

The trip back to their bikes and then to the cave is largely silent. They stop a mugging along the way, but it’s been a quiet week in Gotham. All low-level crooks tended to be lethargic when the big players were planning something. Outside of fellow rogues, no one was willing to take that risk.

“So?” Robin said once they were back in the cave, still masked.

Nightwing sighed and peeled off his domino, “Apparently, my winsome charms do not appeal to the Westside set.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Robin said, removing his mask as well. “She’s not wrong, but she seems really intense.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Dick said as he collapsed into a chair in front of the Batcomputer. “B says that you had to completely rewrite one of your essays last month because you went full ‘burn the system to the ground and dispose of the ashes’.”

Jason grinned viciously, “Gotham Academy can’t handle the truth. That isn’t on me.”

“I’m surprised you backed down at all,” Dick replied. “Are you finally too comfortable with your privilege to truly be a rebel?”

Jason’s face twitched at the playful accusation and Dick worried that he might have set off another fight… Which was what he was trying to avoid by spending time with him in the first place.

“No one is going to just let me burn the system to the ground from the outside, Goldie. The people in charge have all the rules on their side. I’ll have to play dirty to get in there. Once I’m inside, I take everyone else down and I’m the one in charge. Then, I’ll change things, in whatever way I have to.”

The temperature in the cave dropped several degrees by the time Jason finished his monologue. Dick knew that his younger brother had a tough time playing by the rules of a society that…was morally bankrupt. This, though, was darker than he was used to. It almost sounded like an entirely different person. Maybe the teen angst of late was worse than Dick thought.

“Jace… Just be careful,” Dick said quietly. “I’m all for ridding Gotham–heck the world–of corruption, but you have to consider the collateral damage.”

“Like what?” Jason huffs. “Big boss goes down–for good–and we can deal with the employment fallout.”

Dick shakes his head, “A lot of the issues that allow corruption to exist in society are written into law. Up until recently, kids trafficked by their family members–labor stuff mostly–weren’t considered criminals. Even now, it’s hard to make certain cases or get kids out of bad situations because of how the laws are written.”

“So, we change the laws,” Jason said. “Babs wants to run for Congress anyway.”

“Laws aren’t that simple. Babs has told me about a Congresswoman she interned for one summer. They wanted to increase funding and access to CTE programs–”

“CTE?”

“Career and Technical Education… Like computer classes or cooking courses…or–”

“That construction class I took last year?”

“Yeah, those. It’s really broad and they’re really important classes and they need a lot of funding because they often require specialized equipment like mixers and heavy machinery and other tools. Perkins V provides a lot of funding, but every year they need more and more as kids move away from bachelor’s programs because of high costs to technical and trade schools. They deserve the chance to get some experience in high school and middle school,” Dick explains. “But Congress can’t just take money from the Defense budget or Social Security or whatever and give it to the Education budget… They have to find the money in their own budget.”

“So what?” Jason grumbles. “What does that have to do with anything that’s happened tonight? I thought we were talking about the corruption and problems in Gotham! I thought we were talking about Huntress!”

Dick gives Jason a moment before saying, “We are. Huntress…she’s right that there are problems and we need to address them. That said, we can’t just go in and blow everything up. We can't just put the Mafia in the ground and expect everything to be resolved. It’s more complicated than that… If it was that simple, B would’ve done it years ago.”

“You’re honestly telling me that man doesn’t have a plan to end all crime in Gotham?” Jason finally slumped into a chair across from his brother.

Dick chuckled, “I’m sure he does, but it isn’t simple… It would probably make everything worse if it went wrong even a little bit.”

Jason squinted and rubbed the back of his neck, “Like 'huge gang war and the city burns' bad?”

Dick shrugs, “If not worse.”

Jason looked a bit dazed…like lost in some sort of daydream/nightmare hybrid.

“Look,” Dick finally says. “I’m all for taking out the mobs and human traffickers. They’re absolute scum of the earth. All I’m saying is that if we do this wrong–”

“More people will get hurt,” Jason finished for him. “We catch one trafficker and the others skip town. If the mob knows we’re coming they set up distractions. We take out one capo and another person will move in to fill the vacuum he left.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks… Either way we slice it, more people are gonna get hurt,” Jason looks distraught. “Like…that Tim kid.”

“Uhh…?”

“Alfred’s…alert. I answered it. He patched me into his comm’s audio. Tim and some other kid were talking about recent disappearances…they’re considering traffickers, but…” Jason explained.

“But what?”

“It sounded like maybe before he started living with that lady from the Rec Center that he was in a really bad foster home,” Jason continued slowly. “He didn’t go into detail with his friend and he didn’t tell me anything while we were walking back, but…”

Dick completely loses whatever Jason says next. He’s hit by a freight train of emotions completely beyond his control. Anger, pure rage, fury of the highest order…a haze of red swirls around him like a sandstorm. He’s always had a temper, but he can usually feel it rising and he can direct it somewhere. But there’s nothing here…Dick has no idea who Tim’s old foster parents even were and even if he did they were probably already in custody. Distantly, he knows he cannot lose it in front of Jason, but it all feels like too much… It's going to suffocate him and Jason would be there to witness him out of control, but then another different emotion breaks through…and another…and another. Concern and empathy and protectiveness and…responsibility. They didn’t cancel out the red, but they were as bright as a lighthouse. Through his fog Dick realized he couldn't be the latter set of emotions if he allowed the former set drown him.

“...And I’m just worried he’s gonna get in trouble and nobody will even know,” Jason was saying, completely missing Dick’s apoplectic shock. “I mean, he goes out at night and no one’s the wiser. He’s not stupid, but he’s just…”

Dick took a deep, steadying breath, “He’s just what?”

Jason looked into the middle distance for a minute, “He said, ‘she’s got people waiting for her to come home’... Like he forgot that he had the exact same thing.”

“Hmm,” a Wayne family favorite when one doesn’t know what to say. “...And I suppose the boy wonder has a plan?”

“No, not yet,” Jason admitted. The response felt…wrong.

The roar of an engine announced the return of the Batmobile. It screeches to a halt, as per usual, and the remaining two bats step out.

Again, nothing was identifiably wrong with either of them, but neither looked enthused by their patrol. Batman takes his seat at the Batcomputer and they all give brief, verbal reports of their activities. Jason is asked to complete a written report on the new info he got on the potential trafficking cases which is encouraging–he’d been increasingly worried over the past few months. Cass and Bruce reported on minor tweaks that they would have to make to Thursday night’s mission at the docks. Dick admitted his continued failures with Huntress, but left her confirmed identity out of it. Bruce knowing wouldn’t do anyone any good until she was more willing to work with the Bats.

They’re all dismissed to rest, but Dick remains in the cave to think about…or rather punch away…his apprehensions about the previous day. It’s nearly two-thirty before Bruce pokes his head in.

“‘Ryan Reynolds’ for your thoughts?” Bruce asks, attempting to ease the tension.

“Not really a conflict resolution thing, B,” Dick grunts between one punch and the next. “Just trying to think…or not think, I guess.”

“Hmm…”

Dick sighs and starts unwrapping his knuckles, “The kid Jason ran into tonight, he was out last night too. I made sure he got home.”

“...Okay.”

“He’s…umm…the kid from the Rec Center,” Dick admitted.

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah, he’s a foster kid,” Dick continues. “I think I–I think Jason is really struggling with all these disappearances and knowing this kid may be distantly connected to them...it's making things worse.”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “But there’s a reason we leave many of these cases up to the police. If there’s one team of Gordon’s I trust, it’s his Juvenile Division. After all…they got Damian and Jason back before the League of Assassins even got out of the city. If Gordon wants us involved in these cases, he’ll tell us.”

Dick shivered at the memory of his younger brothers’ kidnapping a year or so before. The boys had been snatched while on a school wide trip to the zoo. They had only come for Damian, but Jason had fought so hard to protect the younger boy that it was more expedient to just take both. Dick had been in New York and Bruce had been on JL duty. Alfred got in contact with both of them as quickly as possible. By the time Bruce connected with Gordon, the younger boys had been retrieved. It was a miracle…and a wakeup call to both the Waynes and GA.

“It’s just…I think we can work with Huntress on this,” Dick says, surprising himself. “It’s clear she cares about the people of the Westside. Nobody wants kids like Tim caught in the crossfire. For their sake, we should at least try to play nice with Huntress.”

Bruce looks thoughtful, “Tim Drake… This wouldn’t be the first time the kid has been caught up in something like this.”

Dick frowned, “What do you mean?”

Bruce wipes a hand across his forehead, “I recognized the name at the Rec Center earlier today… It rang a bell and I ran it through our system.”

“You ran a deep-dive search on a kid you just met? Not okay, B!”

Bruce sighed, “His parents, they ran Drake Industries although they weren’t even majority shareholders half the time. They were ‘new money’. I’d met them a few times…The company wasn’t doing so hot a few years back.”

Dick felt uneasy at the violation of privacy, but still asked, “What happened?”

“Earthquake in the Philippines,” Bruce answered simply. “Company was on shaky ground already so other executives chose to just dissolve everything to avoid worse consequences. Tim had no other living relatives so he went to foster care. His first placement was…not good.”

“How were they caught?”

Bruce shook his head, “All evidence…and there was a lot of it…was submitted anonymously. But based on what Jason said–”

“Tim did it himself,” Dick realized. “Smart kid.”

“At risk kid,” Bruce corrected. “The families taken down due to his evidence may not have been the heart of the operation. And if whoever is in charge figures out it was him…”

“Yeah, I know,” Dick admitted.

“All of the kids from that home should have been placed in witness protection of some sort,” Bruce growled.

Dick knew he should agree. They’d all be safer, Tim would be safer, but… The idea of that kid squirreled away to some other part of the country… It didn’t sit right with him. Something about a Tim Drake safely hidden in Colorado or Minnesota or wherever felt fundamentally wrong. Dick scratched at his head absently.

“Well, they weren’t,” Dick said finally. “For their sake, we should work with Huntress on this case. She knows the details better than we do. Her base of operations seems to be on the Westside. If we work with her, Gotham will be safer.”

And maybe it would mean that Helena Bertinelli wouldn’t feel the need to put on a mask and cape. Maybe Tim wouldn’t feel the need to wander Gotham late at night. Maybe their little family would be okay.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Bruce muttered. “It’ll be worth working with her if it’ll make the city safer for kids like Tim.”

Yeah, Dick thought as he was settling into sleep a half hour later. Tim and Helena safe…as a family…would be the positive result of this whole mess.

Why did his old mantra still not feel quite right?

Chapter Text

Patience. Patience isn’t waiting. It’s understanding that things won’t always go the way that you want or expect and that’s okay. You may need to take a breath before trying again or sit back and reevaluate or try something completely new. Patience isn’t passive, it’s mental…it’s perception.

Tim had concocted that spiel out of thin air during his seventh visit to Dr. Sinclair. They had been hovering around the topic of grief and what their feelings on healing were.

“Healing, I think, is different for everyone,” Dr. Sinclair had said while shuffling a deck of cards. “Even people from the same family react differently to pain.”

“Hmm…” Tim had replied, grabbing his own set of cards and fiddling with them. “I don’t really know how my parents grieved. My grandparents died when I was too little to understand much.”

Dr. Sinclair easily completed a bridge with her deck, “Parents choose to approach death differently. Some hide their pain so that they can be strong for their children.”

“I don’t know. My parents talked about their loss, but it was always very…distant… Like they were relaying the details of a failed science experiment,” Tim said as he fanned out his cards on the table between them.

“I see.” Dr. Sinclair began to flick her cards, one-by-one, towards a basket sitting on her desk. She sunk each one with ease. “It makes a certain sense. Grief and healing are active processes. You don’t just wake up one day and feel better.”

Tim was silent as he used the corner of one card to flip up one end of his spread out cards. With a flick of his wrist he created a wave to sail his card upon. The movement was soothing and it struck him that he didn’t know who had taught him the trick. The half-memory was accompanied by the scent of chamomile tea.

“I think,” Tim started, easily sliding his cards back together in a neat pile, “that grief is about patience.”

“Okay,” Dr. Sinclair said, flicking her final card across the room, “and what does ‘patience’ mean to you?”

Tim still had no idea where his personal definition came from, but it had been a fundamental part of him ever since. The idea of waiting for something (understanding, peace, healing, compassion…love) drove him crazy. For some reason, just accepting his that life would be different than what he planned…that calmed him.

Tim had spent all night thinking about patience. Which was strange since he probably should have been thinking about the vigilantes camped out on the roof. He should have been thinking about how he knew who the purple-clad figure was immediately. He should have felt surprised, but it didn’t faze him. Tim was distraught for sure, but it had more to do with the heated argument brewing between Helena (‘Huntress’, his mind supplied without his permission) and Nightwing than a feeling of betrayal. It made a sick kind of sense. "Before Tim" was a huge vigilante fanboy…figures "Now Tim" would end up living with one on accident.

“Mornin’,” Tim yawned into his fiber-rich cereal as Helena walked into the kitchen.

“...Mornin’, Chief,” Helena replied, ruffling his hair as she hustled towards the cupboards.

She was anxious, clearly unsure whether Tim had recognized her or not. It occured to Tim that he could just…not confirm he knew. Nothing had to change if he didn’t want it to. Helena would go out at night…probably more and more frequently as she got pulled into the orbit of the Bats. Tim could conduct his investigation into Tess’ disappearance without anyone’s interference (assuming Robin kept his mouth shut). He held control of this situation. Because…Helena would never tell him. She would think him knowing was a risk to his safety. Or that he was a risk to her secret identity. Tim glanced at his guardian once more. It was clear she was tired and nervous and tightly wound in the way that she packed her lunch.

Tim sighed, he didn't want to lie to Helena about this. He already had to keep so much from her. This wasn’t even his secret.

“Helena?” he starts.

“Hmm?”

“...I think…I think you should work with Nightwing.”

Might as well skip pleasantries and explanations. The crux of the issue was that he wanted Helena to be safe out there as Huntress. As much as he wanted to distance himself from the Bats, Tim knew Helena would have her best chance of succeeding…of surviving if she was working with them. It would be an uneasy alliance, but at least she wouldn’t be alone.

“You shouldn’t have had to hear that,” Helena groaned as she dropped heavily into the chair across from her charge. "I just… The Bats won't step up and be what this city needs. So I'm trying to."

Tim nodded and stirred the remnants of his breakfast, “You guys got a little heated, but… I’m glad I know what you’re up to. It’d be so much worse if you just didn’t come back one night.”

Helena seized up at that, then took a deep breath, “You don’t have to worr-”

“But I will,” Tim said simply, clearing away his bowl and glass. “I would just worry less if I knew you had someone backing you up. The Bats are…well, they’re the Bats. At the very least, work with Nightwing. He’ll…I don’t kno–I trust him to have your back, I guess. I'll feel better knowing you're not doing all this alone.”

Helena walked over to Tim and placed her hands on his shoulders, gently nudging him to make eye contact, “Chief, I can…I’ll quit this. If you want me to.”

“No…you won’t,” Tim sighed.

Helena didn’t deny it.

In Tim’s opinion, vigilantes couldn’t just quit. If the sheer number of items on “Before Tim’s” to-do list were anything to go by, the Waynes suffered tragedy after tragedy after tragedy over a very short span of time. If one could just quit being a vigilante, they likely would have…for each other. “Now Tim” had seen first hand the day before how much love they shared. If they couldn’t quit despite all the fondness and compassion and love they had for each other, there was no way that Helena would be able to just because Tim wanted her to. Besides…Gotham deserved the best. Tim couldn't hog her awesomeness. It would be selfish and he had never been allowed to be truly selfish.

Helena removed her hands from his shoulders and instead stood next to him so neither could see the other’s face without turning, “Gotham is a disaster.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“I want…I have to help clean things up,” Helena admitted. “My…I know some of the people who made it this way. In a way, I feel like I'm one of the reasons it got worse. I have a responsibility to this city, but I also have a responsibility to you…”

Tim bumped lightly into her side, “Then work with the Bats… I’ll feel better knowing you have backup and you can help fix things. Please.”

Helena wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed, “Okay, I’ll put up with the Bats for you as long as you promise me you’ll be here when I get back to listen to me whine about those sanctimonious losers.”

Tim grins, “I can do that.”

“Great,” Helena agreed as she moved to finish her morning routines.

“But…umm, one thing,” Tim said quickly.

“Chief?”

“Umm, can you…Try to keep the Bats away from here?” Tim asked. “They seem a bit…intense and I’d rather you didn’t get unmasked because you’re traced back to this location on a regular basis. I have a feeling they’d definitely have qualms with your civilian life.”

Helena nodded, “Fair deal. I’ll be better about keeping this location on the down-low.”

“Good, I’d rather never deal with the Bats personally if I can help it.”

Tim took a step towards his room before Helena caught him, “Like Robin?”

Right, Helena hadn’t been the only one caught in an awkward, shouty faceoff with one of Gotham’s vigilantes. Although, Tim thought the younger pair handled theirs better.

“I…uhh…He escorted me back from Destin’s last night,” Tim admitted, choosing partial honesty. “I met up with Jin and I guess it was a quiet night… Robin just made sure I got back. Basic vigilante stuff, I imagine.”

Helena nodded, “I think he saw me as a threat.”

“Well, you were in a shouting match with Nightwing.”

“Well, sure, but I meant a threat to you,” Helena clarified.

Tim frowned. Robin had positioned himself between Tim and Huntress. Which was…odd. Even with all the shouting, neither Huntress nor Nightwing had been physically aggressive. There was no reason for Robin to think that Huntress was a danger to a civilian like Tim… Heck, Robin had been yelling at Tim just prior to them discovering the rooftop debate. The cape must have misinterpreted something. Stepping between fellow capes and civies must be in the "Sidekick Handbook".

“You’re probably right that you should avoid them,” Helena continued. “And Chief?”

“Yeah?” Tim called as he went to grab his school bag and skateboard.

“Don’t galavant around Gotham at night anymore, please,” Helena requested as he re-entered the kitchen ready to head out. “I know you used to do that a lot…before, but CPP is cracking down and the city isn’t safe even during the day. I know we've both been keeping secrets. I need you to be safe too, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tim lied.

It was best to end this conversation on a good note. Given Helena’s tenacity, Tim imagined that there would be plenty of disagreements over ‘Huntress's’ methods. Given Tim’s determination, there was bound to be conflict over his detective-ing.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unlike the ‘The Longest Wednesday Known to Man’, Thursday was going well for Tim. He had successfully navigated the “Vigilante Talk” with Helena, had only gotten reprimanded twice in Freshman Science, and had completed a literary analysis on And Then There Was None for English. It was fantastic. It was bound to fall apart.

It was Thursday so Tim was actually scheduled to work at the Rec Center. Tim was a pinch hitter of sorts. He could work the front desk, he could perform minor repairs, he acted as assistant for several classes, he answered phones. On any given day, Tim might accomplish half a dozen different tasks. It was fantastic. The unpredictability was the only real constant… Still, by four-thirty, Tim was beginning to feel itchy. He rubbed at his arm with his knuckles…an old trick he’d used as a kid to relieve tension without tearing up his skin. No amount of fidgeting made him feel better…so, he shouldn’t have been all that surprised to run into the Waynes again. Well, one of them anyway.

“Excuse me?”

Tim startled a bit and looked up from the email he had been drafting, “Uhh, sorry?”

Damian Wayne's green eyes were just barely peeking over the desk, “I need assis– uh, assista-... Can you help me, please?

Tim pushed his chair back and walked around the desk so he could actually see the kid, “I can try.”

Damian squared his shoulders and said, “Could I see a schedule of the classes here?”

Tim blinked and finally registered that Damian seemed to be at the Rec Center alone, “Uhh, sure, I can get that for you. Wait here please.”

Unaccompanied children under the age of ten were a big no-no at the Rec Center. Students that were bussed after school were met at the door and checked in by an employee. At the end of the day, parents, guardians, or “approved adults” were required to pick them up. Any kid alone at the Center would be bad…a kid with the last name ‘Wayne’ would likely be catastrophic.

As Tim trotted over to the pamphlet stand, he scanned the lobby. A few scattered teens were lounging on the couches, faces illuminated by phone screens. Some parents were chatting as they waited for their kids to finish their activities. None of the scattered masses appeared to be Waynes.

“Forks Alive,” Tim cursed to himself, grabbing a fall class schedule and returning to Damian. “Here you go, Dam– Umm, kiddo?”

Damian frowned, “I’m not ‘kiddo’.”

“Right… That was rude of me,” Tim admitted, rubbing at his arm again as he handed Damian the pamphlet. “What would you like me to call you?”

Damian seemed to be evaluating Tim, looking him up and down, but accepted the brochure, “I am Damian Wayne. You can call me either of those names.”

Tim nodded, “Okay, that’s fair… Umm, Damian, where’s your adult?”

Damian flipped through the classes and ignored him.

Tim was beginning to enter ‘mild panic mode’ (so-named by his father when Tim would get nervous before school concerts). It should be nearly impossible for a kid like Damian to get across town without getting caught. All the schools in the city were hyper-vigilant because of the whole “crazy people in masks” thing that only seemed to become more common as time marched forward. Sure, Tim snuck out at night, but he…he… Huh, why was Tim so good at sneaking around? His parkour lessons hadn't covered blending into the shadows.

“Uhh, sir?”

Tim shook out of his spiral, “Sir? What?”

Damian scrunched up his eyebrows, “I can’t see your name tag.”

Tim looked down and the kid was right, the name tag had been tucked into a shirt pocket, “Sorry, I’m Tim Drake.”

“Timoth––”

“Just Tim.”

“Ahem, Timothy,” Damian scoffed stubbornly. “May I inqu– inquire…about the art classes here?”

Tim blinked, “Uhh, yeah. In the fall we have Art Foundations, Drawing I, and a Lego thing that kinda counts as art I suppose.”

Damian deflated, “So, there’s no class for beginners in photography?”

“There’s one on Wednes–”

Realization hit Tim out of literally nowhere. Damian had looked very upset the afternoon before, having left some class. It must have been the Photography course they offered… The kid’s demoralized state made a lot of sense with that context. Tim hated assisting with that class. The teacher was a great photographer, but a crappy instructor. Didn’t know how to explain things for crap and usually her bratty kids attended. They made other kids miserable with their completely unjustified superior attitudes. Their entire “skill set” was really just rote memorization of a textbook glossary. They could barely focus a lens much less take a half-decent picture.

“There’s just…only the Wednesday class?” Damian asked, sounding more than a little upset by the idea.

Tim crouched down so that he was eye-to-eye with the kid, “Yeah, sorry.”

Damian used his left arm to grab his right elbow and tilted his head, confused, “Why are you sorry?”

Tim leaned in conspiratorially, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Damian rolled his eyes, but nodded, “Of course, Timothy.”

Tim just barely avoided cringing at that and looked around surreptitiously, “I’m not supposed to bad mouth our classes, but our Photography course is trash.”

“I thought… The instructor, doesn’t she own a gallery downtown?”

It was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes, “Doesn’t mean she’s good at teaching others about it.”

“But she’s an expert?” Damian looked lost.

“Yeah, she’s a great photographer, but that doesn’t mean she can teach it,” Tim explained. “Those are two different kinds of skills… A lot of “experts” never really learn how to communicate what already makes sense to them naturally. Some of the best teachers struggled to learn things at first…because they know how hard it can be to figure something out. Gives them perspective.”

Damian nodded, but still looked forlorn, “So, the class isn’t worth it?”

“I guess it really depends…”

“Hmm?”

Tim shifted from his crouch so that he was sitting on the floor and leaning against the desk, he patted the floor next to him in invitation. Damian looked dismissive, but sat down next to him anyway. Sometimes Tim found it easier to talk about things that were bothering him if he didn’t have to look at the person who was listening. Facial expressions were valuable in understanding how another person was feeling, but it could make it harder to focus on what one wanted to say. Maybe Damian would appreciate not having to worry about how Tim was reacting to his thoughts.

“Why do you want to learn photography?” Tim asked, staring out across the lobby.

Damian was quiet for a moment, “It seems like…it would be a good thing to know about.”

Tim hummed, “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why is photography a good thing to know about?” Tim asked, still scanning the room for…something.

“Because… Photography is real,” Damian muttered.

Tim considered that, “Is real…better?”

“What?” Damian scoffs. “Of course it is!”

Tim’s eyes were drawn to an elderly gentleman who had just sat down in the waiting area, “I think ‘real’ things and ‘fake’ things both have value. Photographs are only as real as an editor wants them to be. Paintings can capture the artist's emotions as well as any bit of film.”

“Photography can be useful in ways that paintings cannot,” Damian sniffs dismissively. “They can be used as evidence or to remember things.”

Tim rolled his shoulders and watched as the elderly man pulled out a pristine paperback, “Art doesn’t always have to be useful.”

“Things are better when they’re useful,” Damian whispers, shifting uncomfortably next to Tim.

“I hear ya,” Tim replied. “I thought…It’s easier to justify things when they’re useful. It’s hard to just let things exist without trying to validate them.”

“Validate?”

Tim rubbed at his eyes, trying to relieve the sudden pressure in his nasal cavity, “Prove something has worth. That it has value.”

“Oh.”

“But… I don’t think it’s that simple,” Tim explained slowly. The man hadn’t turned the page of his book since he sat down. “What is valuable is different from person to person and from situation to situation.”

“But some things are just naturally more valuable because of how we can use them,” Damian argued.

Tim fished his phone out of his pants pocket, choosing to ignore the old man’s clear eavesdropping. If Damian was going to understand, Tim was going to have to provide him with evidence. He opened up his photos app and leaned over to show the kid next to him.

“Are these pictures valuable?” Tim asked.

Damian looked shocked, “These…are very good, Timothy!”

The pictures were from a state park that Helena had taken him to over summer break. They got there while it was still cool and hiked all morning. Tim had snapped pictures every few feet of the trees and paths and ponds. There were photos of deer and frogs and of Helena sticking out her tongue. They weren’t the best, but Tim had felt so good taking them that he’d transferred out of his Debate class to join Yearbook.

Tim grinned, just a little pleased at the praise, “But are they valuable?”

“Of course.”

“Where were they taken?” Tim asked.

Damian was silent.

“Yeah,” Tim said standing up. “They may be nice, but they have no context. I love them. With or without knowing exactly where I took them or why. Up you go.”

Tim offered Damian a hand up. The younger boy took it and followed Tim over to a bulletin board. It was covered in flyers and pamphlets and notices. A few missing children posters. Tim bypassed all of them to snatch one particular sheet of paper and handed it to the younger kid.

“Does this have value?”

Damian scanned the document, “This is a map of the Westside Rec Center.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t understand? We were talking about photography?” Damian said, handing back the floorplan for the building.

Tim nodded, “Maps are very useful and they don’t usually use photographs. They wouldn’t provide the info people needed if they were photographs. They’re drawings and they have value outside of emotions.”

Damian scratched at his arm, “I don’t get it. Just tell me what you mean.”

Tim gently pulled the boy’s hand away, “Sorry, don’t want you scratching up your arm, Damian.”

“Timothy!”

“If you want to learn photography…it doesn’t have to be ‘useful’. It can just be for fun…because you want to. Drawing and painting and sculpture and Legos are the same way. They can be valuable for building a house or making a bowl for your keys or whatever. Or they can be for fun. What matters is if you get something out of it.”

“School’s about learning,” Damian said, crossing his arms.

“Yup.”

“And not all of that is fun.”

“Nope.”

“So, what is it? Value or fun?”

“Both,” Tim replied dryly, noticing the elderly gentleman starting to approach. “Schools teach us Shakespeare and grammar. How your intestines work and how baking soda reacts with vinegar. About when we landed on the moon and why we had to ‘race’ there in the first place. You can take a class on how to sew or how to climb a rope or how to draw. It’s up to you what you hold onto after it’s all over.”

“Master Damian, I believe it is really time to be going,” the elderly gentleman said once he reached them. The pressure behind Tim’s eyes doubled.

Damian looked at him and then back at Tim, “I think I understand, Timothy. Could I sign up for the Drawing class…and the Legos one too?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, I can do that. If you’re already in our system, I can get that setup and it will send a calendar to your dad.”

Damian smiled, just a little, and turned to the gentleman, “Okay, Alfred, I am ready to go. I still need to walk Titus when we get home.”

“Of course,” ‘Alfred’ said and turned to Tim. “Thank you for all your help, young man.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim said automatically.

“Hmm…”

Alfred seemed to be studying him so Tim turned his attention back to Damian, “I hope you enjoy your classes. Maybe you can take the Photography class another year.”

Damian rubbed at his arm again, “Maybe…but until then could I perhaps ask you questions about photography if I have them? Your pictures were decent and…you don’t seem terrible at explaining things.”

“I don-” Tim catches the nervousness and hope etched across Damian’s features. “I don’t think that will be a problem. I’ll try to answer your questions if I’m around.”

Damian’s face split into a smile before he could stop himself, “I would appr…appreciate that, Timothy. Thank you.”

Alfred ushered the kid towards the door and then Tim was alone again. He had never really considered his photography any good, but…it was nice to have it complimented. Even if the compliment was from an eight year-old. Tim couldn’t help the grin plastered on his face.

Helena joined him a half hour later and ruffled his hair by way of greeting, “Hey, Chief, ready to head out?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“How about we make a stir fry tonight and catch some DS9, hmm?” Helena suggested as they headed towards the door.

Tim had accidentally gotten her hooked on the show shortly after he moved in. He thought Helena appreciated just how often crap hit the fan on the space station. Tim just liked that not everyone was a shining example of Starfleet. They weren't the best of the best, but they made due.

“Yeah, I’d like that, I think.”

“Great because I’m in desperate need of Kira ripping all of Cardassia a new one,” Helena chuckled. “How was your Thursday?”

Tim thought over his entire day. From the conversation with Helena that started it and the conversation with Damian just a while before, “It didn’t go the way that I expected it to…but I think that’s okay.”

Chapter Text

Dick couldn’t say he was surprised when he heard that Damian had run off after school. He was even less surprised that Alfred caught up with him immediately. The eight year old’s logic was as predictable as the sun rising…

What was surprising was how…mellow Damian was upon his return to the Manor. Alfred and Bruce had both lectured him. He was provided with three options for punishment (no video games for two weeks, taking on extra chores for three, or missing out on his weekly trip to the arcade for a month) and chose additional chores. The kid even “formally apologized” for his behavior at dinner by noting what he did and assuring them all he knew why the rules were in place. He seemed just…fine with all the fallout.

“I understand that you were all just worried,” Damian explained towards the end of his little reparation speech. "I will refl...reflect on that to avoid making another bad decision in the future."

Bruce looked over at Dick, bemusement plastered across his face, “Right. Please don’t do this again, Damian.”

Damian shook his head, “I know…that I have no right to ask, but can I still take my classes at the Rec Center? It’s just…the…they were very helpful in getting me signed up. I don’t want them to have wasted their time.”

“Well, Dami-” Bruce began.

Alfred, whose presence Damian had requested for his apology, cut in, “Master Bruce, I believe we should take into account the consideration young Master Damian is showing for the staff of the establishment. It would be bad manners allow their efforts to have gone to waste.”

Bruce studied the older man for a moment and then, “I believe you signed up for Drawing and a Lego Build class?”

“That is correct,” Damian confirmed like a little businessman.

“I thought you mentioned giving Photography another go,” Jason piped up. “Did they not let you back in?”

Damian looked a little nervous now, “I…I thought that Photography might be…useful, but…it’s not the only thing that can be useful. I enjoy drawing in my school art courses and many of my classmates enjoy working with Legos. Were they…did I choose the wrong things?”

“Of course not, Master Damian,” Alfred said before anyone else could. “I believe you will find both to be beneficial.”

“Right…” Dick said, finally chiming in. “I think they’re great choices.”

Jason shrugged, “I don’t see any problem with them.”

Cass nodded in agreement, “I can help with Legos!”

Bruce was outnumbered, but Dick doubted the man would deny Damian the chance for something fun. The poor kid was wound so tightly…like a soldier waiting for orders. Dick just wished Damian believed them when they said it was okay to be a kid.

“Of course you can still take your classes, Damian,” Bruce muttered. “We will have to thank whoever helped you the next time we’re there. Do you know their name?”

Damian’s face spasmed and he began to rub his arm with his knuckles, “I…I didn’t see their name tag, Father. I’m sorry...”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Okay, Dick thought. Something’s up.

After supper, Dick offered to help Alfred with the dishes. The butler refused, of course, but Dick insisted. It was best that their conversation happened in the semi-private of the kitchen anyway.

“So, crazy day, huh?” Dick started.

“No more than usual, Master Richard,” Alfred said dryly as he started portioning out the leftovers–he always sent Dick home with more food than he could conceivably eat in the week he was away.

The thing with Alfred is that he knew everything…sort of. If it happened in the Manor or to one of its inhabitants, he was aware of it. Heck, half the time he was there for it. Dick…struggled with this. Because Alfred knew a lot of things, but rarely stepped in when things got tetchy. He was a member of the family until it became mildly inconvenient for him to have an opinion about what was going on in it. Dick understood to an extent because his official position was “employee” and “butler”, but really what it really boiled down to was enabling. They all loved Alfred and he loved them, but… His inaction sometimes grated.

“Was Damian hard to track down?” Dick said, rinsing off a plate.

“I’m rather used to locating wayward charges,” Alfred replied blandly. “As I’m sure you recall, Master Richard, Master Damian is not the first Wayne child to make ill-advised detours on their way home.”

The other thing about Alfred is that he deflected. If he did not want to share information, it was not going to be shared. Dick had spent literal years training as a detective and he was pretty good at it. Unfortunately, Alfred had spent more than three times that learning how to be as obtuse as humanly possible.

“I don’t know, Alf,” Dick muttered. “Seems like it might’ve been good for the kid.”

“Hmm.”

“He seems…settled,” Dick continued, placing some cutlery in the drying rack. “I mean, he shouldn’t have run off… Did something happen? Scare him or…did he learn a ‘valuable lesson’?”

Alfred, of course, gives nothing away, “Regrettably, I only arrived at the tail end of Master Damian’s meeting with the Rec Center staff. As such, I only know what the lad told me on our journey back to the Manor.”

“You didn’t talk to the staff at all?” Dick said, leaning on Alfred’s distaste for any and all things ‘unprofessional’. “Don’t they have strict policies on unaccompanied minors?”

Alfred falters just slightly as he snaps the Pyrex shut, “I spoke briefly with the volunteer that provided both assistance and supervision for your brother. They seemed quite well-suited to both tasks, I assure you.”

Dick knows he’s found his angle, “That’s good. Regardless, Bruce will have to get in touch with a supervisor.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Dick sighed as he drained the sink and moved onto drying, “whoever helped Damian didn’t follow procedure. Children showing up unannounced triggers immediate calls to the adults responsible for them. Neither you nor Bruce received one… Although it turned out okay this time, there's really no reason to let this slide.”

Alfred swiped the dish towel from Dick, “Alas, neither the young master nor myself managed to catch sight of the name tag. A…lapse in my judgment as the whole debacle only served to inflame my sinusitis.”

Alfred continued to dry and Dick continued to turn over the evidence in his mind. Both the butler and his brother were being cagey about what happened at the Rec Center, but not because something bad happened. Damian was safe and acting pleasantly. He was excited about new art classes. Alfred had stepped in–where normally he wouldn’t–to ensure the kid could participate.

“Alf, you know it’s not that hard to figure out who it was,” Dick muttered.

“It is rather unnecessary, Master Rich-”

“Actually, it is!” Dick snapped, surprising himself. Normally he was more patient than this. “Damian made a poor decision today, but they enabled that behavior by not addressing it immediately. That’s my little brother, Alfred! He accepted the consequences for his actions. The person who allowed it to happen should too.”

And Dick…he had no idea where all that frustration was coming from. Sure, he was worried about Damian, but it turned out fine. The kid was fine, happy even. So why were a dozen different alarm bells going off in his head? Dick wished he could feel surprised, but these flashes of temper and frustration had become more and more frequent over the past several months. It had flared up when Jason’s comms went silent for five minutes during a fight with Penguin. Dick had cleared out a hallway of grunts in record time to find that Jason had accidentally flipped to ‘mute’. Another spike in anxiety during a gala where gossipy crones had criticized Cass’ standoffish behavior resulted in Dick shattering a glass with his bare hands. Just the day before, the very thought of Damian being bullied had summoned rage.

Alfred was silent for a moment, “Master Bruce has already drafted an email to the school. When all is said and done, they are the ones who allowed Master Damian to sneak onto a city bus.”

Dick rolled his eyes and tried to retrace his steps back to the root of his anger, “Yeah, right.”

“As for the volunteer,” Alfred sighed, “I can’t find it in me to reprimand them.”

“And why’s that?”

“He spoke to Master Damian,” Alfred said simply. “Provided him with a unique perspective. Was honest…to an extent. Allowed him to make his own decisions and did not mock the young master's frustrations. A rather unflappable lad, but...kind.”

“...Oh.”

“I would rather, if you please, not chastise one of the few individuals who has offered the young master evidence that one need not be useful to be perceived as valuable,” Alfred stated, placing the final dish in its proper spot. “I believe all my charges could benefit from adopting a similar outlook.”

“Alf…”

“If you’ll excuse me, it is my understanding that your nighttime activities will require additional preparations,” Alfred stated. “I must see to it that the required equipment is prepared for your departure.”

The butler left Dick with the remnants of his inner turmoil. No one was trying to hurt his family. No one was trying to hurt him. He was just trying to do the right thing for once. Why did everyday feel like another step in the wrong direction?

What is wrong with me lately, Dick thought for what felt like the millionth time over the past year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As was always the case, Dick didn’t have time to dwell on his recent tumult. Within an hour, he was masked up and briefed on the night’s plan…for the seventeenth time.

“The most important objective is the apprehension of the twenty-seven crates Two-Face is smuggling into Gotham from the docks,” Batman repeated. “Based on his previous activities, we can assume that they contain enough firepower to contend with the families on the southside of Gotham.”

“Well…one of them at least,” Robin muttered as he finished up his stretches. “There’s only two over that way so ‘based on his previous activities’ he’ll flip a coin and pick one.”

Batgirl tipped her head to the left as if considering.

Batman sighed, “Whatever he chooses to do, we need to secure those arms. Without equipment, a coin flip will be less catastrophic.”

Roles were delegated. Batman would confront Two-Face since he had the best chance of holding the man’s attention. Oracle was, of course, handling surveillance and keeping the authorities looped in. Robin and Batgirl would work together to secure the crates. Nightwing was backup for anyone who might need it, but officially his position was in the rafters. He had better maneuverability than any other vigilante and thus had the best chance to get where the need was greatest in the least amount of time.

“You know,” Nightwing sighed, “one of these days we should just demolish all the unused warehouses at the dock.”

“And what, pray tell, would you suggest be built in their place?” Oracle asked, airing out her own ennui.

Nightwing thought, flipping into a handstand from his perch in the rafters, “Park?”

“So we’ll trade out a Penguin/Two-Face/Black Mask problem for an Ivy problem?” Robin deadpanned.

“She would like a park,” Batgirl stated.

“Okay, park it is,” Oracle replied. “Now, how exactly will we destroy potentially hundreds of millions of dollars of infrastructure?”

“If explosives are involved, I’m in!” Robin crowed.

Nightwing nearly fell out of his handstand as his entire body seized up for a moment. He only barely recovered enough to safely sit down. All of the continued conversation was lost on him as he attempted to reign back control of his body.

“Umm, Or- Orac– Oracle?” Nightwing huffed, slipping more and more into alarm.

“Wing?”

“Okay?”

“Did something happen?” Batman growled having just patched back into the main comm feed.

Nightwing’s entire body felt as if it was being dunked into the waters of the Arctic. Repeatedly. Breathing was becoming harder and harder.

“Nightwing, report!”

Nightwing ignored the order, “O, is… Sc–Scarecrow in Ark–”

“Potential fear toxin exposure,” Batman barked. “Batgirl, mask on and–”

“No need, B,” Oracle broke in. “Scarecrow is still behind bars.”

“Batman,” a posh British accent broke. “Perhaps it would be best if Nightwing is escorted back to the cave for an evaluation. Vitals indicate that he may be experiencing a panic attack.”

“Hnn, Batgirl, escort Nigh–”

“No!” Nightwing nearly screamed.

No, no, no… Robin couldn’t be left alone. Not…here…Docks? No. Water? No… Warehouse! Robin could not be left alone in a warehouse.

“Nightwing, you are currently compromised,” Batman argued. “That makes you a liability in the field.”

“I ca-”

Unfortunately, Nightwing’s current meltdown had to be put on hold as the entire warehouse descended into violence.

Fortunately, Nightwing was a professional and a veteran in the whole ‘mask business’ thing so he was able to just barely pull himself together. He had a responsibility, he could drown in fear later.

As expected, Two-Face was aware of their plans. The two youngest vigilantes worked quickly to locate the lackeys in charge of transportation while Batman engaged with the bulk of the bulkier members of the crew.

“Shipping container found, B,” Robin confirmed. “Removing mooks from the equation.”

“Hnn!” Batman bodily threw one lackey into three others approaching.

Nightwing leapt down and incapacitated a rather burly fellow approaching the older vigilante from behind. The concussive damage that Batman dealt generally resulted in mild to moderate injuries in the long term, but rarely kept combatants down in more immediate circumstances. Adrenaline was a hell of a hormone, huh?

“Four are back up, B,” Nightwing bit out, still not having fully caught his breath.

“Copy, cover west.”

“Right.”

Now, Nightwing was no slouch, but it would be a lie to imply he had the brute strength of his mentor. He was mostly muscle, sure, but he was naturally smaller and slimmer. That was okay though, he made up for it by choosing to not play fair. He weaved in and out of their opponents, throwing elbows at throats and sweeping legs. Anyone who had the audacity to get back up met the buzz-ness end of his escrima sticks. Unsurprisingly, the young man had always mained electric-type Pokemon. Hit fast, immobilize the enemy, avoid return fire, be willing to take a bit of damage to deal twice as much back, land the first debilitating strike allowing an ally to finish the job. The evidence of the strategy’s effectiveness lay at Nightwing’s feet.

“Nightwing, provide assistance to Batgirl and Robin,” Batman grunted as he provided the finishing move to his partner’s setup. “I’ll handle Two-Face.”

The immediate threat had dissipated and Nightwing was starting to flag, but he threw a thumbs-up regardless, “Got it, B.”

Nightwing grappled to higher ground and made his way outside. It took a minute, but he located his targets. Predictably, they were also surrounded by unconscious, tied up bodies. Robin was making quick work of a lock by the time Nightwing reached them.

“And voila!” Robin cheered with appropriate flourish, but Nightwing couldn't fully appreciate it through his crashing nervous system.

Still, a job is a job so he and the younger two hauled open the doors to the shipping container. As expected, there were twenty-seven crates inside.

“Well, when on the Gotham Docks,” Robin announced, marching back out and searching through the strewn bodies, “do as the criminals do!”

Robin reappeared a moment later and presented them with a crowbar.

Nightwing's brain was on fire. He could hear, distantly, the cracking sound of nails being pried out of wood. Time slowed and the world around him drifted out of focus. Through his astigmatic haze, Nightwing could just barely perceive a shadow. It…shifted as if caught and then dissipated like smoke.

“--Wing! It’d be great if you could participate.” Robin? Robin.

Nightwing was doubled over and he recognized Batgirl’s hands bracing the sides of his face. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but her presence did ground him in the present.

“Thanks, Batgirl, I’m back,” he assured her. “I’m good.”

Her mask was impassive by design, but there was no doubt in his mind that Batgirl did not agree with his self-assessment. Regardless, he took a few more deep breaths and then hobbled over to Robin. The younger vigilante was staring, bewildered, into one of the crates.

“What the actual hell?” he whispered.

Inside were not, in fact, weapons.

“Are these–”

A large shadow appeared to cut off their pondering, “Generators, portable generators.”

“Well,” Nightwing said. “I can’t say that I’m not surprised.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Between the confusion over what exactly Two-Face was smuggling and the arrival of the cops, Nightwing’s multiple breakdowns were forgotten… For the moment anyway. Mooks were taken into custody, generators were tagged as evidence (two crates somehow made their way into the Batmobile), and the younger three masks decided to do quick patrols before retiring.

“Nightwing,” Batman grunted. “No more than an hour.”

“Roger!” he saluted, still a little shaky.

Honestly, Nightwing probably should not be out at all. He was twitchier than usual, but he knew that going back to the cave would only make it worse. A little exercise…some free running…would help him decompress. Hopefully.

Completely unconsciously, Nightwing swung and jumped and ran all the way to the Westside. It wasn’t a terrible development, all things considered. After all, the team had agreed to forge a temporary alliance with Huntress. Perhaps he could get a headstart on building (or mending?) bridges.

Nightwing landed on top of a playground structure and considered his next moves. He was still out of sorts so it would be prudent to go into this parley with a few planned talking points. It was less likely to devolve into a shouting match if Nightwing made the decision to avoid that beforehand. Additionally, he should probably avoid approaching her on the same roof from the previous evenings. Respect for her territory was essential. Nightwing scratched at the side of his head to relieve some of his nervous energy.

A sudden rustling in the structure beneath him shook Nightwing from his game plan reverie. It was nearly eleven-thirty on a school night. From experience, the vigilante knew that it was most likely just some punk kid…or a drug dealer…or both. The noise moved towards the slides, quickly. Whoever was skulking around the park had picked the wrong night to trigger Nightwing’s paranoia.

Nightwing flipped to the wood chips below in one swift movement as a scrawny looking teen scrambled out of a tunnel slide. It didn’t take much to snatch him.

“I don’t know who you are kid–”

“You’re not going to find out, either!” the kid snapped as he aimed a leg sweep on the vigilante’s left side.

The kid wasn’t half bad, but Nightwing was great…even on an off night. He easily stepped over the teen’s leg as he pulled it back. Using his opponent’s sudden loss of balance, Nightwing redirected the overall momentum and shoved the kid into the net ladder leading back onto the play structure.

“Okay, kid–I think we should talk,” Nightwing growled, using one hand to keep the little lurker from trying to escape again.

“Oh thank goodness–it’s you…” the hooded punk muttered sarcastically.

“What?”

The kid held up their hands in surrender and sighed. Nightwing removed his hand, taking a step back. Once he was far enough away, the kid removed the hood.

“You know, I’ve lived in Gotham my entire life and I’d literally never met a vigilante,” the now familiar voice grumbled. “Now, I seem to be running into the same one every night.”

For some reason, Nightwing wasn’t surprised to find himself staring at a disgruntled Tim Drake…again.

Chapter Text

It’s not really a surprise when someone lands atop the play structure Tim is positioned in. It’s an inconvenience, sure, but not a surprise.

Tim hunkers down and waits for whatever crazy Gotham has chosen to throw at him to get bored and terrorize another part of town… The minutes tick on and on with the shadow above as still as a statue. If Tim staggered his breathing, he could hear familiar mumbling.

Maybe they're distracted, Tim thought. I bet I could slip out of here with no one the wiser.

Tim pulled his hood up and started to scoot his way over to one of the slides. It was much too loud, but hopefully the person was distracted enough that he could get a bit of a head start.

As is the case with O'Briens so it shall be with Drakes… AKA: Never expect anything to go right, resign yourself to suffering… AKA: Tim was caught almost immediately by an on-loan vigilante from Blüdhaven. Great…

"Kid, do you ever stay home at night?" Nightwing asked, annoyance fraying at the edge of the question.

Tim blinked, "Yeah, I usually get at least six hours of sleep. Something I doubt you've managed recently."

Tim said it without considering the other man's perception of the statement as Tim was wont to do, but he didn't mean it unkindly. Nightwing looked wrung out. His hair was sticking up in odd directions as if he'd been running a hand through it over and over, his cheeks were patchy, every breath taken was erratic, he swayed just a little where he stood. It was…disconcerting and Tim was…concerned. If he didn't know any better, Tim would assume that Scarecrow was on the loose. Perhaps Batman or Robin or Batgirl should be called… There was no chance that Tim would be of much help in a situation like this.

But…Nightwing laughed, "Wow, kid, you don't pull punches, but that's fair. I haven't slept well for decades at this point."

"I suppose you're in the wrong profession if you want a decent sleep schedule," Tim muttered, starting to shiver a bit standing in the breezy evening. "May I suggest accounting or dental hygienist. Decent hours, I hear… Great benefits."

“I don’t think I’d do well in either profession. I’m great with numbers, but don’t care to learn new tax codes every year… And the human mouth is gross,” Nightwing joked easily. “How ‘bout I talk with a career counselor and get back to you?”

Tim took a moment to really consider Nightwing. He just looked…exhausted. Running on fumes, but like a true master of the sky, he was attempting to glide to the ground instead of crashing right into it. Perhaps…perhaps the hero needed a little guidance from ground control, reassurance that there was a gentle way back to Earth.

“Okay, I’m not holding you to that, obviously,” Tim began, “but can I request something more reasonable in the short term?”

Nightwing’s brow furrowed at Tim’s forced formality, “Uhh, I guess so.”

“Good!” Tim started to trot off in the direction of the park exit.

He was nearly on the street by the time Nightwing caught up with him.

“Uhh, no offense Shortstack, but I don’t think you stalking off into the darkness is a request…more of a passive-aggressive response to repeated vigilant-erventions,” Nigthwing muttered.

Tim stopped so abruptly that Nightwing almost barreled right into him, “Vigilant-erventions? Like…’vigilante interventions’?”

Nightwing smirked, “Obviously.”

Tim was seriously reconsidering everything he had done for the Bats over the last four years.

“...Okay, yeah… Uhh, but no, I’m not just running off,” Tim said slowly. “I’m just not used to having to explain what I’m doing.”

“You’re not used to…people asking you stuff?”

Tim shrugged and started walking again, “Most people either get on board without asking questions or they just…ignore me and let me do my thing. Mostly the latter.”

Nightwing fell in step beside him, “Oh, I’m sorry kid. That must suck.”

Tim thought for a moment, “Nah, I kinda…like it. I get tired of explaining things to people when I know they don’t really care… Like small talk sucks because it’s all pleasantries, it’s scripted. No one actually wants to hear the story of your latest haircut or if you’re enjoying your summer vacation. I can’t stop myself from launching into a five minute diatribe about the best gas stations for hot food options though… And then the people I’m talking to look so uncomfortable, like I did something wrong. It’s better to just avoid engaging at all, I s’pose.”

“Okay,” Nightwing muttered, scratching at his head. “You realize that actually sounds worse, right?”

Tim shrugged and stumbled ahead a bit so that he could walk backwards and face Nightwing while they were talking, “No, you see, I just have higher standards for conversation partners.”

“Uh…huh?”

Tim grinned, “Every once in a while you meet someone who just clicks with how you think, right? They know how to finish your joke or get on board with a bit you’re doing or have the same favorite character in a movie series. They just…get it and it’s really awesome! You’re on the same page and those people are the best because they don’t really need to ask what you’re doing–”

Tim faltered as he stepped from the sidewalk into an intersection, but made no effort to walk normally.

“They just join in,” Nightwing continued for him as Tim regained his balance. “They might want to know the plan eventually, but–”

“They trust you enough to come along for the ride,” Tim finished. “I’ve got like…three people like that and…I think that’s enough to make up for all the people who don’t really care.”

Nightwing considered him and smiled, “I guess if you’re happy then it’s all good.”

Tim smiled back and returned facing forward. The duo wandered along for a few minutes in silence though Tim could tell the older man wanted some sort of explanation. He appreciated the vigilante’s restraint.

“Okay,” Tim said as they turned the corner onto 27th Ave. “If you can’t get good sleep, you should at least get good food.”

Nightwing looked confused for half a second before Tim stepped back to reveal a cul-de-sac lined with late night food trucks. Tim wasn’t that surprised that Nightwing seemed unaware of the nightly congregation of the city’s finest food vendors. The whole thing was rather low profile to avoid the attention of Gotham’s criminal element. Also, anyone who dared mess with the delicate balance had to contend with Travis. Chef by night, one of the city’s best self-defense coaches by day, and–according to Tim’s research–a previous life in “highly classified asset protection”... Probably not the Wal-Mart greeter kind.

“Yo, Chief, you know you shouldn’t be out this late!”

Speak of the devil and all that…

Tim weaved through the picnic tables and the few remaining customers, mostly second shift workers and night shift nurses on break.

“Not so loud, Travis,” Tim begged once he reached the man’s truck (In the Mealtime). “I just…needed some quiet.”

Travis shook his head, but smirked, “So, you snuck out into one of America’s Top Five Loudest Cities…on a school night?”

“Uhh…well–”

“Sorry, sir, but ‘Chief’ here was actually vital in the discovery of who’s been skulking around the park at night,” Nightwing piped up with a friendly wave.

Tim blushed a deep magenta.

Travis eyed the pair, “Oh, really, Spandex?”

“Yup! Thanks to him, we managed to catch the perpetrator,” Nightwing confirmed, neglecting to mention that it was Tim who had been ‘skulking’.

Travis grunted, “Still not a good reason to be out so late. What’s Hel–”

“Can we have two specials, please,” Tim cut-in.

Travis sighed, used to Tim’s diversionary tactics, “Hien’s manning the kitchen this week so it’s bahn mi.”

Tim lit up, “Fantastic! Meat options?”

“Pork belly or chicken.”

“I’ll take pork belly. Nightwing?”

The vigilante seemed a little thrown, but responded, “For comparison’s sake, I’ll have chicken.”

“Get that?” Travis called over his shoulder without looking.

“Yup, boss, three minutes,” was the reply.

“That’ll be $8.50,” Travis informed them.

Tim made for his wallet, but Nightwing beat him to it. A crisp twenty was exchanged between the two men.

“Keep the change,” Nightwing said cheerily.

“Hey!” Tim grumbled, finally extracting a crumpled ten. “This was supposed to be my treat!”

Nightwing made a big show of looking around, “Wow, Travis, did you hear that sound? Like the distant wailing of an ungrateful teen.”

Travis cracked a grin, “Don’t think I did, Spandex, but if I did hear something I’d probably tell them to just appreciate it.”

“I don’t nee-”

“Oh, Chief, did not realize you were here,” Nightwing commented, feigning shock at finding Tim right next to him.

“Nigh-”

“You know what,” Travis played along, “I think you’re lucky the kid showed up, Spandex. You managed to order two meals.”

“Oh really?” Nightwing responded, playfully ignoring Tim’s rising frustrations. “How did that happen? Coulda sworn I came here alone.”

“That’s what I thought, but you did order two,” Travis informed him, also ignoring Tim’s squawks and handing over the completed sandwiches. “Perhaps the kid can eat one of them… Gotta stay in shape for all that flipping you masks do.”

“You’re so right, Travis,” Nightwing agreed. “Hey, Chief, mind eating one of these for me?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but accepted the one marked ‘pork belly’, “Thanks, Travis. Thanks Hien!”

“Ahem,” Travis scoffed.

Tim took a deep breath and muttered, “And thank you, Nightwing, for paying even though I didn’t ask you to and was the one who dragged you over here in the first place.”

Nightwing broke into another seemingly genuine grin, “Aww, you’re welcome, Chief. All in a night’s work.”

“Yeah? Is feeding teen’s before or after saving a cat from a tree?” Tim snarked.

“Nah, it’s between helping old ladies across the street and giving directions to German tourists,” Nightwing shot right back.

"Why do so many Germans want to visit Gotham in the first place?"

"The street food and the nocturnal wildlife, obviously."

"So, where does changing bike tires come in on the 'Vigilante Schedule' because I have found more rusty nails in my tires than you would believe."

"Oh, yeah, no that's below cleaning ducks with Dawn dishsoap after an oil spill."

They continued volleying increasingly ridiculous scenarios back and forth as they wandered away from the food trucks. The sandwiches were, unsurprisingly, delicious and were having the desired effect on the previously listless hero. By the time they deposited their trash in the proper receptacle (“It wouldn’t do for a hero to litter, Chief.” “I wasn’t suggesting that we do that in the first place, but you’re not exactly a stranger to breaking the law.” “Being roguishly handsome and irresistibly charming isn’t a crime, kiddo.”), Nightwing was basically bouncing off the alley walls.

“So,” Nightwing said, flipping into a handstand while still keeping pace with Tim, “what were you really doing out so late? I don’t think you were actually trying to catch yourself sneaking around Robinson.”

Tim sighed, he’d hoped to avoid talking about himself too much, “Just restless, I guess.”

Nightwing returned to his feet, “Not buying it, Chief.”

Tim climbed up on the wall enclosing the park and continued walking, the following conversation would be easier if he didn’t have to look at the vigilante, “I guess I’m doing…recon?”

Nightwing dashed all hopes of avoidance by hopping onto the wall as well, walking backwards so that he could face Tim, “Recon? A little above your pay grade, don’t ya think?”

Tim shrugged and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, “Nobody with a higher salary is stepping up to the plate.”

“And this plate would be?”

Tim fixed Nightwing with a rather unimpressed look, “Regardless of whatever is going on between you and Robin I’m sure he told you what I was up to last night.”

Nightwing tipped his head in surrender, “Sure he did, but why rely on a game of telephone when you’re right here?”

Tim huffed a sigh, “A guy can’t even leverage sibling rivalry in this town.”

“Not a bad tactic all things considered,” Nightwing admitted. “We don’t always get along… I was an only child for…a long time before he came along.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that vibe,” Tim remarked.

Nightwing took the jab in stride (still sauntering backwards, ill-advisedly), “Yeah, and you sound exactly like a middle child.”

Tim had never had the opportunity to be anything other than an only child…he was his mother’s rainbow baby, “How do you figure?”

“According to a friend of mine, middle siblings come in two flavors,” Nightwing claimed sagely.

“Cool Ranch and Barbecue?”

“No…but wait, what about Nacho?”

“Only child, obviously.”

“Spicy nacho?”

“Oopsie baby.”

“What?” Nightwing blanched.

“A youngest child who is so far removed in age from their older siblings that they might as well be an only child,” Tim explained. “Y’know, because their mom and dad got a little 'spicy'.”

“Gross, kid, seriously,” Nightwing muttered. “...Salsa verde?”

“Oldest child and, no, I won’t explain.”

Nightwing raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay.”

Tim shifted uncomfortably and extracted his hands from the warmth of his pocket to help him balance as the wall sloped higher from the ground, “...So…the middle child flavors?”

“Right,” Nightwing agreed. “Uhh, they’re either the ‘woe is me, rebellious, they’ll rue the day they ignored me’ type or the ‘see how much crap I can get away with if no one is paying attention to me’ type.”

“Very scientific,” Tim commented.

“You’re the latter category, to be clear.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Tim admitted. “But your math is way off. Only child, born and bred. Cursed to wander this mortal coil alone.”

Nightwing tilted his head a bit, “Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you want to get these other kids home so badly,” Nightwing whispered seriously. “So they’re not alone.”

Tim blinked and considered, “Any decent person would want to help kids find their way back home…”

“But most people don’t wander around the most dangerous city in the US doing ‘recon’,” Nightwing pointed out. “By your own admission, you don’t exactly have DNA in the game, so to speak.”

Tim paused his strides and corrected his balance, “...They have people waiting for them to come home.”

“And you don’t?”

Tim was tired of this conversation, “I do, but…it’s different. It’s always been different.”

“I guarantee you that it’s not,” Nightwing asserted, suddenly tense again. “If you get hurt out here, those people you mentioned before… The ones that ‘get you’... They’re gonna be devastated. You’ve got people waiting for you to go home too.”

Tim smiled sadly, “I know people would be really upset… I’m risking hurting the people I care about a lot, but… I don’t think I’ve ever had a ‘home’. Not really.”

“You’re not living on the streets–”

“No,” Tim corrected quickly. “No, of course not. It’s just… ‘Home’ is complicated. Like… I’ve lived in houses and apartments and dorms and so on, but I can’t think of a place I’ve lived where I’d want to run and hide when things suck… Or a place that feels like it’s mine. My parents never were good at sitting still. Every few years it was a different place and they had more than one at a time. Each school year I was given a new room. Foster care is, by its nature, temporary and that’s a good thing for most kids if their parents change and they can go back to them, but–”

“That’s not possible for you.”

“No, but… Even if it were, some new high rise apartment or a new school wouldn’t be home anyway.”

“Chie–”

“The cops aren’t taking these disappearances seriously because they don’t see the kids for who they are,” Tim snapped quietly. “They see high stress or estranged parents or a little teenage rebellion and they make assumptions! I guarantee you the ones I've looked into have homes, real ones! No one's looking hard enough--”

Tim gesticulated wildly with his last declaration and completely lost his footing. He hadn’t been paying close attention to just how far the two had traveled during their conversation and by now the ground was at least fifteen feet away. Gravity grabbed hold of Tim and started to drag him towards the concrete (and likely broken limbs) below. Just as he resigned himself to several weeks in a cast with crutches, Tim’s descent was stopped.

“Woah there, Chief,” Nightwing huffed, one hand clinging to the wall while the other was wrapped around Tim’s forearm.

Nightwing hauled Tim back up first, giving him a boost with his shoulder so that the teen could scramble into a sitting position atop the wall. Once the hero was convinced that Tim wasn’t going to fall, he pulled himself up into a sitting position as well.

Tim took a few steadying breaths, staring off into the dark night. Probably not going to convince Nightwing of his ability to avoid trouble if he manages to get hurt while the vigilante was right there. Still, he spared a glance at the man next to him to properly thank him for the rescue, but… Nightwing looked wrecked.

Blue-striped gloves gripped the wall’s edge so tightly that it had to be painful. Tim took in the hunched posture, the slight tremor, the near hyperventilation and felt absolutely awful. He had meant to cheer Nightwing up, to give him a little reprieve from whatever was bothering him and instead he sent the man into a near panic attack.

“Hey,” Tim whispered, laying a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder. “I’m sorry… I was being reckless. Thanks for saving me. Probably can’t really trick you into believing that I won’t get hurt now, eh?”

Nightwing’s breathing began evening out slowly. He reached up his own arm and grabbed Tim’s other hand. The teen scooted over just a bit so that neither of them jostled unexpectedly and tumbled towards the ground again. After a few moments, it became clear that Nightwing was checking Tim’s pulse.

“...Sorry,” Tim muttered again.

Nightwing shook his head, “You’re okay… I…I uh, shouldn’t have let us get so high. Just glad I caught you.”

“Me too,” Tim admitted.

Nightwing huffed a shaky laugh and let go of Tim’s wrist so that he could ruffle the teen’s hair, “Maybe don’t do that again though.”

“Yeah…Thanks.”

“No problem,” Nightwing said. “Let’s get going.”

Nightwing hopped off the wall first to supervise Tim’s successful, albeit slow, climb down to the ground. Once firmly back on terra firma, the two started back towards Lincoln Ave. Tim was too worn out to consider lying about where he lived. Nightwing stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk and Tim grabbed onto the vigilante’s elbow to steady him.

“Thanks,” Nightwing muttered.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Tim replied easily.

Nightwing laughed, slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders, and kept walking, “That’s about hurting people, not saving them.”

“I know,” Tim said mock-seriously. “You may have saved my ass back there, but you wounded my pride.”

“Oh yeah?” Nightwing was perking up a bit again.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckled. “Had to even the playing field.”

“Maybe the city should just even the sidewalks.”

“We’re both alive… Let’s not overtax Gotham’s miracle fairy,” Tim responded as they stopped in front of a familiar Chinese restaurant.

“Hey, Chief,” Nightwing said as Tim hoisted himself onto the fire escape for the third time that week. “I know you want to help people.”

“Mhmm…”

“I get it, I do,” Nightwing sighed. “But I barely know you and I almost lost you.”

“Don’t be dra-”

Nightwing held up a hand, “If it sucked for me, I can’t imagine how much it would hurt those people you mentioned earlier… The three that are yours.”

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” Tim muttered, feeling chastised.

Nightwing smiled sadly, “I know and I admire you trying to help people, but don’t go out there on your own to do it.”

“I can tak–”

“You might not think of this place as home, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have people waiting for you too. Just…before you get in too deep or if you smell trouble, let one of us know… Me or Robin or Batgirl…or Huntress.”

“I don’t want to waste anyone’s time,” Tim insisted from his window sill.

“If it means no one loses you too…it’ll be more than worth it,” Nightwing offered in return. “Night, Chief.”

Nightwing grappled off into the night as Tim tumbled into the Bertinelli apartment. He shed his ‘recon clothes’ and tip-toed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed. A violet sticky note adorned the fridge.

Chief, off to make that connection we talked about. Be back by 2. Helena

It’s not really a surprise that Huntress is out for the third consecutive night. It’s a bit disappointing, sure, but not a surprise.

Chapter Text

Look before you leap.

It was a valid adage. Both literally and metaphorically. Dick adhered to it…selectively. Contrary to popular belief amongst his family and the Titans, he did not just leap off strange buildings with nary a glance. Years of acrobatics coupled with Bat Training just meant that Dick could assess a situation almost instantaneously. Whether it was adjusting a flip in mid-air or choosing how to approach a hostage situation, Dick did think through his choices carefully. High speed mental processing was a requirement to keep up with the metas he ran with. It was, frankly, a bit exhausting, especially recently when he felt so out of sorts. Every once in a while though, he could relax a bit…with friends…with family. He could allow them to take a little bit of the load. Or at least, he used to be able to do that.

Dick was in the cave contemplating a workout, but he was still a bit wrung out from the previous night’s activities. He flopped onto the training mats and fished his phone out of his pocket. There was a pin drop notification for In the Mealtime’s lunch spot. The bahn mi from the night before had been fantastic so Dick had signed up for notifications under the guise of “heard about it from a friend/family member”. The thought of his impromptu midnight snack reminded Dick of a promise he’d made himself while chatting amicably with a mess of black hair and inquisitive blue eyes.

Dick sighed and opened up his contact list and pressing the third name listed underneath his ‘Favorites’. It rang two times before…

“Yo! If it isn’t the famed and lauded Dick Grayson,” Wally West’s voice crowed through the aforementioned’s phone.

Dick stifled a yawn, “Yeah, yeah… I know, but it’s not all my fault you know?”

“Are you implying that I, the fastest man on Earth by default, can’t make time for my best friend?” Wally queried, much too chipper and sarcastic for…eleven in the morning. “For shame, Grayson, for shame.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Are you implying that you’ve been consistently reachable in any way, shape, or form in the past year and change. We’ve talked, what, a dozen times?”

“Okay…so we’re both busy,” Wally conceded. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your time and attention?”

Dick was starting to get a bit…annoyed with his best friend. Not all of their recent missed connections were entirely his fault. Neither of them had much time for the other recently. What with Wally ascending to his new position as the Flash and Dick splitting time between Gotham, the Titans and, most recently, Blüdhaven. It wasn’t intentional, but they’d drifted a bit.

“Hellooooo?” Wally called through the phone. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “Sorry, I’ve been…out of sorts…lately. Figured I should make an effort to reach out, y’know?”

“Wow,” Wally muttered. “Who do I have to thank for telling you to pull your head out of your ass and seek my wisdom, counsel, and, potentially, pity?”

“Ha ha…”

But… Wally wasn’t wrong. Dick probably wouldn’t have considered calling up his best friend if he hadn’t spent an hour or so with Tim Drake the night before. Their winding conversations had been a welcome break from Dick’s recent frustrations and exhaustion. Despite the hints of melancholy, their banter back and forth had reminded him of Wally. Tim’s explanation of “his people” had sparked a wave of exigent longing. The force of missing “his people” had hit him like a lawn dart to the knee. Sure, Dick’s family was all here…safe and whole, but the circle of “Dick’s people” spanned more than just Gotham. Tim had mentioned he only had a few people and it was clear he valued them, cherished them. Dick was taking his for granted, which only served to make him miss them even more.

“No, seriously, I know I’ve been busy lately and you’ve essentially returned to the circus with everything you’re juggling, but I could almost swear you’ve been avoiding me for the past year or so,” Wally noted. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

Dick contemplated for a moment. It felt wrong to name drop Tim to another vigilante outside of the Bats and Gotham. Dick was a firm believer in a reasonable amount of vigilante-civilian confidentiality amongst the wider mask community, but…

“I was working last night,” Dick admitted. “Ran into a kid that…well, he sorta reminded me that…I guess being around him just made me realize I miss being amongst friends outside of the ‘night life’.”

“I’ll have you know that, according to some statistics I just made up, at least forty-seven percent of my mask work happens in daylight hours,” Wally joked.

“Oh really?” Dick snarked right back. “What is the sun like, Ginger Lightning? Does it burn or freckle?”

They caught up over the next hour. Dick updated Wally on the Titans and a dozen or so of the more interesting Wayne disagreements. Wally regaled him with stories about how Iris was doing since…well…, exaggerated retellings of his exploits as the Flash, and his own frustrations with a reporter.

“So, how long until you two start dating?” Dick quipped as Bruce entered the cave. He waved his hand in greeting and the other man nodded in return.

“Yeah, sure,” Wally groaned. “Pretty sure she thinks the Flash is the worst and, quite frankly, she’s kinda annoying.”

“When has that ever stopped you from chasing a skirt?” Dick shot right back.

“Not all of us have asses that make the front page of all the tabloids.”

“I’m sorry, but I seem to remember the bolts on your suit pointing directly at your crotch.”

Bruce turned in chair and raised an eyebrow. Dick waved cheekily back.

“As much as I’d like to debate which of us is more risqué, I do have to get going,” Wally muttered, regret clear in his voice. “Got another echo last week… Actually…more than one. They’ve been ramping up quite a bit lately.”

Dick frowned, “Ramping up? I thought you said they’d pretty much stopped…like eight months ago.”

The “echoes” were minor disturbances that had first been reported to the JL around four years prior, back when Barry was still around. The speedsters had described it as a piano concerto that flowed perfectly and then a note was sharp or the tempo sped up briefly or the wrong pedal was pressed…the tension in the strings loosening. Tiny, almost unnoticeable blips in the timeline…maybe. They couldn’t be sure. There was no real pattern. No way to know the source(s), but it was disconcerting to everyone. It had been a relief to everyone when they had, seemingly, stopped.

Wally sighed, “They had…even before they never happened this close together. I’ve got a few leads this time.”

Dick felt uneasy, “Well…let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

“‘Course! And thanks for calling…thank that ‘kid’ too. Someone needs to get you Bats to branch out of your little Gotham colony,” Wally said.

“The ‘kid’ did nothing of the sort,” Dick muttered, feeling guilty again. “He just… Made me realize that I missed talking to the more annoying people in my life.”

“Doth bird protest too much,” Wally sputtered through laughs. “You can just admit that something’s missing in your life.”

“Sap,” Dick muttered.

“It’s me, if that wasn’t clear. You miss me so very much, but it’s okay. I’m always around if you need me, not gonna up and disappear on you.”

“Beginning to regret this phone call right about now,” Dick groaned and he noticed Bruce waving him over to the Batcomputer. “Gotta go, call when you can.”

“Bye, Bird,” Wally said. “Don’t go forgetting about me again, kay?”

“Not possible,” Dick replied, stretching as he stood. “Steel trap up in this noggin. Bye.”

The acrobat stretched a bit more before cart-wheeling over to his mentor. Dick was just…in a good mood. Everything felt a little bit looser, the constant weight strapped around his shoulders was lighter, the ever-present tension of the last year had dissipated. He’d have to remember how good he felt at that moment the next time he put off a call to Wally.

“What’s the happs, B?” Dick asked, cheerfully taking a seat on the desk.

Bruce huffed a sigh at the inappropriateness of his protege’s chosen perch, “You got in pretty late last night.”

Dick cringed a bit. It had been later than he’d intended to stay out after his panic attack at the docks, but… Running into Tim again had distracted him from his original goal of speaking with Huntress. The kid had a habit of being just entertaining enough that Dick always found himself losing sight of his original goals. By the time Tim had crawled back through his window, it was much too late to scour the city for Huntress. Beyond that, Dick had still been a little…shaken up…from Tim’s tumble from the park wall. It had turned out okay, of course, Dick was both a trained acrobat and a hero. Still, he shouldn’t have let them get that high…Tim’s distraction powers had struck again.

“Sorry, B, I got…I needed a bit of a break,” Dick admitted, because that was as truthful as saying he’d hung out with a civilian. “Grabbed a sandwich and wandered a bit.”

“Yeah, seems like Gotham’s second-shifters noticed,” Bruce scoffed, tapping a few keys and summoning an Instagram post of Nightwing in front of In the Mealtime. Luckily, Tim was obscured due to lighting… Nightwing accepted the inherent (and ironic) publicity that came with wearing a mask, but the kid had a right to his privacy.

Dick scratched his head, “We’ve talked about this, Bruce. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Gotham’s gonna Gotham either way. I didn’t flash photo ID and I didn’t pay with a debit card.”

Bruce stared for a long moment and then grunted, “Right.”

Dick contemplated digging into it a little more…maybe talking a little bit about Tim’s ideas about why the cops seemed less committed to investigating the recent uptick in missing persons, but… “Everything above board with those weird generators?”

“Not just ‘above board’, but entirely generic,” Bruce responded, pulling up his notes on the night before. “High power, but not out of the ordinary. Most often used in pricier RV models, but middle of the road as far as performance goes.”

“So, not even worth it for resale?” Dick asked, taking in the schematics on screen.

“No, easily obtained even with recent supply-chain issues,” Bruce muttered. “I’m putting it on the back burner. Two-Face isn’t talking yet and until he indicates who he was planning on selling them to we won’t be able to make much progress here.”

Dick sighed, “There isn’t a paper trail?”

“No, we all thought this shipment was for his own purposes, but now it’s clear that isn’t the case. None of his current operations would need independent power sources.”

“Hmm, okay… Well, what are you focusing on if Two-Face is simmering?” Dick inquired.

Bruce sighed, “I was going to look into the missing persons cases, but Jason is insisting that you and he look into them.”

Dick nodded, “Yeah, if we’re going to be working on this with Huntress, it would make sense to delegate to…well, just ‘not you’.”

Bruce grinned, but quirked an eyebrow with mock seriousness, “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I can’t be friendly?”

Dick rolled his eyes, “You can… But mostly to women who could and would kick your ass. We need Huntress as an ally…and she’s much too young for you.”

“I won’t argue with the age gap and never intended to take that approach,” Bruce scoffed, “but what makes you think I’m only attracted to women who can ‘kick my ass’?”

Dick fixed the man with an unimpressed look, “Talia…ugh, Selena…better, Diana…great choice but she is way too good for you, Lois for a bit though that might have been more about messing with Clark’s head, Zatanna–”

“I’ll grant you a few of those, but Lois… Kick my ass? And I’ve only ever been friends with Zatanna,” Bruce argued.

“Lois is certifiably nuts… In combat, she can’t beat you, but she could tear this whole thing to the ground with like…one article, honestly. You’re lucky that she’s amused by you picking on Clark. And the only reason you and Zatanna never had a thing is because you met her while you were on your ‘broody world tour of ninja learning’... AKA, you were an angsting teenager and she will never, ever let you live that down… Though it’d be nice, she could keep you in line when Alfred isn’t around.”

Bruce ‘hnned’, but went back to his computer while Dick completed a decent workout until Cass appeared and the two took the opportunity to spar with ridiculous weapons. Jason had been on a Jackie Chan kick when Cass first came to them…the man’s outlandish fighting skills had given them IDEAS™.

“‘Sup, losers?” Jason greeted as if that was the first time he’d ever addressed them as such.

Dick dropped the ladle he’d been using to combat Cass’ step ladder. There was a clear power imbalance and there was really no reason to draw it out to its bitter conclusion.

“School, Jay?” Cass asked.

“The usual… My World Lit class really doesn’t live up to its name. Three Shakespearean tragedies this year and no Toni Morrison or Ryūnosuke Akutagawa… Also, as great as Hamlet is, why not a comedy? Much ado about Nothing is peak Shakespeare…lying friars, duels, ridiculous authorities…”

Jason carried on for a bit about how the school was filled with idiots who would cower in fear of Sir Terry Pratchett much less Joy Harjo. Dick couldn’t quite keep up, but Cass found comfort in her brother’s rants. Alfred hypothesized that it was due to how “in line” Jason’s words were with his feelings.

“Most people say one thing, but feel differently. They mask their true opinions for the purposes of politeness or social order.” Alfred had explained while prepping cinnamon rolls one Saturday morning. “Master Jason sees no reason to be encumbered by pleasantries. Young Miss Cassandra does not have to… ‘code switch’ to obtain a full understanding of his feelings or intentions. It’s why his tension with Master Bruce is so distressing to her…they don’t know why they’re fighting so there is no real connection between their words and actions.”

“To conclude, Professor Cuthbert is both a coward and woefully unqualified for this position! I propose we stage a coup to restructure the lit department so reading comprehension is back on the syllabus!”

“Hear! Hear!” Cass cheered from the balance beam she was doing a handstand on.

Jason grinned and took a small bow, “Alas, my adoring public, I must be getting on. I’ve got a recon mission to attend to.”

Bruce, who had been organizing patrols for the evening, looked up, “Excuse me?”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Tim Drake is meeting up with his friend at Gio’s this afternoon. If we want to know what they know, I’ve got to do a bit of stealth… And order some chili fries, honestly.”

“I don’t remember sanctioning this,” Bruce muttered.

“Because I didn’t run it past you,” Jason replied easily. “I don’t need permission to do basic recon…as Jason Todd-Wayne.”

Bruce shook his head, “Jaylad, Tim has met you in and out of masks. He may be young, but we really shouldn’t be giving him the opportunity to connect the dots between our identities.”

“B, Jason-me only talked–”

“Yelled,” Cass corrected him.

Jason narrowed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, “I only spoke to him, completely reasonably once, B! He’s a freshman in high school, not a private eye.”

Bruce sighed, “Jay, it’s risky regardless. We have enough information from civilians for the time being.”

Jason began to tense up, “B, if we don’t follow up there’s no telling if or when we’ll run into the twerp again. What if we need information and we can’t find him?”

“Unlikely,” Cass cut-in. “He is…around a lot. Not hard to find.”

Dick cringed a bit… That was true. They had only met him two days ago and it seemed like they all had a supernatural draw to him. He just kept appearing and that…was probably putting him at risk. Rogues took note of who the Bats associated with the most. It’s why…Joker had targeted the Gordons the year before. The commissioner and Babs had just barely gotten out of their ordeal. Babs, who had already planned on taking a step back to focus on her studies, had created an entirely new persona in record time to deal with the trauma of the close call. As ‘Oracle’, she wouldn’t allow the people of Gotham to be as blindsided as they were again.

“You said I could take lead on this, B!” Jason shouted. “The first thing I plan to do and you’re already shutting me down?”

“I never said you could take lead, just that you are the frontman for this operation.”

Jason growled, “What is that even supposed to mean if not ‘take lead’... What do you think a ‘frontman’ is?”

“The publicly facing operative of this case,” Bruce replied with no emotion–not a great tactic.

“So, I’m just a puppet for your agenda? Great!” Jason sneered. “Because that’s exactly what this world needs more of.”

The argument continued and Dick didn’t really know what to do. Both of them had decent reasons for their positions. It was always easier to navigate the perspectives of the Titans over his family. All the members of the Titans were his friends, sure, but they had grown up a lot over the years. They understood that taking sides wasn’t personal (most of the time they did anyway). His family…struggled with that. There had to be a way to get the two of them to just figure it out amongst themselves… Bruce and Jason understood each other, but they were deliberately intransigent sometimes. They didn’t like having to…explain why they did the things they did. Well, wasn’t that familiar?

“Ryan Reynolds!” Dick shouted, picturing a teen jogging off into the night in search of a snack and companionship.

Jason looked at Dick like he was crazy, but Bruce took a deep breath before rubbing at his forehead. This was a test and not necessarily a fair one. Conflict Resolution in family matters was a lot less high stakes than Bat Stuff. Or…the family stuff was more high stakes, but less dangerous than Bat stuff?

Bruce looked at Jason, “You must think I’m ignoring your position…your opinions, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“That must suck because you deserve to have your judgment trusted,” Bruce continued, a little shaky with his chosen terminology. “I’m still not enthused to continue engaging with civilians on this matter.”

“But, B–”

Bruce held up his hand, “A compromise, perhaps? You can go to Gio’s today, but no more after this. Fair?”

Jason looked over at Dick, a little dumbfounded. Dick shrugged in return. It was Jason’s call.

Jason nodded, “Okay, I’ll drop the Tim Drake Thread after today’s recon. Kid probably won’t have a whole lot of information to go off of anyway. Just tie up some loose ends.”

Dick didn’t entirely agree that the kid wouldn’t have much of value. The way Tim spoke the night before, Dick wouldn’t be surprised if he had short dossiers on each of the children he was investigating. It was pretty impressive that he already had info on their home lives.

“Okay, you better get going if you want to get there inconspicuously,” Bruce said.

“Awesome!” Jason turned to sprint up the stairs and Cass followed, probably in search of an afternoon snack.

Bruce finished up his notes and Dick waited for him.

As they walked up the stairs themselves, Dick said, “Not terrible for a first ‘Ryan Reynolds’.”

Bruce grinned and rubbed his forehead again, tiredly, “You think?”

“Yeah,” Dick chuckled. “It’s crazy, isn’t it. That kid was somehow both the issue and the solution to that problem.”

“A real paradox,” Bruce agreed closing the clock behind him.

“I’m sorry, Damian, but I can’t this afternoon,” Jason was saying as they approached the kitchen.

Damian was trying his best not to pout over a bowl of granola, “Sure.”

“I can take you tomorrow, I promise,” Jason tried.

Damian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, Damian, we can spend all of tomorrow at the arcade,” Jason pleaded. “What difference will it make?”

Cass tipped her head a bit. Dick was sure that she was considering what could be the problem, but he already knew. Fridays were less crowded and busy than Saturdays. Damian valued his space and Saturdays were much too chaotic for him to feel entirely comfortable playing video games.

Well, this was an easy thing for Dick to rectify, “I’ll take you Damian. Cass and I are due for a rematch on DDR anyway.”

Cass smirked, “You’ll lose.”

“Yeah, I mean, probably.”

Damian looked between all of them, probably trying to decide if they were being sincere, “You’re sure? You don’t have something else that needs doing?”

Dick and Cass exchanged a look, “Nah, we deserve a little fun after this week. Hanging with you is just the reward we need.”

Damian blushed, but nodded, “Okay, I’ll get my stuff.”

The young boy dashed out of the kitchen and Bruce smiled, “Okay, Jay, get going. Be back by seven… Same for you three, okay?”

Dick saluted and headed out to the car once his younger siblings had all returned with their preferred gear. Jason insisted on being dropped off a few blocks away so they didn’t have to reroute everything for the others to get to the arcade. Once the Honda Civic dropped the other Waynes off outside Ye Olde Gaming, Dick was once again scouring the nearby streets for parking. The public transit in Gotham needed a major overhaul.

Fifteen minutes later, Dick was finally stepping out of his car. He hoped he hadn’t been away from Cass and Damian for too long. Neither really enjoyed being left to their own devices in public. Surprisingly though, the string of texts Dick had waiting for him on his phone were from Jason instead.

Jay-ne Todd-sten-Kid’s a no show!

Jay-ne Todd-sten-I know he said Gio’s

Jay-ne Todd-sten-Can’t believe I talked B into this and it’s a bust!!!!

Dick wasn’t sure what to say in response. He hoped that Tim was okay though. He’d gotten home alright. Dick had made sure of that, but maybe his arms or shoulder hurt after the fall? Perhaps Tim had simply rescheduled. It’s not like they had any way of knowing since it was a verbal agreement between teens… They easily could have changed the time or location through text–which they weren’t monitoring for obvious reasons.

Dick was still staring at his phone, trying to formulate a response, as he walked through the doors of the arcade and right into a kid holding a cup of tokens.

“Sorry, I should really be looking where I’m going,” Dick apologized as he helped the kid up.

“No worries,” the kid said cheerfully before calling over his shoulder as he scurried off. “Yo! Tim, I’m gonna grab nachos too!”

It can’t possibly be, right?

Oops I Dick’ed it Again-Look before you leap off the nearest building, Jay.

Dick accompanied the text with a hastily snapped picture of a familiar mess of black hair hunched over a table, looking especially put out.

Chapter Text

Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket

Tim had struggled with both these adages from an early age. Perhaps it was because he was a naturally…logical child. After all, not everyone wanted to birth new chickens with their eggs…some wanted them for omelets so they would actually be more concerned if they happened to hatch unexpectedly. Though…once Tim understood the process of fertilizing eggs he realized that eventuality wasn't…likely. As for the latter, if one was not meant to put all of their eggs in one place then why did egg cartons exist at all? Sure, Tim learned as he aged that the phrases were really about not allowing oneself to become overconfident. About not becoming overeager or careless. Tim was rarely, if ever, careless. A bit flippant? Sure, but only because he knew he did quality work. Other people’s lack of faith in his abilities was their problem.

Tim pondered all of this while checking his phone for the eighteenth time in the past five minutes. Jin was decidedly late for their meeting to discuss the evidence related to Tess Estler’s disappearance. A half hour late to be exact. Tim was not one to catastrophize…it wasn’t an efficient use of his time and energy…but he was beginning to become very concerned.

“Hey, Chief,” Gio muttered, stepping out of the office off the kitchen. “Can I get you a milkshake or something?”

Tim shook his head and rubbed absently at his arm, “Nah, too much dairy.”

Gio shrugged, “I didn’t think you were lactose intolerant.”

Tim checked his phone again and was suddenly very itchy, “I’m…I’m not?”

Tim never got milkshakes at Gio’s. Never. But he did get them at the parlor on Fifth Ave. and the food truck parked three blocks from his school and half-dozen other places around the city… Which was certifiably insane since he came to Gio’s all the time and they were the destination for ice cream in this part of Gotham. It never really occurred to Tim, but he just knew that he couldn’t get milkshakes there. It would end…poorly? For some reason.

“Seem super confident there, kid,” Gio remarked, refilling Tim’s glass with lemonade.

Tim blinked and scratched at his ears.

Oh, he thought. Another one of those pesky memories.

“Umm, I’m not lactose intolerant,” he decided. “My…mom was. So, dad and I wouldn’t eat ice cream. Out of solidarity or whatever.”

Gio deliberately didn’t look at Tim (a nasty habit adults who knew had defaulted to when Tim mentioned his parents), but hummed.

“It would seem disrespectful to change that habit now,” Tim lied, a little guilty. “I just wish Jin would hurry up and get here.”

“Big plans?”

Tim shrugged again and pondered how likely he was to develop arthritis in his right shoulder, “Just hangin’.”

“Well, then I imagine you’re in the wrong place,” Gio muttered, pulling the specials board off the wall to prepare the menu for the evening rush.

“We agreed to meet here,” Tim said, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Maybe, but if there’s one thing that’s consistent with that kid, it’s his Fridays at the arcade,” Gio explained as he drew a panini with chalk. “My niece Rhea works there. Says he’s the reigning champion of DDR or somethin’.”

Tim blinked. Was it possible that Jin had just…forgotten? It didn't seem likely given how truly distressed the guy had been on Wednesday, but…

"I guess," Tim started, "I guess I'll head to the arcade then?"

Gio nodded, "It's your best bet, I'd imagine."

Tim nodded and started packing up his bag, feeling jittery. The waves of anxiety crashed into him with the discomforting heat of embarrassment. Not a fun combination, but one that Tim was used to from years of mistakes and social missteps. The jelly legs were new though… The joys of physiologically manifesting one's mentality of failure… yay.

The air outside Gio’s grounded Tim almost immediately. Something about cool air had always calmed him. It was this truth of the universe that compelled Tim to walk to the arcade instead of hopping on one of the (honestly, mildly inconvenient) buses. It would take nearly the same amount of time in Friday night traffic, after all.

Though, this would go much faster if I could bypass all the foot-based traffic, Tim thought as he weaved through his fellow pedestrians.

A nearby alley caught his eye as he narrowly avoided a collision with a teen texting while biking. He was nearly halfway into the sidestreet before he realized where his feet were taking him.

“Uhh, what?” he muttered to himself as he leaned heavily against a dumpster… A dumpster he knew he could use to haul himself up onto the nearby fence underneath a window with a broken latch… That he could jimmy open easily and hoist himself through to gain access to the roof. The roof had a clear shot to a building that housed both piano lessons and a Futon Factory that, ill-advisedly, laundered money for two competing mob families. Using that roof, someone could easily arrive at the arcade in…three? No, four rooftops.

Tim’s knees buckled underneath him as images flashed across his mind, supplying him with an avalanche of information at lightning speed. Faded jeans collided with damp earth while an entirely too detailed map unfolded in Tim’s mind. Not just the streets, but the skies and sewers too. The knowledge didn’t…hurt…exactly, but the shock had him rubbing vigorously at his forehead.

Had…had “Before Tim” memorized three entirely separate maps of Gotham? Was that even possible for someone who spent most of their life on the ground? Tim knew the guy had some self-defense training and a bit of parkour, but… That was for? Living in Gotham and… Skateboarding, right? Learning how to take a fall or how to clamber up a chain link fence didn’t require intricate knowledge of Gotham’s back alleys.

“Deep breaths, Tim,” he muttered to himself as the feeling returned to his legs. “It might not be completely normal, but it is…valuable, right? ‘Before’ was a pragmatist at heart… Probably memorized the city for…vigilante stalking?”

Regardless, “Now Tim” couldn’t actually act on “Before’s” (insanely detailed…and fun-looking) knowledge. For one, it was the middle of the afternoon and the city was full of civilians. For another, Tim would immediately pancake into the side of a building if handed a grappling hook. He could skateboard, but that didn’t mean he could fly. Thus, the teen slunk out of the alley and back to the sidewalks. A minor meltdown wasn’t a good excuse to miss a meeting with Jin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Tim entered 8-Bit and Beyond. It was fairly empty, but that wasn’t surprising on a Friday night. Most people had plans involving…well, Tim didn’t know, but he assumed it was more “exciting” than the seven rounds of skee ball that he had played with… Someone… A shock of red hair and a clear tendency to cheat. Tim drummed his fingers against the wall as he stood on his tippy-toes to see across the room.

“You must be ‘Chief’."

Tim turned to the “prize counter” next to the exit and attempted a bit of charisma, “To a certain subset of the population."

It worked, apparently, because the ticket checker grinned, “And to the rest?”

“Just Tim,” he replied. “And I imagine that you’re Rhea.”

“Only to family.”

The claim seemed to be true as the teen's name tag read ‘Riri’. A moniker Tim was familiar with as it adorned well over half the “High Score” screens in the building. It made a certain sense that an employee would have the time and access to become especially skilled at ‘Dig Dug’ and ‘Galaga’... Though it was kind of nerve-wracking to be talking to her while also knowing that Ives and Jin had loudly daydreamed about whose skills had wracked up an impressive 782,295 on ‘Frogger’. Both imagined it was a girl, though they probably hadn’t realized she was in the room as they waxed poetic about her “dexterity”… Gawl, they really needed to pay more attention to their surroundings. And also probably just not be so insanely awkward.

“Gio texted to say you might show up looking Jin.”

Tim nodded, “Uh, yeah, we were supposed to meet up and…I guess he forgot?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to imagine Jin anywhere but the DDR pad on a Friday afternoon,” Riri smirked. “He’s pretty good. Someone comes in every Wednesday to take back the leaderboard. I think he’s trying to defend his honor.”

Tim nodded. He was aware of Jin’s hyperfixation on the game. When he’d been living next door, Tim had spent several Friday nights sharing nachos with Tess and her step-brother Teddy while watching Jin take down any competition who dared step on the other dance pad. When Ives came along, he’d create a tournament sheet and act as a commentator, interviewing Tim as if he was Jin’s coach. It had been the kind of cringey fun that Tim had missed out on while attending boarding school as a kid. The sugary food and drinks, countless rounds of rigged games, laser tag with shifting alliances, and it always ended with a mildly annoyed parent calling to remind them their ride was ready to take them home. He’d leave the arcade late in the evening with a sense of contentment that vanished as soon as he crawled through the window of his then-foster home while his neighbors went back to loving houses filled with parents and siblings who were willing to keep the fun times rolling. His parents had loved him–a lot–and it felt like a betrayal to long after the kind of family he’d never had in the first place. He’d enjoyed the museums and concerts and operas his parents brought him to, but he didn’t miss those outings in the same way he longed for the family game nights at home his friends spoke of where Uno and Monopoly were both banned and Ives lost every game of Candyland to his niece. Even now, his games of Egyptian Rat Sphinx with Helena while they watched old episodes of Cheers felt oddly lacking (and only partially because they should have been watching Frasier).

“Yo, Chief!”

Tim snapped out of his reverie, “Yeah, sorry, what?"

Riri shook her head, “I said, Jin’s over at the pinball machines.”

“Right,” Tim nodded. “Thanks.

Unsurprisingly, Jin was right where Riri had indicated. The old Doctor Who machine was one of their collective favorites to mess around with given the rule changes associated with each regeneration of the titular character. Tess had gotten especially good over time. Apparently, Jin was struggling through the Peter Davison level.

“So,” Tim said leaning against the neighboring machine, “that noggin of yours isn’t bigger on the inside?”

Jin didn’t look up, but managed an annoyed, “What?”

Which…didn’t seem fair. Tim was the one who’d been left high and dry. He’d turned down an extra shift at the Rec Center and managed a sizable amount of research on the missing teens since they’d met last.

“Gio’s, Goofus,” Tim snapped back. “We’re supposed to be going over your evidence, remember?"

“Evidence on what?” Jin muttered as the ball ricocheted haphazardly around the machine.

“Tess and the half-dozen other missing kids you were freaking out over!” Tim whisper-shouted back.

“Tess Langers?” Jin barely avoided a ‘Game Over’. “The girl from my PE class? She’s out sick with Mono. Apparently, she’s been making out with Pietro from the Robotics Team.”

“The Hell?”

“Yeah, surprised me too, but it does explain why he missed out on that Lego Builders Invitational a few weeks ago,” Jin explained, the little silver ball slipping between the paddles. “Dang, I’m never getting to McCoy.”

Tim…Tim was shutting down. He absolutely hated when people compared brains (all wrinkly viscera) to computers, but there was no better analogy for his current state of absolute disbelief. As his brain rebooted, Tim compared the Jin in front of him with the one who had been so distraught in an upscale cafe.

“Are you kidding me?!” Tim shouted, ignoring the startled pair of teens playing “Whack-a-Mole” in the corner. “I’ve never even met Tess Longston–”

“Langers–”

“I don’t care!” Tim snapped. “This isn’t funny. You drag me out of the house on a Wednesday after not talking to me for months and beg me to help you find evidence to prove Tess Estler was trafficked–”

“Estler?”

“And now this…act?! Like you have no idea what I’m talking about!”

Jin dragged Tim behind a pillar as a pair of siblings poked their heads around the DDR set-up, “Woah, Tim, I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Right, you just forgot that Tess Estler–a girl you’ve been friends with for years–existed!"

“Of course not, but she’s not missing?” Jin whispered, glancing over Tim’s shoulder to wave a reassuring hand at the onlookers. “Or at least I don’t think she is."

“Yes, she is,” Tim growled. “I found the report her parents filed last week.”

Jin looked at him like he’d grown a second head…and perhaps an additional set of ears, “You hacked into a database in Arizona?”

Tim shook his head, “Why would I do that?”

“Because…that’s where Trina and Tess are?” Jin explained slowly. “Her mom finished getting the house ready while Tess was having her summer visitation with her dad.”

“No…”

“Yeah, she left back in August,” Jin argued, showing Tim a text chain labeled ObTESSive Compulsive DeTESStive. “Like she always does.”

The chain wasn’t nearly as long as Tim remembered. The older Estler siblings and Jin were practically inseparable. Their chains were full of inside jokes and ideas for their next short film and plans for the weekend. The thread Tim was looking at had a half-dozen messages inquiring about whether Teddy’s phone had died and that said step brother was needed at home for supper. The final message was dated August 28th asking Jin to thank his mother for the housewarming plant. A picture of an aglaonema sitting in a window was attached.

“No, she was in the park with you like two weeks ago,” Tim shot back. “You sent me the videos and everything!”

Tim yanked his phone from his back pocket only to find it dead…and wet. Crap… His fall in the alley. Tim hadn’t even thought to check if his phone was alright. Because…it was always alright. He had the best phone on the… No, no he didn’t. He had a cheap, refurbished phone that was at least four generations older than the current wave of smartphones on the market. But…the proof had been on there not even two hours ago. He’d checked it over a dozen times in the last two days, made extensive notes, cross-referenced other disappearances… He’d talked about what he’d found with Nightwing not even a day before.

“Tim, let’s get some food in you, okay?” Jin said, not unkindly. “You look like death warmed over…or like a S’mores Pop Tart…”

Tim nodded, not sure what to make of the description. Jin led him over to the tables where Tim slumped down, burying his face in his arms. His brain was itchy and he was worried he might actually shake out of his skin with all the trembling. He was missing something. The proof had been there, right? Tess lived in Gotham, right? Sure, Tim hadn’t seen her much since he moved in with Helena, but… No. NO! Jin had freaked out about all of this not two days before. But… Tim’s brain felt fuzzy.

“Yo! Tim, I’m gonna grab nachos too!” Jin called as he scurried off towards Riri at the prize counter.

Now…now Tim didn’t know what to do. His best lead was talking to the people who knew Tess best, but… Jin was acting like he didn’t know anything at all. Jin wasn’t a jerk and he couldn’t fake all the evidence Tim found through the police reports.

“Hey, um…Tim?”

Tim dragged his head out of his arms but didn’t look up and huffed, “I’m sorry, but I think I’m having a low grade panic attack…or uhh…a limited symptom thingy. I don’t think I can…”

The person took the seat across from him, fidgeting enough to make the table between them shake, “Yeah…I think I’ve been having one of those for like three weeks now.”

Tim finally took in the person speaking to him, “Teddy? What?”

“Everyone else thinks I’m crazy… Well, everyone but Jin did. Until–”

“Until today…” Tim finished.

“Yeah,” Teddy confirmed, running a hand through his unkempt brown hair. “It’s just…”

“Tess disappeared and no one believes you?”

“No, that’s just it,” Teddy sighed. “I know where she is, but…”

“She’s not where she’s supposed to be!”

“Right, exactly!” Teddy exclaims with relief. “Everyone says she’s supposed to be in Arizona with Trina, but that’s not right. She’s supposed to be here... The court documents, my dad…Jin they’re wrong. I know they are, but I don’t know how I know. It’s making me crazy”

Tim looked over at Jin…attempting to flirt with Riri (who didn’t seem entirely unreceptive) and then back at Teddy.

Perhaps one of these eggs might still hatch, Tim thought. It’s not about the basket at all. Maybe I just need more than one chicken…

Chapter Text

Dick had thought that he was getting better, but after a week back in Blüd his nerves were fraying so hard that he nearly blew a gasket in a car dealership waiting room.

“Deep breaths, Grayson,” he muttered to himself as another old lady loitered behind him to peruse the complimentary granola bars and chips.

Dick knew he should've done the service and repairs himself, but there wasn't any room in the parking of his apartment complex. Sure, he could've gone back to the Manor, but Dick wasn't ready to head to Gotham… so, dealership. A crowded one where he'd specifically chosen a chair where he could see everyone and every exit but wasn't so low to the ground that he'd aggravate his back injuries. Unfortunately that meant people kept walking behind him to debate the qualities of Nature Valley vs. Nutri Grain while gossiping about their children's choices in partners.

“I just always imagined him with someone more outgoing,” one woman was saying. “I really don't want him to waste time on a girl he isn't sure about.”

“Obviously not,” her companion responded with cheerful derision. “You'll have to keep me updated.”

“Obviously, I'll let you know once I've got the scoop!”

Dick forced his muscles to relax as they wandered away.

He had been working on being more patient. Less prone to his unwieldy temper, but it kept sneaking up on him. Waiting for him to get distracted. Overwhelming him all at once like a compromised dam… it's why he wasn't willing to go back to Gotham just yet. Dick nearly let loose in front of everyone when he realized that the case file on Tess Estler had disappeared from the GCPD’s servers. The Cave’s files also seemed to be missing pieces… all this after barely convincing Huntress to work with him… all this after he'd watched Tim Drake spend two hours frantically taking notes on napkins and scraps of notebook paper after his friends had left the arcade. Dick…he didn't trust himself around his family at the moment.

An older gentleman slipped behind him to grab an apple and Dick had finally had it. Suppressing a derisive growl, he grabbed his jacket and stalked out the door. He'd get a text when his car was done anyway so it would be better for his mental health to take a walk. A little fresh air and all that nonsense.

Really…Dick was just really exhausted. He was existing in a constant state of tension and frustration. It was beginning to become too much.

After a brisk six mile walk around the least desirable neighborhoods of Blüd, Dick felt like he could at least breathe again. The anxiety crawling beneath his skin hadn’t entirely dissipated, but at least he could focus…ignore it…allow it to fade into the background like the tinnitus he’d acquired from years submerged in raucous cheers of the big top. It was the most relief he’d felt since getting back to the city. Maybe that’s why he didn’t look before answering his phone.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I had to step out to deal with something work-related. I can be back in twenty,” Dick muttered absently.

“You’re coming back to Gotham already?”

Dick pulled back his phone to stare at the contact photo though he shouldn’t have had to…he’d know that voice anywhere, “Uhh, sorry, Babs…Was waiting on a call. Got distracted.”

“...So, not coming back to Gotham?”

Dick stifled a sigh, “No…not for a bit. Got some ongoing stuff here to deal with. Open case down at the docks. Drugs.”

“Cool, so we’re lying to each other now,” Babs muttered. “I’ll be busy for the next week dying my hair neon pink.”

“Babs…I’m sorry… I just can’t right now. Gotham isn’t exactly hurting for help these days and the way I’m feeling–”

“You’d be a liability, yeah, I can tell.”

Dick took a breath instead of kicking the dumpster he was passing… Self-control in spades.

“I can’t be in Gotham when I’m like this. B already has three highly traumatized kids to deal with. I will not give them a reason to…to…”

“Feel the way you’re feeling?” Babs offered softly.

Dick stepped into an alley and slumped against the wall, “Yeah, like absolute shit…”

Babs hummed thoughtfully, “I honestly never thought I’d see you like this again.”

“Then you think too highly of me, Babs,” Dick scoffed in what he hoped was a joking way, “I’m always an asshole.”

“Oh no, Boy Wonder,” Babs shoots back. “This is way more specific than run-of-the-mill douchebaggery.”

“Well, please enlighten me on how I disappointed you so thoroughly in the past,” Dick replied, gripping his phone too tightly. The attempted light-heartedness was just making him feel worse.

“Ugh, Dick, you’re not being a dick…Well, you are, but it’s not because you’re being a jerk just to be a jerk–”

“How would you kn–”

“YOU’RE HURTING, GRAYSON!”

Dick jerked away from his phone.

“I…uh…”

Babs sighed, “This…I’ve only seen you like this once, but…Alfr–”

“When?”

“What?”

“When?” Dick ground out slowly. “When have you seen me like this?”

He could feel Babs’ hesitation through the phone. The two of them had a long history together and it hadn’t always been pretty… Neither was great at dealing with their shortcomings. Dick with his temper. Babs with her holier-than-thou attitude. Both of them with their stubbornness. The only thing that worked long term at keeping them from going at each other’s throats was honesty. Sometimes cold, cutting honesty…but it worked. They may not speak to each other for a few weeks after a particularly harsh analysis, but they always found their way back to their…partnership. So…Babs’ hesitation felt like a shot to the leg.

“Babs?”

A sigh, “When you were…fifteen, I think. You were absolutely insufferable for a few weeks…almost a month honestly.”

Dick flipped back his mental calendar and came up with a half-dozen reasons why he might’ve been in a bad mood six years prior, “I think you’re selling me short. I was pretty awful throughout my teen years.”

“I’m not talking about one of your hundreds of fights with Bruce, goofus,” Babs muttered. “Those didn’t, and don’t, faze me… This was different. You were tense all the time. Easily distracted. Constantly cutting conversations short. Only half paying attention to what was going on around you.”

“I don’t…I don’t remember that,” Dick said slowly. “I’m sorr–”

“No, it’s fine…Well, it wasn’t fine… Because you weren’t fine,” Babs explained. “It got so bad though…Bruce was no help so…So I talked to Alfred and he didn’t give me the details, but he said that you weren’t insufferable.”

“Bold words from a man who has seen me at my worst,” Dick laughed wetly.

“Shut up, dick…derogatory if that wasn’t clear… No, he said you weren’t insufferable…you were inconsolable.”

“I–”

“Alfred…he respected your privacy enough not to tell me why and…I never asked,” Babs admitted. “Eventually, you were back to normal and I didn’t want to…for you to…I missed…I, uh, I didn’t think it would ever get that bad again so I didn’t…”

“It’s okay, Babs, it wasn’t…isn’t your job to deal with my emotional regulation or whatever,” Dick muttered.

“Yeah, but–”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dick muttered. His phone buzzed and he pulled it away to check his notifications. His car had been done for about a half an hour apparently, but the most recent text was from Amy Rohrbach. He returned the phone to his ear, “Listen, Babs, I’m really sorry about how I’ve been lately, but I have to get going.”

“Yeah…right.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Why’d you call?” Dick replied as he stepped into the alley and headed towards the nearest entrance to the subway.

“Oh, right, uh…Your newest…friend…contacted me. Apparently, you two came to some sort of agreement?”

Dick blinked. Huntress…or Helena Bertinelli…well, technically, Huntress since he’s not supposed to know her alter ego in the first place, “Right, before I left town we reached an…understanding…I suppose.”

“Cool… She says that there might be an opening on Saturday night at a new club downtown. Sensations. If you’re still interested in the position.”

Gawl, Dick hated having to modify his conversations to cover up vigilante stuff. He’d been doing it for years. It was second nature. Like breathing. Still an absolute pain in the ass.

“Yeah, let her know I’ll be there. Probably around 10.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble. I hear those new places are especially shady. Uh…let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Dick swiped his metrocard and made his way towards the crowd waiting for the next train, “Sure, take care of yourself, Babs.”

Dick hung up without waiting for her response. It was rude, but he was still digging through his memory to locate the source of his prior “inconsolable…ness”. Fifteen was a rough year for him and Bruce, but that was, unfortunately, normal. Nothing to be super angsty about.

With a sigh, “Alright, Amy, what exactly did you need?”

Dick swiped away some useless notifications and glanced fleetingly at a few emails. Most were pointless store promotions anyway. Finally, he located the text he’d received from Amy.

Det. Amy R.-Looking for a break. In life and in a case. Can you meet today? (13:22)

Dick hadn’t heard from Amy in a while. Her finding out about his…nighttime activities hadn’t completely ruined their relationship, but it did end their partnership. He didn’t blame her. She was one of the few people actually trying to clean up Blüdhaven and dealt with two-faced assholes both on the streets and in her precinct. Even if she was sure that Dick was worthy of her trust, her apprehensions about another partner with dual identities… Well, it was reasonable to say the least.

Ret. Dick G.-Sure. When and where? (13:43)

The train had arrived and Dick pocketed his phone to avoid losing it in the ensuing jostle to get onboard. Crowded for the early afternoon, but not unreasonably so, he chose to stand towards the back. He wasn’t ready for more sitting just yet.

The train pulled away from the platform and Dick let his mind wander back to his conversation with Babs as he waited for his old partner's reply. Perhaps he was digging in the wrong part of his memory. Afterall, Babs hadn’t said he was angry. Insufferable and inconsolable.

Det. Amy R.-4 at the coffee cart outside of the precinct. Got volunteered to do an interview for some kid and it’ll probably take awhile. Don’t get lost on the way over, Grayson.

Ret. Dick G.-You bet. See you then.

He pocketed his phone once more stuck on something. Lost? Lost… Oh, right! That was it. He hadn’t been fighting with Bruce at all. He’d lost Zitka… Twice.

Every year on Dick’s birthday, he received a call from Haley’s Circus. The phone was passed around for hours as he caught up with his first family. On his fifteenth birthday although they tried their best to sound cheery and excited, it was clear that something was weighing heavily on them as he switched from one conversation to the next. Finally, it was Haley himself on the line…

“Wayne still treating you well, Little Bird?” he’d asked like he always did. “Saw your state-winning routine. Seems Gotham gravity hasn’t caught ahold of you yet.”

“Not ever,” Dick replied easily, watching Alfred as he finished prepping a birthday cake for the oven.

“Good, good…” Haley muttered, distracted.

“So,” Dick prodded. “How are things on the show circuit? Bruce said we might be able to take in your show in Metropolis this year…”

“Dickie, umm…There’s something you should know…”

The following conversation was both burned into his brain and a wisp of smoke. Dick could remember how he felt and every inch of pain that coursed through his heart even though the actual words had been washed away like chalk paintings in the rain. The details themselves didn’t matter anyway…Zitka was gone. Had passed away. Natural causes, apparently. But gone, gone, gone. No goodbyes, just dead. Dick had been unresponsive to the point that Alfred had to pick up the phone after it clattered to the floor. The expensive, plastic rectangle didn’t matter anyway as Dick tore through the Manor to his room…desperate to find the one reflection of his beloved friend--his beloved circus…his beloved home--that he had been able to take with him after his parents fell and his first life, first love…ended. And, much like her real-life counterpart, Zitka the stuffed elephant was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Alfred found him in an absolutely trashed room. In a half hour, Dick had lost two irreplaceable pieces of his heart. Inconsolable. Lost… Riddled with anxiety and tension…constantly on the edge of a breakdown. In need of relief. Incapable of finding the one thing that might right the ship enough for him to ride out the storm. Unable to call for help over the turbulence of it around him at all times. Lost. Lost. Lost.

The screeching of the train pulled him from a panic spiral and Dick hastily exited before the other passengers had the chance to get up from their seats. He needed out before he melted down. The walk back to the dealership passed hazily as he tried his best to be present. Even a bill that was twice what he was quoted couldn’t fully pull him out. Instead, Dick just handed over the card connected to the account Bruce set up for him… It wouldn’t faze the billionaire anyway.

Two miles down the road, it occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t be driving in this state. The honking he received at the third stoplight in a row proved him correct. Still, he said he’d show up for Amy and that mattered more than the whirlpool attempting to consume him. It took him a few minutes of breathing exercises after he parked across from the precinct before he was ready to engage with the world fully again. Zitka... That had been six years ago. There was no way the same thing was happening to him now. Other than his shaky civilian employment situation, Dick's life was not lacking. He had his family, the Titans...he even saw his circus family on a reasonably regular basis. He hadn't lost anything. Dick Grayson was living a good, full life... He didn't need a lighthouse in the storm like he had at fifteen because, at the age of twenty-one, he could see the shore just fine. He was just fine.

The 4:17 emblazoned on his watch told him that he’d taken much too long to come back to himself, but Amy wasn’t waiting at the cart when he arrived. A check of his phone came up empty. No new texts from anyone, but a cheery email asking him to rate his experience at the dealership… No thanks.

Amy must be running late too… which meant that Dick wasn’t a complete failure as a person, friend, and former partner… ‘Complete’ being the operative word. To improve his overall “functional adult” score, Dick ordered them both some coffee and scones from the cart before heading into the station. He might not be employed there anymore, but they still recognized him and he’d never had a problem slipping in before for a chat (*cough* sneaking into the evidence room *cough*) before.

“Hey, Grayson, been a bit,” Officer Gary O’Hare murmured, barely looking up from his crossword.

Dick shrugged, “Family stuff’s been keeping me busy. Along with looking for a new job.”

Gary grunted and traded a visitor's pass for the extra coffee and singular muffin Dick had picked up. Two for two in the new ‘Dick Grayson’s Attempt at Functioning Like a Human Being’ save file. On a roll, honestly. Massive emotional breakdown he’d been having for what seemed like a year? Never heard of her… Dick only knows good habits and admirable mental health…

Amy was sitting at her desk in the bullpen as Dick walked in. She didn’t even seem to notice him as she was engrossed in conversation with the person sitting across from her. A slightly oversized hoodie was holding a notebook. Their pen flew across the page at a truly admirable speed to keep up with the rapidfire back and forth the two were engaged in.

So, two for three on the new save file because it took entirely too long for Dick to recognize a not-disguided-at-all Tim Drake… A full forty miles away from Gotham. Interviewing a detective a full city away from where he should be at that moment. Like…it was just him…sitting there…As if that was just a completely normal thing for him to be doing at the age of fourteen on a Thursday afternoon.

Oh, two for four…on that new save file. Dropping an entire caddy of coffee in a police precinct because of something that wasn’t even really that bizarre wasn’t a “normal human reaction”.

Amy, Tim, and the entire bullpen of Blüdhaven police officers turned at once to stare at the mess that was Richard John “Dick” Grayson, age twenty-one. At least the scones were still okay…even if his new slacks were stained with coffee.

Dick had thought that he was getting better. But maybe the chaotic, stormy sea he kept sailing into was just his life now…

Chapter Text

No, no, nope. NOT HAPPENING! I’m taking control of this situation right now and I don’t really care what Tim Drake thinks about it. No way.

“Uhh, Grayson, you okay there?” Amy asked, looking more than a bit concerned at her former partner’s current situation.

Tim’s face, by contrast, was flitting through what seemed to be a dozen different emotions with each passing second.

Dick, well, he was a professional so… “Crikey O’Reilly! Am I a klutz or what?”

“Klutz, you?” Amy asked while Tim mouthed ‘crikey, O’Reilly’ incredulously.

“Yup, when you’re born on the tightropes… Uh, linoleum can really trip you up,” Dick explained as seriously as he could, willing as much charm into his voice and posture as possible.

“Are you sure it’s not just asbestos exposure?” Tim muttered, unimpressed.

Dick, who wasn’t in the mood to be challenged on his flimsy, paper-thin lies, responded with, “Asbestos is more of a respiratory thing actually, kiddo.”

Tim’s nose twitched, but he said nothing in return.

Amy had watched the exchange with her usual shrewdness and, never one to pass up an opportunity for more discreeet observation, asked, “Can you keep my visitor company while I grab some paper towels from the supply closet, Grayson?”

And, for some inexplicable reason, Dick didn’t want to be left alone with the kid so… “No, that’s okay, Amy, I still remember where they are. I’ll go ge-”

“Nah, it’s no problem. That stupid smartwatch you got me for Christmas says I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

Amy was used to being underestimated and menaced by dirty cops. In a battle of wills, Dick was pretty sure he’d lose… After all, he had quit and she was still on the force. But he had to try.

“It’s my mess and I’d hate to interrupt,” he argued weakly.

“Nonsense. Come on over and make a new acquaintance, Grayson,” Amy countered, standing up and stretching. “He’s a hell of a-”

“We’ve met before,” Tim cut-in. “More than once actually.”

Amy came up short there, but rallied admirably, “Oh? Never thought of Gotham as a ‘small world’ kind of town, y’know? Well, since you know each other, keep Tim here company while I grab those towels.”

Dick didn’t even acknowledge Amy as she left. His mind was racing.

More than once? Dick thought. No, that’s not right… Tim’s only met Dick the one time at the Rec Center, right? Yeah… Tim didn’t notice the Wayne Arcade Outing the week prior. They’d been discreet and he’d been distracted with his friends. So…if he didn’t mean he’d met Dick more than once then… Oh no, NOT HAPPENING!

Dick shook himself and finally stooped down to pick up the coffee cups at his feet. It wasn’t the best idea given how dizzy he was feeling all of the sudden. Still, Alfred had ingrained manners into each and every member of the Wayne Clan…and that wasn’t including how horrified Mary Grayson would be by her son’s behavior.

After depositing the cups and caddy in the nearest trash can, Dick turned back to Tim Drake… Who was watching Dick in turn, head slightly tilted as if the minute change in perspective would allow him to see straight through his mark. Heck…maybe he could if the kid had actually managed to… No, not happening. Not possible. Dick was careful… He was always careful around civilians. Sure, he’d let down his guard a tiny bit around Tim the week before while in the mask… Just a little. Hardly noticeable. But Dic- No… Nightwing had been so wrung out… Tired… And trading jabs back and forth with the kid had been fun. There wasn’t exactly a helpful guide on how to decompress as a vigilante so… Nightwing took it where he could find it… Trainsurfing with Robin. Impromptu dance parties with Batgirl. Surveillance hide-and-seek with Oracle. Sneaking snacks past Agent A… Grabbing a sandwich and bantering with a random civilian… Should have never been an option. Now, Dick was going to have to clean up Nightwing’s mess. Which…fair enough…it was probably Dick’s recent fractious behavior and need for relief that got him into this “Tim Drake Mess” to begin with.

Tim seemed to come back to himself enough to notice he was making sustained eye-contact with Dick. He looked away swiftly and fidgeted in his chair, pulling out his phone.

“Uhh, you don’t need to keep me company. I’ve wasted too much of Detective Rohrbach’s time already,” the kid said hastily. “I should get going. Nice to see you again, Mr. Grayson.”

Tim grabbed his bag from where it was sitting at his feet and made towards the elevator…

Yeah, not happening.

Dick barely had to reach out to grab the kid’s hoodie and haul him back, “I don’t think so, Junior. You’re gonna sit on that bench and wait for me.”

Tim, to his credit, didn’t flinch…just tilted his head in the same damned-inquisitive way he was just a moment before, “I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Gray-”

“Don’t really care if you think it’s necessary, kiddo,” Dick tried his best to tamp down on the menace in his voice. “And don’t call me Mr. Grayson… I’m twenty-one.”

“But…you…uh, clearly came here to meet up with your friend,” Tim rallied, absently scratching the side of his head. “I would hate to cut your time together short.”

Dick shook his head and tossed the bag of scones he was still carrying onto Amy's desk, “Drop the politeness, it’s annoying.”

“I-”

“Bench, now,” Dick reiterated, letting go of the kid’s hood and nudging him along.

“Bu-”

“I don’t think you understand that this isn’t negotiable, Mr. Drake,” Dick whispered as Amy returned with a roll of those pathetic brown towels you only found in places that were funded by taxpayers. “I’ll remind you that it’s Thursday afternoon and that truancy is a crime.”

Tim looked confused, but walked over to the indicated bench and sat… With arms crossed and that damned infuriating head tilt! Whatever… Dick needed to deal with Amy’s thing quickly so that he could deal with whatever fresh hell Tim was up to now.

Amy smiled as she reached Dick and handed him the roll, she spared a glance and a grin at Tim too. Tim reciprocated before feigning an interest in the corkboard behind him.

“You’re supposed to drink the coffee, Grayson,” she joked. “Easier ways to dye your new slacks poop brown.”

“Haha,” Dick intoned, sopping up the puddle at his feet.

“No humor today? Got it. Not really my forte anyway.”

“You’ve a delightful sense of humor, Amy,” Dick replied. “I just wish I wasn’t the subject of it for once.”

“Mmm.”

“So?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanted to meet, if I recall,” Dick clarified…for like the eightieth time that day. “Sorry to interrupt your…meeting?”

Amy stole another look over to Tim Drake who was continuing to sell his engrossment with the flyers of Blüdhaven. He’d even taken out his phone and snapped a picture or two. Not a bad act for an amateur, honestly.

“Yeah, he’s got a school press pass from Everett High over in Gotham,” Amy explained as Dick finished up cleaning. “Said that the GCPD wasn’t giving his school answers over some missing persons cases. So, he hopped the train over here to ask about our own recent cases. Had a ‘letter of introduction’ from his faculty advisor and everything.”

Dick frowned, “There’s a lot of missing persons cases over here too?”

Amy sighed, “Sort of. From what I can tell… The bulk of both cities’ cases are near their shared border.”

“Okay?”

“It’s just…” she sat down heavily in her office chair and Dick took the seat Tim had vacated, reluctantly placing the latter to his back.

“What?”

“It seems like anytime we look into these cases, the moment we get close, charges are dropped or the people are found.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Amy tapped quickly on her keyboard and turned her computer screen so Dick could see, “You’d think, but the stories keep changing. I spoke to these three families, all three with missing members… I swear, these aren’t the notes I took when I interviewed them.”

Dick scanned one of the reports. A domestic disturbance. An ex-girlfriend claimed that she was just going home after a weeklong shift as a traveling nurse. Her ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend of three years claimed the nurse was crazy and trying to break into her old apartment. The nurse wasn’t over her ex.

“Okay, I’m confused…Seems like a cut-and-dry domestic disturbance. The nurse…Patty? Looks like she didn’t even struggle.”

“Except, that’s not what happened on that call… Why would I even be called in on a traditional domestic case?” Amy grumbled.

Dick blinked, because…yeah, that didn’t make sense.

“So…?”

“So, when I was called in on that case the ‘nurse’ was the guy’s fiancée and she had been missing for two weeks. He’d been beside himself with grief. At first, I considered him a suspect, honestly,” Amy admitted.

That was fair. Romantic partners…people close to the victim were always high up on the suspect list. If only because they generally had motive and access.

“Okay, that’s reasonable.”

“I was going to call him in for additional questioning, but when I pulled up the file… All of the stuff I’d entered had been changed to this… When I went to talk to the boyfriend in person, he was so confused. He almost seemed…upset that he hadn’t seen this nurse, but apparently she showed up when he wasn’t home. Asked if she was doing okay…said their relationship hadn’t ended on a bad note…just sorta…ended. Was sorry he couldn’t help her more if she was having a rough time. Heck, I went to talk to the nurse since she was miraculously not missing anymore and she just said she must have been confused after so many back-to-back shifts. Was glad that her ex didn’t press charges. Claimed he was a great guy.”

“Sounds like it all worked out then…nobody’s mad or bitter. The woman you thought was missing… wasn’t missing at all. Maybe you're just misxing up your cases. You get enough of them that it's not...out of the realm of possibility.” Dick felt uneasy even as the words left his mouth.

“I asked about their breakup, Grayson,” Amy sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This woman smiled so sadly and said she could barely remember it… Hadn’t seen the guy in three years. Said she was happy for him and his current girlfriend.”

“It isn’t weird to look back fondly even if a relationship ended,” Dick muttered thinking of him and Kori…his flirtations with other girls in his youth.

Amy shook her head, “She had this look. I’ve seen it… She still loved him. I could see it so clearly.”

“That’s reall-”

“The reason I recognized the look so quickly was because I’d seen it two hours before on her ex’s face,” Amy snapped. “Heck, I’d seen it the first time I went to talk about her being missing. I see it in my husband’s eyes when I get home after a citywide calamity. Those two didn’t break up three years ago…they didn’t break up at all.”

“But the file…” Dick said hopelessly.

“I know…the stupid file,” Amy spat. “Maybe I’m going crazy or something. This stupid city is enough to drive anyone to it, honestly. I just… Maybe I gaslamped myself… Mixed cases or something like you said. It's just...every time I look into it just a little bit further, more of my original report seems to just not line up at all. Like my own brain is going back and rewriting the whole thing.”

“I’m sorry, Amy, sounds like things have been rough around here,” Dick replied, trying his best to sound comforting without the pity that usually came along with it.

“Yeah, I guess,” Amy agreed. “So, that’s what I’ve spent the past hour trying to untangle with our intrepid reporter over there.”

Another glimpse in Tim’s direction. He was comparing something on his phone to the notebook he’d been writing in before. Seemingly content to entertain himself with some sort of bizarre cross-referencing exercise while Dick was still talking with Amy.

“Right. Gotham’s premiere news source… A ninth grader,” Dick snorted.

Amy grinned, “Not a half bad little investigative journalist, honestly. Did a whole lot of research before getting here and even knew about a few of our more recent ‘turn around’ stories.”

“Nosy little twerp.”

“Yeah,” Amy agreed. “But a pleasant one. If Gotham ever gets sick of him, they can send him over this way. We could use a few more like him.”

“Sure,” Dick scoffed.

Amy smirked fully now, “Hey, I’m just sayin’. It worked out pretty well for us the last time someone jumped ship from there to here.”

Dick did an admirable job of not flushing at the veiled compliment, “Yeah… I don’t think your colleagues would appreciate another intrusive asshole in Blüd.”

“Harsh, Grayson,” Amy snickered. “He’s just a kid.”

“Sure.”

“How do you know him anyway?” Amy asked.

Dick looked over once more to buy himself time to come up with an acceptable lie. Amy probably wouldn’t appreciate the truth (the “Dick Rec Center” one nor the “Nightwing accidental stalking” one). It wouldn’t be a strong enough reason for Tim to be waiting for Dick. They needed a solid connection or Amy would think Dick was some sort of…kidnapper. Tim looked up, confused, and Dick turned back around.

“Neighbor,” Dick decided. “Former neighbor… His parents used to own one of the manors in Bristol before they passed.”

Amy nodded sympathetically, “Must not run into him much anymore.”

Dick scoffed again, “You’d think so, but I think I’m running into him more now than when he was just across the hedges, honestly.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, literally have not run into him more often in my life,” Dick replied with full honesty.

“Well, that might not be any issue anymore.”

“What?”

Amy grinned, “Kid just dipped, Grayson.”

Dick whipped around so fast he managed to aggravate his neck. Sure enough, no Tim Drake. Just an empty bench and a few flyers missing an extra tear-off.

Fu-

Dick stood up, but stopped himself before he could run after the kid, “Amy, I’m sorry, but I have to g-”

“No worries, Grayson. Between you and your flighty neighbor I think I might have a better idea about the case I was hemming and hawing over,” Amy said, waving him off and snatching up the scones Dick had left on her desk. “Go make sure that twerp doesn’t get himself killed trying to navigate his way back to Gotham.”

“Thanks, Amy… Say ‘hi’ to Jim and the kids for me.”

“Yeah, yeah… Out of the precinct with you, Grayson.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick tore out of station as fast as was reasonable. He had to confirm what Tim kn… He had to contain any potential leaks. Even fourteen year old ones. It was his fault after all.

A quick sweep of the street came up empty. Before Dick could panic he reminded himself that the runt was unnervingly good at blending in with the background. Sure, it wasn’t night, but there was no reason to believe he didn’t camouflage himself just as well in daylight. Just as Dick was about to jog across the road to his Camry he saw a distinct hoodie sprinting down the stairs leading towards the intercity train.

Dick spared a glance to his car and sighed before abandoning it to chase after Tim. A few hurried strides and taking the steps three at a time meant that Dick was able to catch sight of his target scanning a pass and sprinting through the turnstiles towards the train that would take him back to Gotham. It wasn’t hard for Dick to skip the whole “ticket buying” part of the equation. Blüdhaven had never sent him his final check after he’d turned in his badge anyway.

Tim scurried into the last car and Dick dashed after him, slipping through the doors just as they were closing. Without much room to slow down naturally, Dick slammed into the opposite wall as the train pulled away from the platform. Most of the passengers seemed annoyed, but unsurprised by the display… Tim, seated to Dick’s left, looked somewhere between puzzled and mortified. He scrambled out of his seat to help the older man up, but Dick waved him off and took the seat opposite of the teen.

“I believe I told you to wait on the bench,” Dick grunted…no he was not winded.

Tim blinked, “This is a kind of bench.”

“Seriously? That’s your argument?”

Tim fidgeted, “No… Umm, I had to get to the train. And I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation. I didn’t figure it would be a big deal. I was just going to head back to Gotham anyway.”

That…made sense. This particular train only ran every two hours…and this one was the second to last of the day. If Tim wanted to avoid trouble with Helena he’d need to be on this train.

“Still, I told you to wait,” Dick repeated lamely.

Tim sighed and did an admirable job of not rolling his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you can’t tell me what to do. I needed to get back. I’m not your responsibility.”

“I could’ve given you a ride, goofus.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “Did you abandon your car…in Blüdhaven…to chase after me?”

Dick cringed at the reminder, “Yeah.”

“Dude, you barely know me… And I’m not supposed to get in cars with people I barely know,” Tim muttered with more of that inane head tilting.

“Yeah, about that, Junior. One of us is misremembering,” Dick leaned back in his seat, “Cause I’m pretty sure I only met you the one time. Last week, the Rec Center. Once.”

Tim looked away and mumbled.

“What?”

“I…uh…shouldn't have said that,” Tim repeated.

“No, really? Kinda sensitive information you’re sitting on, is it?”

Tim sat forward, twiddling his thumbs, “I just…I didn’t want to bring it up.”

“I bet.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to be reminded of my parents’ deaths out of the blue…when I’m just trying to have a normal day.”

And…what now?

“What?”

Tim’s nose twitched and fished out his phone, looking a little worse for wear since Dick last saw it, and tapped around on the screen. While Tim was busy with that, the train pulled into another station. The already sparse car dwindled to just the two of them as their travel companions disembarked. Dick nodded to the last man as he slipped out the doors when Tim finally looked up and handed him his phone.

Dick raised an eyebrow, but accepted the proffered device. Displayed on the, surprisingly unscratched, screen was a picture that was all too familiar to Dick. A photo…four adults, two kids…in front of a circus tent. Dick handed the phone back to Tim…he didn’t need the picture in front of him. No…Dick had that picture memorized down to the last detail. Had burned it in his memory the days…weeks…months after he had received it in the mail. The last picture he had of his parents before they died.

The train trundled along and Dick looked up again. Tim’s eyes were, surprisingly, averted… As if trying to provide Dick with as much privacy as a two-person train car would allow. He looked uncomfortable. As if he’d broken a rule, admitted it, and was waiting anxiously for his punishment. It was almost painful to watch.

Dick shook his head and refocused on the teen across from him. Objectively, he was the right age to match the toddler in the picture… It’s just… Dick had never really considered the other people in the picture. To him, they were frozen in time… Like his parents. They hadn’t aged beyond that day and it was his own personal punishment that every time Dick stared at the picture…he looked less and less like himself at nine. Nothing else in the picture had ever mattered to Dick… And yet, one of its subjects sat across from him right then. Eleven-ish years later, the only surviving tenants of the photo Dick loved (and hated) were the sole occupants of an intercity train car.

“I’m really sorry, Dick. I-I didn’t want to hurt you by…telling you,” Tim muttered finally, still looking away.

Dick slumped lower in his seat, “No…it’s alright, Tim.”

Tim made eye-contact and tilted his head once more.

Dick huffed a laugh and leaned forward to flick Tim on the forehead, “You’re gonna permanently damage your neck if you keep doing that.”

The teen attempted to hide a grin…which just resulted in a sort of half-grin and a scrunched nose.

“That would truly be the worst reason for a chronic muscle spasm,” Tim agreed.

“Yeah, not likely to come from some other source, Mr. I-Coded-A-New-Food-Pantry-System,” Dick jokes, just barely hiding a flinch when he remembered Tim falling from the Robinson Park wall the week prior.

“Hey now, for all you know I used to be a renegade,” Tim said seriously. “I could be fooling around.”

Dick broke into a genuine grin, “I don’t think you can take the punishment. You oughta settle down.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s been playin’ it real straight. Don’t think the world didn’t notice when you cut your hair,” Tim shot back without missing a beat.

“Nah, kid, I think you’re crazy.”

“Pshaw, I don’t even care.”

“Nope, kid, cause I can tell what’s going on,” Dick spit out between peels of laughter.

“What?” Tim snickered. “I’m just sayin’. It’s hip to be square.”

“I suppose it makes sense. Gotham’s most notable citizens do wear truly colorful business suits…”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few of the crazier ones on TV,” Tim finished, thoroughly blushing over their impromptu oral interp session.

“So?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m, uh, sorry. I never got to thank your parents for sending the picture,” Dick said, scratching at his ears. “I really appreciated it, for what it’s worth.”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, I just…It was… We wanted to help. I didn’t know how, but I still wanted to do something… I’m really sorry about all of it. I know it doesn’t mean much, but… The English language doesn’t really have a specific enough word to use for…”

“Condolences?”

Tim blinked rapidly and huffed, “Never mind.”

“It’s okay, you know what it’s like,” Dick said because it was true. “Thanks for trying to consider my feelings.”

Tim nods.

Dick lets him sit with that for a few moments. As much as the reminder of…well…as much as it sucked, he was relieved that Tim was apparently just referring to the time they met over a decade ago. Nightwing’s identity was still secure…and so were everyone else’s. Tim was just an awkward…and inquisitive kid with an exceptional memory. Probably helped along because of how horribly that day had ended.

Finally, Dick cleared his throat, “Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing we have to clear up here, kid.”

Tim just barely manages to not tilt his head to the side and blinks rapidly instead, “What?”

Dick gestures around to the train, “What exactly is a high school student doing in another city on a Thursday afternoon?”

Tim frowns, “Uhh… I mean, my publications advisor helped me set up an interview with the BPD...I asked for Detective Rohrbach specifically. Remembered her from a news report a month or so ago.”

“You set up an interview with a detective in another city...on a school day?”

“Uhh, yeah, Everett…I mean, my school is having conferences today and tomorrow so we had an early out. It just made sense to do it today,” Tim explained with furrowed brows.

Okay…?

“Yeah, but it’s not exactly safe to travel between cities by yourself, kid,” Dick argued.

Tim sat back and crossed his arms, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Dick didn’t like how the teen’s posture clashed with the words coming out of his mouth.

“If I’m not careful some rando might stalk me and follow me home,” Tim finished.

Dick was 1000% sure that he was making the surprised Pikachu face…or the blink-y blond man meme.

Before Dick could respond, the train pulled to a stop and an influx of Gotham-bound passengers stepped onto the train… A lot of passengers. Despite his recent bravado, Tim looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the crowd…particularly the middle-aged man who sat down next to him.

*sigh* Even without the mask, Grayson? he heard Babs say in his mind.

Dick stood up and offered his seat to a rather formidable looking elderly woman, “Here, Miss, we can stand.”

She smiled, “Thank you, gentlemen. Good manners are hard to come by nowadays.”

Tim quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t fuss when he was hauled up from his seat by the elbow and led to the poles towards the back of the car. Having made its final stop in Blüdhaven, the train sped up in anticipation of the empty tracks between the two cities. Dick was used to the rickety nature of New Jersey infrastructure, his companion…less so. Tim swayed uneasily with each bump, but still only used one hand to clasp the support pole.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dick said.

“What?”

“A rando could stalk you and follow you home if you’re not careful,” Dick reiterated. “I don’t think Helena…or Detective Rohrbach for that matter…would appreciate adding you to that list of missing kids.”

Tim did roll his eyes this time around, “I understand the risks I’m taking. I’d really appreciate it if even one person would trust that I’m not an idiot.”

“I don-”

“I got on the train closest to my school, I text Helena to check in every half hour, I got off the train closest to the station… Heck, I’m getting off the train next to the Rec Center. If I’m not there by 6:30, Alec is supposed to call me to check in. I’m not some reckless idiot who runs off withou-”

Tim stumbled and lost his grip as the train took a sharp turn. Instinctively, Dick reached out and snatched him by the arm before he could crash into the floor.

How many times am I gonna catch this kid? Dick thought.

“Sea Isle Junction,” Dick explained once Tim was steady and latched (two hands this time) onto his pole. “Nasty curve.”

Tim took a breath, “Thanks… Guess you’re not gonna believe I’m not reckless now?”

Dick considered the teen…and considered how he felt when Bruce hadn’t trusted him when he was fourteen, “It’s not about being reckless, Tim… I don’t think you’re likely to actively choose something that will get you hurt, but sometimes things happen that you can’t predict.”

“I wish that was the case,” Tim muttered so quietly Dick almost missed it.

“Hmm?” That was…weird.

Tim looked up again, but not at Dick, “It’s just…uh, I know the statistics and all that. I can…guess…at what might happen and how to…avoid it, I guess. I know bad stuff can still happen, but I'm not ignorant of what's going on around me.”

“Okay?”

“I just don’t know why…I’ve never gotten the context for…whatever… It’s not your problem,” Tim fidgeted some more.

For some reason, Dick disagreed rather strongly with that. His entire life since he was a preteen had been dedicated to saving people…helping people in whatever ways he could. How was Tim any different? Just because Dick wasn’t wearing a mask right at that moment didn’t mean he couldn’t offer Tim some support or guidance.

Dick reached out and squeezed the kid’s shoulder before he could stop himself… A surprise to both of them if Tim's returning head tilt was any indication. Probably not the best course of action…even if they did technically meet ‘more than once’. He made to pull away, but stopped when his eyes met Tim's.

Tim looked inquisitive once more, but also like he was waiting on some sort of wisdom. Like maybe Dick held the key…the answers to every inch of self-doubt he was feeling in that moment. And Dick… Dick wasn’t sure he was capable of such a feat, but he wan- no…he needed to try.

“Context is important. It answers a lot of questions,” Dick began slowly. “But sometimes…you’ve just got to trust your gut. Brains are essential and you shouldn’t just ignore what you've got stored in there…Especially when you know the statistics and the consequences.”

“Right…”

“But sometimes…your gut knows things before any other part of you does. Trust that,” Dick said, confidence pooling in his own stomach. “Listen to that gut feeling and I promise you’ll find the answers you’re looking for.”

Tim nodded, a small grin on his face, “I don’t know… Probably pretty easy for you to say. I’m not sure my guts are as good as yours.”

Dick let go of his shoulder and ruffled his hair as the train started to slow, “Nah, you’ve got good guts. I can tell.”

“How can you be sure?”

Dick gestured for Tim to walk ahead of him as they joined the crowd disembarking at the Westside Station, “You managed to find the only clean cop in all of Blüdhaven…and you can quote Huey Lewis and the News.”

Tim snorted.

“And even as a three year old, you had exquisite taste in acrobatic performances,” Dick continued, enjoying the kids' mounting disbelief.

“My parents brought me, it’s not like I had a choice.”

“Shh, Timmy, I’m not done listing why the things we share in common are your best traits.”

“Not exactly a long list.”

“Black hair, blue eyes, fan of trains, and I’m just assuming you know the best places to eat on this side of town,” Dick continued. After all, Tim didn’t know…so it was okay to sprinkle in a few references…Dick could use the fun.

“Really milking this, aren’t you?” Tim sighed as they arrived in front of the Westside Rec Center.

Dick held the door and ushered Tim inside, “Of course not, wouldn’t do to milk things at all actually…I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Sucks to suck,” Tim replied easily, stowing his bag underneath the front desk after he fished out his nametag. “I think I’ll order some chicken fettuccine alfredo this evening. And not worry for a second about my eventual bowel movements.”

“Gross thing to admit, Chief,” a voice called from the office behind them.

“There’s so few things I can brag about, Alec, and even if there weren’t…I’m not picky,” Tim replied to the man who emerged from the backroom.

The man from that first day a week ago smiled at Tim and clapped him on the back. Tim stumbled a bit, but didn’t complain so Dick managed to hold his tongue instead of criticizing 'Alec'.

“Was about to call, Chief,” Alec said, ignoring Dick completely…which was only mildly annoying. “Enjoy your trip across the bay?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, it was good…uh, thanks for asking. Dick made sure I got back in one piece.”

Alec turned to Dick and held out a hand, “Dick…Grayson, I assume.”

Dick gripped the other man’s hand firmly, “Yup, ran into the kid and figured I was heading back to Gotham anyway so…”

“Hey, Tim! That you?”

“Yeah, Ms. Eliza, I’m here,” Tim called back.

“Great, can you come back here?…Alec is absolutely awful at explaining any of this tech stuff.”

“Heard and resented,” Alec shot back.

“Sure, I’ll be back in a second,” Tim said before turning to Dick. “Thanks for…well, uh…Just thanks for a lot of stuff, Dick.”

“Never a problem,” Dick replied with a smile. “Stay out of trouble…in Gotham or otherwise…”

Tim nodded, “Sure thing. Have a good evening.”

And then he was gone.

Alec turned his full attention to Dick, “I wasn’t aware you knew each other.”

Dick shrugged, “Uhh, yeah, old…family friends. Sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to be sure he got back here safely. Gotham and Blüdhaven aren’t exactly the safest cities to run around.”

Alec narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, a new voice joined their conversation.

“Master Richard, I wasn’t aware you were returning so soon.”

Dick flinched hard, but turned to face Alfred, “Hey, Alfie, uh…I’m not actually back in town…back in town. I just had to…”

“He made sure Tim Drake got back from Blüdhaven,” Alec offered, barely hiding a suspicious glint in his eye. “Old family friends apparently.”

Alfred nodded sagely as he reached the desk, “Ahh…yes, I daresay, young Master Richard has been ahh…acquainted with the Drakes for quite some time. Around…eleven years if I were to put a specific amount of time on it.”

So…Alfred knew where the photo came from. That made sense. And technically, neither of them was lying. Hopefully, if Alec asked Tim… Well, technically, Tim shouldn’t fudge the truth around adults he trusted…but maybe this once…

“I don’t believe I saw your Camry outside, Master Richard,” Alfred said, changing the subject.

Dick took a deep breath and started to edge away from the desk, “Ahh, no… You wouldn’t. I took the train. Which, I should really be heading to the station to catch one back so…”

Alec, no doubt catching onto the discomfort of it all, shrugged and turned his attention to the computer in front of him. Offering absolutely no help to the currently floundering Dick.

Alfred shook his head, “Nonsense. Once your siblings have completed their myriad classes, we’d be happy to chauffeur you home.”

“That’s really not necessary… It’s so out of the way and it’s a school night. I wouldn’t want to throw you all off your schedule,” Dick argued weakly.

“Pfft, we don’t have school tomorrow, ya big dope, comp day for teachers.”

Great…Jason was there.

“No trouble.”

And Cass.

“Yes, and on the way we can tell you about our new projects.”

And Damian.

Dick was trapped. Tim Drake had somehow trapped him in a whirlpool of his family... And they were dragging him towards the door. Just great. Resigned to his fate, Dick looked back to see the unintentional traitor emerging from the back office. Alec ruffled the kid’s hair before heading off towards some other part of the building. Tim shook his head, catching sight of Dick with his abductors and smiled… And Dick, well, he couldn’t help but feel buoyed by something so warm and bright.

Still…he was ditching his family as soon as they were out of the building. Because…

No, no, nope. Family outing to Blüdhaven NOT HAPPENING! I’m in control. And what Tim Drake doesn’t know about this situation won’t hurt him.

Chapter Text

Yeah…yeah, okay, okay… SURE! Maybe “Before Tim” was onto something. It was pretty nice to see the Waynes so happy. All the hoops “Now Tim” had to jump through were worth it…maybe…since they're enjoying the fruits of his frazzled labors. Even if Dick is definitely ditching them as soon as he's out the door. He's a good guy, but after this afternoon…he probably needs a break from people. Though, maybe it's less annoying to have people sprung on you if they're family? Or…is it worse? Sitcoms imply it's annoying no matter what.

Tim had thought he was doing better at avoiding the Waynes. He'd spied them briefly at the arcade the Friday before, but chose to ignore them since they seemed to be minding their own business… After that though, Tim hadn't seen them at all. He'd enjoyed a semi-stress-free Saturday taking Yearbook photos for the Outdoors/Hiking Club and a quiet Sunday with Helena as she caught up on grading and he (as covertly as possible) transcribed his ever-expanding notes on his ever-evolving investigation into the ever-growing number of disappearances in Gotham. That had been…frustrating…to say the least since the information was ever-changing. And not in the normal “ongoing investigation” kind of way.

So, Tim sorta figured his recent run-ins with the Waynes were a blip... a fluke. He had no reason to cross paths with them really. After all, most of “Before Tim’s” notes/ “missions” had been completed. A few stray tasks remained, but “Dark side(sp?)...IDK just ‘Bill and Ted’ it maybe...Or the hot tub one?” was a wildly unclear (and potentially misspelled?) directive. Also, vague. Other than an enterprising mook who regularly hopped from different rogues’ payrolls, Tim didn't know any notable Bills. Ted could've been Ted Kord? But he was probably too busy being EXTRAORDINARILY cool and awesome and inventing stuff to help Tim. All that to say, Tim thought he was done with the whole “vigilante/Wayne thing”. He'd done enough in the past four years and he'd gone almost a week without seeing any of them. Which was what he wanted-what needed to happen-even if his entire brain felt like it was going into overdrive and he was itchy and he kept on wanting to go out at night and… expected to see someone other than Helena in the kitchen each morning.

If Tim was really trying to avoid the Waynes (or at least Dick, who he seemed to run into with the most frequency), he probably shouldn't have gone to Blüdhaven. It's just…that's where the clues had led him. A huge cluster of the dozen or so missing/not missing/weird cases was stacked along the border between the two cities. Sure, Tim could've gone to the GCPD first, but they'd already done a shoddy job holding onto their own reports… Blüdhaven wasn't much better, but Tim stumbled across an interview with Detective Amy Rohrbach. She gave thoughtful, well-reasoned, and measured answers to a tough barrage of questions from local reporters. Sue him, but he appreciated her professionalism even if BPD had an even higher rate of dirty cops. So, Tim concocted a think piece about how local police departments work together and pitched the idea to Mr. Anders… A kiddie press pass, a “letter of introduction", and a train schedule were all Tim needed to get an interview.

Well…maybe it hadn't been that simple. Detective Rohrbach was on guard at first, but Tim was nothing if not earnest. Not to mention Tim's need to be useful (harsh Dr. Sinclair…but fair) tended to come across as more endearing than annoying…at least most of the time. He offered up his own timeline of recent events and his concerns over the missing individuals and their families. So, she opened up...just a bit. Kept Tim to just the most surface-level details, but made it clear that both cities were seeing similar patterns. Patterns that aligned with his own notes. Both departments were sharing information and coming up with bupkis. Tim was about to push his luck and ask about a three-person disappearance from the weekend before when Dick Grayson showed up…looking like death warmed over and drenched in coffee. Tim wasn't prepared to deal with whatever was up with the man though he couldn't help but feel sympathy… If reports (read: r/MaskMurmmurs which Tim had stumbled upon after sharing dinner with the vigilante) were to be believed, Nightwing had been having a rough go of it the last several months. Tim didn't want to add to that stress, but he also really didn't feel like sitting through a lecture or interrogation or whatever either.

“So… Fun trip?”

Tim didn't startle from his position (upside down in a rolling chair, discreetly hidden behind the welcome desk) when Alec returned from his rounds… Honestly, Tim was more than a little smug over the fact that others couldn't easily sneak up on him. Helena managed every once in a while, but rarely tried… She didn't want to trigger any “Fight, Flight, or Freeze” responses which was greatly appreciated, if unnecessary. Travis had the best record, but given his shady history, Tim decided he didn't count. The only consistent hole in his radar seemed to be, inconveniently, the Waynes. He had no idea how they slipped past his defenses and natural paranoia. Shouldn't their very presence set off all his defense mechanisms?

“Just school stuff, Alec,” Tim replied after a minute. “I didn't expect to have much fun.”

Alec didn't even look up from his tablet, “But you did.”

“Uhh,” Tim forced himself to keep his posture lax…which was rather oxymoronic. “As much fun as a school assignment can be, I guess. The interview went well, the Intercity train is always a catastrophe waiting to happen… so, y'know. All in all, I'd have rather been playing Tetris 99, but that's not a viable career path with my reflexes.”

Alec continued tapping away, feigning disinterest in an obviously interested way, “I don't know, Chief, with the way things are going, gaming is about as practical as investigative journalism.”

Tim slinked, head-first, to the floor looking for all the world like a dejected teen… perhaps his second-most honest performance of the afternoon, “Umm, actually, I was thinking…detective work…”

Alec’s posture stiffened at that so Tim hastened to add, “Y’know… if my plans to head up R&D somewhere fall through. Nothing more satisfying than using exorbitant amounts of corporate money to do some good in the world.”

Alec relaxed, “And how are you gonna convince rich assholes to give you free rein with their money?”

Tim rolled over and popped to his feet, all youthful (and honest) enthusiasm, “Easy, I fly under the radar… Slowly becoming essential but in an almost imperceptible way. Then when they try to fire me, I just leave. Everything falls apart in the time it takes for me to order a crepe at the cafe across the street. When I return, I make my demands.”

“Ahh, and now the nickname makes sense. That's some Chief Miles O’Brien level irreplaceable you're banking on.”

Tim snickered and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. The long day must be getting to him, “The best part is, as the only enlisted man in all of Star Labs or Queen Industries, I'll be able to avoid all the hoity-toity parties and, eventually, retire to a cushy teaching job to train up even more renegades.”

“Hmm, not Wayne Enterprises?”

Tim's heart might've well and truly stopped. How could his Bat-radar be so bad?

Alec wasn't nearly as thrown given that he'd finally put down the tablet to greet the newest member of their conversation, “Seems a bit crass to be so transparently self-serving, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne nodded, “Uncouth, but warranted if his skills can keep up with his confidence.”

Tim gaped like some sort of deranged goldfish.

Alec leaned back against the counter, all nonchalance in the face of Gotham’s richest man (and, unbeknownst to him or not, the frickin’ BATMAN), “Tim's gonna be batting away offers left and right. Won't even need that detective backup gig.”

Mr. Wayne quirked an eyebrow (as if his sons hadn't already informed him of Tim’s amateur sleuthing), “Detective? Like a good puzzle, partner? Mystery fan?”

For some reason, Tim ruffled at that, “I just want to help people. Everyone…deserves to have someone in their corner when things get rough.”

“Hmm…” Because…really, there's not much one can say in response to such an inadequate understatement of purpose.

Tim squirmed, “Sorry, Mr. Wayne, you're probably in a hurry, but your family left a while ago.”

He shook his head and held up a manila folder, “Actually, I'm just here to go over some paperwork to Ms. Eliza.”

Alec disposed of his poorly disguised apathy (say what you will for the "Brucie" public persona and its…eccentricities…it worked) for Mr. Wayne and said, “She was excited about those proposals. I'll grab her so you two can talk specifics.”

And he sauntered to the back room like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Why did people keep leaving Tim alone with the FLIPPING WAYNES?

“Well, I better-”

“So, how's-”

They both stopped speaking as quickly as they started.

Mr. Wayne (probably because he's BATMAN) recovered first, “So, how have you been since we last spoke?”

And wasn't that a weird way to talk to a teen? Maybe that's why so few adults talked to their kids regularly cause…ugh, just so awkward.

“I…umm…what?” Because Tim may be good at making friends and he was okay at talking to adults, but he'd never won any charisma awards.

Mr. Wayne cleared his throat, looking flat-footed, “We met last week.”

“Yeah?”

“So… did you think I forgot?” And, wow, did he look uncomfortable? “I didn't think my reputation had tanked that badly. I've got a good memory.”

Well, duh, what good would you be as a detective if you didn't?

“Um…it's just,” Tim rubbed his forehead again. Why did he feel so cornered by a simple (very normal and polite) question? “I just kinda…assume people forget about me when I'm not directly in front of them.”

Oops… Tim was pretty sure that wasn't what he intended to say… Those kinds of thoughts were reserved for late nights and itchy brains and, once, Dr. Sinclair.

~

“So, Tim, where did you pick up that idea?” the therapist had asked, folding a piece of printer paper, crisp and precise.

Tim had shrugged, folding his paper with much less dexterity, “I…don't think people forget about me exactly.”

“No?”

“No, I…I think I kinda just wish people did. Because it might…explain a few things.”

“About you? Or other people?” she grabbed a pair of safety scissors and started snipping.

Tim tilted his head in thought for a moment, “Both?”

“Hmm…Different things or the same?” A pile of scraps fell lazily to her desk.

Tim grabbed the spare scissors, “I just think... I don't think I'll ever have…'unconditional' again. I think I might just be... Convenient. I think, maybe, I've always just been convenient. And if I'm not convenient then…no one really has a reason to remember me or…put up with me.”

“Convenient…isn't the same as being useful and neither trait makes you more worthy of love.”

“I know.”

“Beyond that, you don't get to decide who loves you or who remembers you or who misses you. All of those feelings are outside your power,” she stopped clipping just as Tim started. “When you hide yourself away from people who could care about you or already do love you… It may seem like a fitting self-imposed punishment for some perceived inadequacy.”

Tim nodded, pruning his paper blindly as hazy tears built up.

“But it's also a punishment to anyone who loves you…or could love you. You're forgetting that if you give them up, even if it's for ‘their sake’...to save them the trouble, they lose you too and they had no say in it...wouldn't have chosen it themselves.”

Tim unfolded his janky snowflake and set it next to Dr. Sinclair's. Hers was a minor masterpiece in comparison.

“Lose me?”

The therapist snatched up both creations and stood up to add them to the strings of disjointed crafts decorating her office, “Love is inconvenient. It's imperfect. It's difficult and painful and unwieldy. And it's worth it. People won't stop loving you just because you think you haven't earned it. That you're not worth 'unconditional'. You don't get to decide that. You do get to decide whether to punish them for loving you. Neither you nor they deserve to be punished because you let yourself love others.”

Tim stared for a long time at the haphazard paper blizzard surrounding them, “They look nice…all together.”

Dr. Sinclair smiled, “They really do.”

~

Mr. Wayne chuckled…sincerely, “No offense, Tim, but you're doing a terrible job if you're trying to be unmemorable.”

Tim fought the blush rising on his cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” Mr. Wayne smiled and Tim felt a warmth pool in his stomach. “You might be the only thing keeping my family in one piece at the moment.”

Tim stiffened… there was no way…they couldn't know. Heck, Tim barely knew and he had the benefit of a notebook full of insane hints.

“I'm…sure I don't know what you mean,” he managed to stammer out.

“No really, your crash course in conflict resolution has been nothing but beneficial… a real gift in a house full of stubbornness and poor communication skills,” Mr. Wayne admitted, still seemingly 100% genuine.

“Oh?” Tim replied.

“Yeah, guess I'm lucky I had you in my corner when I needed it most.”

“I didn't do anything,” Tim said automatically, just like he always had since he was young and unsure he could handle the lofty responsibility of helping others.

“You did, but even if you didn't, I'd still remember you,” Mr. Wayne said completely casual.

“Oh?” Tim repeated cause he was somehow more awkward than the vigilante cosplaying as a billionaire across from him.

“Of course,” he said simply.

Ms. Eliza and Alec stepped out of the back room, but Mr. Wayne’s attention remained on Tim.

“Why?”

Mr. Wayne stopped, blinked a few times, “I guess I don't quite know… I'm just sure you're worth remembering.”

The warm feeling in Tim's stomach expanded to fill his chest too. It would be overwhelming if Tim hadn't felt something remarkably similar earlier that day. A sure and steady hand, a tussle with gravity avoided… complete trust that Dick wouldn't let him fall to the train floor. Would manage to catch him.

“I'll say, the chief may be a bit of a twerp, but he's irreplaceable. Wouldn’t trade him, that’s for sure,” Helena had arrived with a playful nudge to Tim’s shoulder. She looked thoroughly exhausted after what surely had been a gauntlet of conferences.

“I can only imagine,” Mr. Wayne agreed.

Ms. Eliza, never one to be accused of patience, broke in, waving her own manila folder, “We just need to compare notes and amendments before we send this off to your legal team one final time.”

“Of course, thanks for the company Tim…and don't count out WE when job hunting. R&D has a pool table and we offer full family health and dental coverage. Good evening, Miss…?”

Helena wrinkled her nose at the address, “Bertinelli. I'm responsible for this gremlin.”

“Well, thanks for taking care of him. You're doing a wonderful job.”

She shifted and looked down at Tim who furrowed his eyebrows. When she spoke there was a hint of…something etched across her features, “Thanks… I'm always a little worried it's not enough.”

“Bruce?”

“Right… billionaire duty calls.”

And, as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. Tim appreciated that the warmth stayed behind.

“How were conferences, Helena?” Alec asked once the others had left.

Helena sighed dramatically, “I only ever get parents who want to hear me brag about their kids. None of the people who I actually need to talk to show up… I don’t even know why we schedule these things anymore. Parents can set up meetings whenever. Email exists for Gotham’s sake!”

Tim tuned out as the adults around him swapped complaints about the modern state of education and parenting and (apparently) the cost of healthy drinks(?). He might be part of the problem if their foray into inattentiveness was any indication, but Tim was fixated on finishing his work and heading out as soon as possible. The day was almost done, but there were still notes that needed verifying and leads he had to follow up on. Sure, none of this was his responsibility, but he wanted to help.

“Ready to head out, Chief?” Helena asked as the clock inched closer to nine o’clock. “I’m ready to fool myself into believing I don’t have to go through this again tomorrow.”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, I’m just gonna pack up real quick. I’ll meet you by the door.”

“You got it,” she said through a yawn, heading off.

Tim checked his bag for his binder and notes, “Bye, Alec. I’ll be in Monday and Tuesday next week.”

“Avoiding ‘family friends’?” he asked offhand.

“What?”

Alec shrugged, “You started changing your hours after the Waynes came in last week. The only reason you stopped today was because Helena didn’t want you to have to latchkey two days in a row. Figured you might not want to see them.”

Tim was grateful to have his back to the man, “I mean, it’s not like I know when they’re gonna be here. Besides, I barely know the Waynes. Why would I be avoiding them?”

“Right,” Alec agreed. “Just figured…since Grayson escorted you here.”

“Oh…that was just a coincidence,” Tim assured him, turning to offer a believable smile. “Good Samaritan stuff. He’s friends with the detective I spoke with and he was heading to Gotham to see family anyway.”

Tim didn’t like lying to people he trusted. Alec was cool. He and his wife invited Tim and Helena over to their house for BBQs and family game nights with their little daughter Sasha. The other families they invited always seemed caught off guard by the foster family in their midst, but no one said anything. Still, Tim didn’t go through all of that work carrying out “Before Tim’s” plans just to let something slip about the Waynes…

Alec side-eyed him for a long moment, but nodded towards the door, “Sure, you better get going before Helena ‘Blue skidoos’ into the bulletin board over there.”

Tim frowned and followed the man’s gesture. Sure enough, Helena looked entirely engrossed in one of the many notices. He darted over to save her from her misery.

“Whatcha looking at?” Tim asked once he reached her.

Helena startled at his greeting but smiled.

“New Italian place,” she said, pointing out a vaguely-offensive flier.

Tim nodded, “Cool, but can we just get pizzas from Guido’s? I don’t think I can handle waiting for Italian.”

“Sure,” she said and slung an arm around his shoulder and started leading him out. “Taco pizza it is.”

Tim chose to ignore the brightly colored ball of paper Helena slipped into her pocket, “Come on! You won’t let me get chicken bacon ranch, but you’ll subject me to that monstrosity?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Around 11:15, Tim slipped silently back into the kitchen, ostensibly to grab a midnight snack (as all teen boys were wont to do). The flier was still tucked away in Helena’s jacket. A quick snap of his phone camera and it was returned from whence it came.

Tim snagged a Zesti and a granola bar on the way back to his room.

“Silent disco? 1127 Wolfman Row?” Tim whispered as he consulted the map of Gotham City he’d pasted onto the back cover of a coding dictionary. “Well…looks like the pattern continues…”

Tim wouldn’t be able to get in, but… The Yearbook did need a photo for the background of the Prom page… The theme was Urban Nightlife (and wasn’t that boring as all hell?). The warehouses on the edge of ‘old downtown’ provided a gorgeous view of the harbor. Tim would be an idiot not to take advantage of the full moon… It would be downright irresponsible of him as a member of the Yearbook staff not to partake in Gotham's questionable beauty, honestly.

Yeah…yeah, okay, okay… SURE! The docks are dangerous and silent disco sounds like the dumbest thing ever… But… The people of Gotham (and Blüdhaven) are worth it. They better appreciate the fruits of his labor…cause, honestly, sleuthing is exhausting.

Chapter Text

When Cass first came to Gotham everything was too loud. It made her restless. No one else was bothered by how loud it was. No one else was aware of how loud it was. Cass did not know how to tell the Waynes. And, honestly, she didn't try.

Cassandra Cain had been trained by David Cain to be perfect and, in many ways, she was. She was agile. She dealt serious damage. She could use body language and micro-expressions to predict an opponent's every move…every thought. Cass was trained to be perfect… She wasn't raised at all.

There was no care, no gentleness, no comfort, no life lessons. David Cain loved what he created because what he created was perfect. If she wasn't perfect there wouldn't be love at all.

Cassandra Wayne was not perfect. Words, both verbal and written, were alien to her. They were hard, unnatural, and everywhere. She didn't like them…she hated them…they made her imperfect. An imperfect Cass had no purpose, no reason to exist… So, she rejected them. For a long time… They were loud and they made Cass imperfect. If they didn't exist, Cass could still exist.

But sometimes, the noises…the words...were nice.

Babs' quick delivery was filled with excitement and confidence. Her lightning speed on any computer was a sight to behold. Bruce's bass was as steady as the man himself. Jason writing…pens, pencils, keyboards, scraps of paper…the books he read aloud with only the slightest encouragement. Damian was learning…and stumbling…over vocabulary…the way the others patiently corrected and congratulated. Dick… Well, it was all booming theatricality one minute and soft comfort the next. None of it was perfect, but it was so warm…so welcoming… Cass hated how much she wanted that too.

So, even though it was annoying and imperfect and so, SO loud… Cass tried. And she was bad at it. And she got better. Never perfect, but better. The words didn't always match the faces or the body and sometimes Cass couldn't interpret it all at once. Somedays it was too much. On those days, Cass isolated out all the extra…all the noise…and focused on the quietest words: music.

No faces, no bodies. Orchestral to grunge to opera to rock to folk to pop… With or without words… With or without instruments… It was a refuge. She could listen. She could dance. Even with the speakers blasting, it was still quieter than thousands of people communicating seventeen different ways all at once. All music was a haven…except musicals. In a twist of fate that surprised everyone, the combination of instruments, acting, AND singing infuriated her… Like all her other problems with language on “steroids” is what Dick had said. Both used it as an excuse to skip the opera.

“God Only Knows” by the Beach Boys lazily strummed over the speakers while Cass stretched on Saturday afternoon. Dick had returned from Blüdhaven earlier in the day and it had caused…tension in the house.

“For the last time, B, I just want to check in on something weird I noticed downtown,” Dick was explaining for the sixteenth time.

Half-true.

“So you’ve said,” Bruce grunted. “I am just requesting you take backup with you to investigate whatever this is.”

“I work without backup in Blüd all the time!” Dick groaned.

“A fact that I’m reminded of every time I check my blood pressure.”

Quarter-true.

“Lucky for me that your cardiovascular health isn’t my responsibility,” Dick shot back.

True, factually. False, emotionally.

“I don’t let Jason or Cass patrol that neighborhood alone either,” Bruce argued.

True, in the sense that he doesn’t allow it. False, in the sense that they do it anyway.

“B, I'm not going to be micromanaged,” Dick said, close to snapping. “I've led teams of my own…I've worked on dozens of cases on my own. If I tell you that I can do this solo, you should believe me.”

Appealing to logic while drenched in emotion.

“By definition, when you lead a team you're not alone.”

Knowing it's the wrong thing to say and saying it anyway.

“I’ll be backup,” Cass stated as the song shifted to “My Guy” by Mary Wells. “Stick to rooftops, you investigate.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Cassandra,” Bruce agreed, hoping to quickly shut down the conversation.

“Hey, wait a min-”

“I’m going to go check on Damian before we head out,” Bruce pushed his chair back from the computer. “He’s been working on a Lego build for the past week and he said it’s finally ready for viewing… And I’m ready to see what $763 equates to in Legos.”

The vengeance, the night… was gone.

The light to the shadow collapsed in the vacated chair.

“No offense, Cass, but I really don’t need backup for this,” Dick sighed, moping like he had been off and on for the past year.

Cass shrugged, “Both are stubborn. Annoying. I’m backup. You do what you need to. I take a break from patrol.”

“I could’ve worn him down,” Dick muttered. “Could’ve won an argument for once.”

Cass shook her head, “You said we don't ‘win’ conversions*.”

“Exactly why I said ‘argument’.”

“No ‘Ryan Reynolds’ this time?”

Dick stiffened ever so slightly but said nothing.

“What is ‘Ryan Reynolds’?” Cass asked. It had only come up a few times, but she and Jason had noticed the odd signal… Like tapping out or calling a timeout, but in conversation.

Dick dragged himself out of the chair and joined Cass on the warmup mats, “It’s a reminder that we should try to resolve conflict and that disagreement doesn't have to mean a fight. A reminder to take a breath and consider what someone else is really saying before you respond.”

Cass blinked, “So, training? For talking.”

“I s’pose.”

“Only training for Bruce?”

“‘Course not,” Dick said, effectively folding himself in half. “Everyone benefits from conflict resolution.”

Cass mimicked Dick’s stretch, “Then why only do it sometimes?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Don't train by doing kicks and punches and falls wrong.”

“No,” Dick agreed.

“Then I don't understand,” Cass admitted. “Babs said communion* is important for a team…and for families. Is it less important than fight training?”

Dick sighed. He did that a lot. Cass could tell from the beginning that her oldest brother wasn't entirely comfortable with her. Not dislike, just uncomfortable. She appreciated that he never tried to hide it, he'd even talked with her about it. He said it was a combination of classic “sibling rivalry” (Dick the skilled vs. Cass the talented) and an inability to answer all her questions. Cass suspected that Dick was also frustrated that he wasn't perfect. He just didn't notice because no one had told him that was he was supposed to be perfect.

“It is important,” Dick said finally. “It just doesn't feel that way sometimes… Because lives aren't on the line.”

“Lower skates?”

Dick grinned and dropped into a hip stretch, “‘Stakes’, Cass. Winning an argument against Bruce is high ‘stakes’ to me… Guess it clouds my judgment a bit.”

Cass blinked and thought aloud, “Him too?”

“Yeah, but…I've waited too long for him to grow up. Figure I should just do it instead.”

“Ryan Reynolds helps…works…both of you should practice,” Cass decided.

“And you?” Dick asked, heading towards the lockers to change.

“I'm perfect,” Cass replied, hiding her lie behind a cheeky smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patrolling with Nightwing was either very fun or very boring. He was a natural acrobat, a skilled fighter, and a tedious investigator. Batgirl could do the detective stuff…she was trained by Batman and the original BG. She was an unquestionable asset in an interrogation! But…it wasn't as interesting as the other parts of patrol. It was slow…

“I'm going silent, BG.”

“Cocky,” Batgirl replied from the water tower ladder she was dangling from, desperate for escape.

“...You know it's copy.”

“Maybe.”

A pause, “Dark for thirty. Wing out.”

Batgirl sighed and flipped to the roof beneath her. So much time, so little to do. Old downtown was terribly boring, but the warehouses bordering the area could offer some entertainment…or at least a distraction through free running.

Batgirl completed a perimeter check and then took to neighboring roofs. For a Saturday night, it was strangely quiet. Whatever Nightwing was looking into it had to be very secret…

But perhaps not secret enough if the small figure just barely sticking out from the shadows was anything to go by. Maybe a fight would cure her boredom.

She dropped to a window sill just below her target's perch. Patience was key in sneaking up on someone… Nightwing was adequate, Robin was dismal, Batman was excellent, Batgirl…was perfect. The wind shifted, a car alarm sounded from several blocks away, and Batgirl scaled the side of the building.

“Shoo!” she whispered, (it was loud in the grand scheme of stealth) vaulting over the safety rail and knocking the interloper onto their back.

“Holy mother of Canadian flapjacks!”

Which…that's not what Batgirl had expected of her mark: a hooded shadow decked out with two peculiar bags.

“Who? What? Why?”

The three most important questions: villain or victim.

“Pisslard!” the little shadow hissed frantically…which wasn't an answer to any of Batgirl’s questions. Unless “Pisslard” was a family name.

“Why?” Batgirl repeated.

The figure began to struggle, attempting to escape the vigilante’s hold.

“I signed out this camera… Anders’ll end me if it's broken,” the shadow whined. “I get that you guys save lives and all, but can you not end mine.”

Batgirl let go immediately and stepped away. Angry.

“We don't kill!” she snapped. “Shouldn't be here.”

The shadow scrambled over to the camera they'd been so worried about. Batgirl couldn't tell if it had been damaged in the struggle.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” the shadow agreed, gently checking over their device. “But, like, no one should be here. This building has been ‘scheduled’ for demolition for two years. I haven't died yet.”

Batgirl snarled, “Who, what, why?”

The shadow sighed, “It’s okay. A bit scuffed, but I can chalk that up to last week's pep rally. Liam should've trusted Alli when she said she could target any part of the court.”

Batgirl was getting impatient. Lackeys and civilians alike were quick to surrender information when the Bats and Birds asked. Reputation alone had most people (Innocent or not) shaking in their boots. The shadow didn't seem even the slightest bit bothered by the vigilante confronting them.

“Won't ask again!”

The shadow gently strapped the camera around their neck before removing their hood, “‘Who’ is classified, but we've met once, I think. ‘What’ is taking pictures. ‘Why’ is Yearbook.”

Batgirl scanned the shadow now that it had removed its gear.

“Diner kid.”

He shrugged, “I don't think Gio would like it being called a diner, but yeah… Good memory.”

“My job.”

He nodded, “Makes sense, good work. Can I go back to my business now that you successfully got your answers?”

“No, need to go.”

“Uhh, no?” he replied. “I have stuff to do. Just like you.”

“No, go. My ‘stuff’ is…hrmmm…”

He tilted his head to the side, “Uh, your stuff is more important, right?”

Batgirl nodded, glad he agreed.

“I mean, probably, but I'm not leaving,” he shrugged. “Neither of us has any more right to be here than the other and I still need to get my photos.”

Batgirl’s nose flared beneath her cowl, “I could make you leave.”

“Yeah, and? So, could anybody. I'm not a match for…like a vaguely committed duck.”

“Then why?”

He shrugged, “I've been mugged on the streets twice… Y’know, Gotham… But, uhh, never up here. It's not the safest, but I feel better up here. Like-”

“You can see,” Batgirl finished. It nearly floored her…the words came out like a reflex. Words were never automatic.

“Yeah, like I can see the entire board,” he continued, completely missing the shock in front of him–or, more likely, ignoring it. “I mean, you snuck up on me, but you're a Bat so… I like my odds against most people.”

“Rogues?” she asked, trying to take control of the situation again… Shadow made it look effortless, talking and explaining. It reminded her of something. It frustrated her more.

“They wouldn't bother with some twerp like me… Well, most wouldn't anyway. A few might like an extra lab rat, but I'm not worth the trouble. I could just tell them how I'd react to their gasses and pollen and toxins… Why waste an experiment on me?”

“Can't stay.”

“Okay, then I hope you have a good evening.”

“No, you can't stay,” Batgirl was getting tired of this.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going until I get my work done,” he replied and returned to his original position, tucked into the shadows of the roof.

Shadow was stubborn, but Batgirl had brothers… She knew just what to do.

“Then I don't leave,” she proclaimed, gracefully falling into a criss-cross applesauce on the roof.

Shadow turned and tilted his head, “Fine by me,” he said, shrugging off the larger of his two bags and tossing it toward her. “This will take a while. Help yourself to a snack or crossword or whatever.”

Batgirl was stunned. Her entire family loved quality time. Still, they all instantly understood the difference between that and the “I'm not leaving” threat. She'd assumed it was universal taunting… like not shutting the door when leaving a sibling’s room or flopping down on top of someone lounging on the couch or openly snacking on something from their secret stash of goodies.

Perhaps Shadow was just dumb and that's why he wouldn't leave?

Batgirl's comm crackled on, “Checking in, all clear?”

Batgirl glanced at Shadow adjusting the settings on his camera. Nightwing had met Shadow at the diner too. Had returned his phone. Had reported nothing… She deserved the chance to investigate something too. For…ugh…practice.

“All clear.”

“Good, another thirty before check-in.”

“Copy.”

The comm went silent again.

“Who, what, why?” Shadow asked, snapping a picture of a couple flirting beneath a street lamp.

“Class is fives.”

“Classified,” he clarified. “Close though.”

Batgirl huffed and began rummaging through his bag…another surefire annoyance tactic. Shadow was, predictably, unbothered. Which…made sense, he'd given her the bag in the first place. Still, he could at least pretend to be concerned. Batgirl wouldn't believe him, but at least he'd be reacting in a way that made sense.

“I think I have granola bars in there,” he offered. “They're cinnamon. Whole grain oats or whatever…so, y'know, fiber.”

Batgirl found the box and chucked one at Shadow’s back. Still no annoyance, he merely unwrapped it and started snacking. There was no discomfort and…Batgirl didn't feel any either. Irritation that her tactics were failing, yes, but none of the tension she usually felt with strangers. It was…like watching Oracle work.

Shadow continued snapping pictures, focusing primarily on a warehouse. A steady stream of people knocked at the door, but there was none of the expected loudness of a Gotham rave. Bored, Batgirl dug into the bag again. A beanie, three notebooks, a receipt, two sets of headphones, an apple, the book of crosswords, and…a phone.

“Want to listen to something?” Shadow asked from his perch. “Bet I could patch into the silent disco.”

“Silent?”

Shadow grinned, “Yeah…that's why this place hasn't been shut down. No major complaints, noise or otherwise. Because if there's no noise…everyone assumes nothing's going on.”

“How?”

Shadow waved her over, “The DJ broadcasts the songs, but instead of speakers, they send out a signal over a radio transmitter. Special headphones can pick it up. Voila, dance party and no noise ordinances broken. So, no cops. Wanna see?”

Batgirl tilted her own head since a quirked eyebrow didn't work in a cowl.

“Or hear,” he corrected, retrieving his bag. “I jerry-rigged a cheapo pair… it probably won't be super clear, but…”

Shadow fiddled with something and then presented her with the headphones. She put them on.

Sure enough, scratchy music started playing. Loudly! It wasn't pleasant and Batgirl wasted no time yanking them off.

Shadow chuckled and slipped them over his ears, “Sorry, kinda loud. I should know better. I have tinnitus.”

Shadow listened for a long moment before a smile spread across his face, “No love for the ‘American Idiot’? I'm crushed, honestly.”

Batgirl blinked and said, “Nightwing…he listens to that sometimes,” before she could stop herself.

Shadow’s smile got smaller, but more genuine somehow, “Good to know at least one of you Bats has good taste.”

“No,” she said, again automatically. “Says he doesn't like it…just gets stuck. Listening makes it go away.”

“Oh,” Shadow said, embarrassed. “Well…”

For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. Batgirl had gotten the reaction she'd wanted. It didn't feel like she expected it to. She reached up and grabbed her own shoulder, wrapping herself into a half hug-an attempt to drive the discomfort away.

“You like music?” she asked after a long stretch of silence.

Shadow startled, clearly having been lost in thought, “Uh, yeah, I think…most people do.”

Batgirl nodded, “Do you like good music?”

The smile, this time mischievous, returned, “Maybe.”

“Share. Each of us,” she said, not knowing where the words came from…agreeing with them anyway.

Shadow nodded, “Yeah, sure… Uhh, I have Spotify on my phone. We'll take turns, make a playlist.”

“See whose taste is better.”

“Prove it's mine.”

“You dish.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can take it,” Shadow was typing away. “Sorry, there's gonna be ads…I'm not paying for this nonsense.”

“Wing same.”

It took a few minutes. Shadow added his songs first and then handed the phone to Batgirl. Understandably, it took her longer. Shadow didn't seem bothered though, just continued snapping pictures and then hastily jotting notes. Patient.

Finally.

“Ready.”

“Okay,” Shadow said. “Here. Take this set…they're better and I might need to use these ones to tune in and out with the Silent Disco. Annnnnnnd...it's shuffling!”

Batgirl took the pair she was offered and slipped them on, leaving one ear free so her comm wouldn't be cut off. A steady bass line was already droning from the earpiece. She had heard this one before.

“So?” Shadow asked.

Batgirl made a so-so gesture and shrugged.

“You're kidding… This is a certified classic. Bowie and Queen?”

“It's…unhappy?”

“Hmm… I guess I've never really seen…Heard it that way… like here.”

'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves’

“Love…it makes us better!”

Batgirl shook her head, “Not all love is good…”

Shadow considered her for a moment, “No, but…I think they're talking about ‘compassion’. Caring about others and doing what you can to help them… That…I mean, that's what you guys do.”

“Maybe… bass line is annoying,” Batgirl muttered.

Shadow laughed, “You're kidding! That's…what holds it all together. It's…it's the ‘compassion’. It runs through everything and…it's the foundation. Keeping everything steady as the singers have their meltdowns.”

“Meh…”

Shadow sighed dramatically but didn't argue anymore since the next song started playing. “Freedom! ‘90” specifically the version from Pitch Perfect 3. Batgirl subjected her brothers to the movies anytime it was her turn to pick a film and if they complained she simply reminded them how often she'd watched the dinosaur movies or the talking animal ones or the underdog sports ones… Honestly, the boys liked them even if they whined.

Apparently, Shadow was familiar with the song too as he hummed along.

‘I think there's something you should know
(I think it's time I stopped the show)
There's something deep inside of me
(There's someone I forgot to be)
Take back your picture in a frame
(Don't think that I'll I be back again)
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man’

“Not bad. My mom loved those movies,” Shadow admitted, brushing at his shoulder. “I…watched them…a weird amount for how…huh.”

He was quiet and it made Batgirl squirm.

“I win already?”

“Not a chance. You'll like this next one.”

Something called “Beautiful Beat” played next…all romantic melodrama. “Lost in Paradise” followed and Batgirl was pleased to see Shadow’s head bop along as the voices shifted between two languages and several questionable life choices. The following two (after an annoying commercial break) were chosen by her companion. “Simple Song” and “Just Like Heaven” were both upbeat despite the rather melancholic words. Batgirl gave both a “thumb sideways” (Shadow had suggested a rating system: Thumbs up=great, thumbs sideways=average, thumbs down=skip it). “Simple and Clean” was familiar to both and earned full marks. “Monkey Wrench” was the first Shadow pick with full Batgirl approval. “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” was a pick in honor of Oracle’s tendency to blast the song over comms when she felt slighted. It made Shadow laugh. “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head” was a "thumbs down" despite the boy’s spirited defense. “edamame” caused both to dissolve in a shared giggle fit. Shadow took a break towards the end of “Louder Than Words” to check in on the silent disco.

'Why do we follow leaders who never lead?
Why does it takes a catastrophe to start a revolution?
If we’re so free
Tell me why?
Someone tell me why
So many people bleed?'

Batgirl let the song finish. It was good, not that she’d tell Shadow. It was fun to watch him be mock-offended over his music taste. Another of his songs kicked in, but he was preoccupied so she just let it play.

There were no words, just a lone creaky piano. It could have been eerie, but mostly it was just…so sad. Batgirl felt a swell of emotion. It was like the piano had snuck right into her soul and forced her to confront everything she had felt after she’d run away… When she promised to never take a life and believed she would never feel anything again. Absently, she grabbed at her shoulder again…as if the gesture would provide some sort of relief.

“Hey, they’re listening to the “Pina Colada Song”... This has got to be the weirdest-”

Shadow stopped talking. He’d turned back around and, for the first time that night, it felt like Batgirl had lost all her words. Too many feelings, no words for them. Lost. The world was no longer loud. It was quiet and small and so, so lonely.

Shadow tipped his head to the side as if the slight change in perspective would allow him to read her mind…and maybe it did because he looked down at the phone between them.

“Oh, shit… That must’ve been added by accident. It’s on a playlist of songs from a show I used to watch…” he explained, allowing the song to finish before adding. “It’s called ‘You’re All Alone’... Sometimes, when there’s a lot of stuff going on in my head, I listen to it. I…don’t know why. It feels like everything and nothing and…you can hear every time they let their foot off the pedal… But somewhere along the way…towards the end. It just makes everything else seem... Like nothing could be as heavy as those feelings.”

“Lighter after,” Batgirl offered with a surprising "thumbs up" attached.

He nodded, “Yeah…I’m…It’s okay to feel things…and then let them go.”

Batgirl shook off the effects of the piano as “Jump Around” kicked in. Shadow must have tuned back in because he was grinning again.

“Seriously? You crap on my taste and you added this fossil?”

“Classic,” Batgirl sniffed, but added a "thumbs sideways". “Wing plays it all the time…should annoy someone else with it.”

“You are hard to please, Batgirl,” Shadow chuckled. “It was your pick.”

'I'll serve your ass like John McEnroe
If your girl steps up, I'm smackin' the ho
Word to your moms, I came to drop bombs
I got more rhymes than the Bible's got Psalms
And just like the Prodigal Son, I've returned
Anyone steppin' to me, you'll get burned.'

“Not perfect,” Batgirl argued.

Shadow thought for a moment and scribbled in his notebook, “Things don’t have to be perfect. It’s okay to just let them exist…imperfect.”

“Sure,” Batgirl scoffed. “Medi…medi…”

“‘Mediocre’,” Shadow supplied. “I think…nowadays…we’re so obsessed with rating things. As if we can assign an objective score to everything we experience. Like we need to justify everything we do instead of just…allowing ourselves to exist. Our value is inherent…we’re capable of good and bad and mediocre and everything else in between. I think…we’d all be happier if we stopped trying to prove we’re ‘valid’ or ‘worthy’.”

“Use too many air quotes,” Batgirl muttered, thinking of a certain bird who had the same bad habit.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but my point is…I don’t need things to be perfect to enjoy them,” Shadow whispered. “And perfection doesn’t make us more loveable or more worthy of existing…just creates unnecessary stress. It’s okay to just…be.”

“What if…supposed to be perfect… That was goal…purpose?” Batgirl asked, feeling defensive…small.

“Someone… There are a lot of ‘great’ people in history who really suck,” Shadow said slowly. “I think we’d be better off if there were just more ‘good’ people. Besides, it all just depends on your point of view.”

“How?”

“Well, one person’s perfect isn’t another’s… My parents ran a big corporation and I think they wanted me to do that when I grew up, but that sounds awful. That would have been perfect for them, but torture for me. So, it’s all about perspective…they may have been disappointed if I told them, but they wouldn’t have loved me less. Because they never needed me to be perfect…they just needed me to be happy and…good. That’s what everyone deserves. Not someone else's version of perfect.”

“Happy and good…not perfect?”

Shadow shrugged, but nodded, “Well, yeah. That’s what we all should want to be when we grow up… The specifics may vary. Doctor, lawyer, mechanic, teacher, parent, dog owner, baker, writer, or whatever. But we should all work towards 'happy' and 'good', I think.”

The final strains of “Smile” (a song Robin liked “ironically”) faded away as Shadow finished what he seemed to consider a pretty standard conversation. Batgirl, by contrast, was floored. She was now entirely sure that the boy across from her could…read minds or see right through people. And…it didn’t feel awful. It was almost nice.

A new song started up, another of Shadow’s.

“Ohh!” he exclaimed. “If you’re looking for perfect though, this is as close as you’ll get!”

'I've been in love with love and the idea of
Something binding us together,
You know that love is strong enough,
And I've seen time tell tales of that
Systematic drug, yeah that
Heart that beats as one,
It's collectively, unconciously composed,'

“Seriously?” Batgirl laughed as Shadow bopped along to the repeating ‘doo’s.

“Uhh, yeah, duh! Wait here it comes!” he shouted, leaping to his feet.

'Well I lost my head in San Francisco,
Waiting for the fog to roll out,
But I found it in a raincloud,
It was smilin' down

Do you feel the love?
I feel the love
C'mon, c'mon let's start it up,
Let it pour out of your soul'

Shadow completely surprised her by singing along, jumping and swinging around completely devoid of finesse. Punching the air in time with the more punctuated lyrics. It was like the song was running away and Shadow didn’t even mind that he was getting whisked away in its manic instrumentations. It was infectious.

And by the time the chorus kicked in again, Batgirl was swept up in it too. Jumping and dancing along without any care for how ridiculous they must look. It was... Good. Their own little silent disco ramping up on a roof in the middle of the night.

It made sense that it didn’t last long.

Two sets of boots touched down behind them just as the song ended.

“Missed a check-in or two, Batgirl?”

Nightwing was accompanied by a woman dressed in purple who looked as annoyed as the former sounded.

“Oops,” Shadow muttered as he hastily shoved his things back into the bag. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting an official ‘Bat Operation’. I’ll be going.”

The sheer confidence alone would have gotten Shadow out of similar situations, but…vigilantes.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Chief,” Nightwing said, snatching Shadow by the hood as he scurried by and hauling him back. “Are you, like, nocturnal?”

“I believe we’ve established that I get a solid six,” Shadow replied dryly. “Plus, it’s Saturday.”

“That explains the time, not the location,” the purple woman sighed.

“Yearbook,” Shadow said.

Half a lie.

“Yearbook?” Nightwing repeated, sending Batgirl a look.

Batgirl shrugged but nodded. Their sign for ‘ehhhh…I mean yeah, kinda’.

“Yup, I’m trying to make photo editor next year… Got to make a good impression. Take initiative to get the best shots possible,” Shadow explained reasonably. “Batgirl, here, asked me to leave… When she realized I wasn’t going to, she stuck around to make sure I was safe.”

“Uh-huh?” the woman verbalized with all the doubt she could muster.

“Yup, so… I should probably get goin’...back to where I live,” Shadow remarked.

Nightwing to a deep breath and nudged Shadow towards the purple woman, “Huntress, since the Westside is your territory, would you mind making sure the kid gets back to where they belong? And stays there.”

‘Huntress’ nodded, “Oh, it’ll be no problem. The Westside set are very familiar with this particular safety risk.”

“Oh, that’s not nece-”

Nightwing AND Huntress cut him off with, “It is, actually.”

“Noted,” Shadow sighed and then turned. “Been a pleasure, Batgirl. Thanks for the playlist.”

He saluted her before being led to the fire escape where he (and his escort) dropped out of sight.

Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, “Let’s just go… You’ll need to explain this, but… It’s been a long night and I’m ready for the cave and B’s ‘mandatory interrogation’.”

Batgirl nodded and they grappled away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour and one shouting match later, Dick and Cass were sprawled across the kitchen table nursing contraband sodas.

“Sorry…didn’t know Bruce was worried,” Cass whispered.

Dick stretched and slouched in a different direction, “It’s okay…well, it’s not, but what else is new? I get he doesn’t trust me…but he should trust us together. I don’t know what he expects. We’ve been doing this for a while, we’re not amateurs. I’m so sick of having the same argument with that man!”

Cass pried the pop tab from her can and thought for a second, “It’s okay.”

“No, it's not. I know how it always ends and I still get into fights with him. I should know better by now that nothing will ever be good enough.”

Cass shook her head, “It's okay. To not be perfect.”

Dick furrowed his brow, “Uh…thanks?”

“I'm not either…perfect."

Dick just blinked.

“Maybe…we’re just good? And that’s okay?”

More blinking, but then softly, “Yeah, Cass, ‘good’ is okay…it’s great actually.”

Cass nodded, happy to see her brother approved.

“So, we have to talk about your little dance party on the roof,” Dick admitted. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t just drag the kid to ground level and send him on his way.

Cass spun her empty can a few times, “Thought about it.”

“And?”

“Not the right…approach?” she decided. “Not for him.”

“What makes him different than all the other kids and cats you’ve saved from trees?” Dick asked, forced casual.

He was avoiding her gaze.

Cass considered for a few minutes. She had helped out hundreds of people in Gotham. All of them so unfamiliar. Their body language screaming a dozen different things at once. Their voices in constant need of interpretation. Cass wanted to help them all, to understand them all. A barrage of strangers, all so loud.

Shadow didn’t need to be deciphered. He didn't need to be saved. He just was. As if he always was. Just there… Waiting to be found.

Cass shrugged, “Gotham is loud.”

“Okay?”

“He isn’t.”

Chapter Text

The silence was deafening.

Tim understood why Hel-... Why Huntress wasn't saying much. Sure, she could tell Nightwing that she knows of Tim Drake, but she couldn't admit to knowing Tim Drake. So, she was playing it safe and foregoing familiarity for security. He understood, he did. Didn't mean it felt good.

Helena…she probably wouldn't be too mad about Tim sneaking out. She knew about it before he was placed with her. It wasn't something she approved of by any means, but she knew that caging him in would only make things worse. There were rules: a curfew (10 on school nights, midnight on the weekends… Tim had adhered to both until recently), approved locations (Gio’s, the Rec center, Ives’ house, the arcade… Tim had always been looser with that rule), and no unknowns (people, that is… Tim had never followed that one exactly)... All of them had been broken tonight and neatly swept together on a warehouse roof with Batgirl at one in the morning. A full three strikes in the 10th frame. Batting a thousand. Ran back a touchdown from the kickoff. A three-pointer at the buzzer… It’d be funnier if his success wasn't ultimately a failure to comply with pretty lenient rules. He wished he could sit still and do nothing, but “Now Tim” must've inherited some sort of complex from “Before Tim”.

“Bleeding heart moron,” Tim muttered to himself, previous and current.

“Hmm?”

Tim sighed. It was going to be a long walk back to Helena’s apartment… made even longer by the fact they couldn't say much.

Ugh, his internal monologue was running in circles… Like the anxiety Tim used to experience when he couldn't find something or a memory didn't match up.

Huntress cleared her throat, “Civilian… intervention isn't exactly my area, kid.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But-I mean,” Huntress paused and took a breath. The Bats were better at the whole “multi-layered conversation” schtick. “You can't…you shouldn't be out this late. It's Gotham. It's dangerous out here. You're a kid.”

Which was fair except that it wasn't fair because Tim wasn't just running around Gotham for fun or to cause a ruckus. He'd just been quietly curating a list of people who attended the silent disco (picture, basic description, time of entry/exit, any noticeable abnormalities, etc.) so that he could be prepared if any of them were reported missing. It wasn't the most detailed dossier, but he could start to decipher patterns and potentially give information to the police that others would be unwilling (or unable if it turned out there were more lapses in memory like Jin’s) to share. At best, Tim was an (admittedly anonymous) asset to a potential investigation. At worst, Tim was kinda creepy. Neither was as bad as the continued interference in Tim's life by almost the entire Bat Clan. They just kept showing up wherever he was having a stakeout or doing some snooping and inserting themselves into the situation. Frankly, Gotham could benefit if more people were like Tim! At least he kept to himself...sorta.

So, unsurprisingly, Tim bristled at Huntress’ attempted lecture, “It's dangerous everywhere in Gotham. At least in the streets…or on the rooftops…somebody might actually notice if something's happening. Even if they still choose to do nothing. At least someone will know.”

It was a low blow. Tim shouldn't have said it, but…every once in a while… it just hit him that he…

Trauma hit like a train. Tim took it like a champ for the most part. Whenever it felt like he was starting to spiral, Tim just got this feeling deep in his gut. It was strange and it felt like it came out of nowhere. He couldn't decipher it for a long time. It didn't feel happy or sad or scary or hopeful. Just decidedly ‘not negative’. It was resolute and unchanging and sure. Like a lighthouse in a storm. Tim knew without a doubt that he'd be found. If something happened… someone, somewhere would stop at nothing to solve it. His existence wouldn't end in mystery. The lighthouse would know, even if he sunk.

Tim hadn't told anyone about that certainty. The one at the very core of his being. Helena didn't trust people that much even though she wanted her students (and the citizens of Gotham while she was in her cape) to trust her. Ives still struggled with really understanding what Tim had lived through. Dr. Sinclair…well, she'd misunderstand. She'd think he'd found comfort in his community, a sense of safety. Maybe she'd think he was putting too much faith in a system that failed him before. Perhaps she'd believe he was healing or that his belief was misplaced. Tim had actually tested her on another fundamental truth before to gauge how she'd react.

~

“Thunderstorms have never bothered me,” Tim explained, sorting puzzle pieces (edges in one box, blues in another, anything with words over there, etc.).

“Storms are a common fear for little kids,” Dr. Sinclair stated, sorting through her mound of pieces.

“Not me. They were always comforting. Never slept better than during a thunderstorm,” Tim replied. “Still don't.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Tim began connecting the edge pieces, “Because I am way less likely to be murdered during a thunderstorm.”

“...Okay?” Dr. Sinclair stopped sifting through her pile.

“Yeah, too much evidence left behind, I think. Shoe prints in mud, little droplets of water showing exactly where they went, lightning or thunder could wake anyone up at any moment… And, honestly, rain is as inconvenient for murderers as it is for anyone else. No one wants wet socks because they slipped out a window and into a puddle,” Tim rattled off his reasoning with no fuss, no muss.

“That's rather…logical,” was all he got in response. “Though the thought process of children is often founded in logic…it just veers off course into something more far-fetched for some children. And some ideas.”

“Yeah, I know…that's why I accidentally broke that toaster. The point is: every experience I have ever had with thunderstorms has been thoroughly ‘not negative’.”

“Ummm…”

Tim nodded and snapped the last edge piece into place, completing the foundation of the puzzle, “Thunderstorms. They offer certainty, no matter how unearned, in a scary world.”

“We all tend to gravitate towards things that provided us comfort at a young age. Nostalgia makes us feel safe, but that can be misleading. People sometimes stay in bad situations because they're comfortable…because they're afraid of change,” Dr. Sinclair had found her footing again. She was missing the point Tim was trying to convey…his ability to trust his gut, but she was good at her job so he didn't interupt. “We can't let ourselves get trapped by our preconceived notions. We need to do research and think critically and take our safety into account over how a situation may feel.”

“You're right,” Tim agreed. “After all, storms are just ‘not negative’. They’re not… ‘safe’ or ‘good’. I don't go out and play in storms or anything. I know that every five count is how many miles away the lightning is.”

“Huh, I thought every second was one mile.”

Tim shook his head, “Nope. Every five seconds is one mile.”

“Well, further proof that we need to ensure our safety by getting the facts straight instead of relying on what we think we know,” Dr. Sinclair concluded.

Tim looked at the basis of the puzzle they'd created. An outline. So many pieces were not in place…wouldn't be for a few more sessions…but Tim knew that as long as he had the edges he could fill in the blanks. He could get the full picture. Dr. Sinclair wouldn't understand because Tim didn't understand. He didn't need to though. Tim knew at the very core of his being that his life wouldn't be an unsolved mystery. That no matter what, he'd be found.

“Don't worry, Doc, I'm an overthinker by nature… I'm not gonna get carried away by anything I'm not sure of and I'm not going to walk out into a storm by any means. I'm just confident that I'll be okay.”

~

“Kid?”

Tim shook himself, “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It's just… you know it's not safe,” Huntress argued, continuing down the sidewalk. “Putting yourself at risk in a city like this is just asking for a bullet between the eyes…or strapped to a table. That's if the mob doesn't go after you on misinformation.”

Huntress was talking faster and faster, pacing beneath a street lamp. Clearly frustrated. Transparently annoyed. Tim was tired of the lectures…

“I understand what you're trying to do and what you're saying.”

“Good.”

“I just don't…agree, I guess.”

“Wha-”

Tim leaned against a bus bench, “I just- why are you all the only ones who are allowed to help Gotham?”

“You're just a ki-”

“Yeah, and so many of the adults have given up…or are part of the problem! Teens, we can be truly awful, but we're not exactly capable of widespread corruption or running a criminal enterprise. We're not hiring henchmen or snatching kids off the street,” Tim snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I'm not out here picking fights.”

“It doesn't mean someone won't try to pick one with you and you're not-”

“I know!”

Huntress stopped pacing but kept her back to Tim. He could almost imagine Helena’s expression beneath her mask. She was trying, she was… But Tim was difficult and stubborn and so tired of all the dead ends he kept running into. More missing persons cases kept popping up and more details were getting muddy. It felt like the universe was being rewritten every twelve hours. He seemed to be the only one in the entire world who noticed every little discrepancy. Teddy might remember Tess, but he couldn't recall the boy who sat in front of him in algebra. The police might be investigating the nurse from Blüdhaven, but they'd completely missed a family of four that didn't return from a weekend trip to Metropolis. As soon as Tim really dug into a case, the details were washed away and replaced with something completely different.

The one constant through it all was Tim and Tim kept failing. He was alone.

“I know that I'm not… Gotham deserves better,” Tim muttered, fully slumping onto the bench. “But no one's doing anything. If no one else is…I can't just ignore the situation or pass it off. All these missing people… They deserve someone in their corner. Even if it's just me. I'm…it's not enough, but at least it's something.”

Huntress sighed and crouched in front of him. Tim knew he should look up, show he was listening… But he didn't want to talk to Huntress about this… He wasn't even sure he wanted to talk to Helena about this. She was great…amazing really… She just wouldn't understand why Tim had to do this. Why he needed to intervene before people got hurt. After all, the crossbow she carried wasn't meant to facilitate conversation, reconciliation, and information gathering.

It was for retribution.

“We're looking into it. I promise, but it's hard to do that when we're dis-”

A screech split through whatever else she was going to say. In a second, she was back to her full height.

“Kid, I-”

Tim cut her off, “Go, I can get back on my own.”

Huntress hesitated, “Are you sure?”

Tim stood up, adjusting his bags so they were more secure, “Yeah, no worries. I'll be fine.”

With his assurance, Huntress charged into another emergency… That was the problem, wasn't it? There wasn't time to solve a mystery when there was an emergency. Those took precedence. Of course she should focus on saving lives. Tim just wanted them not to be in danger in the first place.

“I'll be fine. I'm always fine.”

Tim trudged toward the apartment.

The silence was heavy. Tim was alone.

While the heroes were out saving the people in immediate danger, who looked for the ones who were just lost? Tim wasn't good enough. Not really. Just a kid with a few too many secrets in his head. But… who else was going to pick up the slack? Why were the Bats or Huntress more qualified? Tim, he couldn't fight, but he was sneaky. He could chase down leads. He could help if someone would just let him. Gotham was his home, Tim needed to protect it…its people. Even if it was just him…he was better than nothing. Gotham needed…something.

Instinctively, Tim returned to the same old fire escape. Automatically, Tim climbed through the window. Dejectedly, Tim stowed his gear. Quietly, Tim prepared for bed…

The silence was crushing. The apartment was empty save for one restless teenager.

Tim's phone lit up to indicate a notification. Not common so late (early?). It could definitely wait until morning, but the buzzing had broken the silence… Reminded him that he wasn't actually alone in the world so…

Going to sleep was a pipe dream anyway. Tim rolled over to satisfy his curiosity. And… something from Discord. Nothing to get excited over. The cat had died for an update on a card game. How disappointing. He swiped away his other notifications until all that was left was the lock screen player for Spotify.

Perhaps music would be enough satisfaction to bring the metaphorical cat back… There was no way that Tim and Batgirl had exhausted the entire list. He could organize his notes from the stake out and listen to the remaining songs.

Good thinking, Tim, you can pretend that you're actually making progress while listening to songs that have no business being on the same playlist…that you made with someone you had no business hanging out with.

Sarcastic aside...aside, Tim pulled himself out of bed. As long as he was in bed by the time Huntr- Helena got back, he'd be fine. With a big yawn and an invigorating stretch, Tim pulled together the materials necessary for his investigation.

The process was simple but time-consuming. Case files and notes from the police departments were unreliable. They disappeared without warning regularly. Tim hadn’t had access to a personal computer since his first foster family “confiscated” the one his parents had bought him for his twelfth birthday. Borrowing Helena’s or a school computer was out of the question so Tim’s notes were kept across three separate binders: open cases, “closed” cases, and patterns. He planned to put all of the information into a LibreOffice Calc spreadsheet using a computer at the nearest branch of the Gotham Public Library. Once all of that was saved onto a flash drive, Tim would be able to email it to his phone and use a free document viewer app to access it anywhere. It wasn’t a flawless system and the addition of photos created as many problems as it solved.

Tim had pooled the cash to purchase his own SD card to avoid the prying eyes of the Yearbook staff, but he couldn’t just print out dozens of photos. Nor could he risk leaving evidence of his pictures on a public computer… The pictures were good though. As soon as another missing person was made public, Tim could crosscheck his photos with his notes and get a timeline of when/where they were. Perhaps he could deliver them to the police? Or…one of the Bats? They didn’t want him involved, but maybe he could do it anonymously?

“Anonymity isn’t an option with the Bats,” Tim muttered to himself, running a hand down his face as he flipped open his first binder to pull pages for the second. “It’s like being chased.”

Maybe he could create a locked album on his phone and transfer the photos using Helena’s computer? Though if he ever got found out he’d look like an insane stalker.

What would ‘Before Tim’ do? Tim wondered…

“Probably create a convoluted to-do list with dozens of branching possibilities,” Tim scoffed…before realizing that he’d basically done that already. “Oh no, am I turning into my…me…?”

At least I’m not becoming my dad, right? he consoled himself… However, the thought didn’t sit quite right with him.

Jack Drake hadn’t been dumb, but he hadn’t been attentive either. He wasn’t particular or careful or precise. He was gregarious and, honestly, avoidant. Even if he noticed something was wrong, he’d ignore it. Hope it would clear up without his intervention. If asked or if there was an immediate danger, he’d get involved but not before. Janet was more focused and reliable, but she could be easily distracted too. She loved archeology and longed for adventure. Both of Tim’s parents had overlooked Drake Industries in pursuit of their true passion. Maybe Tim had gotten his meticulous streak from his mother? She had spent hours cataloging artifacts for museum collections. Still…that didn’t feel quite right either.

Maybe I can’t blame every personality quirk on my parents, Tim thought, slipping on headphones to drown out his yawns. My attention to detail and persistence might just be 100% Tim Drake.

He rubbed his forehead.

Because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop
Because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop
You know you can't, you won't, and you don't stop
Adrock, come and rock the sure shot (Hurra-, Hurra-)

Tim finished migrating his reports and started to copy over the notes from earlier in the night. Even with Batgirl’s interference, Tim had been able to record several dozen individuals entering and exiting the warehouse. Sex, age, basic body shape (tall, short, thin, etc.), hair color, simple clothes description, etc. and so on. A checkmark if they entered alone, an ‘X’ if they came with one other person, and a number if it was a larger group. There was guesswork involved with ages and sexes, but with everything timestamped, he could conceivably reference his pictures if necessary.

Running in a crowd
In a faceless town
I need to feel the touch of a friend
In the countryside
I wander far and wide
The isolation gets me again

Tim rubbed his shoulder and yawned again, “YuYu Hakusho, Batgirl? Ya’ll may be stalkers, but you've got great taste.”

Maybe Tim wasn’t being fair to the Bats. They weren’t interfering with his investigation on purpose… probably. Outside of being yelled at by Jason (and also Robin later), his experiences with them had been firmly “not negative”.

No. That wasn’t right. They were the Bats. They were objectively cool. Running into them was annoying because it was a risk to everything that he’d worked for. That didn’t mean it wasn’t super awesome. The Bats remembered him. Bruce Wayne had a million more important things to store in his brain and he remembered Tim Drake…and apparently took his advice on conflict resolution! Sure, Dick Grayson was probably sick of Tim by now, but he still took the time to talk to the annoying teen like a person and not just a nuisance. Jason and Damian didn’t just brush him off as some dumb kid. They took him seriously. Cassandra tried to get rid of him, sure, but she had put up with his silly playlist idea until Dick came to bail her out. The rooftop disco was a distraction, but it had been fun. Being around the Waynes was better than “not negative”...it was nice.

And, if Tim didn’t know any better, he’d think that the Waynes might enjoy the interactions a little bit too.

Tim yawned again and erased his third mistake in as many minutes.

All of my regret
Will wash away somehow
But I cannot forget
The way I feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Yeah, these twists and turns of fate

It must be nice to have someone around to catch typos and such. The Waynes…no the Bats...can’t afford to screw things up.

Three little birds sat on my window
And they told me I don't need to worry
Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet
Little girls double-dutch on the concrete

Maybe sometimes we got it wrong
But it's alright
The more things seem to change
The more they stay the same
Don't you hesitate

It was really too bad that Ca- Batgirl missed out on this one, Tim thought, rubbing at his eyes. Sounded like she needs a break… Chill out a little. Perfection is overrated.

Tim’s eyes kept on sliding closed. Shaking it out didn’t seem to be working. Transcribing notes wasn’t holding his attention like it usually did. The dull buzzing in the back of his brain seemed to get louder… It was oddly comforting.

Gotta…jot that down, Tim thought, curling up at his desk. Unexpected side effect of brain tinnitus: warmth. Probably not an indicator of imminent death.

The saxophone gently serenading through his headphones was a great motivator for Tim to…bury his head in his arms…just for a second. The drumming and choral refrains convinced him to close his eyes…just for…a minute…or tw-

~

A hand gently shook his shoulder, but Tim didn’t stir. Whoever it was couldn’t be too mad at him, right? Tim could fall asleep anywhere… They should’ve seen this coming.

The hand moved to his hair. A quick ruffle… Tim ignored them.

“Hey, Timbo, wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”

That…that voice wasn’t right? It should be… who should be there?

“Come on, Cindy, you’ve worked on this long enough,” the voice continued, ruffling Tim’s hair some more.

Tim…wasn’t Cindy he was Tim...and he was about to correct the voice, but instead…

“Go ‘way, Marcia, just takin’ break,” Tim grumbled…except Tim didn’t grumble, right? He could hear it, but…he didn’t say it. He was…where was he?

“You two should be in bed,” another voice chimed in. Deeper, gruff, exasperated…fond.

“I’d love to, B, but this stubborn bird decided to make camp at your desk,” the other voice explained, still messing with Tim’s hair. “Twerpy little snot.”

Playful…familiar…warm.

“Mrph,” Tim added, helpfully.

A chuckle, “Well, it’s not the worst place he’s fallen asleep.”

Deadpan, “It might not be a rollercoaster, but it is unnecessary. Time to move it, partner.”

“Eghmeprerrgh,” Tim replied. “If get up…have to do…routine. Teeth, water, bathroom, eczema lotion. Stay here…nothing.”

“Who knew going to sleep was so much work?” the lighter voice joked. “No wonder Babs staves it off with copious amounts of caffeine.”

“Tim, I promise this mystery will still be here when you get a solid six,” gruff said, leaning closer. “We’re narrowing it down. The analysis on energy usage will be done and waiting for you when you are up later.”

Tim sighed and burrowed deeper into his arms, “You won’t…*yawn*...make any decisions without me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Boy Slumber,” playful promised. “Up you go.”

Tim yawned once more and stretched…important preparation for getting up.

“Fine…just don’t forg-”

~

BahDahBahDahBahDahBahDah DAH DAH!
I think it's time we blow this scene
Get everybody and the stuff together
Okay, three, two, one, let's jam

Tim jolted awake, nearly tipping out of his chair. Drums and saxophones were blaring in his ears. When had he installed those?

Headphones, moron, he reminded himself.

He removed the offending object and cursed whatever the hell “Tank” (according to his Spotify) was.

Seven thirty-seven stared out at him from his lock screen.

“Chief, you up?” Helena called from the kitchen.

Tim blinked at the notes still strewn across his desk “Uh…I think so?”

“Okay… Um, I’m going to head…to Mass,” she said just beyond his door. “I’ll be back by quarter after nine.”

Tim nodded, then reminded himself that she couldn’t see him, “Right…okay…I’m…I’ll be here. Gonna catch up on Science 9.”

“...Okay, I’ll…bring back bagels.”

Why did she sound so uncertain? Helena Bertinelli didn’t do uncertain.

Tim was too out of sorts to dig, “Okay…Um, I’ll…I’ll empty the dishwasher.”

“Sounds good,” Helena said, distracted. “See ya soon.”

Tim nodded to nothing again and the apartment door snapped closed a few seconds later.

The last vestiges of his dream played at the edge of Tim’s brain…just out of reach. Was he so tired that he dreamed about…going to sleep? Who else had been there? Why did they care where he slept? If it was a dream, he should get to sleep wherever he wants…

The voices were…familiar. If he could just remember who they belonged to…

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ…

A notification broke Tim’s concentration…no use trying to get it back.

TedGIFriesDays!-Sry so early (7:43)
TedGIFriesDays!-Dnt kno who 2 tell (7:43)

Tim blinked, The hell?

TedGIFriesDays!-Trina called… (7:44)
TedGIFriesDays!-Tess is gone. (7:44)

Tim blinked at the message…as if it might change if he just gave it a little time.

Birds chirped while cars trundled by and families chatted on the streets outside Tim’s cracked window. His discarded headphones had moved on to “For Once in My Life”...his parents’ wedding song. In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed and garbled voices bubbled up from the Chinese restaurant beneath his feet. The world hadn’t somehow just emptied itself of life… And yet…

Tim was alone…and the silence was deafening.

Chapter Text

~
It was much too early to be awake. Dick had no logical reason to be up and active at five in the morning… But when had brotherly bonding ever been logical? It was chaotic and stupid and funny and dangerous and comfortable and…worth it. Priceless. So, he was up at the (not astronomically, but emotionally) ass-crack of dawn.

Staying at the Manor wasn't Dick’s favorite choice in sleeping arrangements. He was an adult who appreciated his space (space that hadn't been invaded by one person in particular in a frankly alarming amount of time) and relative independence. But… staying at the Manor was the easiest way to enact his plan.

Step 1: Wake up
Step 2: Wake up Little Brother
Step 3: Steal Little Brother before anyone else could
Step 4: Profit (aka go on an ill-advised and long overdue adventure with Little Brother--potentially involving shenanigans)

If Dick had gone back to Blüd somebody else would've swiped his little brother first. That would be unacceptable. He had dibs. He'd known him the longest. It was an outrage, a scandal that it had been three whole months since their last shenanigan. Dick wasn't jealous (he understood entirely that his brother was well-loved and appreciated by most of the people who knew him), but it was the principle of the thing (and that principle was that Dick was, in fact, jealous). Honestly, he never would've introduced the kid to anyone else if he knew he'd have to compete for his attention. No one had mentioned anything about sharing. How was he supposed to know that the twerpy little stalker he met at the circus would become one of his favorite people in the world? Frankly, it was rude the snot hadn't given him a heads-up.

“Warning,” Dick muttered to himself as he tiptoed down the hall, “Side effects include: early dislike, apartment break-ins, indigestion from their terrible taste in food, wrist strain from mandatory noogies, and willingness to fight God, the Devil, and everyone in between on their behalf.”

Dick was extra careful as he cracked open the door nearest to the stairwell. The Manor’s old creaks had disappeared amidst earthquake and rubble. He had yet to memorize the new imperfections in the replica of his childhood home.

He needn’t have worried though since Alfred kept the hinges well-oiled. The room’s assigned occupant was still fast asleep in their bed. Dick’s entry had, for the moment, gone entirely unnoticed. Though the running cartwheel that concluded by landing squarely on the lump curled up under the covers did not.

“Mrph,” Dick’s target groaned, annoyed but unsurprised.

“Up and at ‘em, Boy Grumbler,” Dick hissed.

“Erldntndbrp?”

“I know, I know, but do you honestly want to stick around here this week?” Dick muttered, rolling to his feet and attempting to extract his mark from their tangled-up comforter. “We had to deal with that Arkham outbreak on my birthday and I seem to remember you promising to make it up to me by taking me to the Tetons. You with your camera, me with my bear spray, both unlikely to have service so we can actually have fun without everyone hounding us all the time about safety and ticks.”

“Mbrthdodo?”

“Yeah, and my gift to you this July nineteenth is to let you make it up to me,” Dick said, giving up on the sheets to head to the closet where he started shoving random articles of clothing into a duffle. “Honestly, you should be grateful I'm giving you the opportunity. Can't believe you forgot.”

“Ddtyrbzzz. Ddtwntbthr,” the lump sighed, their arms beginning to poke and stretch out of their den of linen.

Dick’s heart sank, just a bit, “Yeah…it's been a crazy few months. It's not just the two of us anymore, I guess.”

“...”

Dick dropped the luggage and flopped back on the bed, “Real talk?”

A half-hearted shift and sigh.

“Sometimes… we've all lost so many people. I've…” Dick paused, glad his position prevented eye contact. “I can't afford to let the time we've got slip through my fingers. I'm not going to take you for gr-”

“It's okay, Dick,” his quarry had shifted so their voice was no longer muffled by a pillow even as their head was still tucked beneath the bedding. “Give me five minutes and we can hit the road.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked, barely concealing his relief that his brother needed minimal convincing.

“Yeah,” he replied, simple and easy like it always seemed to be with him (barring literally every time the little shit actively chose to be difficult…which was often, but hilarious enough that it all evened it). “We will not be stopping at the St. Louis Arch on the way though. I don't care if it's on the Park Passport…it shouldn't be a National Park.”

“Obviously,” Dick agreed, leaping back towards the door to procure his own bag. “It's clearly meant to be a Memorial, not a park.”

“Thank you!”

“I mean it's why that designation of the park system exists in the first place,” Dick replied, a little giddy.

The figure had finally rolled to the other side of the bed and slipped silently to the floor, “Uhh…Dick?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for remembering.”

Dick grinned, “Always, little brother.”

~

“Can't you just mind your own business for once in your life?!”

Dick didn't jolt awake. Why would he? He was staying at the Manor. It was always a coin toss over whether he'd wake up yelling or someone barging into his room.

“Jay, I'm just not comfortable with you driving in Gotham by yourself.”

Still…it would be nice to be surprised sometimes. Wake up to silence, he thought to himself. Though the idea immediately filled his stomach with dread. He burrowed further beneath the covers, suppressing a shiver.

“I'm seventeen and I have a license! Heck, I drive a motorcycle unlicensed on a nightly basis!”

“No shop ta-”

“Upstairs! I know! I don't even want to talk about it!”

“Then why-”

“Because the only thing you respond to is evidence! You let me drive all the time, but never to school or the arcade or anywhere I actually want to go!”

“Jay-”

“You're a fucking hypocrite!”

“Language!” Dick called, rubbing at his eyes in defeat… No more sleep.

A growl and stomping was all the response Dick got… which, honestly, fair.

Jason wasn't wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either. Bruce was a hypocrite, but Jason did not have the patience nor the skill to drive in Gotham legally. He considered most rules of the road “suggestions” and that was fine when they were in the masks-they were already breaking the law anyway. Civilian driving required waiting and signaling and defensive driving. Bruce used to tell Dick that he trusted him, but not the other drivers… the opposite was the case with Jason. There had been several near misses when Jason was alone…and once when he was with Damian. He was better with another licensed driver in the vehicle-if only because of the threat of being removed from the driver's seat-otherwise, it was like he forgot Driver's Ed entirely. Dick knew it made him a sucky brother, but he agreed with Bruce.

Still…it wasn't Dick's responsibility to intervene-on either of their behalf. Bruce needed to loosen the reins a bit and Jason needed to recognize his limitations. They wouldn't, probably…

Knock…knock, knock…

The pattern was familiar and the final push Dick needed to get out of bed.

“Just a sec, Damian,” he called before slouching off to the bathroom.

The results of Dick's speed run routine weren't winning him any prizes in fashion, but it really didn't matter. He hardly needed to be runway-ready to sit in the cave all day reviewing reconnaissance. Thus far the silent disco hadn't resulted in any disappearances or criminal activity of any kind. Still, Dick felt the need to go over it again.

When he emerged, Damian was seated on the floor across from the door. Dick slid down the wall to sit opposite of his little brother and waited. The Waynes were truly horrible at matching communication styles. Jason spoke with little hesitation…the thoughtfulness ever-present in his writing was glaringly absent in his voice. Alfred was loquacious and sardonic…standoffish and pointed. Cass…well, her intentions and feelings were always clear, but she was more likely to kick or hug than verbalize. Bruce and Damian lacked…finesse… Both spoke matter-of-factly without considering how their words would be perceived. They could be unintentionally hurtful. Lately, though, they were both noticeably puzzling out how to say things. Cass had been right, “Ryan Reynolds” was good for them. Dick just wished the RR influence didn't diminish the longer they-

“Jason and Father are arguing again,” Damian started.

“Yeah, they tend to do that.”

Damian nodded, “I know…them fighting isn't…ummm…”

“A death sentence?” Dick offered with a cheeky grin.

“Mo-morbid.”

“But accurate.”

“I guess. I just…it feels like they're fighting over nothing,” Damian admitted.

Dick sighed, “I know, buddy, but that's just-”

“Can you sit next to me?” Damian asked suddenly.

“At breakfast? Of course, but I don't know-”

Damian shook his head and patted the floor next to him, “No, right now. Can you…sit next to me instead of…across from me.”

“Uhh, okay.”

Dick slid across the hall to sit where his little brother had indicated.

“Thank you.”

“Sure, buddy.”

Damian took a deep breath, “I need to go to the Rec Center today.”

“Okay?”

“I asked Father to pick me up from school to drop me off since Alfred has app…appointments on Mondays.”

“Right?”

Damian drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, “Father is busy today… a meeting with R&G? He said he could take me tomorrow.”

“That seems reasonable…I didn't think you even had any classes today,” Dick reasoned.

“It has to be today!” Damian argued. “A Lego designer is coming to speak!”

“Oh, well, that's exciting.”

“Yes, it is, but I'm not allowed to ride the bus after…”

“Right,” Dick agreed…because there were a lot of ‘afters’ his younger brother could be referring to: the zoo incident, the library incident, the recent Rec Center incident, the ice cream incident, and, well, a large portion of Damian’s childhood.

“Jason offered to take me,” Damian muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “I don't know why. Even if Father let him, Jason doesn't like to chauf…chafa…”

“Chauffeur.”

“Thank you…he says he's not Uber? So, I don't know why he offered,” Damian’s voice was very small. “It's-I don't want…to be another reason for them to fight.”

So even Damian had noticed it was getting worse. That they were getting worse. It wasn't even like the two weren't trying. They'd had dozens of conversations about boundaries and trust and respect, but it just wasn't sticking. And, if Dick was being honest, it wasn't only them. Cass shut them all out on a regular basis. Alfred kept critical information from them for reasons he refused to explain. Dick…well, he kept running from all of it. Every once in a while they all saw through the fog of their own malaise, but those instances were becoming fewer and further between. The haze was so thick they couldn't see two feet in front of their faces much less try to fix their issues. They were all the problem. And Damian knew.

Dick was grateful that his little brother wasn't looking at him because there was no way Damian would find comfort in whatever expression he was wearing. Still…he had to try. Dick wouldn't allow this home-this family-to fracture and crumble. It had to endure…it had to be there when…

“I don't like feeling this way,” Damian whispered, pulling Dick away from the edge of…something. The final shreds of a specter haunting him out of the corner of his mind's eye. “Like…”

“Like?” Dick prompted, starting to feel rather dizzy. He swiped at his ear absently.

Damian mulled over the question for so long that Dick had nearly drifted back to sleep, “Waiting for Mother to call?”

“So dread,” Dick snorted derisively. It seemed that his inhibitions weakened in direct proportion to his alertness. Despite knowing how important this conversation was, Dick felt himself being dragged back under the waves of unconsciousness. It was wildly inconvenient at a time when he needed to provide comfort for his younger brother. When it felt like his entire family's happiness and well-being were at risk. Dick was unlikely to uncover the solution to their troubles in the folds of his subconscious.

“No. Not dread, I think,” Damian replied, unaware of his brother's flagging cognizance. “Antici…anti… I get…excited! I'm excited.”

“Huh?”

Wow, Dick was really out of it. It felt like static was buzzing in the back of his skull, drowning out what was going on around him.

“I'm…well, I'm not excited about them fighting,” Damian clarified.

“Yeah, I didn't figure,” Dick murmured, stretching in an effort to wake himself up fully.

“That's the problem,” Damian groaned, rubbing at his forearm. “I'm waiting for something. Like mother's call. I don't even know what it is and I know it won't fix everything, but…”

“Things will feel just a little bit better,” Dick finished, finally brushing away the haze in his mind. “Because, for a moment, you know exactly where everyone you love is…and that they're going to be okay.”

Damian nodded, “I keep waiting for it to all make sense… Some clue.”

“And if we find it, nothing will be perfect but-”

“Everything will be right,” Damian concluded.

Dick knew exactly how that felt. Certainty that all the keys were locked in the room with them, but no idea where to start looking. And no clock visible to tell them how long until they lost it all. They were detectives. They would solve it, but what if something was missed…or lost…while they puzzled over the clues?

Dick shook his head, “It's just…we're in a rough patch. It happens.”

“I guess,” Damian muttered, face buried in his arms.

“And…I can stick around today. I'll take you to the Rec Center.”

Damian perked up, “You don't have to go back to Blüdhaven?”

“Ehh, I'm hanging around the cave today,” Dick decided aloud. “I can spare an afternoon at the Rec Center.”

Damian leaned into Dick’s side, “Thanks, Dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Squirt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a twist of fate that would surprise anyone familiar with the Wayne family, Dick’s day went relatively well. Sure, it had been over a week and there were no breaks in the trafficking case, but there also didn’t seem to be any additional abductions. There were still issues with the files, but nothing that couldn’t be explained with incompetence over malice. Heck, even most of the more rambunctious rogues were being quiet.

Dick updated his files, chatted with Babs, and even attempted to catch up with Donna and Wally. The former chastised him for his recent angst-ridden updates (which was probably a valid critique) while the latter didn’t pick up.

“Hey, you’ve reached Wally West,” the voicemail declared. “There’s any number of ridiculous reasons why I’m not answering and it’s most likely not your business. Leave your name, number, and a detailed message and I’ll decide whether it’s worth my time to get back to you… Kidding! If you’re someone like…offering me a job or something... Cool, the beep is incoming.”

Dick sighed but didn’t bother leaving a voicemail. He didn’t want to distract Wally from whatever he was chasing. It was disappointing, but catching up wasn’t an emergency. They’d have time in the future.

At 3:30 Dick joined the pickup line at Gotham Academy. It was pure drudgery, but he amused himself listening to a playlist Cass had shared with him recently. “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” might not be high art, but it passed the time.

I want a girl who gets up early (gets up early)
I want a girl who stays up late (stays up late)
I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity (uninterrupted)
Who uses a machete, to cut through red tape

With fingernails (hey), that shine like justice (ho)
And a voice that is dark (hey), like tinted glass (ho)
She is fast (hey), thorough, and sharp as a tack (ho)
She is touring the facility (hey) and picking up slack
I want a girl with a short skirt and a long, long jacket

Damian crawled in the backseat and his excitement was clear. It was too bad Wally was unavailable earlier. With how Damian was vibrating, they might all have another speedster on their hands. In a rare display of his age, the young boy spoke a mile minute about the Lego presentation. Dick understood around forty percent of what his younger brother was saying but did his best to stoke the rare show of enthusiasm. The kid tried much too hard to be a mini-adult. The Rec Center and its classes were good for him…better than the more private lessons that Bruce had initially suggested.

“Do I seriously have to go too?” Jason grumbled as he got in the car a few minutes later.

Damian fell silent in the backseat, fully aware of the shift in atmosphere.

Dick gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, “You love the Rec Center. I’m sure you can find something to do.”

“I’m already volunteering later this week and I have a paper to write,” Jason pointed out.

In and out, Grayson, Dick willed. He’s a grumpy teen and giving into his mood won’t do any good.

“I’m sure you can find a corner to work in,” Dick replied. “Perfect place to study.”

Jason crossed his arms, unimpressed, “Can I just go to the library? It’s only a few blocks away. Babs will be there later and I wanted to ask her for help on an assignment for my Computer Programming class.”

“Sure,” Dick conceded. Anything to avoid another argument. “Though I’m still not sure why you’re taking that class at all. You’ve never been interested in computers before.”

Jason shot him a glare, “What? I’m not allowed to expand my horizo-”

“Nope,” Dick cut him off. “Nope, nope, nope. I was just asking you a question. If this conversation is headed toward the ‘you’re saying a kid from Crime Alley can’t blah, blah, blah’ argument then it’s over. You know for a fact that’s not what I’m saying. You can put your attitude on the back burner because I’m not dealing with it.”

Jason huffed but didn’t respond. Small mercies.

In an additional stroke of good luck, Dick was able to park next to the Rec Center for once. Jason climbed out of the car and scurried off towards the library while Damian practically sprinted into the Rec Center. Dick almost couldn’t keep up.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” Damian squeaked as Dick led him to the hall hosting the presentation.

Not all heroes wear capes, Dick thought. Some just have a valid license and drive a Camry.

The room was packed with similarly zealous little ‘brick heads’ (Dick thought he was clever until he Googled it and realized Lego had already capitalised on the pun) and the speaker was engaging enough that the adults were entertained as well (apparently she was doing a separate panel later that night for an older audience…which seemed smart). Damian nearly shrieked when she commented on a picture of one of his builds that was included in the Rec Center’s slideshow. The Q&A that followed was, predictably, adorable as kids nervously asked thoughtful questions. All-in-all, Dick was glad to spend this time with his little brother. He didn’t care much for Legos (too stationary for his tastes and impractical when he was part of the circus), but if they made Damian happy then Dick was happy to engage for his sake.

“And the sixth picture was of Cameron’s custom submarine!” Damian exclaimed. “She usually goes to the Tuesday class, but she came to ours last week! She helped me figure out how I wanted to pose my bird’s wings and I offered her some advice on the placement of her periscope!”

Dick nodded along as they exited. It was going to take a while for the crowd to disperse and traffic to die down. No use in idling in the Camry if there were places to wait inside. Glancing around the entrance, Dick noticed that Jason had returned and was lounging at a table nose-deep in a new book. Hopefully, he’d mellowed out a little. His attitude would definitely clash with Damian’s energy.

Maybe it would be best for his littlest brother to take some time to burn off a bit of that intensity before they were all trapped in a car together.

“Hey, Damian, why don’t we run a few laps before we head out,” Dick said, nodding towards the open doors that led to the gym. “I think we should both stretch our legs a bit before we’re trapped in a car again.”

Damian nodded, beaming, “Yes, I would like that.”

“Okay, you run ahead,” Dick chuckled. “I’m gonna check in with Jason real quick.”

Dick watched Damian sprint to the gym before turning his attention to his other brother. The teen’s posture was deceptively casual, but it was clear he was tense.

Great.

“Hey, Jace,” Dick said, sitting on the arm of Jason’s chair. “Wattcha readin’?”

“The Book Thief,” Jason answered. Short, but not snappish.

“Did you get the chance to talk to Babs about your assignment?”

“No.”

“She busy?”

“No.”

“Okay, so?”

Jason looked up, “She wasn’t there. I texted her…something came up so she switched hours with someone else.”

“Sorry,” Dick apologized.

“Not your fault.”

“Well…no one else is apologizing. Doesn’t fix anything, but…”

“Where’s the munchkin?” Jason asked, changing the subject. “He enjoy the presentation?”

“Uhh, the gym… Figured we should wait until this place cleared out before trying to leave,” Dick explained.

“Cool.” Jason turned his attention back to his book.

“Okay, well…We’ll head out in a few minutes,” Dick muttered and headed off to wrangle Damian.

The gym was more of a “multi-purpose” room. Two small basketball courts side-by-side with a divider that could be raised or lowered to separate the space. An elevated track winded its way around the room. It was impressive that the neighborhood had been able to build it before Bristol money (*cough* Bruce *cough*) got involved.

At the moment, the room was relatively empty. A pilates class was stretching out on mats to the right while a group of girls bumped a volleyball back and forth to the left. Damian, though, was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had gone up to the overhead track? Technically, children weren’t allowed up there without an adult…no one wanted a kid to climb over the railings or fall. Damian was sneaky though and it was open gym time so there weren’t monitors or coaches to keep watch.

Dick gave the lower level one more sweep before heading toward the stairs that would take him to the higher level. Lo and behold…

Oh…my God. Where isn’t this kid?!Dick thought hysterically.

Damian was chatting animatedly with one Timothy Drake who was standing there with a duffle bag slung across his body as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this kid didn’t just keep popping up wherever the Waynes happened to be. Sure, it had been over a week since they’d last crossed paths (to the best of Dick’s knowledge anyway), but…

If I had a nickel for every time this kid popped up I’d have…well…a LOT of nickels. And it’s flippin’ weird.

But…well, that wasn’t fair. Tim volunteered there. He was supposed to be there. It would be weird if he wasn’t around every time they came in. And, honestly, Dick’s siblings hadn’t run into the kid nearly as many times as he had…and he hadn’t really told anyone that they kept meeting. If he had they might have questions or, worse, Bruce would have questions. Tim was an odd duck, but he did not deserve the full scrutiny of the Wayne family. He was a…good kid…even if he kept popping up where he shouldn’t.

“We are working on shading in my drawing class right now!” Damian was explaining. “The teacher showed us how to make shadows through the leaves of a tree. It reminded me of one of the photos you showed me!”

Uh, what?

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your class,” Tim replied with a small smile on his face. “I hear they’ll be moving onto animals soon.”

Damian nodded, his whole body vibrating with excitement once more, “Yes, and I am thinking that I might draw one of my pets…or I might go to the zoo or the aquarium to find insp–insp…”

“Inspiration,” Dick offered, joining the younger boys. “I see you found someone else to harass, squirt.”

Tim immediately tensed up, “Uhh, no, Damian wasn’t-”

Dick held up his hand, “Just a joke. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“I mean…I met him when you guys came in a few weeks ag-” Tim tried, but he was cut off by Damian.

“Timothy helped me sign up for Drawing and Lego classes,” Damian explained.

“Oh, did he?”

Well, that was one mystery solved. And…it made sense why Alfred hadn’t shared the identity of the volunteer. The butler might be strict, but he wouldn’t throw a kid like Tim under the bus unless he really messed up…or Bruce asked him to.

“Yeah, Damian was interested in photography,” Tim elaborated. “But…that class can be…”

“Overwhelming?” Dick guessed.

“No,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “No, the instructor's kids just suck. A lot. So I suggested he take something where he wouldn’t have to deal with them."

“Wow, Chief, I know class is over, but I didn’t realize you’d stop pulling your punches so quickly,” a new voice chuckled.

Dick turned and immediately recognized the conversational interloper: Travis, the owner of the food truck Tim had taken Nightwing to. He must have been a volunteer instructor…which would explain why he had been so familiar with the teen.

“I’d say that I was going easy on those snots,” Tim argued. “Stephanie threatened to beat them both senseless with a brick a few months back.”

Travis shook his head fondly before muttering, “Sounds like her.”

Tim staggered away dramatically as the older man ruffled his hair, but there was a wide grin on his face

Something Dick couldn’t quite name pooled in his stomach as he watched them interact.

“Class?” Dick asked before he could stop himself. “What do you teach?”

“Just a few self-defense courses,” Travis answered. “Chief here is my intermediate class. Surprised the heck out of Jeremiah on his first day. Knocked him right on his rear.”

Tim didn’t blush, but his ears were tinged pink, “It wasn't very impressive. People underestimate me a bit. He thought a gust of wind would knock me down…my footwork was just better than he expected.”

“Footwork is important for proper defense,” Damian declared, clearly displeased with Tim’s evaluation of his skills.

What on God’s green Earth did this kid do to earn Damian's admiration? Dick thought.

Not that he was complaining. Damian needed more normal kids to look up to. Maybe that way he’d feel more comfortable with his life in Gotham.

“You’re right,” Travis agreed, glancing at his watch. “But he’s still got a lot he can improve on.”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded. “But, honestly, my actual plan would be to just dodge as many hits as possible and then run.”

Good, Dick thought reflexively.

“How about you just don’t get in fights at all?” Travis suggested.

Unlikely.

Tim just shrugged.

“Well, Chief, I’m gonna head out to the truck,” Travis sighed. “You sure you don’t want Hien to set aside something for you?”

Tim shook his head, “I have leftovers at Helena’s. Thanks though. I’m just gonna finish hanging my flyers and then I’ll head out.”

“Alright, tell Eliza when you leave.”

“M’kay.”

Travis left and Dick contemplated the emotions churning in his gut.

“Timothy, where have you been?”

Tim raised his eyebrows, “Umm…nowhere really. School, apartment… A skateboard park a few blocks from the arcade.”

“No, you haven’t been here,” Damian whined…actually whined like the eight-year-old he was. “I have wanted to ask you questions about photography. You said you could maybe help me.”

“Oh,” Tim rubbed at his arm. “Uh…sorry, I’m only here some days of the week. My hours changed recently.”

Damian huffed and crossed his arms, “How am I supposed to ask questions if I don’t know when you’re here?”

“Now, Damian, don’t be demanding,” Dick scolded. “I’m sure Tim didn’t do it on purpose and he doesn’t owe you anything.”

Tim looked sheepish, “It’s okay. I did say I’d answer his questions if I was around.”

“Still,” Dick said. “He should be polite.”

“Bu-”

“How about this,” Tim said, crouching to Damian’s level and almost losing his balance due to the duffle dangling from his shoulders. “If you have questions when I’m not around you can write them down. I’ll leave a folder at the front desk where you can drop them off and I’ll answer them when I can. Then when you come back, whoever’s here can deliver them to you. How’s that?”

“That’s very nice of you.” Dick nudged Damian. “Isn’t that right?”

Damian looked conflicted…like he knew he should accept it…that Tim was being very kind, but that he still wasn’t quite happy with the arrangement.

Dick nudged Damian again.

“Yes, Timothy, that would… I would…That’s fine. Thank you.”

Tim frowned, but stood back up, “Okay, I’ll set it up. It was nice seeing you, but I have to head out. See ya.”

Damian watched Tim go and wilted a bit. Dick wondered if he too had conflicting emotions warring beneath his ribs.

“Okay, bud, wanna race around the track a few times before we grab Jason and head out?” Dick asked, squeezing his brother’s shoulder.

Damian nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It only took two laps for Damian to tire out. He even acquiesced when Dick suggested a piggyback ride to the car. He was asleep before they even got back down to the ground floor.

Jason looked up from his book when Dick kicked his shoe.

“You make him jog to Jupiter?”

Dick shrugged, “All the excitement of the day got to him, I suppose. You ready?”

“Sure, let’s get back before B sends out a search party.”

They wandered out the front door, past Travis' food truck, and into a small commotion on the sidewalk.

“You need a permit to hang those up.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Excuse me?!”

Okay, this time it made some sense that they ran into Tim.

“In most jurisdictions, including Gotham, you don’t need a permit to hang up flyers on public bulletin boards or in parks or on utility polls, Mr. Greene,” Tim explained with more than a little snark.

The man arguing with him was clearly unimpressed with Tim’s response. He was dressed in an overpriced shirt and slacks. Probably a resident of one of the nearby high-rise apartments. Land developers had been trying for years to close down the Rec Center to put up similar complexes.

“Right, because you’re an expert on local ordinances?” the man, Mr. Greene, griped taking an unimpressive but threatening step into Tim’s space.

And Tim well...Tim didn’t back down…because Tim never seemed to back down. While others were bluster, Tim was steady. Undaunted in the face of a storm. Firm. Sure, he’d make a run for it if he saw the chance, but it was like nothing fazed him. If he was confronted, he faced it without flinching. He’d done it first with Jason then Bruce and, apparently, Damian. Most recently, he’d actually managed to throw Cass off her rhythm. Dick didn’t even know that was possible without a game of Scrabble. That was a lot of confidence for a kid his age.

So it came as no surprise when Tim replied, “Only when compared to some people.”

Apparently, Mr. Greene wasn’t as impressed as Dick, “Your attitude is going to get you into trouble someday, kid, and, from what I can tell, you’re gonna deserve it.”

“I like my chances better than yours in that situation,” Tim shot back without missing a beat. Nerves of steel.

Mr. Greene was seemingly incapable of a retort so he opted to rip the flyers out of Tim’s hands.

“Hey, I need those!” Tim snapped and lunged for them.

Mr. Greene may not have been impressive physically, but he was taller, stronger, and looked ready to shove the kid into oncoming traffic. Dread flooded Dick and he was keenly aware that he couldn’t get involved with Damian asleep on his back.

“He-” Dick started, but he was outdone.

“Yo, Asshole!” Jason snarled, storming from Dick's side to situate himself between Tim and the, well, asshole. “What the actual hell?”

“This doesn’t con-”

“I couldn’t care less what you have to say,” Jason snapped, snatching the papers back and forcing himself further into the man’s space. “You’re a fuckin’ adult! Find something better to do than tearing down missing kid posters.”

“Excuse the hel-”

“There a problem over there, Denny?” Travis called from his food truck parked several yards away.

The man swallowed and narrowed his eyes at Jason and Tim, “No, but the neighborhood would appreciate it if your volunteers kept their flyers from cluttering the streets.”

“You have no righ-” Jason started.

“Well, if the neighborhood feels that passionately about it,” Travis sighed, dripping with sarcasm. “Chief, I’ll hand some out from my truck. I’m sure Gio and the arcade will let you hang some too.”

Tim’s eyes never left Mr. Denny Greene’s, his derision clear, “Fine. Good to know the community cares more about appearances than helping people.”

“What did you say you litt-”

But Jason was still between them and was absolutely done with the man's temper, “I believe you got what you wanted, so why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

“Jace-”

Before Dick could attempt to de-escalate the situation, Mr. Greene huffed and stormed off.

“Shithead,” Jason muttered, turning to Tim and handing him the flyers while keeping one for himself.

Dick joined the two with Damian still snoozing, “Well, that sucked.”

As if on cue, Tim squinted at Jason and tilted his head in an increasingly familiar way (he might as well trademark it), “Thanks…sorry you guys had to get invo-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason replied, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I’ve seen that guy around when I volunteer. He’s a real asshole.”

“So you said,” Tim deadpanned.

“Well…yeah, I guess,” Jason said, sheepish, before glancing at the copy of the poster he had hung onto. “I hope you find…Tess Estler.”

Tim’s eyes widened and then he noticeably deflated, “Yeah…me too.”

Hmmmm

“Uh, cool shirt.” Jason must have noticed the mood shift too. “The Badlands…they’re in South Dakota, right?”

Tim's eyebrows shot up, confused, “Uh, yeah, my parents and I…umm. I want to visit all of the National Parks. Well, except for-”

“The St. Louis Arch,” Dick finished, having had this argument with Bruce a dozen times in recent years.

Tim glanced over at him and grinned, the roiling in Dick’s stomach from earlier seemed to dissipate, “Yeah, it shouldn’t be a Park.”

“Well, duh, it’s a memorial.”

Jason looked between the two, “Yeah, okay, nerds. Imma head to the car. Good luck, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Dick said. “Bye, Tim.”

Tim nodded, scratching at his ears and returning his attention to his flyers, “Yeah, thanks. Have a good one.”

As Dick drove back towards the Manor with one brother napping and the other in better spirits than he had been in weeks, he contemplated his day. He had woken up much too early to deal with all of this nonsense. There was no logical reason to keep inserting himself into these situations. But, well, when had dealing with brothers ever been logical?

Chapter Text

Tim had no reason to be working so hard on Tess Estler’s missing persons case. He was a kid or…well a teenager. He had limited resources. He had virtually no connection with any of the missing persons in question. Oh, and they kept on turning up not only as “not missing at all”, but also decidedly not where they were supposed to be.

Tim had no reason to get involved.

And yet…

Tim wouldn't-couldn't-let it go.

It was just exhausting…having to do it alone.

“Hey, Chief,” Helena yawned as she sauntered into the kitchen. “Studying for Levi's test?”

Tim nodded absently, “Yeah, I've finally pulled my grade up. I'd like it to stay there.”

Helena went about making coffee (*gross*) with her back to Tim, “I knew you were using that skateboard helmet to protect something valuable.”

“Hmm,” Tim agreed.

The Keurig started spewing methylxanthine (Tim actually did know that before taking Science 9, Mr. Levi. It's not hard to do basic research) infused liquid. Otherwise, it was quiet. Which was beginning to become the norm around the apartment.

The atmosphere was stifling and Tim had no idea what to do. A handful of weeks had passed since the silent disco fiasco and Helena had barely said anything about the ordeal. Nothing had changed really, but there was a thick cloud of tension clinging to every conversation. Tim wasn't sure how to bring it up or…if he should ask her about it at all. Should he be grateful for her reluctance to talk even if the distance was uncomfortable?

It was just… Helena was going out more and more, but she seemed to have forgotten about the trafficking case. Her focus was dedicated to the growing organized crime fronts on the Westside. Bars, clubs, racketeering, money laundering, and so on. Employees in nail bars, massage parlors, and meat packing plants were liberated from their “sponsors” (read: scum and garbage who barely counted as ‘human’), but the cases Tim was still surreptitiously investigating were glaringly absent from her “to-do” list. As were collaborations with the Bats.

Tim was…conflicted. On the one hand, Helena’s fixation on the mob meant he could run his own investigation unimpeded. On the other hand, Tim was beginning to feel isolated.

Jin had forgotten pretty much everything. Robin (well, Jason, technically) had either played dumb or didn't remember their conversation about the case. Even Teddy’s memory was getting spottier. He was a nervous wreck over Tess’ second disappearance, but he couldn't verbalize why he was so affected. He had no recollection of living with Tess full-time, but he (and also his younger siblings, apparently) were barely holding it together. Sure, Tess was still their sibling, but…it felt like more than that. Their emotions were intact, but their context nonexistent.

Conversely, Tim was becoming more confident in his ability to see the differences. It felt crazy… Heck, he thought he was crazy. But…well, Tim was getting better at the whole “investigating” thing. He'd always been halfway decent at sneaking around, but he'd improved significantly once he realized he had a detailed map of Gotham in the back of his brain. There was a pragmatism and an efficiency to his three-binder system. He could organize it all in fifteen minutes, half an hour tops if he needed to add or overhaul something. Neither the Waynes nor the Bats had managed to corner him in nearly three weeks… And Tim steadfastly refused to acknowledge the twinge behind his ribcage at the reminder.

Tim was getting good at this. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be. Being vaguely passable was one thing. After all, he liked to help people. But if he was good then people might start to expect things from him and…what if he failed them?

“Alec told me to hand this off to you,” Helena said, rousing Tim from his thoughts.

He glanced up to see an increasingly recognizable folder. Red, green, and yellow with a black trim. Filled no doubt with a half dozen questions from the only Wayne Tim couldn't seem to avoid entirely: Damian.

“Thanks,” Tim muttered, accepting the portfolio of questions that were no longer just limited to the area of photography.

“Join the ‘Big Brothers’ program without telling me?” Helena said with a joking tone but suspicious eyes.

Tim shrugged, “Nah, just trying to help. Wouldn't be much of a volunteer otherwise.”

“Seems like the kid looks up to you,” she pressed.

Tim flushed and turned his eyes back to his textbook, “You look through it?” He just barely kept the accusation out of his tone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Helena blink, but shake her head, “No, Alec, was just…curious. Impressed. Apparently, the kid and his family keep asking after you.”

“Yeah,” Tim's chuckle sounded fake, even to his ears. “Seems like we just keep missing each other.”

Helena stared at him for a moment longer and nursed her coffee. Tim kept his eyes on a diagram of alternating currents. Stubborn to the last.

“Well, I'm glad you're there to help them out,” she decided, draining the last of her drink. “Give me five minutes and we'll head to school.”

“M’kay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim skated through his science test, successfully pitched a layout change in the yearbook, aced a coding assignment, and managed to only slightly disappoint his teacher during a fishbowl on The Count of Monte Cristo. All things considered, it was a successful day in the life of Tim Drake… And yet he felt unsettled.

“So, now I'm thinking of getting a job at the dollar store, but my mom is convinced that there's mob activity so she won't let me apply,” Ives was saying. They were taking their sweet time on the way to the tabletop store.

Tim sighed, “Well, she's wrong.”

“Thank yo-”

“The dollar store is a front for counterfeiting,” Tim continued with a yawn. “Weird delivery snafu a year or two ago… Got some plates and then they use the cheap cotton shirts and linens they sell to create the actual cash. They're able to slip the bills into circulation because they're robbed so often that their register drawers never really balance.”

“...Okay,” Ives decided as they arrived at their destination. “What about the meat locker next to the Allstate? They running some sorta Jungle-esque house of horrors.”

Tim held the door open for his friend and thought for a moment, “No… I mean, they're probably bribing their contact at the USDA, but I'd still advise against it.”

“Why?” Ives asked, making a wobbly beeline toward the W&W miniature supplies.

Tim shrugged, “You literally just got over a nasty, and bizarrely prolonged, case of Norovirus. Do you really want to be around raw, unpackaged meat?”

“Well-”

“And before that, you managed to get breakthrough chickenpox because of your unvaxxed neighbors,” Tim continued as he flipped through the same adventure collection he looked at every time they visited the shop.

“It was a crazy coinci-”

“In addition to the allergies you recently inherited from your grandpa.”

“That's unrelat-”

“And the only reason I'm here right now is because you're on crutches from breaking your ankle after you tripped over your cousin's cat and someone needed to carry your bag for you,” Tim finished.

Ives glared, but good-naturedly. He stuck out his tongue, “You can just say you've missed me lately. No need to list off the many reasons why I'm more interesting than you.”

Tim huffed a laugh despite himself, “You're right.”

“Thank you! It's big of you to acknowle-”

“You simply must tell me which of your most recent adventures resulted in you unknowingly consuming human fecal matt-”

“Hey! That's not how I go-”

“So you ate it knowingly? Or, oh, I know! It was accidental vomit consumption!”

“...You suck, Drake,” Ives deadpanned.

“At least I'm not blowing chunks,” Tim replied, taking a seat at one of the game tables. “Been too busy for that nonsense.”

Ives joined him in taking a load off, carefully arranging his crutches against the table…only for them to clatter to the floor anyway. Tim flinched at the sharp noise. For a long moment, they both just stared at the offending items.

“I vote we just leave them here and you give me a piggyback ride to the bus,” Ives suggested. “I'll just army crawl the rest of the way home.”

“Wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen in Gotham today,” Tim agreed. “But I'll remind you that you're like five inches taller than me-”

“Details!”

“And you're borrowing those crutches,” Tim concluded. “The hospital will charge you four times what they're worth if you don't return them.”

“Ugh, fine.”

They spent the next quarter of an hour ogling at miniatures and custom tables and out-of-print guides. It was a tradition for the two of them to talk themselves in and out of every potential purchase until the owner got fed up and threatened to kick them out. After which, they performed the same routine at the comic shop next door.

Tim had missed hanging out with his friend. Real camaraderie was hard to come by when everyone was competing for attention and desperately avoiding being labeled as “uncool”. It was nice. Tim was enjoying himself. It felt like something fundamental was sliding back into place.

But…

Something was still off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tim! Tim! Tim! Tim!”

It was Wednesday so Tim was hiding under the front desk.

“Tim! Tim! Tim! Tim!”

Hiding was difficult.

“Tim! TIM!”

Made even more difficult when certain adorable little munchkins were cheering his name.

“Yay! Yay! Yay! YAY! Tim!”

Tim leaned out of his hiding spot just enough to see the sweet little traitor.

He pressed a finger to his lips and then waved the kid over.

They giggled and scurried over to join Tim, their hug-turned-collision knocked the wind out of him.

“Tim!”

“Oof, shh…ow.”

The bundle of curls and dimples giggled before whispering, “Tim.”

He huffed, “Sasha, aren't you supposed to be with Ms. Eliza?”

The girl pouted her arms still wrapped around his neck, “I wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“I noticed,” Tim deadpanned. “Though you really only said my name over and over.”

“Tim's a good name!” she hissed crawling away from him to climb up into the desk chair.

“Careful!” he groused, preparing to catch her if she slipped.

“Tim isn't careful,” Sasha shook her head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

“Tim is too careful,” he argued back.

“Nuh-uh,” she said with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster. “Papa says not to play with wires.”

“I'm not playing with wires. I'm…managing the cords.”

“Tim doesn't see the sun neither… nope, nope, nope.”

“Do too.” Tim recognized arguing with her was futile, but he couldn't just take these accusations lying do-... Well, hiding under a desk. “I was at the skatepark for a half hour before coming here.”

“No… Tim looks like a ghost… I don't need any crayons to make a picture of you. Not like Papa or Mama or me.”

Tim sighed, “I don't think now is the best time to discuss melanin variation, Sash. Plus, your mom is as white as I am.”

“Yup, Sasha is birashil,” she proclaimed proudly. “Mama has yellow hair like a banana.”

“Biracial,” Tim corrected. “And I have black hair…so you'd have to use at least one crayon.”

“Tim has black hair like me!”

“Yup.”

Tim heard footsteps approaching and tucked further into his hiding place. Familiar shoes appeared in front of him.

“Well, hello, Ms. Sasha, did you escape from Eliza again?” Alec said, scooping his daughter up and taking her place in the chair.

Sasha hugged her dad and then whispered, “I found Tim. He's playing with the wires.”

Alec ducked his head under the desk, “I can see that.”

Tim waved sheepishly but otherwise said nothing.

“Ahem.”

Tim startled so badly that he nearly smacked his head against the desk.

“Hello, Damian, how can Sasha and I help you today?”

“Dami!” Sasha cheered and suddenly Tim felt less special. The affection of four-year-olds was fickle.

“Ms. Sasha, we've talked about this. My name is Damian or Wayne,” the young boy declared. “Please remember.”

“Yup, yup, yup! Dami Way!”

Tim heard a hilariously beleaguered sigh. Poor Damian trying to reason with someone half his age.

“Sasha, he says he wants to be called ‘Damian’,” Alec said firmly. “Can we try to say that, please?”

“Damya…Damyiaa…Damyann?”

Another sigh, “Thank you, Ms. Sasha. I appr-hmm… Um, good job trying.”

“Hey, look who's over there, Sash.”

The little girl immediately began to squirm in her father's hold, “Mama!”

Alec chuckled and kissed his daughter's cheek, “Why don't you go give her a big hug and tell her about your day, okay?”

Sasha was placed on the floor and she sprinted off. It was nice to see her excitement. It was nice to imagine her mother's response. Tim shoved down a pitiful feeling in his stomach.

“Okay, Damian, what can I do for you today?” Alec asked.

“Um, is… I mean, the folder? My folder,” Damian stuttered. “Did your asso-associate find time to answer?”

“My associate, huh?” Alec's eyes briefly flickered over to Tim's hiding place a few feet away.

“Yes. Timothy Drake?” Damian confirmed. “It's okay if he didn't get to them. I just wanted to check.”

Tim…felt like the scum of the earth. He was avoiding the Waynes like the plague for no other reason than-

Honestly, Tim didn't know what the reason was anymore. It wasn't like there was any risk of them discovering what he'd done. They'd probably think he was crazy if he told them. Then they would stop trying to seek him out. Because that's what they seemed to be doing more and more from what he could tell.

Damian, of course, left his list of questions. They'd started out focused on photography and then expanded into art in general then to other hobbies then to just advice. Now, he was basically just carrying on a conversation with Tim. Like a bizarre pen pal scenario. Sure, Damian kept most of his life private, but it was clear he wanted someone to share his thoughts with. Tim didn’t mind playing sounding board, but the kid might have better luck if he joined a club at school.

Cassandra was less assertive. She had spotted Tim one day after finishing her dance class, recognition clear in her eyes. She didn't approach or try to talk to him. But he noticed that someone had hacked into his Spotify (sus, but no harm, no foul without any sort of personal/payment info) and added several songs to his playlist. A week later, an entirely new playlist was added. Tim had taken to listening to it while he worked.

Jason was…odd. He'd apparently relayed the details of their altercation with Dennis Greene to the Rec Center staff. Ms. Eliza confirmed the details of the incident with Tim and assured him that they'd be in contact with the man (again) for his behavior around the center. Alec, on the other hand, informed him that Jason was pretty pissed about the whole thing. Tim wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't heard part of the conversation himself while hunting down Sasha’s stuffed iguana.

~
“What do you mean there's nothing more you can do?” Jason asked, his voice carefully controlled.

Alec sighed, “We've talked to him before, but he's never done anything actionable, Jason. He's a jerk, but there's no law against being unpleasant.”

“You weren't there… I thought he was going to smack the kid around!”

“I understand where you're coming from, but he's never gotten violent before,” Alec explained patiently even though Tim knew for a fact he was fed up with Greene too.

“Well, there's a first time for everything,” Jason snapped. “What if Dick and I hadn't been there?”

Tim poked his head around a crate, Iggy successfully rescued from a donation bag. Jason’s arms were crossed and, contrary to his even-ish tone, he looked irate.

Alec sighed, “You shouldn't have gotten involved, Jason. You could have gotten hurt too, y'know.”

“Oh, so I should've just let the asshole chuck Tim in front of a bus.” All pretense of manners vanished in Jason's fiery tone.

“Travis wouldn't have let anything happen to him, Jason.”

“Ugh, none of you are listening to me. Someone needs to actually be looking after that twerp! He's always up to something stupid or noble or whatever and nobody's watching his back! He's going to get hurt!”

“I promise-”

“No, the first time I met him, I shouted at him for a good ten minutes. Over something stupid. Did you know that?”

“No, but-”

“No one stood up for him. No one was there looking out for him,” Jason was suddenly a lot quieter.

“It all turned out okay, Jason,” Alec said carefully. “No one's going to let anything happen to him.”

Jason collapsed in a chair and buried his head in his hands, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I appreciate your concerns, Jason, but Tim isn't your responsibility.”

Jason just rubbed his neck and shook his head vehemently. Tim left before he could hear exactly what was so disagreeable about that entirely accurate statement.

~

So, yeah, Jason was…very concerned about Tim's safety. Which was probably fair, but not for the reasons Jason thought.

Dick…well, he was in Blüdhaven most of the time. Tim read about his recent escapades in the news and he seemed…fine, if overworked. But…it's just Dick had been weird the last time they crossed paths. At first, Tim thought he was annoyed that a virtual stranger was talking to his little brother. However, there wasn't any lecture or rebuke. Instead, he was just…bemused…amused? Then, the mood took an awkward turn when Travis joined them. Dick got twitchy. Perhaps he was annoyed to be wasting time when he probably wanted to leave? Maybe he was finally fed up with running into Tim (which, unfair…the Rec Center was Tim's turf!)? Though…that didn't make sense either? The smile he'd gotten from Dick as they roasted the Arch was absolutely genuine. Why would one joke cause Dick to flip from jealous over Damian and annoyed at Tim to content, even cheery?

None of the Waynes made a lick of sense. It was frustrating and annoying and…

Tim didn't understand the ache in his chest when he successfully evaded them. Or why it felt like he missed them. What was there to miss? They weren't his. He wasn't theirs.

Knock! Just one, long strike on the desk.

Tim was pulled, violently, from his moping by Alec’s rudimentary signal. What had Tim been doing?

“I don't think Tim left the folder today,” the man was saying. “Sorry, Damian.”

Oh, right, he was busy hiding from an eight-year-old. He rubbed absently at his arm.

“Oh, okay,” Damian replied, voice quiet but firm. “I understand. Thank-”

THUNK!

Tim smacked his head, hard, on the desk as he raced to scramble out from underneath it.

“Oh…owww…” Tim whined.

“Timothy?”

“Youch, Chief.”

“Uhh, yeah, the…printer. It's fixed now, Alec,” Tim said, thoughts sluggish.

“The printer?” Alec quirked an eyebrow.

“Yup, the…paper tray…feeds correctly now?”

Tim wondered if he was capable of giving himself a concussion. Should he wear a helmet at work too?

Alec nodded, clearly amused, “Well, thank you for doing that, Chief. Don't know what we'd do without you.”

“No problem,” Tim rubbed his head and finally glanced over at Damian. “Hey, Damian, sorry for making you wait. I have your folder in my backpack. I'll go grab it real quick.”

Tim ducked into the back room, head still smarting. He wanted to be mad about the whole ordeal, but it was his own fault. His body blatantly ignored his brain and moved on its own when he heard how small Damian’s voice got. It hadn't been sad or mad, just disappointed. Tim reacted like it was some sort of instinct. Dr. Sinclair mentioned he had an ingrained drive to help others, but this response seemed a bit more excessive than strictly necessary.

No use dwelling on what was already done, Tim grabbed his bag and snagged an ice pack for his head.

“Here you go, Damian,” he said once he returned. “I finished them during lunch today.”

“Thank you, Timothy,” Damian muttered, taking the folder handed to him.

“Not a problem.”

Damian clutched it to his chest, nodded, and then wandered over to the chairs to wait for his ride. Resolute to the last, that kid.

Alec nudged Tim, “What's that about?”

Tim shrugged and tried to focus on the cooling comfort of his ice pack instead of the lonely kid across the room.

“I know you're avoiding them,” Alec pressed.

“Why would I be doing that?”

“That's what I'd like to know.”

Tim swallowed down his frustrations, “I barely know them. And they seem nice enough. I just don't want to waste their time.”

Tim could feel Alec’s eyes on him. Being perceived really sucked sometimes.

“You're wrong,” Alec said simply.

“So, they actually do suck?” Tim muttered.

Alec sighed, “No, I thought they might, but…that was just my own biases. They-the Waynes-they're decent people.”

“And?” Tim was staring daggers at his computer screen.

“And they've latched onto you. You're not a waste of time. They seek you out, ask after you, genuinely enjoy your company if Travis is to be believed. And, I could be wrong, but I think you like them too.”

“You just pointed out that I'm avoiding them.”

“Yeah, but you're still answering all those questions for Damian. You updated parts of our new system based on suggestions made by Jason. You looked like you had fun when Grayson dropped you off that one time,” Alec listed off. “Why fake all that?”

“I'm not a jerk, Alec,” Tim groaned.

“No, you're not,” Alec replied simply. “And you may be a decent little liar, but you're not an actor.”

“Wow, thanks for the concrit,” Tim sighed. “What's that lesson here?”

“You're not a bother or a jerk or an annoyance. It's okay to avoid people if you don't want to be around them, but don't push them away because of how you assume they perceive you. It's not fair to them and it's not true of you.”

And then Alec walked away because most adults can't handle follow-up questions to (read: poking holes in) their “profound statements”. Honestly, if the world knew how flimsy most “wisdom” was… Well… Tim wasn't sure what would happen, but there would be vindication!

Alone for the first time all day, Tim considered his backpack. He could work on his latest science assignment. He could catch up on the comics he picked up with Ives. He could stare mindlessly at his phone... He could use the Rec Center computer to update Tess Estler’s case. It may not be his job…his responsibility, but at least someone would be doing something. She deserved to have someone in her corner.

Blue eyes drifted over to a young boy with too stiff posture studying a folder with such intensity that onlookers might believe it contained the secrets of the universe. Tim stowed his backpack under the desk.

Tess deserves someone in her corner and I will be, Tim thought as he crossed the room, but Damian is here now and he deserves someone in his corner too.

“Hey, Damian.”

The boy looked up, “Oh, Timothy? Am I not allowed to sit here? Jason is still working so I'm waiting here for him.”

Tim shook his head (difficult while he was still holding an ice pack) and crouched down so he wasn't towering over the kid, “No, you're good. I just figured I'd come talk to you.”

Damian blinked and his mouth fell open, but he said nothing.

Tim could feel the heat creeping up his neck, “Uh, sorry, is that okay? I can go if-”

“No!” Damian squawked, nearly jumping out of his seat.

“Uhh…?”

The younger boy seemed to remember… something… and he immediately looked mortified, “I mean, sorry… No, you can speak with me. That would be fine.”

“If you're sure. I don't want to bother you,” Tim replied.

“Am I a bother?” Damian asked.

Tim had no idea how this conversation got out of control so quickly, “No, of course not.”

Damian nodded, looking a bit smug in his satisfaction, “Good. Then neither are you.”

“Okay, so… How are things going?” Tim asked, realizing he hadn't come over with much of a plan.

“I am well,” Damian said, the picture of politeness. And that picture could be found in the dictionary next to the entry for ‘uncomfortable’. “Thank you for asking.”

Which, no, that wasn't going to work. The kid was a bundle of nerves and he wanted to talk to someone, but he was also trying (and failing) to be a little adult. Hiding behind formalities to avoid the embarrassment of being perceived.

I have commitment, abandonment, AND trust issues, Tim thought. How does anyone get me to talk ever? Like, I kinda never shut up sometimes… How?

Tim reached for his phone to wikiHow to get a kid to open up (but not in a weird, manipulative way) and realized he must have left it on the desk. In its usual place instead (right back pocket, obviously), was a package of Pokemon cards he'd bought while he was with Ives.

“Hmmm… hey, Damian, wanna do something kinda dumb?” he asked before he could think better of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wouldn't think too hard about it,” Tim was saying fifteen minutes later as he flung another card at the banana he had leftover from lunch. It veered to the left. “Just pick something you'd enjoy.”

“Well, of course you wouldn't,” Damian mumbled, slinging his card slightly closer to their target. “You go to a public school. You're extra curr-...curricur-”

“Extracurriculars,” Tim finished. His card puttered out as soon as it left his hand.

“Yes, yours don't matter nearly as much,” Damian argued, card taking an impressive arc before landing in a ficus.

Tim shrugged and flicked his card with a bit more gusto (but less finesse), “Ouch, Damian. Us plebeians that unimpressive?”

The younger boy startled pretty badly and his card ended up at his feet, “What?”

“A plebeian. They were the commoners, regular Jims, Joes, and Jerrys of ancient Rome,” Tim explained, cracking open another pack to find the trainer, energy, and code cards (Tim was a goofus, not an idiot).

“No, I know that, no you're not.”

“Not what?”

“A plebeian,” Damian said. “You're a Drake.”

Tim chuckled, devoid of humor, “Yes and?”

“Your family ran a rather notable business.”

“Not really,” Tim sighed. “My parents were new money who got in on the ground floor of a random and really specific medical thing… Some tech that never really took off. They hit it big early on and never capitalized on it properly. They’d been shopping around for buyers for years before they… Anyway, it wasn't their real passion. Company merged with some randos in Star City and I'm pretty sure most of their departments were scrapped. So, if anything, the Drakes are meritocracy in action. Knocked out of the upper class because we couldn't compete. I wouldn't have done much better, honestly.”

Damian had completely abandoned his cards to stare at Tim, “Why do you do that?”

“Hmm?” Tim got within two feet of his bullseye.

“You behave as if you're not good at anything. You say things that would be considered cruel if they came from another.”

Tim rubbed at his arm, “I'm not really ‘good’ at things. I'm not ‘bad’ either, mind you. The things I can do aren’t all that impressive and that's okay.”

He chose to ignore his ego as it pointed out how he'd determined that Tess actually ran away and hadn't just up and disappeared. Probably not the best idea to tell Batman's kid about how he'd tracked down her Finsta and noticed a Greyhound ticket poking out of her jacket in a selfie. Not bad when Tim started with no clue about her social media handles. Even so, all he knew was that she ran away, not where she ran to.

Damian stood in front of him so Tim couldn't ignore him, “You are wrong!”

“...Okay?”

“You told me it is okay to do things just for fun or to learn. That not everything has to be useful.”

“And I meant it,” Tim said simply. “This isn't the same thing though. I'm just saying I'm okay not being great at things. Burnt-out child prodigies everywhere can attest to the comforts of mediocrity.”

“No,” and Damian actually put his foot down. “You are… I li- Are we acquai- acqua-”

Tim smiled and crouched down to Damian's level, “Yes, Damian, we're friends.”

The younger boy blushed, “It is my understanding that friends don't tolerate others saying mean things about their friends.”

Tim considered this, “Outside of friendly jabs and stuff, yeah, I suppose that's true. Or it should be at least.”

“Right. So, I'm not going to let you say mean things and lies about yourself,” Damian decided, turning back to their game. “You are good at things. I would like you even if you weren't, but that's not true. You take good pictures, you are patient and kind with the children here, Mr. Travis complimented your self-defense skills, you make Dick laugh, you can fix a printer, you give good advice, you help others without being asked…”

Tim felt warm and it wasn't just the prolonged blush plaguing his face, “Oh…uhh.”

“But mostly, you are a good person,” Damian concluded. “You are no plebeian, only a fool would not see your value.”

Tim didn't know what to say… He'd had a lot of friends in his life for how short it was. It came with the territory of being the new kid at a half dozen schools. But… Damian's little speech might've been one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to his face. It made him feel itchy.

“Hey, Damian! Bruce just texted he'll be here in five minutes.”

Both boys looked up as Jason approached.

“I see,” Damian said, looking a bit down at the news. He started gathering up their projectiles.

“Twerp bothering you?” Jason asked, taking in the pile of cards they'd amassed in the waiting area.

Tim shook his head as he started clearing the mess, “Nah, he was just keepin’ me company. I was pretty bored.”

Jason hummed something indecipherable and joined in the cleanup process. Normally, Tim would feel obligated to apologize for the inconvenience he'd created…insist he could handle it himself. But…it was A LOT of cards and neither Wayne boy complained. On the contrary, they ended up making a mess AGAIN when Jason proved to be much more adept at throwing cards (which, unfair, Robin-training should disqualify someone from friendly competition). Tim managed to win the distance contest even though his accuracy was abysmal. Damian settled for hitting the other two in the face repeatedly when the situation devolved into, as Jason described, “a merry war”.

“Well, I didn't realize you boys signed up for another activity.”

Tim didn't startle. He knew he should've… But Mr. Wayne hardly seemed scary, even when he appeared out of nowhere. To think, Batman made criminals cry.

“Nah, Bruce, pretty sure that the Rec Center can't handle this much chaos,” Jason said gravely. “I'd rather not imagine the paperwork due to paper cuts.”

Damian nodded solemnly, “Surely someone would sue over a sprained wrist.”

“I heard that's why card throwing was banned from the Olympics,” Tim added before he could stop himself. “That and people were swapping legal decks with 55-point card stock.”

“I read about that scandal,” Mr. Wayne noted with a shake of the head. “The fact that the IOC didn't eliminate Kasnia is still one of the most unethical decisions they ever made.”

The three boys dissolved into giggles that should've been embarrassing, but they were too far gone to care.

The team of four set about collecting all the cards (again). Together they made quick work of it.

No wonder all the superheroes got together and created the Justice League, Tim thought. Teamwork does, in fact, make the dream work.

“Hey, Damian,” Tim said suddenly. “I think you should join a group of some sort for your extracurricular.”

The younger boy quirked an eyebrow, “Why? To work on my ‘social skills’?”

He shot a look to his father and brother who were doing an admirable job of pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Nah, it's just…some things are more enjoyable when you do them with other people,” Tim replied with a shrug. “It's a lot easier than going it alone.”

“And if they don't like me?” Damian deliberately put his back to Tim while his family stiffened.

Tim ignored them and turned the kid around, crouching down a bit to make eye contact, “You're a smart, talented, thoughtful kid. But it wouldn't matter if you weren't. Because you’re good. I’m sure there are kids in your class who will recognize that. And anyone who can't see your value is foolish.”

Damian met Tim's grin with one of his own.

“Tim! Tim! TIM!” called a familiar voice.

The teen turned just in time to catch the bundle of curls hurtling toward him. The breath was knocked right out of him and the only thing keeping him from crashing to the floor were two strong arms beneath his shoulders.

“Woah there, partner,” Bruce said as he hoisted Tim back to his feet.

“Oww…” At least the pain wasn't his fault this time.

“Oops,” Sasha chortled, hugging Tim tightly around the neck. “Sorry, I just came to say bye-bye.”

“Sasha,” Alec called, jogging over. “We talked about this…no running and definitely no jumping on people.”

“It's okay,” Tim assuaged. “Maybe a little more warning next time, Sash.”

Alec didn't say anything for a moment, just taking in what had to be a ridiculous sight: the richest man in town holding a random kid upright while his two kids scrambled around on the floor in a bizarre game of Roundup. But… that shouldn't leave the man at a loss for words. They lived in Gotham. More weird things could be seen while on the way to work than happened in Metropolis in an entire year.

When he finally spoke it wasn't words at all, “Hmm…”

Bru- Mr. Wayne finally let go of Tim's shoulders and said, “Sorry for the mess, my boys and I will get it cleaned up in a jiffy.”

Alec snapped back to the present moment, “Oh, no big deal. Worse things have happened to this floor in the past week, I assure you.”

“Papa, spilled coffee everywhere!” Sasha squealed as she squirmed out of Tim's hold. “Big, BIG mess!”

“And thank you for that reminder, Sweetie,” Alec deadpanned as he picked her up. “Though why you remember that and not why it happened is why it keeps happening.”

“Oopsie! Mama said no more running.”

“That's right,” Alec said. “And you'll forget by tomorrow.”

“Cherish that,” Mr. Wayne sighed. “Soon she'll remember it and then choose to do it anyway.”

“Huh…that sounds awful. She and her little friends are already little chaos monsters. Can't imagine what they'll be capable of when their fine motor skills are perfected,” Alec cringed and he turned his attention to Tim. “Would you like to have dinner with us tonight, Chief? You mentioned that Helena is working late again.”

Tim blinked as he was pulled from the idea brewing in the back of his mind, “Uhh, no thanks. I have plans for tonight, I think.”

“You think?” Jason asked, looking skeptical.

Tim nodded, “Yeah. I do.”

With a wave and assurance that Damian could keep his half of the cards, Tim jogged back over to the desk. He fished his phone out of his bag (ignoring a half dozen notifications) and created a new group chat labeled: On the Case.

Tim was going to take his own advice (and also, maybe, possibly…like everybody else's). He may have no reason to be working so hard to find Tess Estler, but he knew of a bunch of people who desperately wanted to find her too.

Tim had friends and they'd work together…watch each other's backs. Tim couldn't…didn't have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

~Bruce~

It occurred to Bruce that he really shouldn’t be spying on his boys, but… They were having fun. Goofing off in a completely age-appropriate way.

Sure, Jason was known to pull pranks and crack jokes, but he had grown more acerbic over the past year. It would be hypocritical (well, more hypocritical) for Bruce to criticize his son’s broodiness. Jason had cause for his frustrations. It was just…it would be nice for a reprieve from the shouting matches.

Damian, well… He came by his self-seriousness honestly. Neither Bruce nor Talia were known for their sparkling wits nor their breezy dispositions. His son had made great strides with his siblings, but he was still wound so tight. The few friends he had made were similarly outcasts from other children their age. Didn't know how to relax… Bruce couldn't help but blame himself… If he'd known about Damian earlier… Would it have mattered?

Right then though, an onlooker would assume they were unburdened by past torments… That they were merely mischievous kids looking to kill time. Creating a messy game. An inconvenience sure, but not one with malicious intent. Joined in their revelry by a boy who looked as if he could be-

“Enjoying the show?”

Bruce grinned, but didn't turn around, “I sincerely hope you're not casing a Community Recreation Center, Selena.”

A chuckle designed to ensnare, “Hardly… Merely participating in Jason's ‘Meow for a Mission’ initiative.”

Bruce quirked a brow.

“Donations for households with pets,” Selena explained, brandishing a brown paper bag filled with cans.

“Hnn…”

“Next month is ‘Howlin’ for Hospitality’.”

“Maybe introducing Jay to Dick was a mistake,” Bruce joked.

Selena smiled, “Someone's got to keep you on your toes. With Dick in Blüdhaven most of the time, Jason had to pick up the slack. And, hey, alliteration isn't nearly as bad as puns.”

Tim Drake, their accomplice in shenanigans, sent his card flying fifteen feet across the room. He missed his intended target if the sheepish look on his face was anything to go by, but Jason whooped and clapped him on the back anyway before getting a card right between the eyes courtesy of Damian. The three regrouped and took playful aim at each other.

“I didn't know the boys knew Tim Drake,” Selena said.

Bruce blinked. He hadn't known that either, honestly. Sure, Tim worked at the Center fairly frequently, but Bruce assumed that his kids had only seen the boy in passing. Nightwing and Robin had more interactions, but, as per their reports, they were fleeting at best.

“He's a good kid,” Selena added after Bruce had been quiet for too long. “Too good, honestly. He could do with getting into a little more trouble, but he's sweet…”

“Hnn… You've clearly never been on the receiving end of one of his lectures,” Bruce muttered, but there was no sting to his words.

“Sharp tongue?”

Bruce thought for a moment, “Probably, but he's more… Analytical than that? He breaks down personalities in his head, I think, and hasn't yet learned to keep his findings to himself.”

“Pot has met kettle then,” Selena deduced. “Not so nice when someone else is using their perception powers on you, is it?”

Bruce shook his head, “No, quite the opposite. I'm used to ‘yes men’ and intransigent children. His critiques were well-founded and he offered solutions in lieu of complaints.”

“Oh, I'm sure even Tim Drake could find something to complain about,” Selena chortled.

Bruce huffed a laugh and rubbed absently at his forehead, “I have no doubt he'd make quite the opponent in a real argument, but I imagine he's more forgiving…probably too forgiving…than most.”

“Of a man so undeserving?” It was meant as a joke, but…

“I imagine so…”

“Hmm…”

“And how do you know about the boy?” Bruce asked.

Selena leaned a little more into Bruce's space, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Back when it looked like the Center would lose a huge chunk of its funding, the board and City Council held a joint meeting. Open to the public of course.”

Right, that was over a year ago…in the summer. Bruce hadn't been able to attend. Between Cass’ arrival in Gotham and some concerning revelations about Jason's maternity, the Wayne family had been rather…distracted.

“Hnn.”

“Well,” Selena continued, “young Mr. Drake gave a rather impassioned little speech about the importance of the Center to the community. How humans need each other. Explained that by refusing to invest in third spaces and community gathering places, we are exacerbating loneliness, limiting our individual and collective improvement, and creating a larger divide between the people of Gotham. This city is nothing without its citizens and its citizens need their community to thrive. We achieve more together than alone and the Center is one of the few places that bring people together. Closing down the Center would weaken the foundation of the city. Its ‘moral infrastructure’ and ‘the light in the fog’ in his words. He asked for the community to step up and save what they all love.”

“...I see,” was all Bruce could say, pressure continued to build behind his sinuses.

“Cute,” Selena concluded. “If a little naive. Even came with a little binder of evidence. Testimonies from key demographics, graduation rates in the neighborhood, statistics on the food pantry, cute photographs from various events. Ethos, logos, and pathos wrapped up nice and neat. Perfectly persuasive. Everyone ate it up…It wasn't the only speech and a lot of people came out in support of the Center, but…he made an impression for sure.”

“I see why you say he's ‘too good’,” Bruce admitted.

Selena smirked, “Oh, don't worry, he had that bite you mentioned too.”

“How so?”

“Called out some key individuals in attendance…and some who were missing,” she said, eyes shining with silent laughter. “Not to mention he gave the whole speech under a fake name. Alvin something or other. Wore a hoodie. I guarantee you the only person who knows that Tim and Alvin are the same kid-”

“Other than you?”

“Obviously, dear,” Selena purred. “The only other person who knows is Eliza and it wasn't even her who hired him. Kid clocked the moment she figured it out though. Face beet red and everything. I doubt they've ever talked about it. I'm sure he's mortified.”

“Why?” Bruce asked with a furrowed brow.

“Teens these days are almost allergic to hope,” Selena sighed. “Can't blame them usually, but…”

“Hmm?”

“The faith he showed that night…in his fellow Gothamites, it's the kind that makes you want to not let him down. To reward it. Naive as it was, it wasn't just founded in hope…he could actually verbalize what needed to be done for things to get better. He knew how much work it would take. Laid out plans and everything. Committing to that future takes a lot. It's not gonna win a lot of friends.”

Friends, perhaps not, Bruce thought. Allies though, teammates, collaborators…yes. And maybe a fan of his work too.

Jason managed to slice a suspiciously-placed banana clean in two and Bruce was dragged back to the task at hand: getting his boys and heading home for the day. The Bats would be creating enough messes (while trying to clean up others) that evening on patrol, it wasn't fair to let the Waynes create even more this afternoon. As much fun as they were having, it couldn't last forever. Tim would likely need to head home soon anyway.

“I'll let you go, Bruce,” Selena leaned in even closer to add. “Maybe I'll see you tonight, hmmm?”

She sauntered away. Long, dark hair swinging in time with her hips. Selena made the mundane so exciting. Enthralling. She did it on purpose so Bruce didn't feel too bad about enjoying the view.

Another round of cheers drew Bruce's attention back to his mischief-makers and their co-conspirator. Apparently, Jason had somehow hit both Tim and Damian with a fire energy card. The younger two were as elated as the oldest at the display of skill. Bruce nearly didn't have the heart to put an end to it.

So…he joined in for a few minutes. Watched his two boys let loose. Joked with them about card-throwing etiquette. Listened to a near stranger comfort Damian. Caught said stranger when it became clear that he'd endure a minor injury just so someone else wouldn't get hurt due to his inaction. Exchanged pleasantries with a fellow father. Tried to ignore his concern when he realized that the not-quite-a-stranger would be alone…

“Ready to go you two?”

Damian nodded, carefully tucking away his cards while Jason contemplated his…friend?...for a moment longer.

It occurred to Bruce that he shouldn't allow his son to spy on people, but… Who was he to judge?

~Jason~

Jason wasn't sure why Tim Drake bothered him so much.

Well, not ‘bothered’ per se. Was there a word for ‘simultaneously concerned about and annoyed by’? Perturbed? Queasy? Apprehensive? Nothing seemed to quite fit. It made Jason feel itchy. He rubbed at his neck.

While Damian finished stowing the cards away in his backpack, Jason surreptitiously studied the teen who had wandered away (after helping clear up their minor mess, of course).

Tim Drake was on the shorter and leaner side. Not sickly looking by any means, but his slightly baggy shirt certainly wasn't helping him beat the scrawny charges. On the pale side too, probably burned easily even if he loved the outdoors. Messy dark hair and equally messy blue eyes. Clearly intelligent, sly, stubborn, and quick with a snide remark when he didn't have to be polite and professional.

Tim Drake was nothing remarkable, but maybe that was the problem…

Jason was a trained detective. He was smart. While other students bemoaned lit analysis, he reveled in them. The more to unpack in a narrative, the better.

But…Tim Drake wasn't decipherable. He wasn't uber-special complex by any means, but his contradictions had contradictions. His behavior implied he saw no reason to play games in social interactions. Unless he was obfuscating on purpose for some reason, Tim told people exactly what he was thinking. Still, there were layers underneath that even he didn't seem aware of. An instinct that wouldn't allow him to back down and a drive sparked by others instead of his own wants and needs. Fully aware of his flaws and constantly surprised by any acknowledgment of his strengths. Confident in the face of assholes, yet unconcerned with how others perceived him. Unflinching in the face of conflict and unsure in the face of compliments. Cocky and yet convinced he wasn’t good enough. Quick of tongue, thorough in gratitude. Begging with his eyes for someone, anyone to take the reins. The first to jump in to help regardless. The kid was a contradiction: an open book written in hieroglyphics.

As extraordinary and as mundane as the Rosetta Stone itself.

Jason kinda wanted to hate the kid.

Jason kinda wanted to plan a heist with him more.

“Ready, Jaylad?” and a clap on the shoulder.

Jason nodded, eyes still staring daggers at the kid who helped revamp his his passion project over the summer. Who got his little brother to loosen up. Who had, apparently, lectured Bruce. Who Dick had lied about. Who stared down fuckin’ Dennis Greene with nothing more than attitude and grit. Who always seemed to be facing down life's trials by himself. Who answered calls for help from friends about-

“Jay?”

Jason shook his head and allowed Bruce to wrap an arm around his shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, old man. Let's go.”

“Ahem!”

Fuckin’ Dennis fuckin' Greene. Fuckin' great.

“I'm sorry,” ‘Brucie’ said. “Can we help you?”

“You're aware that this is a public facility?”

“Yes, Dennis,” Jason muttered, placing his arm around Damian’s shoulders. “It's a community center.”

“Now, Ja-”

“Really?” Greene replied, hoisting up a tennis bag a little higher on his shoulder. “Then I'm confused as to why you'd join in with Thomas Drake's immature behavior.”

“His name is Timothy,” Damian corrected with a poorly disguised sneer.

Jason felt Bruce's grip tighten ever so slightly.

“I can understand why your younger brother was drawn into the ruckus, but you're older,” Greene continued as if Damian hadn't said anything at all. “You should know better.”

When Bruce spoke it was with careful control, “I understand your concerns. It was, perhaps, ill-advised, but I assure you if anyone had complained they would have stopped immediately.”

“Be that as it may, they should've known better,” Greene critiqued. “If they can't behave, they shouldn't be left here unsupervised. The Drake boy's situation can be remedied, of course, by the removal of his volunteer status. Frankly, it would probably be for the best. A bit of a menace, that boy. But I'd hate for your boys to be banned for what I hope is a one-time incident.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason clocked Tim. Apparently, whatever was on his phone wasn't so interesting that he completely missed Greene’s presence. It was clear he couldn't hear what was being said, but his posture indicated he had a good idea of what was being said.

“We had permission!” Damian snarled. “Ms. Eliza said we could as long as we kept to that corner and cleaned up after ourselves. Which we did!”

“Now, Damian-” Bruce started, attempting to keep up the ‘Brucie' persona.

“That is not an excuse for poor behav-”

“No!” Jason snapped. “There was hardly anyone around, we were quiet, and we kept to ourselves!”

“Young man, if you can't control your temp-”

“My little brother didn't cause any problems!” Jason growled. “Neither did Tim! No one else cares except for you and you don't count because I'm pretty sure your raquet is stuck up your as-”

“Jason!” Bruce broke in. “Please take Damian out to the car and wait for me.”

Jason looked back over at Tim. Their eyes met and Tim's head tilted in silent query. Jason stuck out his thumb. A Wayne family signal that was easy to decipher: skedaddle. Tim looked between them all once more before gathering his things and slipping into the back office. Hopefully, he was headed home because Jason was sure that ‘Dennis fuckwad Greene’ was going to pull the same shit with Tim once the Waynes were gone.

“Jay,” Bruce implored. “Now, please.”

Jason nodded once and started to maneuver Damian out the door. He couldn't guarantee Tim would escape the fallout, but at least Jason could ensure Damian wasn't there for the blast.

It should've made him feel better. It didn't.

He rubbed his neck again.

Jason wasn't sure why the idea of Tim Drake facing down all this bullshit alone bothered him so much.

~Damian~

Damian was starting to get rather perturbed with his family. He loved them, of course, but they behaved as if he was fragile. The absolute buffoon spewing venom about him could hardly be considered a threat. Damian had faced harsher treatment as a child with the League. It was not worth his father's time to speak with the man. They had bigger concerns than some babbling idiot

“Why are we leaving, Jason?” he asked as he was led out the door.

“Because Bruce doesn't want to expose us to shitheads like Dennis Greene,” Jason scowled as they approached the car. “Can't blame him.”

“That man was being completely unre- unreaso-”

“You can just say stupid, kiddo,” Jason sighed, opening the back door and ushering Damian in.

“Father doesn't have all the facts,” Damian argued, choosing to remain on the sidewalk. Feet planted, arms crossed. “We weren't misbehaving! No one was bothered by us.”

Jason sighed, “Greene is overreacting, but I'll admit we weren't exactly being angels either.”

Damian frowned and climbed in, slamming the car door behind him. Jason, for his part, looked perplexed on the other side of the window.

“Dami?” his older brother asked, voice muffled by the glass.

Damian ignored him, arms crossed and petulant.

Tap…tap, tap on the window. An unnecessary gesture as there's no one else who Jason might be trying to alert.

“Come on, Damian,” Jason groaned, leaning heavily against the car. “We were fine a minute ago.”

The younger boy unzipped his bag, pulling out his spelling words for review while he waited.

The weight on his door pulled away and trudged around to the front passenger seat.

“Are you honestly going to pull the silent treatment?” Jason asked, leaving his door open for the breeze. “We live with Cass. I don't even think that tactic works on any of us anymore…well, except for Dick maybe.”

Damian continued glaring at the week's words.

“Right,” Jason scoffed. “Absorbed in your work, huh? Here are some words for ya! Perturbed! Intransigent! Annoying! Queasy! Whiny! Apprehensive! Entitled! Snot-nosed, immature pain in the-”

Damian crumpled up his paper and threw it in his brother's face, “Make up your mind!”

Jason ripped away the improvised projectile and was about to respond when he caught sight of tears.

“Wha-?”

Damian scrubbed at his face, but fresh moisture immediately replaced what was wiped away.

“You…you think that just because you're-hic-always upset…that everyone else has to be mis-...miserable too!” Damian stuttered out.

“Dam-

“No! NO!” Damian snarled. “You were having fu-hic-fun too! I know you were, but you can't just en-... Enjoy yourself anymore because you're angry at all of us all the time!”

Jason deflated, “I'm not mad at you guys…”

“Are you sure?” Damian sniffed, scrubbing the tears from his face. “Because-because… you're always fighting with Father! He's…he is not perfect, but nothing he does is good enough for you!”

His father tried to hide their arguments, but Jason never did. He'd shout and grumble and complain and stomp. Alfred kept out of it. Dick tried to divert or delay it. Cass tuned it out. Damian…he hid.

Something was threatening his family and he hid. Like a coward.

“I have…disagreements…with Bruce,” Jason tried. “But that has nothing to do with you and Cass or Dick and Alfie-”

“Liar!” Damian shouted, tears now replaced with fury. “You snap at Cass when she's watching you. You ignore Alfred. You try to start even more fights with Dick… And when you have fun with me for even a minute…you decide it was a mistake.”

“Tim Drake shouldn't have let you-”

“Stop blaming others!” Damian retorted. “All of you are always telling me to ‘have fun’ and ‘be a kid’ and when I do you call it ‘immature’. Which is it? What am I supposed to do? Why am I worthy of attention and time and patience from someone I barely know…why am I good enough for him, but not you?”

The driver's side door opened and their father climbed in.

“Ugh…”

Jason turned so he was face-forward in his seat, “That bad?”

“Hnn,” and their father started the car. “Seatbelt, Jason.”

Damian watched his brother open his mouth and then, with a glance to the backseat, clamped it shut. With a groan and glare, he buckled in.

As the car pulled into traffic, Damian spotted Timothy Drake waiting at the bus stop. The older boy spotted them and waved. Bruce missed it entirely, Jason staunchly ignored it, and Damian…he grimaced and looked away. As the car merged with the evening congestion he snuck a final glance back as Timothy faltered and dropped his hand to his side.

It struck Damian that the teen didn't look surprised or upset. Just inquisitive. A tilted head and a spark of concern in his eyes. As impossible as it was to believe, Timothy seemed to understand…something…about the Waynes.

Damian sighed and resigned himself to a silent car ride to pick up Cassandra. He gathered his backpack onto his lap and dug into its sea of papers. The review sheet may have been lost in a fit of frustration, but he still has his sketches from class and a book from school... He ignored them and pulled out his question folder instead. Between the games and their repercussions, Damian hadn't had the chance to read Timothy's responses.

My school requires extracurriculars at least twice in a school year. Damian had written. I know your school has fewer choices and they probably wouldn't matter anyway, but do you have any suggestions for what I could try? They're an inconvenience, but I have to pick one for the winter trimester. Thank you.

In cramped but neat handwriting, Timothy had responded, I'm probably not the best person to ask since I don't know your interests outside of art. I used to do gymnastics, but you probably already get lessons from your brother. I do Yearbook and self-defense and skateboarding now, but I don't think those are options and you might not like them. Maybe you should ask your family what they would recommend. They know you better and I'm sure they'll help you find something you'll enjoy. They want the best for you after all!

Damian peeked at the front seat. Took in the tense silence. The fragile peace.

He rubbed his arm and considered the conversation they would have…over something as insignificant as ‘school activities’.

Damian loved his family, but they worried him. His family cared for him, but they had bigger concerns to contend with than Damian's choice of extracurriculars…

~Cassandra~

Cass could feel the tension in the car before she even got in.

She had been having a rough week. Usually, dance class would be a welcome relief from her daily routine. Lately, though, it had been…distressing. So, Cass had decided to stay with Babs for a while longer.

“How was your day, Cassandra?” Bruce asked with forced warmth.

Cass glanced at her two brothers. Jason was slouching in the passenger's seat, arm propped up on the window sill, eyes fixed on nothing through the glass. Damian was fussing with a folder, eyes narrowed to a glare.

Bruce's posture reflected his sons’ moods just as his rearview mirror reflected unfocused, distant eyes.

They were all having a bad day. None of them were talking about it.

If they were silent in their distress, should Cass keep quiet about her problems too? Did Bruce actually want to know how her day was? Or was he following that script that Dick was always talking about? The one that everyone else used as autopilot. The one that Cass struggled to navigate. She knew how they felt, but not why they felt that way nor how they wanted her to respond.

It was unfair.

“Cassandra?”

She looked up and found Bruce's eyes once more in the rearview mirror. Sharp and striking. Blue and icy. His 'concerned' eyes even though others misunderstood. Thought they were annoyed or frustrated or expectant. Perhaps that was because he only allowed them to peek out when those he loved had narrowly escaped an encounter.

“It was,” Cass replied and mirrored her brothers’ moods by slumping in her seat.

The car was silent. Her family was loud. Practically screaming by saying nothing at all. There was no comfort in this quiet. It was isolation and pain and dismissal. She was going to drown in it.

Cass pulled out her phone, a life raft, and connected her Bluetooth to the car. She scrolled past old playlists, searching for something…anything, really. Just before giving up, Cass spotted something new. A nod in response to one Babs had sent out into the world on Cass’ behalf a few weeks back. Without thinking about it too much, she pressed play.

Bummerland, here I am
Better nix my summer plans
Bummerland, give a cheer
'Cause you're only going up from here

This month, I got seven haircuts
And now my hair is all gone

It's sad but I've been alone for too long
So I keep getting haircuts

“Of course, he has no hair,” Damian sniffed from beside her. “Seven haircuts is too many.”

The tune was jaunty, but it was clear from everyone else's reactions that the words did not match. Cass smiled. The song choice made sense even if the song itself did not.

“Sometimes people do dumb stuff when they isolate themselves or when they're bored or feel trapped,” Jason replied from the front.

“Well, that's stupid,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes. “Now, he'll look strange too. That will only make him more lonely.”

“Don't be too sure, Damian, it sounds like he's okay,” Bruce chimed in. “His friends value him enough that they pay for him when he can't afford it. That must count for something.”

“That he's a freeloader,” Jason snickered, hiding a smile.

Cass felt a matching grin form on her face, “No, he is working to be…better? He isn't going to stay stuck in…Bummerland? Things will only get better. He's going to get better.”

“Right,” Bruce agreed. “He decided not to let it keep him down because-”

“It only goes up from here?” Damian drawled, accidentally in time to the lyrics.

A faint blush sprung to his cheeks.

“Yes,” Cass said. “Why stay down if you can choose up? Not perfect, but good and happy.”

Damian studied her for a moment and the song rolled over to something called “Leaving Home Ain't Easy”. Melancholy, but warm in its misery.

“Ugh, count on Babs to love a Brian May joint. Of course, she'd love that astrophysicist,” Jason grumbled, but there was no bite in his words.

Babs would be horrified to know their carefully curated playlist had been modified by someone else. Even if they were the reason they made it in the first place. Cass didn't have the heart to correct Jason's error.

“Hnn…”

“Why would an astrophysicist waste time on music?” Damian demanded.

Cass tuned out the conversation and considered the songs. Dark yet cozy. Cheeky and gloomy. Just like the boy who had added them. A stranger, a shadow, a mystery. A friend, a light, an understanding. Obscured on a rooftop, a guide on display. Nothing special, singularly unique.

She clamped her hand down on her shoulder.

It had been a complete surprise and a foregone conclusion when Cass spotted him at the Rec Center.

And that scared Cass.

Because…she knew. Knew him. The sheepish posture hidden beneath a baggy sweatshirt. The easy smile as he talked with anyone who approached him. The tilt of his head and the narrowing of his eyes when presented with a challenge. The shy fidgets as he received the same warmth he sent out into the world…as if he wasn't quite sure why others would respond to him that way. Cass knew him, but she didn't. Tiny twitches spoke volumes, but their meaning appeared out of nowhere in her mind. Sparks. No fire, no smoke. A stray breeze blew them away. She couldn't find the source. There was a silent desperation in her search. What if it burned them all down?

But…

She craved that warmth. What if it was the spark they needed? The little pinprick of light they needed to guide them out of the dark?

What if she had to snuff it out anyway?

So, Cass stayed away even as she saw Damian attempt to draw closer and keep his distance. As she replayed the look on Dick’s face over cocoa that night over and over. As she watched Jason fight against the tide.

None of them knew what they were doing. Cass wished she understood. What she knew, but didn't comprehend…

“Manor sweet McMansion,” Jason groaned as they finally pulled into the garage.

Dick was waiting by the door. A grin on his face, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. Cass was the first to meet him and she threw her arms around him in a tight, sudden hug.

Dick returned the squeeze without hesitation, but Cass could feel the tension in his limbs. She wondered if he felt the unease in her embrace too.

~Dick~

Dick ignored the nagging need to grill his family as they trudged into the Manor. It wouldn't do any good when they were all on the defensive...and it wasn't his job to regulate their moods. Titus trotted over to greet them and receive his afternoon scritches.

“Alfred left a lasagna warming in the oven,” he said.

Bruce nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, “Thanks for coming. I’ll read you in once we’re downstairs.”

“Not a problem,” Dick replied, forcing a lightness into his voice that he didn’t quite feel.

Jason headed toward the library, Damian snagged a scone and took Titus out the back door, Bruce made his way to his study… Cass, well, she planted herself on the counter (something Alfred would never have allowed).

“How was dance?” Dick asked, tossing his sister a granola bar.

Alfred may have gone overboard (five boxes overboard) when Cass had requested them a while back. Generally, she was reticent to divulge her preferences. It was clear she had them… Dick wasn’t sure if she was just being stubborn, if she was worried about being denied, or if she just thought she wasn’t allowed to make requests.

“Stayed with Babs,” Cass answered, fiddling with the wrapper. “Didn’t feel like dance.”

“Rough day?” he asked before he could stop himself.

He was here to help Bruce deal with a high-level rogue, not solve the most recent incident of the "Wayne Family Doldrums".

Cass shrugged, “I don’t know. Everyone is…itchy?”

“Hmm,” Dick hummed thoughtfully. “Well, how about we let them have some time to deal with that while we get an early start on our stretching.”

For a moment, Cass didn’t say anything. She munched on her snack and stared into the middle distance. Dick didn’t rush her, checking on the lasagna and putting away a few dishes instead.

“Jackie Chan Contest before patrol?” she asked finally, not looking at him.

Dick grinned, “Definitely.”

They cleaned up after themselves and headed down to the Cave. Cass called aux and Dick only made minimal arguments for his music. He hated to admit it, but he was enjoying the recent playlist she’d made with Babs. Many of the songs didn’t match up with Cass’ normal tastes nor Dick’s…nor Babs’. When Dick asked both of them, they merely shrugged. Not helpful, especially since Dick couldn’t really explain why he felt…nostalgic…about songs he’d never heard before.

I love parties, but I don't go
Then I feel bad when I stay home
'Cause I need a friend when I take a walk
I like spacin' out when somebody talks

I wanna be rich, but I feel guilty
I fall in love with everyone who hates me

All my favorite songs are slow and sad
All my favorite people make me mad, so mad)
Everything that feels so good is bad, bad, bad
All my favorite songs are slow and sad

I don't know what's wrong with me
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
I don't know what's wrong with me
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

Relatable, Dick thought, beginning his stretches. Can’t imagine Babs would approve though.

“Hmm…”

“Something wrong?”

Cass frowned, “Is there…a word for that?”

Dick chuckled, “Self-sabotage? Self-fulfilling prophecy? Being emo?”

Cass glared, “No…being…two things at the same time. Different…ends? Happy, sad? Friendly, alone?”

He thought for a moment, luckily Cass was always willing to wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“Paradox,” he decided. “It’s a contradiction…or two things that don’t seem to fit in the same place…but are.”

Cass nodded, “So…people can be para- parad-”

“Paradoxes,” he repeated, pausing his stretches. “People are…complex. People can be a lot of things at once. Feisty and kind. Focused and disorganized. Confident and anxious. Ineffable and simple. Quixotic and realistic.”

“Layers.”

Dick nodded, “And when you remove one part of that puzzle, they don’t feel like themselves anymore. Everything is uneasy.”

“Dick.”

Bruce had entered the cave without saying ‘hello’. A man raised by British manners incapable of pleasantries. The Waynes, contradictions indeed.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Dick barked over the music. “I’ll be back in a minute, kay?”

Cass nodded and moved on to another round of warmups.

Bruce was at the Batcomputer, Dick just barely caught sight of an archived City Council live stream before the older man closed it out.

“‘Sup, B?”

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted. “Attacks on the banks of Gotham River.”

“Croc?” Dick asked. “I thought he wa-”

“Apparently not,” Bruce cut in. “No deaths yet, but most of his victims are on life support. Robin and Batgirl aren’t read-”

“No problem, B,” Dick said. “I’ll patrol over thataway and call you for backup if I find anything.”

Bruce nodded and Dick recognized it as the dismissal it was.

Looking around the cave, nothing was wrong…at least not noticeably. It was disconcerting, disorienting.

Dick scratched at his ears. Everything was fine…well, as fine as it ever was at Wayne Manor. He had to focus, Croc was no slouch. Distractions could be disastrous.

But…

Dick couldn’t quite ignore the nagging in the back of his skull. Something was amiss with his family. And it was getting worse.

Chapter Text

Tim wasn't sure that he could handle this.

He was fully capable of recognizing good advice and acting on it. It made sense to enlist his friends in the search for Tess. After all, the only reason he was involved was because Jin asked him for help. Different perspectives were invaluable as well. It was just…his team didn't have the same memories rattling around in their heads. And they weren't exactly pros at detective work.

The Tess Estler Detection and Location Squad (TEDLS, terrible acronym) was congregated in a huddle just outside the entrance to the arcade. It was easy enough to convince parents, guardians, and uncles that they were just hanging out for an evening of pizza and games. A completely innocuous Friday hang. Even Helena was enthused by the mundanity of his plans. As long as all parties returned to their home base by eleven, no adults would be the wiser to their deception. Still, the chill air and quiet street painted the scene more ominously than Tim would have liked.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jin asked, shivering in a thin hoodie. “How do we even know that Tess is in the city?”

“Yeah,” Rhea agreed, dressed more sensibly in a jacket and scarf. “Full offense to Gotham, this place sucks. Why run away here?”

“Because her family is here, duh!” Stephanie Brown a...friend?...from Tim's self-defense class replied in just…so much purple. Hat, coat, gloves, leggings, boots…Helena would be jealous. “If I was stuck with my crappy dad in like…Metropolis or whatever, I'd run back to Gotham too.”

“Not the best example,” Jin snipped in response. “Trina is just a mediocre mom, not a criminal.”

“Jin!” Teddy snapped, tucking his hands under his armpits as another gust of wind rattled through the empty street. “Don't start stuff. We're supp-”

“Ha! If you're going to try and insult me, find a different tactic,” Steph snorted. “A) I fully admit my dad is a criminal and helped get him locked up. B) Trina ain't exactly a saint if she didn't notice her daughter was gone until the next morning.”

Tim rubbed at his temples. He honestly appreciated every person present. Their help was necessary… But they weren't great at collaboration or teamwork or communication or not insulting each other or logistics or reading Tim's texts or showing up on time (IVES) or…

“Guys!” Tim cut in to the continued bickering. “I appreciate the critical thinking, but we're not debating this. Tess is here, in Gotham. We didn't come here to argue that point.”

“How can you be-”

Teddy interrupted, “The money that I had hidden in my room disappeared. Tess took it.”

Steph blinked, “Seriously? I'm out in the cold because someone nicked twenty dollars from your what…vape reserves?”

Teddy’s eyes narrowed at the accusation, “It was nearly six hundred dollars actually.”

Jin whistled, “Dang, dude… Planning on running away too?”

“No,” Teddy faltered. “I-I’m not really…I don’t…I didn't have anything in mind when I was saving it. I just… Point is, only Tess could've taken it.”

Rhea raised her hand, “Don't you have like…two other siblings? And parents? Why does it have to be Tess?”

“Riley and Mitchell are both too short to reach it,” Tim explained. “And Teddy's room is a mess, his parents probably avoid it like the plague. Not to mention they've barely been in town since Tess went missing. Beyond that, it was in a case on a shelf in the back of his closet. You'd have to know it's there to bother looking.”

“Hey!” Jin whined, punching Teddy in the shoulder. “You told Tim about your secret stash o’ cash and not me? We coulda gone to Blüd or Reno with that!”

“Tim's been the only one helping me with the Tess stuff after you flaked, man!”

“How exactly was I supposed to help? It's not like I know where she'd go!”

And…that started another round of bickering.

Ironically, the plan for their search was based on locations provided by Jin…but like a year prior. Back when Tim was next door and looking for an escape from his foster home, Jin shared a long list of places that he and the Estlers would sneak off to with a camera to film scenes for movies they were making or spots where they'd chill after school when they didn't want to go home to chores and studying.

“You sure you didn't just misplace it-”

“Hey!” Tim shouted, rubbing his temples some more. “If we're wrong, we're wrong. Okay? But at least we'll have looked.”

“Okay, but wouldn't it make more sense to go to the co-” Jin began.

“No cops!” was the choral response from the test of the team.

“...Okay then.”

“The cops will just spook her and most of them are trash anyway,” Tim clarified. “Besides, we're not doing anything too strenuous or risky,”

“Other than being out in Gotham at night,” Rhea retorted with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, like you haven't snuck out too. Food trucks, parks, the movies, whatever… We've all done it.” Tim shot back. “Besides, we're traveling in pairs. We only have three hubs to hit before we regroup back here. And the city has been quiet for the last month.”

“That ain't necessarily a good thing, dude,” Jin sighed. “Just means the big boys are afraid of something.”

“Or they're planning something,” Steph concurred.

“Then let's make this quick,” Tim sighed, looking at the time on his phone. “Rhea and Steph, you're on Robinson Park duty. Jin and Teddy are in midtown. Ives and I will be down by the river.”

Jin raised his hand, “Uh, right… I was supposed to tell you, Ives tripped leaving the clinic after he got his cast off. Broke his wrist…maybe fractured his elbow. He won't be able to come.”

Tim closed his eyes and asked whatever deities were on duty for patience, “Fine, I'll fly solo.”

Steph screwed up her face in concern, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Rhea fidgeted nervously, wringing her hands. “You were the one who insisted we go in groups.”

Tim waved them off, “I run around Gotham by myself all the time, I'll be fine. I don't plan on sticking around if something seems sus.”

“Very cool,” Jin approved, clapping Tim on the back.

Tim didn't want to be cool…and didn't want to go alone, but better him than any of the alternatives.

“So?” Tim prompted. “We ready?”

Teddy looked around at everyone and started rattling off the plan, “We all meet back here at quarter to eleven.”

“If anyone sees Tess or comes across something of note, we'll put it in the chat,” Steph added.

“And we all hightail it if we come across something shady,” Rhea urged.

“If any parents call, we say we headed to the food trucks and forgot to let them know,” Jin reminded them.

Tim nodded and almost felt like they should all put their hands in or, like, walk down the street side-by-side in slo-mo or something. Anything to break the tension and mark the moment.

“Okay,” Tim said instead, “let's do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim was unsettled. Gotham was quiet. Gotham was never quiet. His mom used to complain about it when they were living in a brownstone near downtown. She was always so relieved to head back out on a trip and had always insisted that Tim attend boarding schools outside the city. It was a sweet gesture, but unwanted. He appreciated the sounds of the city… It meant that everything was business as usual. The regular players were causing (or solving) the regular problems.

It was quiet in Gotham and Tim was unsettled.

A garbage truck trundled through an intersection and a Tim-shaped shadow hopped off the back. Gotham River was a bit further away than Tim's usual stomping grounds so any additional speed was essential to completing his mission on time. And not getting mugged. Teddy had insisted that the boat house was a longshot, but…no stone unturned and all that.

“Gotham River,” Tim muttered to himself. “Home to more EPA violations than the rest of New Jersey combined. Good work, Tim, you've finally found the worst place to wander around.”

The banks of the river were just as silent as the rest of the city. If Tess really was tucked away among the dinghies and skiffs, she really owed Tim for all the stress his evening trek was generating. No matter what happened, he'd have residual jitters for weeks… It always happened when Tim felt he just barely avoided collision with a half-remembered disaster. Phantom flashes of tragedies avoided and dread that an entirely different calamity would come along to replace it.

It'll be worth it if she's here, a voice at the back of his head declared. If she's safe.

It was a surprisingly clear night by Gotham standards. Tim couldn't quite see the stars, but the moon was bright. The river was calm enough to reflect the city in a haunting green hue.

Maybe if he found Tess, Tim could spend his free time researching river cleanup grants from the federal government. Poison Ivy could help, right? She had a doctorate so she probably knew how to write grant proposals.

Tim had a long history of allowing quixotic musings to calm him down. The practice was bizarre, but it kept him focused. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he panicked. All Tim had to do was sneak into Gotham Boat Rental. Formerly owned and operated by one Phillip Estler before he passed three years prior. Tess and Teddy had spent half their childhood playing around in the rafters above the covered docks causing chaos and having the time of their lives as their grandfather rented out boats to tourists. Or…they hadn’t because Tess had spent her childhood in constant transit with her mother?

Teddy kept insisting that the location was a long shot and…maybe he was right.

Tim approached his target and, at thirty feet away, he could already smell rotting wood. When his sneakers first made contact with the dock, the entire structure seemed to groan. It rattled him to his bones. The new ownership clearly did not care about general upkeep…or safety standards…or the highly corrosive nature of Gotham water on both wood and the hulls of paddle boats.

Yikes.

The place looked decidedly abandoned. And was undoubtedly a health hazard. No one in their right mind would stick around. By all rights, Tim could have (and should have) turned around right then. Sprinted to the nearest bus stop and forgot the eerie building existed, but… When had he ever taken the easy way out? He hadn’t been in his “right mind” ever. He had melted into scarier shadows than those cast by decrepit Gotham infrastructure.

And if that wasn’t enough to convince him to stay, there was a barely cracked window.

Tim shrugged out of his backpack and started rifling around inside. He didn’t make it a habit to carry around equipment for breaking and entering…crowbars and the like… He had watched a fair amount of the original MacGyver when he was younger though, courtesy of his father’s tendency to fall asleep on the couch with the TV on. Improvisation was a valuable skill and Tim had accumulated a fair amount of useless junk in his bag from his school's college and career fairs…including a cheapo fly swatter. Slipping the paddle through the thin crack, Tim used the sturdy plastic handle to lever the window open… It wasn’t the most impressive impromptu tool, but…well, function was more important than looking cool. He dropped his bag through first and then climbed after, praying that his tetanus shot really lasted ten years.

The inside of the building was as distressing as the outside. The mezzanine encircling the tiny lobby was riddled with holes. A rat scurried across a moldy rug, exposed wires hung from the ceiling, and the door leading to the mooring docks was hanging on by just a single hinge.

“Well…” Tim sighed. “That would’ve been an easier way to get into this hell hole…”

It did not escape his notice that the room was empty. It looked as if no one had been here in weeks, much less that evening. Was this another dead end? Against his better judgment, Tim collapsed onto one of the rickety stools at the front desk. The entire building shuddered in the wind.

Tim’s phone buzzed.

Steph Up 2: The Streets!-Robinson is clear…Found a pierogi truck tho.
TedGIFriesDays!-K. Checking library now. Nothing at record store.
Jinny John’s-Wut kind of pierogies?

No luck then. Tim had wasted their time…put them all at risk and Tess probably wasn’t even in the city. He had screwed up. Bad.

Before Tim could completely devolve into a self-loathing pity party, he noticed a disturbance in the dust pattern of the desk.

A footprint.

He looked up. The mezzanine. Tess was decently tall. She liked rock climbing; had begged Tim to advocate for the addition of a climbing wall at the Rec Center so she could do it more often. In theory, she could have pulled herself up and onto the higher level…and then what?

“Climb out onto the dock overhang,” Tim answered his own question aloud.

It made sense. She had spent time up in the rafters. Was sure on her feet. Probably knew no one would bother looking up there. Well…except for Tim.

“But how do I get up there?” Tim muttered to himself.

Tim could pull himself up without a problem. Years of gymnastics and climbing around fire escapes had meant he could pass most of the ridiculous ‘tests’ in PE. But…Tess was a good few inches taller than him. Jumping would probably just cause the whole building to collapse.

He scanned the room again and noticed a hole in the mezzanine right above the corner.

Modified bridging, Tim’s mind supplied automatically. You can do that.

Could he? His parents had never approved of climbing around the house and the hallways of his schools had always been too wide for him to try it there… Watching videos on the internet did not make one proficient in parkour or climbing.

Of course you can do this, his mind insisted. It didn’t sound much like him he realized. You’re thinking about this too much. You always think too much. Stop trying to convince yourself that you’re incapable. Just do it.

“Did I sell ad space in my brain to Nike?” he asked himself as he crossed the room.

One deep breath and a suspiciously easy climb later, Tim found himself on the mezzanine facing down an open window that led back into the night.

Told ya, the voice in his head taunted. Believe in yourself every once in a while. It’ll be fun!

Tim scratched at his ears, willing the voice to leave him alone.

A glance out the window confirmed that Tim had been right about more than just his ability to climb walls. At the very end of the overhang sat one Tess Estler. The weight of how much he needed to solve her disappearance nearly knocked him off his feet.

Save it for later. The voice was back. Climbing was easy. Talking someone down is harder. Luckily, you’re pretty good at that too.

It’s not that Tim’s internal monologue was mired with self-hatred or anything, but it wasn’t usually so enthusiastically (or goadingly) supportive either. Was he finally losing it? Did he have time to lose it? Should he just call Teddy and have him handle this? It was his sister after all. What did Tim even have to offer?

Perspective. Kindness. Brutal honesty if necessary. And if all else fails, a shoulder to lean on. You’re competent, compassionate, and capable. You can do this.

Tim took a deep breath and climbed out the window, not bothering to keep quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was startle her by just appearing beside her.

“Umm, Tess Estler?” he called out, scrambling slowly across the makeshift ‘roof’.

The girl turned quickly, grabbing her bag and standing up. Unfortunately (for her…fortunately for Tim), there was nowhere for her to go unless she planned on jumping into the river. Given how quickly her eyes were darting around, she was considering it.

“I’m…uh, I’m Tim,” he said with a wave. “I wouldn’t…um…the river is pretty gross.”

“What?”

Tim stopped about ten feet from her, hoping to seem placating, “The river. It’s contaminated with…well, pretty much everything. So, I wouldn’t um…jump into it.”

Tess remained on guard, “Better than the alternative."

Tim put on his most harmless smile and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not the worst company, I promise. Especially when you consider that this is Gotham. I just…I was hoping to talk to you.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

Tim sighed, “Umm, Jin…and Teddy. They, uh…we’re all looking for you."

“Right,” she scoffed. “Why would they care?”

Tim frowned, “Teddy…he’s your brother. Of course he cares.”

“Stepbrother,” she corrected with too much venom.

A rather vicious wind blew from the North, rocking the entire structure once more, “Can we, uh, sit down? I’d rather not take an unplanned dip."

“Why would I do that?” she snapped. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

Tim shook his head, “You don’t have to stay, but… I have granola bars. Figure you could use a snack before you…do whatever you’re gonna do.”

“Granola bars, seriously? That how you convince the girls to trust you?”

Tess had always been formidable. Tall and confident, covered in freckles from the sun and bruises from meeting every challenge with brute force. The libero on her volleyball team because she was the least likely to give anything up.

You’ve got this, kid. You haven’t met anyone you can’t out-stubborn. It’s like…your fifth worst trait, but it’s useful.

“Listen, Tess, let’s not pretend that you're intimidated by me,” Tim said with a roll of his eyes. “It wasn’t easy, looking for you, but I did it because your brother has been having a conniption for weeks. The least you could do is hear me out before you swan off again."

Tess narrowed her eyes, “I’ve…met you before?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah… I was living next door, summer before last at the-”

“Coopers!” Tess said with a snap of her fingers. “Tim Drak- oh…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim sighed. “Could we not?”

She stared at him for a moment then nodded, “Sure, probably not your favorite topic.”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, it sucks. Now, can we sit…before this entire thing collapses into the river?”

Another long look before, “Okay, but just for a few minutes. Then, I have a train to catch.”

“Sure, whatever you want,” Tim agreed, sitting down first, feet dangling over the edge.

Tess followed suit, “So, I’m guessing Teddy wants his money back.”

“Uhh, I mean, probably, but mostly we’re looking for you,” Tim admitted.

She scoffed, “Sure…”

Tim shrugged, “Why is that so unbelievable?”

Tess fidgeted, “We…he only sees me for like…a month of the year.”

Not true…or only true recently.

“And?” Tim said instead.

“And? He barely knows me,” she retorted. “He’s got his perfect little family. His mom and Riley and Mitchell and…”

“Your dad?” Tim guessed.

A pause, a shrug.

“Pretty sure they’re all tearing their hair out,” Tim offered. "They're pretty freaked out about you going missing."

“Right.”

“Your…uh, your dad and stepmom…they flew out to Arizona to look for you. Twice,” Tim explained. “I think they’re supposed to head back there tomorrow.”

“They…did?” she asked in a small voice. She looked over at Tim, but he kept his eyes on the water.

“Mmhmm,” he confirmed. “Teddy and the twins have been staying with Jin’s family. We’ve been hanging up missing posters for weeks.”

“Why?”

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes…or maybe cry, “Is it that hard to believe that they’re losing it looking for you? They’re worried and they love you and they are desperate to find you. It’s like they’re all collapsing in on themselves.”

Tess was silent for a long time before pulling her knees up and propping her chin on top of them, “I…Why do they care so much?”

Tim did look at her then, “Are you kidding? Please tell me you don’t seriously think you’re family would just be…okay with you disappearing.”

“Well, it’s not exactly like they put up this much of a fight before,” she whispered, her voice suspiciously wet.

“Fight?” Tim prodded as gently as possible.

Tess sighed, “The…custody battle. My dad didn’t exactly win that one if you didn’t notice.”

Tim took a deep breath, willing himself to not correct her. Tess’ reality was fundamentally different from Tim’s and that wasn’t her fault, “How do you know he didn’t fight like hell for you?”

“Because I only get to see him once a year!” she snapped. “Because he’s got all the family he needs in Gotham and I’m just an obligation he’s stuck with from a failed marriage.”

Tim cringed. His parents…they hadn’t had the most stable marriage. They did their best to shield him from it, leaving him in boarding school while they “worked on it”. He’d wondered sometimes if they would have just divorced if not for Tim. Wondered if they were stuck with each other because they had him to think about. They loved him and spent quality time with him when they could, but they…were gone so often working on their marriage that they forgot that they needed to parent him too. They stayed together for him, but they sure didn't stick around much. He missed them so much now that they were gone, but he'd already spent years missing them while they were alive. All because he existed and they couldn't figure out how to just... Be a family (together, separated, divorced... Whatever).

“You’re not an obligation,” Tim stated with simple conviction.

“Then why-”

“Courts still award custody to the mother more often than not…like over sixty percent of the time,” Tim explained. “Men are winning more often nowadays, but it’s still not an even playing field. Trust me, if your dad could have you full-time, he would.”

And her dad had won, Tim wanted to scream. Her dad had won and had always been proud of his entire family. Bragged about his kids to anyone who would listen. Showed up for every film festival, volleyball game, and band competition. And through all of that had never once badmouthed Trina according to Jin. He had tried so hard to reconcile every disparate part of his family. He'd fought for everyone in it. And he was still fighting as his reality was fundamentally altered. The man had barely slept over the past month while looking for his daughter.

“You…said that Teddy asked you to look for me?”

Tim shrugged, “Well, Jin first, but your brother has been the main driving force behind our little search party. He was doing it on his own at first while I... Researched some stuff. Teddy was pretty freaked when you first went missing, was trying to keep it together for your siblings.”

“Oh…” she muttered. “I didn’t realize he’d care so much.”

Which was just…an insane statement. Because they were Teddy and Tess. Most people assumed that they were the twins in the family. They fought and they pestered and they annoyed the hell out of each other. There were prank wars and slammed doors, but it was almost impossible to imagine one without the other. They existed as separate entities, sure, but they loved each other fiercely. A team whenever possible and ardent supporters of the other when they were stuck on the sidelines. They trusted each other more than anyone else. Partners in crime, ride or die. When Jin joined in they were an unholy trinity of chaos and hilarity and conviction. Heck, Teddy was an absolute coward, but he was out wandering Gotham (at night!) looking for Tess. He would’ve hopped on a bus to Hell if Tim had suggested that was where she ran to.

But that was Tim’s reality, not Tess’. She couldn’t conceive of something she didn’t experience.

“Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you do if Teddy went missing?”

“What?”

“How would you react if the roles were reversed?” Tim elaborated. “If he went missing instead of you? What would you do?”

Tess was silent for a long time and then, “I’d be on a bus to Canada with Jin to go look for him in a heartbeat…and I probably would’ve committed a few crimes along the way to speed up the process.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that Tim was sure he hadn’t heard correctly. Maybe reality didn’t actually matter all that much.

“Yeah,” he finally replied. “That makes sense.”

She nodded, “Hmm... Yeah, I guess it does."

Well, well, well... Look who's finally getting it. Good work, kiddo, the voice whispered. It sounded proud... But not surprised.

“Canada?” Tim asked, fighting a blush at the voice's praise... Was he developing an unhealthy ego? No... Cause, he didn't agree with the voice without thinking it through first. It was nagging sensation, not a natural extension of his conscience or confidence.

“Yeah…I don’t know either, but I assure you he’d be in Nova Scotia,” she chuckled, shaking Tim back to the moment. “Probably in a Tim Horton’s or some shit.”

“Because here’s so much better,” Tim rebutted sarcastically.

They were quiet for a moment. The water below bubbled as fish swam past in a flurry. Tim couldn’t blame them, he’d try to get out of Gotham water as fast as possible too. Which…huh...

“Hey, Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you run away?” Tim asked.

Tess startled like she hadn’t considered it herself. Which was insane…because who runs away across the country without considering why they’re doing it?

“I…I’m,” she tried. “I was in Arizona."

“Right?”

“And…I just…one day I couldn’t take it anymore,” she admitted. “Everything felt wrong. It was hot and everything felt so tense and nothing was where it was supposed to be in the cupboards. The Poptarts…”

“Poptarts?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “They were wrong.”

“You ran away because your mom got the wrong Poptarts?” Tim asked… Had he spent the last month looking for a girl who was willing to run away over toaster pastries?

Tess shook her head, vehement, “No, they weren’t wrong. They were in the wrong place! They were cookies and cream and she put them in the cupboard.”

“...What?!?!?"

Tess looked defensive now, “They’re…they’re supposed to be in the freezer. They’re always in the freezer! It was just…everything else was out of place too! My alarm clock played the wrong station and the a/c was set to the wrong temperature and the fabric softener gave me a rash. I was the setter on my volleyball team and my mom couldn’t even tell me Dad’s number.”

Tears had started rolling down Tess’ face and Tim suddenly felt very itchy… Because that sounded an awful lot like-

“Nothing was right!” she sniffed. “And…I just…I couldn’t stay. I thought I was going crazy. I just…I got on a bus to Gotham.”

“Okay?”

“I…I found the hidden key. I knew exactly which stupid frog statue it was taped under and I let myself into the house and…the Poptarts.”

“They were in the right place?” Tim guessed.

“...Yeah.”

“It felt like you were home.”

She nodded.

Tim kinda wanted to end the conversation there. The important questions had been answered, right? He didn’t need to compare her experiences to- No, because… How would that even be possible?

His mouth moved without his permission, “Why didn’t you stay then?”

“What?”

“You were home,” Tim clarified against his will. “Why didn’t you just stay? Everything was right again and you…instead, you took Teddy’s money and bailed.”

Tess fidgeted next to him, tears still falling, “I-I couldn’t stay.”

“Why?” and Tim was on his feet for some reason. “Why would you let them continue believing that you were- why would you do that to yourself? You…you figured it all out and you still left!”

Tess curled in on herself and stared out at the water. She wouldn’t find solace in the waves though…they were as turbulent as Tim.

“I didn’t think they’d believe me,” she admitted in a whisper Tim almost didn’t hear. “I thought they’d send me back and I can’t go back.”

Tim deflated, his own cheeks suspiciously wet.

“I love my mom, y’know,” Tess said, wiping at her eyes. “But I just don’t…it’s not…”

“That’s not where you’re supposed to be,” Tim finished for her. “And the courts will make your dad send you back.

She nodded, “I feel awful. Trina…sh-my mom isn’t perfect, but she’s not a monster or anything. She loves me, cheers me on at my games…makes crepes every Friday morning. I should be grateful, but the thought of going back…I can’t stand it. I can’t do it. And it doesn’t make any sen-”

Tim stopped her, hands gripping her shoulders, “It makes perfect sense, Tess… Maybe not to everyone. But…I get it. And I guarantee that Teddy gets it.”

“So…you’ll let me leave?” she asked, a sort of helpless hope in her eyes.

Tim squeezed her shoulder, but shook his head, “No."

Tess jerked back, breaking his hold on her, “You can’t-”

“Tess, I get it, I do,” Tim muttered, holding up his hands in a placating gesture “But…if you do this…all you’ll do is hurt everyone. Yourself included.”

“But…”

“I know,” he said with a suffering sigh. “But running away…again…won’t make it better. You’ll still feel this way, but it’ll be worse because you’ll really be alone. The only thing keeping you company will be half-memories and…the voices in your head. You don’t deserve that…and your family deserves to get you back. They're waiting for you to come home.”

Tess looked away, arms crossed, “For about ten minutes before they put me on a train back to Arizona.”

“Pretty sure you’re a hell of a flight risk,” Tim huffed. “No way they’ll let you go unaccompanied minor style."

Tess shook her head, “Haha…”

“You can’t avoid this, Tess,” Tim replied, stubborn to the last. “It’ll catch up with you eventually. At least this way…you’ll face your future with people you love.”

“...I guess.”

Tim crouched down once more and offered her a hand, “Trust me, facing down life alone…on your own…it sucks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim confirmed. “And whatever happens next, I’ve got your back too. You don’t have to face this alone… No one is going to let you face this alone.”

"Because they love me?" she muttered in a sarcastic tone.

"Yes," Tim replied easily. "Just cause it's cheesy as hell doesn't mean it's not true."

Tess met his eyes, tears drying on her cheek. Tim wasn’t sure what she saw on his face, but she took his hand and allowed him to help her up.

“Okay,” Tess conceded. “Let’s do this.”

Tim felt the grin spread across his face. Turns out he was wrong…he could handle this.

CRRAaccAKCKKK! SPLASHHHHHHH!

The water erupted and the docks below exploded into splinters.

Spoke to soon, Timbo, the voice chided. You might not be able to handle this!

Killer Croc.

Chapter Text

Nightwing was not…pleased to be working with Huntress.

“Mind putting your back into it, Spandex?” his “Colleague” requested as she loaded another bolt into her crossbow. “It would be nice to see what it looks like when you're not pulling your punches.”

Nightwing dodged a lazy punch and knocked a goon off his feet with a sweep of his leg, “Not really a punchy kinda guy, ma’am,” he jabbed the next mook with his escrima. “Kicks and sticks are more my speed.”

Huntress looked unimpressed but chose to kneecap another guy instead of responding. The resulting scream would probably haunt Nightwing’s dreams for a few weeks. Working with her was a struggle. She was competent and capable, undeniably so, but also brutal and uncompromising. They played by different rules and Nightwing was beginning to think those differences might be irreconcilable.

Two more crooks down and they'd completed their side quest. The uneasy allies had come upon each other by chance, Nightwing tracking Croc for the third night in a row and Huntress following a lead that the Carlisles were making a move down by the docks. Given the likelihood of overlap, Nightwing had insisted on a joint venture though neglected to mention his specific target. After all, Huntress had made it clear in the past that she didn’t consider the Gotham rogues a legitimate reason to dawn a mask.

"While I respect your skill, would you mind toning down the aggression?” Nightwing insisted as he wrapped the wound she'd inflicted on her final target.

“Why? Scouting for a new pickleball partner?” she groused.

"No, but I don't need the constant reminders of why you're not in contention,” he spat back.

After the Silent Disco, Nightwing had stopped reaching out for team-ups. It was a conscious decision, based on their conflicting schedules, clashing personalities, and... Oh, what was that third thing..? Right! Her freakin' methods! Huntress may not have killed anyone (that Nightwing knew of), but she had an undeniable ferocity. Cold-blooded. While they scouted the neighborhood that night she'd beat a simple mugger unconscious, put two low-level enforcers in the ICU, and seriously suggested letting two gangs engage outside the post office ("They'll just finish each other off anyway"). She wasn't...deranged or anything... just intense and uncompromising. She was a capable ally, but not one he felt comfortable trusting.

"You really are so committed to the Bat's little mission,” she marveled, though it was disgust that tinged her voice instead of admiration.

Nightwing sighed, "Maybe I just don't want a potential, avoidable death hanging over my head.”

Huntress heaved a beleaguered sigh, "I can appreciate the sentiment, Boy Scout. It's noble, but it's also naive.”

“I've been doing this for a while. Huntress." Nightwing grumbled. "I'm not a bright-eyed ingénue. I hold back because I'm experienced, I know the consequences.”

"You think I don't?" It wasn't asked with malice or even defensiveness, just genuine curiosity.

Nightwing leaned heavily against the alley wall, "No. I just think we came to different conclusions... About what we're capable of dealing with…of living with. I admit, you're well-trained and competent. You're great in a fight. I think you know what you're doing, but you, on the other hand, seem to think I don't take this seriously.”

"And why should I?" she asked, positioning herself across from him. In literal opposition to his position.

"Excuse me," Nightwing blanched. "You think I do this for fun?”

Huntress shook her head, "Not necessarily. But..I mean, you're not exactly the best role model for Batgirl. You look for every opportunity to goof off.”

“I don't-”

“You may have experience. More than most, honestly,” she cut in. “But you lack conviction. You allow yourself to get sidetracked.”

“Just because my convictions don't align with yours doesn't mean I don't have them,” Nightwing growled, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “And ensuring that a guy you shot doesn't bleed out isn't getting ‘sidetracked’.”

Huntress scoffed, moving into his space, “I'm not talking about you playing nurse to guys who'd put a bullet through your cheeks given the opportunity.”

“Oh?”

“No, I'm talking about your attachment to civilians,” she explained.

Nightwing noted his clenched fists and begged the universe for patience, “Who exactly do you think I'm doing this for, Huntress? You think I just really like skin-tight outfits and getting shot at on the regular?”

“No, I know you do it for them,” she agreed. “It's one of your few redeeming qualities.”

“Then what the hell are you-”

“You're too invested!” she shouted. “I may not have done this job as long as you have, but I know that you cannot allow yourself to get close to the people we're protecting.”

“What on Go-”

“Batgirl and that kid…Tim Drake? I practically had to drag you over there to put a stop to their little get-together,” she clarified, cold and distant even in the face of the kid she was taking care of.

“The Drake kid was out, on his own, in Gotham at night!” Nightwing argued. “Batgirl was monitoring a situation, not playing games.”

Nightwing had…discussed the incident with Batgirl. He knew her methods weren't exactly protocol, but he couldn't find it in him to criticize her. Logically, Tim couldn't be her friend or anything, but she was enjoying herself with someone outside the Bats. Behaving like a (admittedly very competent) teenager. She was..multi-tasking. Having fun and keeping Tim safe. Putting an end to their fun felt like snuffing out a candle. He'd done it (at Huntress’ request). He didn't have to like it.

“Dance parties included in Bat training?”

“They're kids. Cut them some slack,” he huffed.

Huntress got fully in his face then, “No, the Drake boy is a kid. Batgirl is a vigilante.”

And, well, he wasn't going to let a Mafia princess intimidate him, “I kno-”

“You're not getting it!” she shouted. “Every civilian you interact with gets a target painted on their back! I've been doing actual work trying to solve these missing persons cases behind the scenes. I know what will happen when whoever is orchestrating all of this catches on. They'll go after every individual and family I've helped and wipe them out!”

“Cause you're so noble in how you investigate!” he roared back. “Pretty sure they can't answer your questions if the suspect is beaten into a coma.”

“At least I'm doing something and keeping civilians out of it!”

“They were just talking! It’s not some instigator of doom!”

“Is that what you're going to say when the next person goes missing?” she snarled. “Or will you just completely drop the ball on them too?”

“Catastrophize much?”

“Cope much?”*

Neither would back down and, apparently, neither had a good response. They fell into a tense silence. Both were waiting for the other to break…and also for the police to arrive and book the mob mooks. No escape. Nowhere to go even if they could. Arguing in masks was an awful experience.

Scritch! "Nightwing?"

He huffed and tapped his comm, “Yes, O?”

"Where are you?"

“Old Downtown,” he answered. “What’s up?”

"You need to get down to the river. Now!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waylon Jones aka “Killer Croc” was not an adversary to be taken lightly. Nor one to take on alone. Despite her noted…distaste…for the Bat’s focus on the more extreme rogues of Gotham, she was quick to offer her assistance. Nightwing wasn’t stupid (or annoyed) enough to turn down her offer. Besides, Jones was as interested in becoming king of organized crime as he was in causing general mayhem. Two lizards, one stone, and all that.

“I thought he was-”

“Yeah, well, clearly not!” Nightwing shouted as they approached Gotham Boat Rental.

The previously quiet, cool night was broken as screams ripped through the air.

Nightwing scaled the side of the building as soon as his feet landed on the docks. The structure was barely holding together, having fallen into disrepair after the owner’s death a few years prior. Organized crime had operated out of it briefly before deciding that Gotham River contamination wasn’t worth its ease of access. According to Robin, it was now primarily used by kids looking for an aesthetically pleasing place to experiment with drugs… Seemed like it was more of a cautionary tale.

This is your brain, he thought hysterically, on meth.

From his vantage point on the roof, Nightwing understood why Oracle had been so insistent on their speed: two figures were scrambling across the roof in bursts as the building shook from their weight and Croc’s attacks on the docks. Unsteady on their feet and just barely staying ahead of him.

Are these the teens? his brain asked, unashamed at how distracting its intrusions were. From the drug statistics?

Croc grabbed an oar and used it to start taking out support beams. It wouldn’t be long before the entire “roof” collapsed completely. Nightwing attempted to jump into the action, but the building wasn’t cooperating. It lurched and he nearly fell on his ass. He took a moment to regain his balance and consider how to approach his environment more effectively. He hated to waste time when there were kids in trouble, but…

A moment of thinking now may save a life later, he thought. Knowledge, skill, and planning complement natural talent.

“Tess!”

Nightwing forced himself back into the moment. The taller of the two teens had fallen through a hole in the roof and landed, hard, in one of the boats below. Croc, having isolated his prey, shifted his attention.

“Thanks for joinin’ me, sha!” Croc growled.

“Leave her alone, Croc!” the teen yelled, dressed in a navy hoodie he was hard to make out against the evening sky.

“And a little lan yap for later. Well, now, why you makin’ trouble when you could jus run?” Croc asked, stalking back towards the boat.

“Oh, cut the crap, Croc!” the teen called from his perch above, but dangerously close to, Croc’s position. “You’re from like…what, Tampa? Not ‘Nawlins’.”

Nightwing hopped down to a paddle boat and made himself known, “Kid’s right, Waylon. Don’t butcher such a beautiful accent for a bit.”

“Stop wasting time talking, Spandex!” Huntress had arrived through the door. She leveled her crossbow and held her position.

Croc was surrounded in all directions, though it filled Nightwing with dread instead of hope.

“Well, looks like I’m spoiled for choice tonight,” Croc growled, looking at his opposition–attempting to keep eyes on all of them.

“Now, now, Croc-y, I thought we had something special,” Nightwing pouted, trying with all he had to draw the rogue’s attention. “I never thought you’d be the kind to skip out on me. Getting soft as you age, buddy? Going after easy prey?”

Croc turned more fully in the direction of the two vigilantes, “I heard your papa had newer meat. They didn’t want to come out to play?”

“Mmmhmmnnn.”

‘Tess’ was stirring in her paddle boat. Croc turned.

“Waylon!” Huntress called.

“While it might be fun, my aunty taught me not to play with my food,” Croc rumbled, moving towards the young girl. “Figure I’ll take the easy pickings as an appetizer. But don't worry, if I’m still hungry, I’ll come back for seconds.”

Before Nightwing could move, the other teen leapt from above onto Croc’s back, looping his arms around the man’s (beast’s?) neck.

“Stay away from her, Croc!”

And dread filled Nightwing’s entire being. Because he knew that voice…that hoodie…that inability to back down.

“You scrawny runt!” Croc twisted, attempting to grab at the teen swinging from his back.

“Tim!”

And now Tess was awake, making her way to her feet, unsteady from her fall and the current beneath her boat.

“Run, Tess!” Tim called, doing an admirable job of hanging on as Croc grew increasingly frustrated. “Go!”

Tess hesitated, but that was enough for Croc to finally grab Tim from his back and toss him a good dozen feet down the docks. Croc’s attention returned to the girl.

“Chief!” Huntress cried, firing a bolt at the rogue.

The bolt glanced off, expectedly, but it was enough of a distraction that Nightwing could tackle Croc from one dock to the next. He rolled to his feet and crouched, ready to lunge again. Huntress positioned herself on the other side of the rogue. They had separated him from the more vulnerable targets, but…there wasn’t any good way to fight him here. Croc had an undeniable advantage in most fights, what with his armor-like skin and insane strength, but he was even more formidable in the water. That was his domain. He was nearly impossible to incapacitate on a good day and their field of battle gave him undeniable leverage. If any of them fell in, Croc would easily subdue–or kill–them.

“Ugh.”

Tim was pushing his way back to his feet and Tess stumbled onto the dock to help him. Croc eyed them.

“Eyes over here, Crocky!” Huntress snapped. “You can’t have them.”

“I’ll take what I please, Missy!” Croc roared striking another beam with his fist and completely collapsing the roof above them.

Huntress jumped back towards the building and Nightwing dove into one of the boats while Croc returned to the water. The dust took a minute to settle. It was quiet as they all took stock of the new parameters of the fight.

“Tim!” Tess had reached the kid.

“Yikes, Tess,” Tim groaned, rolling his shoulder as he stood back up. “Next time can you run away to like…Ohio or somethin’? I feel like Ohio doesn’t have any supervillains. Like…what would they even terrorize? The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame? That plane museum?”

“Are you okay?” Tess asked, ignoring Tim’s surprisingly calm banter.

Tim nodded.

“Move your asses!” Huntress called. “We don’t know when Cro-”

Well, apparently, Tim knew ‘when Cro-’ because with impressive speed and strength he managed to shove Tess out of the way and towards the rental building just as Croc crashed up through the dock between them.

“Tim!” Nightwing yelled as the kid crashed into the water.

“Well, that does make things easier,” Croc chuckled.

“Don’t even think about it, asshole!” Huntress roared as she fired another bolt, running over to Tess and shoving her even further up the docks. “Get out of here, kid, call the cops!”

Croc picked up the bolt and snapped it between his fingers, “Cops? When your pretty little arrows can’t even dent my skin…”

Nightwing completely lost track of the fight because Tim…Tim hadn’t resurfaced yet. And- And- It was… Was Huntress right? Was it Nightwing’s fault that Tim kept showing up where he shouldn’t be? Was the kid going to die because of him? Because Nightwing couldn’t just yell at the kid to stay home. No, he’d just talked to the kid…never really shutting down his little investigation. Nightwing should have done something…told someone, but he had been amused by the kid’s gumption. His can-do attitude. The way he’d easily chilled out around the Bats…his head tilts as he analyzed the Waynes. And. HE. WASN'T. RESURFACING!

Nightwing…Dick hadn’t considered what would happen if the kid succeeded in his mission. He’d found the girl he’d been looking for…the one from the missing poster Jas-Robin had pinned up in the Batcave. Tess Estler. He’d found her. And now he might be dead. Because of Killer Croc. Because of Nightwing.

“-wing! Move! YOUR! ASS!” Hele- Huntress shouted, keeping herself between Tess and the advancing rogue.

A strategic retreat.

A strategic retreat when her kid was probably drowning.

Nightwing stood up in his boat.

“Croc,” he said, quiet. Enough to be heard, but no more.

Deadly serious.

“Decided to rejoin the party?” Croc chuckled.

“Let. them. Go.”

“I don-”

“Stop wasting my time!” Nighting roared. “I’m fighting you. Just us.”

“Sur-”

Nightwing crashed into the bigger, stronger, sharp, nearly invulnerable rogue and started grappling. It didn’t matter. Nightwing wouldn’t lose. Couldn’t lose.

They rolled this way and that. Nightwing tore his knuckles as he punched over and over. Maybe he had lied to Huntress before because he was very much enjoying each and every hit. Pain wasn’t even registering for him as they tumbled across the boards.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nightwing saw Huntress shove Tess through the door of the main building. Good. Tim had said she had people waiting for her to go home. He’d succeeded in getting her there. Nightwing failed him, but Huntress would fulfill Tim’s mission. Nightwing couldn't accept it, but Tim would have. Right?

Croc wrestled his way into a more advantageous position.

“Shoulda called the Big Bat for backup, Nightwing,” he seethed, wrapping his hands around the vigilante’s core. “You got ribs as strong as a gator’s?”**

Nightwing couldn’t breathe. He felt his ribs begin to crack. He couldn't lose. But he was.

THWACKKKKKKKK!

A broken oar connected with side of Croc’s face.

“Wow, tough hide…”**

Croc was more stunned than hurt, but Nightwing was able to use the distraction to break the rogue’s vicelike grip and roll away.

Tim Drake stood, soaked to the bone. Ruffled and bruised, but alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“Who raised you?” Croc growled as Tim took a halting step back, dropping the oar. “I spent time in the circus, kid, and I have better manners than you.”

“Uhh… Gonna be honest,” Tim stuttered. “My mom would definitely approve of my actions. Propriety has no place when people could die. And...maybe don't blame the reason you suck on the circus, kay?”

Nightwing jumped up and wrapped his arms around Croc’s neck (taking a cue from the brat he’d thought was dead), “Get the hell out of here, Tim!”

“I don’t think so!” Croc thundered, charging after the retreating teen.

Another crossbow bolt struck Croc’s knee as they all hurtled towards the shack. It barely slowed him as Tim leaped neatly across the many holes that now littered the docks. Croc made swipe after swipe at the kid’s retreating back, but his bag provided a modicum of protection from the claws. Nightwing did his best to hold the man back, but it was no surprise when all three collided with the door at the same time.

“Owww,” Nightwing groaned as they all recovered, rolling away from Croc and shoving Tim behind him as quickly as possible. “Don’t think we could just call this one a draw, Croc-ster?”

Huntress entered through the window, aiming once more, “Do the quips actually do anything or do you just like the sound of your voice that much?”

Croc ignored both of them and lunged at Nightwing once more. He dodged neatly, but their new accommodations weren’t much better than their previous situation.

“Tim, mo-”

Tim was way ahead of him though, neatly using a modified bridging technique to get to the higher level and out of harm’s way.

Come on, a voice in the back of his mind groused. Are you honestly surprised?

From his new position, Tim considered their surroundings…as if looking for some sort of advantage in their current hell hole. The best chance they had was Croc miraculously cutting himself on a rusty nail and giving himself tetanus in four to twenty-one days. Not super convenient timing-wise.

“Careful, Nightwing,” Tim said, stumbling toward Huntress. “This place is full of safety hazards. Watch your step.”

Nightwing’s bewildered look was, unfortunately, lost in transit–oh, the joys of wearing a mask.

Tim wasn’t wrong though. The place had more holes than floor. If they weren’t careful, Croc and Nightwing would end up back in the water. Which was A) Gross and B) likely to result in a ‘Croc Death Roll’ for Nightwing.

“Waylon, why do you even want to live here?” Nightwing asked, dodging as best as he could. “Gotham sucks!”

“I’m sayin’!” Tim called back.

Huntress hopped down to the desk, a little unsteady as the building shuddered once more. She had dropped her crossbow at some point, but she was clearly pretty pissed to still be fighting Croc. Perhaps she could finally appreciate the importance of handling rogues as quickly as possible.

“There’s nowhere to go, Croc,” she snarled. “You’ve made your point. You’re a big, scary, scaly asshole. But so are a lot of men in this city. You’re not special.”

“There’s two ways this ends, pal,” Nightwing said. “You in cuffs or you in rubble.”

“Rubble?” Croc sniffed. “Why don’t you join me then?”

Huntress leapt towards him but was caught in midair and tossed right into Nightwing. They crashed into the wall. The entire building shuddered violently. Sparks from above caught Nightwing’s eye. Hanging lamps…the canopies holding them in place just barely clinging to the ceiling. Instinctively, Nightwing’s eyes slid to Tim whose eyes were fixed on the same safety hazard before meeting the vigilante’s and darting to a rug just behind Croc.

I mean, we could do worse, the voice argued.

“Croc, you can’t just throw ladies around,” Nightwing chided, pushing himself back to his feet. “It’s ungentlemanly. You can’t go around letting your looks determine your actions.”

Croc snapped to attention.

“When I say,” Nightwing whispered to Huntress, “charge him.”

*Three*

Tim was digging through his backpack furiously on the upper level. Nightwing ignored him. For the moment, the kid was out of danger. The vigilante had improvised plans to make and bigger concerns to deal with.

*Two*

Croc crouched, readying himself for another assault.

*One*

A flash of yellow and blue shot toward the light fixture.

“Now!” Nightwing shouted, rushing the lizard man.

As he and Huntress collided with rough skin, the lamp began to fall from the ceiling–still attached to the wiring. Croc fell right through the rug. An explosion of sparks followed as he hit the water. It only took a few moments for the connection to short out, but…well, Nightwing knew that electric shocks hurt like a bitch. Given how still Croc was, his hide wasn’t the best insulator. He was still breathing, but out cold.

“Shock and awe,” Tim quipped as he climbed down to ground level.

“You too?” Huntress groaned.

The blue and yellow Nightwing had spotted before fluttered to the floor.

“A Pokemon card?”

Tim shrugged, sheepish, “I had to improvise…and it worked.”

Nightwing picked it up, “Helioptile?”

Tim blinked, “It was thematically appropriate…for like…good luck or whatever.”

“Right.”

Tim snatched the card back and pocketed it. He was still soaking wet, bleeding from a few shallow cuts…but in one piece. And in decent spirits for someone who had just faced down Killer Croc.

Never let ‘em see the breakdown, the voice whispered. If you can’t smile, then how will the victims know it’s gonna be okay?

Nightwing was a bit…overwhelmed. He let out a strangled laugh at the absurdity of the past…what…twenty minutes. It felt like years! But…It was okay. They were all okay. And yet, Nightwing was rattled to his core. He’d thought that Tim was dead for a good few minutes and the kid was just…fine. Quipping and standing under his own power... Nightwing wanted to shout at him. Wanted to shake him. Wanted him to explain what in the actual hell he was thinking. Wanted to hug him…just to be sure that he really was oka–

“Tim?”

They all turned to face the door. Tess had seemingly returned…with about a dozen GCPD cops.

Tim’s eyes grew wide, “I know you weren’t there and all, but we specifically said ‘no cops’.”

Tess ignored that and dashed across the room, throwing her arms around Tim.

“Uh, Tess, you might not wann-”

“I’m so sor- sor- I’m so, so sorry! Hic- I…You…Drowned!” she stuttered out through chattering teeth.

Shock.

“Hey, Tess, it’s okay,” Tim comforted her as more and more cops entered the space (ill-advisedly, it was a miracle the building wasn’t already at the bottom of the river) and hauled the unconscious Croc out of his hole. “I’m gonna get you soaked if you keep on-”

“I don’t care,” she cried, clinging tighter.

Nightwing turned to Huntress, only to find that she had vanished.

And Dick was livid. Saw actual red as his brain absolutely shut down. Because…Helena had just run off when her kid just narrowly avoided death. Dick didn’t care that she was in a mask. Didn’t care that she would be risking everything. It should be her clinging to Tim like he might disappear…like her life…or his life depended on it. And she had just left.

“Good job catching Croc, Nightwing,” he heard Commissioner Gordon say. “We’ve been tracking him all week.”

Nightwing carefully controlled his breathing, but he couldn’t hide the bark in his voice, “Not a problem, Commissioner. Always happy to help.”

“Mmhmm,” Gordon hummed, choosing to ignore Nightwing's attitude. “And it looks like you solved a missing persons case from Arizona while you were at it. You Bats, always exceeding expectations.”

“Can’t take credit for that,” Nightwing said. “The kid found her. I just happened along.”

“Well, then, thank you Mister?”

Tim blinked, “Alvin…?”

The Commissioner quirked an eyebrow, “Alvin?”

“Yes,” Tim coughed. “Alvin Draper…ummm, now that all of this is taken care of we really should be going. I’d like to get out of these wet clothes and I’m sure Ms. Estler would like to…well, just not be here anymore.”

Logically, Nightwing knew there was no way Tim would’ve made it to the door with all the cops swarming, but he still stepped in his path and blocked his escape.

“Not a chance in hell, Chief. You and Ms. Estler are going to the precinct,” Nightwing countered.

Tim, true to form, didn’t even flinch much less whither, “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, sir.”

“Non-negotiable, Mr. Draper,” the Commissioner said dryly. “We can get you a change of clothes at the station. We have some questions for you.”

“You can’t question us without a parent or guardian present,” Tim replied, quick as usual.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing fumed. “Parents and guardians will be present. I’ll make sure of it.”

Tim tilted his head and, for the first time, seemed to hesitate in the face of…well, anything.

“...Okay.”

Nightwing nodded to the Commissioner and stormed out of the boat house.

Although she had been vital in defeating Killer Croc, Nightwing was not pleased with Huntress. On the contrary, Dick Grayson was furious with Helena Bertinelli.

Chapter Text

Tim was stuck. Between reasonable, valid concern and equally reasonable and valid suspicion. It was fair, but… He didn't have to like it.

“Hey, Ti-...umm, Alvin?” Tess hissed.

“Hmm?”

Tess leaned over closer on the bench they were sharing in the precinct and lowered her voice, “What's with the name?”

“I'm a foster kid,” Tim said simply.

“Yeah and?”

Tim slumped lower in his seat, “It doesn't exactly reflect well on a foster parent if the kid they're in charge of is galavanting around the city at night, mixing it up with rogues and vigilantes.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, and I'm pretty content with where I’m staying right now,” Tim muttered, rubbing at his temples. “I'd rather not give social services a reason to reconsider my placement.”

Tess looked thoughtful, then sheepish, “I guess I can understand that.”

“You more than most.”

“But…like they're gonna figure it out eventually,” Tess whispered. “Won't your lies make it worse?”

Tim shrugged, “I'm working on it. Don’t worry about it.”

In truth, Tim had been working on it since the cops started marching into the boat rental place and he'd come up with (and dashed) a grand total of three ideas. All of them required outside help though and… well, that was in short supply. Helena/Huntress was an option, obviously, and Tim was sure she was planning something, but he had no way of discreetly communicating with her. His phone was available (thank the heavens he managed to hold onto the waterproof hiking bag his parents had gifted him), but the cops would definitely ask questions. The only reason they weren't already was because they were splitting their attention between Killer Croc’s arrest and some hubbub from downtown…a bust of some sort. The former was resolved, but the latter was still developing and pulling cops from different precincts for additional man (and woman) power.

So much for quiet nights in Gotham.

Beyond that, Tess was a bigger concern since she was a runaway…the “Alvin” persona didn't have much of a paper trail (minor social media presence and participation in a community-funded, “for fun” baseball league), but wouldn't raise any immediate alarm bells. He just needed to get out before the detectives could shift their attention to him…which was hard…with all the detectives around.

“Ti- Alvin?”

“Tess?”

“Thanks…for not leaving,” Tess muttered. “I…Sitting here alone would really suck.”

Tim glanced over, “Yeah, leaving wasn't ever an option, Tess. We're sticking together. You're stuck with me…until your family shows up at least.”

“That's…hmmm.”

“Unbelievably kind? Unimaginably annoying?” Tim offered. “Unhinged behavior considering these donut dunkers still haven't brought me a change of clothes… Be honest, how bad do I smell?”

“No-”

“Come on, you can tell me,” Tim goaded her with an energy he didn't quite feel. “It's not like my current condition is my fau-”

“No, it's not about that. You do smell, but it could be worse,” Tess sighed. “It's just…it doesn't seem fair. You…you're doing all this for me…and Teddy and whatever. Who's showing up for you?”

Tim blinked…he didn't know how to answer her. After all, he wasn't the one who'd run away from home… And, well, he had his traumas, but he was working on them. He didn't need anyone to be there for him in the same way that Tess did. Sure, he needed people and he had his issues, but…he wasn't the victim here.

“S’okay, Tess,” Tim said finally, rubbing at his eyes. “We're not exactly dealing with the same situation.”

It was Tess’ turn to be speechless, but for a much shorter amount of time, “I'm sorry did you just forget about Killer Croc?”

“Uhh,” because…well, he hadn't, but that wasn't really relevant. “No, but it's…I live in Gotham. It sucked, but I'm…good. It's over now.”

“Tim-” she started

“Alvin,” he corrected.

“I watched you get thrown around like a sack of potatoes!” she snapped. “I thought you'd drowned until that purple lady spotted you resurfacing fifteen feet away.”

Tim slouched even more, “It's not that big of a deal, Tess. I'm okay. And even if it wasn't, I'll freak out about it later. This isn't the first-”

Tim cut himself off as a detective passed and completely lost his train of thought. Because what? Facing Croc wasn't his first…what? First drowning experience? First game of human hot potato? First big bad villain guy? He'd be lying if he said that. Tim was a bit of a wanderer and, apparently, an amateur detective… But he didn't tangle with Gotham’s rogues and he at least tried to avoid life-or-death situations.

“The first time you've had to deal with a runaway?” Tess joked, but there was no heart in it.

Tim shook his head, “I don't know… it's just. I'll be fine. Don't worry. I'm always fine.”

Tess looked unconvinced and Tim couldn't blame her. He was lying. Sorta. He was…okay at the moment and he'd be okay in the long run. But at some point, all of the night’s events would catch up with him. There wouldn't be a huge explosion or massive breakdown, but… Well, Tim would fall back on his usual coping mechanisms. Finding a puzzle to solve and committing himself to solving other people’s problems. And he wouldn't really be able to talk about it with anyone. It was a mess. Tim would survive. He was used to it and he'd spin some half-truth to Dr. Sinclair to tidy up his ruffled feath- edges.

“That's pretty obviously bullsh-” Tess began, but she was cut off as a uniformed officer opened the door.

“Miss Estler? Your family is here to-” The officer was nearly shoved out of the way.

“Tess?”

Tim and Tess looked past the officer to discover Teddy followed closely by the rest of the Estlers. Tim witnessed the exact moment it became clear that nothing in the past month mattered. Eyes found eyes and time, the universe, and everything that wasn't this family ceased to exist.

Tess was out of her seat in an instant, movements only stuttering for a millisecond, before sprinting across the lobby. The twins, Riley and Mitchell, reached her first, nearly bowling their sister over in their enthusiasm. Their desperation. Hugging her as if she might vanish…because she had vanished once before. As if by clinging to her it couldn't happen again. Teddy was next, hanging back just out of reach, searching her with his eyes. Looking for some assurance that Tess was real and not a hallucination…a mirage. Her swift but affectionate punch to his shoulder was proof enough. The sibling hug that followed was far from awkward, it was heart-warming and wholesome and...just so nice to see...though it did end with the traditional *pat pat* they'd stolen from Gravity Falls. A duo reunited. It was a momentous occasion and it was the most normal thing in the world.

Tim had, to some extent, predicted how Tess would reunite with her siblings. Gentle but fiercely loving. Teasing but easy. As tearful as it was joyful. It was only at that moment that Tim realized he hadn't considered her parents’ response… How could he? He'd never been a parent before. He had no context for how they must have felt outside of 'terrified' and 'desperate to find Tess'. Tim felt the need to turn away from their impending reunion, but a stubbornness in his stomach kept his eye glued to the scene.

“Tess?” Mrs. Estler choked out.

The twins rearranged themselves to allow their mother room. Mrs. Estler looked her daughter over (like mother, like son) and then gently cupped her face, brushing hair out of her eyes and drying tears. By contrast, Mrs. Estler’s tears were left to flow freely.

“I'm so- sor- sorry,” Tess whispered, winding her arms around her stepmom. “I just…I didn't…”

Mrs. Estler released her daughter's face to return the hug, rubbing her back in that soothing way only a mom could manage, “It's okay. You're here. You're okay. Everything else can wait. We're celebrating a miracle right now.”

“Mirima,” Tess hiccuped through her tears… Tess’ term of endearment for her ‘extra mom’.

Finally… Mr. Estler.

Once more, Tim felt the need to look away. As before, he couldn't find it in himself to do so.

Mrs. Estler corralled her other children just a bit away so their father could have his moment.

“Hi, Dad,” Tess muttered, still teary.

“Tess, I…” her father began, gently gripping her shoulders. “You're..I…we thought…”

Tess was shaking apart, “I'm sorry, Dad, I just… I wanted to come ho-”

Mr. Estler cut her off by pulling her into a tight embrace. If memory served (and it often did for Tim), ‘dad hugs’ were about the safest and most comforting…things in existence. Tess was tough, but she was finally safe enough to let out all the feelings she'd been bottling up. Tim had seen her cry, but this was her falling apart… something she would only do with the assurance that her family was there to keep her safe…and to put her back together again.

“It's okay, hon,” Mr. Estler whispered into his daughter's hair, rocking her gently side-to-side. “You're okay. We're here.”

“I missed you,” Tess replied, “so much…”

“I know. We missed you too,” her Dad sighed. “You scared us half to death.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Never, ever do that again,” her Dad warned lightly.

“I won't…I promise. I didn't…I'm sorry I made you look for me.”

“Oh, kiddo, nothing could ever stop us from looking for you…,” Mr. Estler chuckled, rubbing her back. “I love you…we love you so much. We'll always find you.”

The rest of the family moved to join the embrace. Tim spotted the commissioner waiting patiently at his office door and knew it was now or never. The clock was ticking on his escape. Killer Croc, family reunions, and general Gotham mayhem would only distract the GCPD for so long.

With a final look at a family reunited (and a deep, desperate ache in his soul), Tim slipped off the bench and down a hallway labeled ‘Restrooms and Vending’. Tim stole a final glance as he rounded the corner. Police precincts weren't designed to be escapable, but with a little time and a lot of luck Tim just might-

“Going somewhere, kid?”

Tim had been so busy watching his back that he forgot to look where he was going. His feet stuttered to a stop just before he collided with a red-haired woman. A pressure built up behind his sinuses and he considered just giving up. How bad could juvie really be?

“Uhh, restroom?” Tim said slowly.

The woman looked unimpressed, “No escort?”

“Hardly think that’s necessary,” Tim scoffed. “My parents were pretty proud of how well I managed during potty training.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure that has had absolutely no adverse effects on my personality whatsoever,” Tim added, trying to slip past the woman.

“Well, Alvin, I’m sorry to say that you can’t just wander around a police precinct without some sort of chaperone,” she snorted.

Tim squared his shoulders, “Yeah, well, the cops that brought me have pretty much ignored me for the past hour and, to be frank, I’m gross. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll forfeit my one phone call for a trip to relieve myself.”

She glanced over Tim’s head at the nearly deserted lobby, “Yeah, I suppose you’re entitled to that… Things have just been a bit crazy here this evening.”

“Yeah, Crocs and runaways will probably do that to a precinct,” Tim agreed, subtly shifting from foot to foot-a classic visual cue for ‘I need to go now’.

“You’re not wrong, but I think they're more concerned with the blackout,” she sighed, leading him down the hallway.

Tim screwed up his eyes in confusion but followed, “I thought they said it was a bust…”

“Oh, there was,” she assured, stopping outside the men’s restroom and leaning against the wall. “About fifteen minutes into the operation the power went out in the entire neighborhood.”

“Where?” Tim asked, completely forgetting his escape plan.

The woman crossed her arms, “You’ll find out on the news like every other civilian in the city… or on TikTok, I guess.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “How come you get to know? You’re no more a cop than I am.”

“And how do you know that I’m not a cop?”

Tim matched her posture, “You’ve got a visitor’s pass…not to mention I’m pretty sure you’re the commissioner's daughter.”

“Mini-detective, are you?”

“No,” Tim grunted. “I read the news and you were interviewed a few weeks ago about your time interning in DC last year. Plus, your dad has your picture up on the wall of his office and his door was open. Not much to look at when you're sitting in a lobby for an hour.”

Barbara Gordon nodded, a small smirk on her lips, “Good eyes and a decent memory. Sounds like a mini-detective to me, Alvin.”

Tim suppressed a shiver. It was clear Barbara was good at separating the truth from his lies. How he determined her identity-true. His name and purpose in the hallway-lies. It made him uneasy. Why wasn’t she marching him back to the lobby if she could tell he had ulterior motives? Barbara Gordon had made a few appearances on “Before Tim’s” list. It really only mentioned ensuring that the whole “clown explosion” thing was handled to avoid “doorbell bullets”. The list noted that she was self-sufficient and smart enough to handle whatever came her way. Tim was walking into this interaction mostly blind.

“I used to play this game…where I had to remember the details of a room and answer questions about it,” Tim offered…which was true? He remembered it, but couldn’t place the where or when.

Barbara huffed a laugh, “Sounds more like training than a game.”

Tim shrugged, “I was good at it.”

She smiled, “I bet.”

“Uhh, can I-”

“So, why did you ditch your friend, kid?” Barbara asked quickly as if trying to keep him distracted…on the line until she could finish analyzing him.

Tim felt trapped and it was starting to get to him. He needed to get out of the precinct, but… He also didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to wander the streets during a partial blackout. Didn’t really mind talking to Barbara Gordon… She knew she had him cornered in his lies, but she was letting him work through it on his own. It was oddly comforting...validating.

“I was trying to give her family some privacy,” he answered honestly. “I didn’t feel comfortable…I was intruding.”

“That’s not wha-”

“I know,” Tim agreed. “The reality of the situation doesn’t matter. It’s how I felt. So, I figured I would take the opportunity to use the facilities.”

“You’ve had a rough night, kid,” Barbara said quietly, fixing him with a sympathetic look. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Tim met her eyes and found they were genuine, “I’ll survive. I can take care of myself.”

“Ti- Alvin, I’m sure you can, but what happened tonight was probably traumatic. I believe you that you’re doing okay, but I’m sure your…uh, whoever you have is worried sick. You can’t just go wandering around without telling someone first.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, “Ms. Gordon, I appreciate your concern, but I assure you it’s not necessary. It’s not like I’m going to disappear into the bowels of a GCPD precinct. I was just giving them a moment and using the bathroom. You don’t have to read too deeply into my motives. I’m sorry if my actions have caused a problem or distress, but I assumed I was being left to my own devices when no one took the time to contact anyone on my behalf.”

Nothing shut people down faster than the cool, calculating nature of a teen switching to formal behavior on a whim. It caught them off guard and Tim had learned how to weaponize it during boarding school. Blunt but clear communication was essential to surviving dorm life. It was also weird and off-putting.

Barbara paused for a moment, scrutinizing the teen in front of her. Just as she was about to respond, her phone began to ring.

“Shiiii-take mushrooms,” she said pulling out the device and glancing at the screen. “I’ve got to take this, Tim. You can use the restroom but wait right here once you're done. A detective still needs to talk to you. I’ll take you to my dad to get the ball rolling so you can get home.”

“Of course,” Tim lied and nudged open the door to the bathroom.

Barbara’s slip of the tongue set off alarm bells in Tim’s head. His window of opportunity was closing quickly and the windows of the bathroom were too high, too small for him to escape through. Barbara Gordon was in “Before Tim’s” notes so she must be somebody. She was publicly friends with Dick Grayson and the rest of the Waynes, but that was no reason for her to know about him. 'Tim' him and not 'Alvin' him. He doubted the Waynes had put as much thought into their interactions as he had so she shouldn't know that much about him. Or be able to recognize him on sight.

Batgirl, goofus, his mind supplied.

Right… Someone was Batgirl before Cassandra. A red-head. Barbara was the right age and she was definitely smart enough to run with the Bats. She must have passed on the mantle last year while she was away on her internship. Now that she was back in town she probably created a new role for herself, but what? Or who? Tim was under the impression he had all Gotham's vigilantes accounted for.

Oracle. The voice sounded bored at the revelation.

"Oracle" wasn’t in “Before Tim’s” notes, but the moniker seemed to fit. After all, she’d predicted Tim’s moves before any of the cops in the building had.

“How am I gonna get away from another Bat?” Tim muttered to his reflection. “It hasn’t worked since the day I met them.”

Just as Tim was about to dissolve into controlled hysterics in front of the urinals and hand dryers, the door was pushed open.

“Occupi-”

“Sorry, Sonny, just in here getting the trash,” a man with a bushy mustache announced. A custodian. Named ‘Randy’ if his nametag was to be believed.

“Uhh, no problem,” Tim said quickly, moving out of the way.

“You look like death warmed over,” the man said as he replaced the towels and checked the soap dispensers.

“It’s been a long-”

“Day?” ‘Randy’ guessed.

“Existence,” Tim answered bluntly.

The man chuckled and started to roll his cart out, “You’re a bit young to be saying that, Sonny.”

“Let me get that for you,” Tim offered, holding open the door and standing back to allow Randy to pass.

A glance down the hall indicated that Barbara was still on the phone. Her body language seemed frustrated, pacing as she spoke in hushed tones. Her back was to the hallway.

“Thanks, Sonny, do get yourself cleaned up soon,” Randy said as he rolled his cart towards the lobby.

Tim nodded and waved with one hand. His other clutched a ring of keys and key cards behind his back. Not the smoothest improv, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Tim’s window of opportunity was just barely cracked open and he was going to take it.

A quick jog down another hall, scanning Randy’s pass twice, three doors. Leave the keys in the back vestibule. Alley. Hood up the entire time in the precinct, face away from the cameras. Tim wasn’t exactly home free, but it was as close as he was going to get.

Tim squeezed through a hole in a chainlink fence and made his way back onto the main road. The night air bit at his cheeks and tears began to prickle in his eyes for an entirely different reason.

He felt bad leaving the Estlers…leaving Tess, but he couldn’t watch them longer than he already had. Ugly feelings of jealousy were simmering in his stomach. Her father’s promise to always find her… It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t rational and Tim was being selfish, but he craved similar assurances. Which was not going to happen. Not again anyway. Before he’d had that. He had had unconditional with his parents. They had loved him regardless of where they were in the world. Would have shown up if he’d asked, but he never did. It was immature and unreasonable for Tim to feel like he’d been slighted now. It wasn’t his parents’ fault they couldn’t be there. Yet, he still felt like he was waiting for someone to be there for him. Outside of Helena (who had shown up at the docks), there was no one Tim should expect to come looking for him. To be so happy to see he was okay. To offer him a hug and a reprimand for scaring them. Why did it feel like he was waiting for someone when there was no one?

Ugh, you need a hug, kid, the voice muttered, uncomfortable but sympathetic.

Tim was so lost in thought, he nearly ran into another person as he rushed down the sidewalk.

“Woah, there, kid, where’s the fire?” a familiar voice chortled, but it veiled carefully controlled rage.

A small part of Tim’s stomach unclenched.

Tim looked up, “Dick?”

“Tim…what are you doing running around Gotham so late?” Dick’s voice was light, but his face was stormy.

“I live…here?” Tim said dumbly.

“Yeah?” Dick said. “On the corner of 8th and Jackson?”

“Well…not here here, but…like here Gotham,” Tim answered, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

Di- Nightwing had stormed off after the Croc incident. He’d been angry. Furious. Tim assumed he’d been mad at getting sidetracked dealing with civilians and Killer Croc. Why was he in civvies? Why was he at the precinct? If there was a bust and a blackout, he should be across town in spandex dealing with it with the other Bats. And yet, here he was…the last place he should be.

It’s not that complex, the voice argued. Come on, kid, you’re almost there. Use that brain of yours and solve the puzzle. (Vigilante-mask+traumatic incident)/previous experiences*current demeanor=what?

“Uhh…” so Dick didn’t have an excuse to be here either.

“Okay, well, good seeing you,” Tim said quickly, attempting to shoulder past the older man. “I should be going.”

Dick held out his arm to stop him, “Yeah, I don’t think so, kid. You look like you went several rounds with the worst Gotham has to offer… I think you should probably head back inside.”

Tim was stuck. Between an unmasked vigilante and cops he lied to. This entire situation was his fault. This was a hell of his own making and he was starting to panic. “Before Tim” didn’t have any advice for these kinds of situations. For a guy obsessed with the masked community, he sure didn’t leave any instructions for what to do when they backed him into a corner. He didn’t know what to do and the one person he felt could offer advice to get out of this situation was the biggest obstacle in his way. Tim was stuck…between his mistakes and his hero. He hated it.

Chapter Text

Actions matter. Have meaning. Are a better indicator of a person's character than their words alone. It was important for a vigilante and a leader to understand that. Usually, Dick was good at deciphering the behavior of others. More often though, he was baffled by his own decisions. Not as Nightwing, but as Dick Grayson. Nightwing followed protocols, rules, regulations… made calculated decisions based on facts and the trust he had in his fellow heroes. Dick Grayson though…he flew by the seat of his pants.

For a whopping fifteen minutes, Nightwing attempted to track down Huntress. He had no plan, no logical way of approaching the situation. But he was angry so he was acting. On behalf of Tim Drake… Who was en route to a police station. Alone except for a runaway he barely knew. Injured. Drenched. Uneasy... Alone.

The kid had almost…

And Huntr- Helena had left him.

Dick had left him too.

The realization stopped him in his tracks.

What matters more? Avenging people, the persistent voice whispered, or helping them?

Nightwing took a deep breath and changed course. Dick Grayson would be handling this one. It didn't seem…appropriate to wear a mask to comfort this particular kid… He'd just say he was stopping in for a visit with Babs. She'd cover for him. Hopefully.

So, Dick ditched his uniform for civvies in a nearby safehouse and traded the rooftops for the sidewalks. When he was still several blocks away from the precinct his phone rang.

“Hey, Alfie, I can't really talk right no-”

“Dick?”

Oh, Damian.

“Uhh, hey, buddy,” Dick recovered. “You steal Alfred’s phone again?”

“Where are you?”

Dick flinched. Damian sounded worried…and it was way past his bedtime.

“Heading to GCPD HQ,” he replied, easing some comfort into his voice… hard to accomplish when his blood was boiling. “Why?”

“You're not on comms.”

Shiiiiiiii

Rule #4 of being a Bat: Always check in via comms if plans or mission changes.

But also…

Rule #2-Don't contact Bats on civilian devices to discuss vigilante business.

“Ummm, sorry I didn't answer, Dami,” Dick pivoted, stepping into an alley away from security cameras. “I had to change. Got into a bit of an altercation and I didn't hear it buzzing.”

“You…changed?”

Damian was eight. And was largely shielded from the vigilante stuff happening in the basement. He knew of course. The important bits. But there was no reason to teach him double-speak when he was barely allowed in the cave at all.

“Uhh, yeah, I had a spare set of clothes in my car and I figured I'd visit Babs before heading back home,” Dick tried. “Why are you calling, buddy? Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Dick heard his little brother hesitate and then, “Alfred, he…I was getting a snack and I heard him tell Father that he couldn't get…ahold of you.”

Dick winced, “Yeah, like I said… Some stuff happened, but I'm okay. Everyone's okay.”

“Everyone?”

Dick sighed, “Why was Alfred trying to get in touch?”

He heard a rustle-Damian must've shook his head, “I- Father said that the power went out… He wanted to ensure that you were…um-”

Crap, that meant something was going down on the other side of the city. Batman was probably asking for backup or doing a role call and Di-Nightwing had been unavailable.

“I'm okay, don't worry,” Dick soothed, distracted by his inability to decide what to do next. “Uhh, tell Alfie to pass on this message: I met up with that friend Bruce and I were talking about and now I'm making sure he gets home alright.”

It was janky as far as codes go, but Batman would have no trouble deciphering it was about Croc. Dick did feel kinda scummy about lying though. He really couldn't care less about the rogue now that he was in police custody. His objective was ensuring Tim was okay and looked after…which wasn't Bruc- Batman's business. Lying to him about some kid Bruce barely knew shouldn't make Dick feel so conflicted.

And yet…

It wasn't Dick’s business either and he wasn't conflicted at all about making it his business.

Gawl, you sound just like him, the voice chided. Bruce, to be clear, not Batman.

And, well, that wasn't helpful.

“Are you…sure?” Damian asked. “Maybe you should just come home now.”

Dammit, he sounded worried which meant Alfred must sound concerned which meant Batman was probably freaked…which sounded more like constipated, but still.

Dick took a deep breath and considered his options and the consequences.

Tim was in a police precinct. Physically he was safe…he'd probably be fine in the long run. Helena would show up eventually…maybe. Batman, Robin, and Batgirl were all capable but they might need extra hands to deal with whatever is happening on the other side of town. But Di- Nightwing should really go help them regardless.

Except…they had each other.

Tim was alone, regardless of the cops and the runaway.

Damian would understand if he knew this was for Tim. As a matter of fact, he'd probably be livid that Dick was considering abandoning Tim at all.

“I'm sure, Damian,” Dick said, his mind made up. “Just pass on my message. Exactly as I said it, okay? I'll be home as soon as I can.”

“Okay…Be careful, Dick,” Damian mumbled.

“Always.”

He waited until his little brother hung up before pulling the phone away from his ear. To avoid any further complications, Dick turned on his ringer and checked his notifications. A few texts from friends, an email regarding an application he'd submitted a week earlier, and a news update on Twitter.

‘NEW VIGILANTE *ALERT*?: PURPLE PROWLER SPOTTED IN EVACUATIONS AT WOLFMAN ROW! *Live Updates with Pictures*.

Dick knew it was a bad idea to click on the link. He already knew what he’d find. He didn't need confirmation, but… He wasn't ready to discard his anger with Huntress.

Still, the spike of frustration he felt as he thumbed through pictures of Huntress taking on looters and assisting civilians on the other side of the city felt more akin to unadulterated rage. It wasn't that he'd been ready to give her the benefit of the doubt-because he hadn't-but he'd at least floated the idea that she had taken off to be ready when she was inevitably called down to the station. Fake name or no, Tim Drake was going to have to get picked up by someone! Helping out in a crisis was essential for vigilantes, but family came first!*

Dick exited his alley and thumbed through his contacts and jabbed Barbara’s name without a second thought. It rang three times.

“Hey, Dick, this isn't the best-”

“Do you have a location on her?” Dick asked, snappish, in lieu of greeting.

“...I assumed she went home to change,” Babs replied, catching on immediately.

“Not likely unless she was heading to the clubs.”

Babs was silent for a moment, but Dick could hear her tapping away on her phone.

A sigh, “I'm sure there's an explanation for this.”

“A good one?” Dick asked, picking up his pace as he approached an intersection.

“Don’t get it twisted, Grayson, I'm not her biggest fan either,” Babs grumbled. “But this city is a mess on a good day. She probably got caught up in the blackout. Wouldn't be the first time someone got sidetracked. Chances are it's just your regular, bargain bin Gotham screw-up.”

Dick rolled his eyes and tapped the pedestrian crossing button. Thank the heavens Gotham was walkable. Honestly, it was one of the city's few redeeming qualities. On the ground, Dick was still making good time. Not fast enough, but better than any of the alternatives.

“Whatever. There's a kid involved… That should supersede Gotham shit. He should be her number one priority.”

“The kid is fine, Grayson,” Babs said, exasperated. “I understand your frustrations, but I’ve got eyes on the shifty little twerp. Besides, it's not like you can talk about what ‘supersedes Gotham shit’.”

“While normally I'd accept your critique regarding my hypocrisy,” Dick grit out, jogging across the road as soon as the light changed, “I'm actually headed your way.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, I don't know!” Dick snapped, his patience at its limit. “I watched a kid nearly drown this evening… If I'm shook up I can't imagine how he's feeling about the whole thing! And, as I've mentioned, the woman who's supposed to be ensuring he's alright and reassuring him has different priorities!”

“Different prior-? Dick, you know that's not fair!” Babs snapped back. “And I told you that I've got him handled. The kid is honestly better than he should be considering. He seemed more shook up watching that girl with her family than anything with Croc.”

“Yeah, why do you think I'm rushing across town?” Dick countered.

Because, of course, Tim was handling the “post-Croc” situation like a champ. The kid was preternaturally gifted at not giving a shit about the things that shook other people to their core. He stared down his detractors with little more than grit, quipped at assholes, shook off vigilante interactions like they were nothing, hopped on trains to other cities, and held dance parties on roofs with what might as well be cryptids. Tim was unflinching and bizarre and good. He didn't hold a grudge against Jason, listened to and advised Damian, lectured Bruce in a way the man understood, entertained and laughed with Cass… Showed Nightwing and Dick compassion. With food trucks and pictures and banter and companionable silence and as much honesty as he was willing to give. The only time Tim faltered was that first night which was reasonable and…when they'd talked about the missing persons cases.

They have people waiting for them to come home, Tim had said…

Except he'd been wrong…they weren't just waiting. That girl had people searching for her, Tim included.

Tim…he didn't even have someone coming for him when they knew exactly where he was.

And that wasn't just unfair.

No. It was unacceptable.

And it wasn't happening because Dick was showing up. He wasn't ever looking for the kid, but he kept finding him nonetheless. This time Dick was being intentional. Tim wasn't going to be alone. Dick was showing up.

“And what exactly are you going to do? Hmm?” Babs asked, apparently done with his attitude. “I've told you. I've got this. He's fine. I'm trying to figure out what's going on in that head of his. You coming here is unnecessary.”

Which…was true. Except that it wasn't. Tim needed somebody, even if he wouldn't admit it. Babs was probing for information, not…talking to the kid. He needed someone who would listen and reply, not analyze.

And…Dick was willing to admit that he needed to be there for Tim.

“Really? You got eyes on him right now?” Dick asked as the precinct came into view.

Because he knew the kid. He'd dealt with him and seen what he could do. He was resourceful and sneaky and willing to play dirty to accomplish his goals. He'd smacked Croc in the face to save Dic- Nightwing. Tim saw no incentive (nor had the intention) to play fair. If he wanted out, he'd find a way out. Dick had endured multiple personal interactions with the kid and still came off wrong-footed. All of Babs’ information was secondhand. She was basically dealing with Tim blind.

“He's in the bathroom, Grayson,” Barbara sighed. “Kid’s still soaked. Taking it with some attitude, but better than most. He'll be out in a minute.”

So, Dick waited… three… two…one…

“Oh…”

“Gave you the slip?” Dick asked, his feigned innocence drowned out by his smug satisfaction.

“I turned my back for one minute,” Babs said, flat. “For your phone call, I might add.”

“Trust me,” Dick assured her, “he could get away with less than that.”

“I…don't…ugh. I'm sorry, Dick, but I-”

“Don't worry,” Dick muttered, spotting something shuffling in the shadows, “I've got eyes on him.”

“Wha-”

“I'll call you back, Babs,” and Dick hung up.

Tim was distracted, otherwise, Dick wasn’t sure he’d be so careless as to walk right into Dick’s path. The teen just barely stopped himself before barrelling into him completely.

“Woah, there, kid, where’s the fire?” Dick joked. He hated the way his frustration seeped into his voice.

But Tim was okay. Still all ruffled and damp, but in one piece and capable of slipping away under the eye of Barbara.

“Dick?” Tim’s eyes overflowed with confusion.

“Tim…what are you doing running around Gotham so late?” Dick asked with his own forced confusion. He had to be careful. Tim was only aware of…like half of their interactions. Well, he was aware of all of them but didn’t know it.

“I live…here?” Tim replied slowly, clearly trying to process the conversation while also talking.

“Yeah?” Dick said. “On the corner of 8th and Jackson?”

“Well…not here here, but…like here Gotham,” Tim answered, complete with the now-requisite head tilt. “What are you doing here?”

“Uhh…” Dick had completely forgotten his cover story. After all, it was past midnight in Gotham…what business did Dick Grayson have at a police precinct at such a bizarre time?

“Okay, well, good seeing you,” Tim muttered as he tried to edge his way around the older man. “I should be getting home.”

Which…no

“Yeah, I don’t think so, kid. You look like you went several rounds with the worst Gotham has to offer… I think you should probably head back inside,” Dick countered.

Tim was quiet for a long moment, blinking rapidly. Then, “Head back inside where?”

It was Dick’s turn to become temporarily mute. He hadn't thought through the minutiae of how to approach Tim. Usually, the conversation flowed naturally due to the younger’s blunt nature. Dick, however, kept forgetting that the kid knew two versions of him separately. Civilian!Dick wouldn't have any reason to believe Tim was just at the police station. Even if he used Babs as an excuse, Tim had given the cops a fake name…

You've been doing this for over a decade. You're a master at situational improv. Pick literally any prompt and run with it, the voice insisted.

“Unless you were swimming, in your clothes, at the local Y at midnight, I imagine you just came from GCPD,” Dick decided. “This city is crazy tonight. You get caught up in it?”

Tim's eyes darted around Dick’s face, searching for something, “Why do you care?”

“Is it crazy to think I'm worried about someone drenched to the bone walking around Gotham in the middle of the night?” Dick asked, legitimately a little stung by the idea that Tim would think so little of his capacity for compassion.

Tim shrugged, “I'm not your responsibility so you don't have to worry about me. I'm just some rando you keep running into.”

True, but…ouch.

“It's not that complex,” Dick argued. “You're a smart kid, I'm sure you can puzzle it out. Here: (Kid I know+out at night+soaking wet-any other logical reason to be outside the GCPD)/prior interactions*basic human decency squared by the fact that you're a good kid=what?”

Tim froze. Like…went completely rigid. If Dick wasn't sure that Tim was alive right in front of him, he'd think rigor mortis was setting in.

Way to go, goofus, the voice chortled. Who uses fake math problems to comfort someone?

“Uh, Tim,” Dick said.

Tim remained silent, looking anywhere but at Dick. With the way he was blinking, it was almost like Tim was attempting to actually solve the equation. It was pretty worrisome. Had he gotten hurt worse than Nightwing thought during their tussle with Croc?

After what felt like ages, Dick reached out. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Maybe squeeze the kid’s shoulder or shake him…heck, he even considered hugging the kid. He was covered in Gotham River grossness, but it was nothing Dick hadn’t showered off before. Before he could decide what he was going to do though, Tim flinched and took a halting step back.

“I-I have to go, I think…” Tim stuttered out. “Sorry, to bother you, Mr. Grayson… I don’t-I’m… Nothing… Why?”

“Woah, woah, woah, Tim,” Dick yelped. “Of course, I’ll let you go if that’s what you want or need (*liar*), but you don’t look too good.”**

“It’s-I’m…I’ll be-b-b alri-al-...Fine.”

Tim legitimately seemed on the edge of hyperventilation. He took a shuddering step around Dick towards the stairs that led to the next street over. Tim only made it a few steps before he hunched over, hands on his knees and huffing. Dick rushed to his side, attempting to keep his distance while also assessing the situation.

“Hey, Tim…Kiddo, you’re worrying me a bit,” Dick muttered. “How about we get you sat down and I’ll call someone for you.”

Dick didn’t have Helena’s number, but they had met once outside the masks. It wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility for him to call her if he came across Tim, right? He didn’t want to leave this up to her to solve. Didn’t trust her. But Tim barely knew him so…wouldn’t it be for the best-

Tim’s legs gave out and Dick lunged to grab him before he toppled down the steps.

The teen jerked back to consciousness, blinking rapidly and looking around. His eyes locked onto Dick’s.

“Sorry,” he breathed, regaining his footing before stepping away from Dick. “Probably can’t convince you I’m okay now.”

No shit!

“It's alright…I’m sorry for nagging you…or making you uncomfortable. You scared the crap outta me,” Dick sighed, a bit breathless himself. “I do seem to remember telling you not to do that again.”

Tim stiffened and then rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands, “Dear pickles and cream Canada! Are you even trying? How are you so terrible at this?”

“Wha-”

But Dick caught it… He’d… Crap!

Smooth move, ex-lax…

“I…wha- On the train, you…I…” Dick tried, but…

He already knew, goofus. You were right the first time. Now for damage control.

Dick’s eyes darted around, locating five different cameras. Nothing too invasive for this side of Gotham. No audio. There was a picnic table parked underneath a tree next to a nearby bus stop. They’d paint a rather strange picture if someone went snooping on the cameras, but with their shared dark hair and height difference, most people would just write it off as two brothers chatting. At midnight. In Gotham. Dick had accomplished more with worse odds.

“Well, looks like we will be having a chat on a bench,” Dick muttered, gesturing for Tim to head down the stairs.

Tim gave him a look but chose not to argue.

By the time they were both seated, Tim’s resolve and gumption seemed to have returned.

“You’re not even going to give me excuses?” the teen asked, propping up his head on one hand. His voice was steady, but he was shaking... Just a little.

Dick studied him, “Would they actually work?”

“No.”

“Well, then why waste my time?” Dick replied easily. Sure he was freaking out, but Tim already knowing somehow made everything easier. Also probably explained why the kid didn’t freak out about Dick Grayson’s weird interactions with him… Like, yeah, Tim should still probably be weirded out by his behavior (Dick would beat the hell out of someone who acted this way around his siblings), but Gotham kids had an inherent trust and belief in Robins (current and former).

“Because it’s one of the better-kept secrets in the age of the internet,” Tim replied simply.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenged. “Then how did you figure it out…and don’t say because you remembered a conversation from a month ago.”

Tim fidgeted, “Umm…I…The circus?”

Dick frowned, “What does the pict-”

“No, ummm… At the circus, you told me you’d do the quadruple somersault. For me,” Tim muttered, looking anywhere but at Dick. “I’m sure that was…you probably told most kids that. You were a performer…are a performer after all. But I remembered you saying that…and I remembered that only four people were able to do it. And…well, only one of them has ever lived in Gotham. A certain someone was caught on tape doing it. In some random newsreel footage a few years back. They didn’t name it, but I recognized it. Two and two usually equals four so… Yeah, I’ve known since I was like nine.”

Dick took a few deep breaths.

Hoisted by your own leotard.

“Nine?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, I guess.”

“So, you knew the entire time? And didn’t say anything?”

Tim looked confused, “Of course not. I-I haven’t told…anyone. It-I… Hmm, it was just something I knew and I didn't tell anyone because it’s not really my business, y’know?”

“But you…met us. In and out of the-” Dick was spiraling. Because this kid knew and just acted like he didn’t? Seemed to spend a fair amount of time trying to get away from them…avoid them. He could’ve done anything with that information and he just…didn’t?

“Yeah, well, I’m not some creepy stalker***,” Tim huffed, fiddling with the wood grain. “I mean…I…I don’t really know what I am, but I wasn’t going to bother you with all that. It’s not your problem.”

“It is the very definition of my problem,” Dick snapped. “It’s my fault that you know. You’re a security risk. Damnit, kid.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, “The only person who knows I know is you, Dick. I’m not going around telling people anything. I wasn’t going to bother you with the fact that I knew when it was a non-issue. I’m not going around screaming it from the rooftops. I’m minding my own business!”

“Tim, you literally run around this city at night,” Dick groaned. “You almost died tonight because you stuck your nose into a runaway case. My entire family has run into you on multiple occasions!”

“I was looking for Tess, yeah, but I wasn’t out there looking for…trouble,” Tim faltered, trying his best to avoid specifics that linked him to the rogue attack. Quick study. “And I’m not trying to bother your family. It just keeps happening!”

“Bother?”

Because Tim wasn’t a bother. He was kinda infuriating, but so was Jason. He was nosey, but so was Bruce. He was a smug little twerp, but so was Damian. He was cagey as hell, but so was Cass. His humor was as dry as the Sahara sometimes, but so was Alfred’s. He was just a kid and he’d been nothing but patient and considerate and kind with all of the Waynes. Why would he think he was a bother? Heck, he was supposed to be inconvenient and annoying and weird…and people were supposed to tolerate and appreciate all of that because they cared about him. Loved him. That’s what unconditional was all about.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all of this,” Tim sighed. “The stuff from…before. I didn’t-It wasn’t… It just kinda happened. Thanks for your help. Tess and I woulda been toast if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding?!”

Tim still wasn’t looking at him, “Yeah, I know…it was stupid. But we’re teens, what can you do?”

“Tim, you two almost died,” Dick pointed out again, his voice harsh to his ears. “I thought you drowned and then you completely ignored any self-preservation instincts to get involved…again.”

Tim started to curl into himself, impossibly small, “He was…I was-am okay. There was a little shock when I hit the water, but I recovered pretty quickly. When I got out I…I couldn’t just leave you there alone with him! No one with any common decency would have left you when they could help!”

“Really? Because Helena sure booked it on you…twice!” Dick reasoned, dropping all pretenses.

Tim’s features hardened and turned to face Dick fully, “That’s not what happened. She knew I was okay. How do you eve-”

“Are you serious, Tim?” Dick chastised. “She left you. Heck, she didn’t even know where you were tonight until we showed up at the docks!”

“I lied to her about what I was doing!”

“And she believed you?”

“Well, yeah, obviously, or I wouldn’t have found Tess! So, it’s lucky she did believe me. Tess is back with her family. She’s safe!” Tim shot back. “And who are you to talk? Do you know where your entire family is?”

“Tha-”

“Across town helping people who actually need it!” Tim badgered. “Why are you even here?”

Dick took a deep breath. Tim was deliberately being a pain, Dick recognized that. But why?

“Again, you almost died less than two hours ago, Tim!” Dick snapped. “I was wor-”

“I’m fine! I’m safe. There’s no reason for you to be-ugh!”

“You snuck out of a police station!”

“Yeah, because I had to! If you didn’t notice, I lied to them!” Tim exploded, jumping to his feet.

“You didn’t have to lie to them, Tim,” Dick countered. “Why on God’s green Earth would you do that?”

Tim crossed his arms and turned away, “I’m a foster kid, Dick… If the cops… They won’t care why I did it. They’ll tell social services that I run around at night getting into all kinds of troub-”

“Because you do that!”

“They’ll move me. Send me to like…Colorado or Minnesota or wherever,” Tim said, his voice suddenly much quieter. “I don’t…Gotham…”

Dick sighed and got up to join Tim, “Maybe…maybe that’s for the best. You’re not safe with Helena.”

It didn’t seem right… Condemning Tim to a life away from the only home he’d ever known, but… If he was safe it would be worth it, right? It was obvious that Helena Bertinelli had other priorities and…fine, she was trying to help the city. But she couldn’t balance that with taking care of Tim. She was doing this all on her own and Tim was being pushed to the back burner.

“I’m just fine,” Tim muttered. “It’s not your job to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

Dick squeezed Tim’s shoulder and ducked his head down to meet the kid’s eyes, “You’re not. It is Helena’s job to worry about you and- She’s. Not. Here. Even if you weren’t gallivanting around the city and getting into trouble… You deserve better, Tim.”

Tim jerked away, “Deserve? Dick, my family is gone! I’m lucky anyone is willing to put up with me at all. Helena didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to help me when I found out what the Coopers were do-”

“Actually, she very much did have to help you,” Dick reasoned, knowing he was only making things worse. “She’s a mandatory reporter.”

“The point is, Helena showed up. She’s there when it matters,” Tim refuted. “She’s a good person. She’s kind and helpful and patient. She’s better than- *sigh* This is the best possible situation for me, Dick. I can’t expect better than this.”

Dick ran a hand down his face, “Again, Tim. She’s. Not. Here. How can you not see that isn’t okay?”

“How can’t you see this is the best I could reasonably hope for?” Tim whispered. “I’m not getting unconditional again. I know that. Helena’s as close as I’m ever going to get. She cares about me...I have friends here. I’m not going to blow that up. I can’t.”

Which was just… There was a lot to unpack there. Dick had no idea how to handle that. How to even begin to tell him how wrong he was? How could he convey that he had felt the same way eleven years ago? How could he prove that it would get better? Would it get better? Dick got lucky. Sure, he still fought with Bruce too much, but he knew he was loved. Knew that anyone in his family (and all of his friends too) would drop everything if Dick was in trouble…or heck just asked. Dick was lucky to find unconditional again. But just because Dick got lucky didn't mean Tim should settle for what he could "reasonably hope for". Tim would find unconditional again too. Right?

“Tim, I can’t let this go. Not in good conscience anyway,” Dick said wearily. “I’m going to have to tell the Commissioner and he’ll go to social services.”

Tim stared at nothing, “No.”

“Tim, I under-”

“No,” Tim repeated. “You’re not going to do anything.”

“Why?” and then Dick realized. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Turn about is fair play, but no. I’m not threatening you or putting your entire family at risk, goofus.”

“Then why woul-”

“Because I’m done,” Tim decided. “From now on, I’ll keep my nose out of these missing persons cases. I’ll stay in at night. If I see trouble, I'll walk the other way. I’ll make sure that you and your family don’t have to deal with me.”

Dick shook his head, confused, “Wha-”

“Besides, you have no proof to hand over to the cops or social services,” Tim pointed out. “Nothing that you could actually use anyway. You can’t exactly testify. And Tess and all my friends will just lie if anyone asks. I haven’t had one issue in all my visits with social services. They’ll have no reason to believe anything you say.”

“Do you honestly beli-”

“I may be just a kid, but I have a pretty good reputation,” Tim reasoned. “They’ll look into it, sure, and they’ll find nothing. It’s too much of a hassle to drag a teen to a new placement. Heck, I’ve only met with two sets of potential adoptive parents. I’m a teen, it’s to be expected. They’re all just waiting for me to age out. I’m fine with that. I’ll be okay staying with Helena.”

How had this spun so far out of Dick’s control? He wasn’t even being threatened by this kid, but he was still panicking. Tim’s terms were pretty reasonable, honestly. Sure, Dick didn’t really believe the kid could avoid trouble if he tried…but at least he would be trying. Why did it feel like Dick was somehow losing?

“Tim…” but Dick couldn’t think of anything to say.

Tim nodded, resolute, “Thanks. For your help. For all the times you’ve helped me. I’m sorry to have been so much trouble. I promise that I won’t cause you or your family any…problems. Just…please…”

“Tim?”

And at 1:27 in the morning, Helena Bertinelli finally showed up. She looked between Tim and Dick before walking over to her charge. When she was a foot away from him it looked as if she was about to reach out, but stopped short. Sure, the kid was still covered in Gotham sludge, but he clearly needed comfort. Dick’s anger flared up again. Tim, for his part, kept his eyes averted but straightened up.

“Where have you been?” she asked, masking without a mask.

Tim shrugged, “Friends said we were going ‘snipe hunting’. Ditched me at the docks.”

“Are you ser-”

“And…Mr. Grayson, what are you doing here?” Helena asked.

“I-”

“Dick is friends with Barbara Gordon, the commissioner’s daughter,” Tim explained. “She works the night shift at the library branch over this way. I holed up there for a while because I was too embarrassed to call you. I didn’t want to wait for the bus out here alone so Dick offered to wait with me.”

Helena eyed them both but swallowed any issues she had with the lie, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. I got caught up in the blac-”

“It’s fine,” Tim forgave. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. Can we just go?”

Dick and Helena exchanged a look.

“Okay…let’s go.”

Tim nodded and trudged in the direction of the Westside. Helena spared one last glance before following, providing Tim with space while trailing him. Dick was left alone.

Actions matter. Have meaning. Are a better indicator of a person's character than their words alone. Dick couldn’t help but think that his words had got in the way of his actions a lot. None of the Bats were the best communicators, but what had just happened was horrendous even for them. Dick Grayson had tried to make a calculated argument and he had failed. He’d failed like he’d done dozens of times before.

Actions matter, the voice chided. They speak louder than words. If you wanted him to understand, you should’ve just hugged him. You both clearly need one.

Dick had screwed up and now Tim was gone.

Chapter Text

Tim was fine. Tim was always fine. Tim would be fine.

~

“Tim, you scared the living HELL out of me!” Helena had said once they were safely back in her apartment. “What were you THINKING?”

Tim sat on a stool, staring listlessly at the counter, “I…*sigh* I didn’t think that would happen. We- I just thought Tess might be there.”

“You could have died,” Helena fretted the stool across from him scraping across the tile. “You both could have di-”

“That has been made clear to me multiple times this evening,” Tim admitted, tracing spirals in the butcher block surface.

“You lied to me.”

“You’re not alone in that club,” Tim sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Tim-”

“I know I’m being a snot about this, but I’m tired and gross and…I’m sorry for…like seventy-three percent of what happened, but I’m not sorry for helping Tess,” Tim continued. “She’s home now. I’m not going to apologize for that, but everything else was my fault and I accept that and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying, I’m sorry for sneaking across town, I’m sorry for lying again. I’m sorry for Croc. I’m sorry for leaving the precinct. I’m sorry for everything except helping Tess.”

Helena was quiet for a long time, “This can’t keep happening, Tim. What if I lo-”

Tim cut her off, eyes still anywhere that wasn’t Helena, “I know. It won’t be. I’m done. People could have died…I could have died. It would have been partially my fault.”

A sigh, “Ti-”

“Do what you have to,” Tim said, resolute. “Ground me or make me talk to the cops or tell Dr. Sinclair or…call Mr. Jennings at DCPP. I understand that my actions have consequences even if I don’t always remember when I'm doing stupid stuff. One day it could bite me in the butt. I could get myself or others hurt because I wasn’t thinking.”

“Then…I guess you’re grounded,” Helena huffed. “Three months. No arcade, obviously, no activities outside the Rec Center. You come straight here after school or volunteering. No comics with Ives, no skateboard park, no midnight strolls. And…delete any fun apps from your phone?”

Tim shrugged again, he’d been so busy lately that he had deleted half his apps anyway, “Seems fair. Anything else?”

Helena paused, “You need to know… You scared me a lot. I’m very, VERY happy that you’re okay. God, I thought- I was so worried and I tried to get there as fast as I could, but-”

Tim waved her off, standing from his stool and heading to the bathroom to get cleaned up. “I know…I know you didn’t like…abandon me or anything. You got caught up helping people. You correctly assumed I would be safe at the station. I was-am fine. I’m glad that everyone’s okay.”

“Tim, seriously, you can’t be doing this anymore,” Helena said, weary.

Tim finally looked her in the eye, “Don’t worry. I won’t be.”

~

And, he hadn’t. The three binders were tucked away in his closet. The camera was returned to the Yearbook Department. Reddit, Discord, and Pokemon Go were deleted from his phone.

Tim went to school, changed his hours at the Rec Center to a convoluted mess to avoid the Waynes, and spent the rest of his time at Helena’s apartment.

He was bored as hell.

“So, you think Helena will let you co-”

“No.”

“Come on it’s been a month. I’m sure if you asked-”

“No.”

“Dude-”

“No.”

All work and no play, Dick Grayson’s voice chortled, makes Tim a dull conversationalist. Also, monosyllabic. I’m not saying sneak out or anything, but…throw the kid a bone.

Okay, so Tim was bored and annoyed.

When he’d realized outside the GCPD that the voice in his head sounded eerily similar to Dick Grayson, Tim had…freaked out a bit. And then he almost fell down some stairs. He figured that the voice would fade away with time and distance from the Waynes. It did not.

“Helena can’t be against a trip to the comic shop!” Ives whined.

“I’ve got therapy this afternoon, dude,” Tim said, getting up from their lunch table as the bell rang. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ives nearly tripped getting up to follow his friend, “Uh, no, you won’t.”

“What? Are we not friends anymore?” Tim asked sarcastically as he unwrapped the granola bar he’d snagged from the vending machine that morning. “I mean, I won’t be grounded forever.”

Ives shook his head, “No, you’re in Levi’s class.”

“Yeah and?”

Ives stopped to adjust the straps on his wrist brace, “Aren’t you guys going on that field trip tomorrow?”

“Uhh…”

“To Wayne Enterprises? You guys are gonna like…tour their R&D department, right?”

Tim just blinked.

Is it fun? Dick asked. Being you? Because I, for one, am so entertained right now. Never gamble, kiddo.

“Faaaaaarrrrts McCoy,” Tim groaned.

Never change either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you have anything you’re looking forward to?” Dr. Sinclair asked, snapping two Legos together.

Tim shrugged, “Can I exchange ‘looking forward to’ to ‘dread’ for this slope brick?”

“Sure,” she replied easily, accepting Tim’s terms. “Tell me of your woes.”

Tim added a propeller to his build, “I’ve got a field trip tomorrow.”

Dr. Sinclair snagged a plate, “Why dread?”

“I just…”

Use you’re words. She only wants to help you.

Tim sighs, “Feels…out of bounds, I guess. Like I’m trespassing.”

“Okay.”

“And I know that’s…not what’s happening, but…”

Do you really want to lie to her too?

“Dr. Sinclair, can I ask you something?”

Dr. Sinclair didn’t even look up having recognized early on that Tim did better if he could talk without being watched, “Go for it.”

“Do you think…” Tim paused. “The voices in our heads…that running dialogue…why does it sound the way it does?”

“Internal monologue?”

Pretty sure this is a soliloquy for how much you’re contributing.

“Yeah, that.”

“Well, some people don’t have an internal monologue at all.”

Lucky! Mine never shuts up. I think I might be overly critical of myself. What do you think?

“As for the rest of us,” Dr. Sinclair continued, oblivious to Tim’s resigned annoyance, “it really depends, I think.”

“On?”

“Well, if we’re reading we might create a voice for each character,” she explained. “You read comics. I’m sure that you’ve assigned a voice for certain characters.”

“I guess…”

“But in our day-to-day, the voices may take on different tones depending on our situation or our mental state,” she articulated. “Sometimes, I hear my younger sister nagging me when I’m trying to decide on an outfit. When I interviewed for my fellowship I heard my mom cheering me on. When my father passed, his voice gave me the strength to get through his eulogy.”

“Oh,” Tim muttered. “Does it ever…annoy you?”

She thought for a moment, “It can have a negative effect if it’s choosing to fixate on things in an unhealthy manner or if it traps you in a dark space. If it obsesses or eats away at your confidence. It can cause people to spiral. Intrusive thoughts are a problem as well. But sometimes it's just providing us with what we need. A little confidence booster or a reminder of someone who cares.”

“I see.”

“What does your internal monologue sound like?” she asked, going back to organizing her bricks by size and color.

“Teasing,” Tim admits as he adds the final block to his boat. “Yet supportive.”

“Anyone in particular that it sounds like?”

The teen sat back and admired his work. Like so much of Tim's life, it felt familiar. The buzzing in the back of his head nagged insistently. "Before Tim" must have known Dick somehow…or Tim was just a total creep.

Now, now, kid, don't sell yourself short. You could have been both… That's what makes you great: persistence and versatility.

Tim just shrugged, “Just…someone who cares I guess.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim understood that Dick Grayson wouldn't hold it against him that he had to go to WE. Still, he felt like he was violating their agreement.

He'd avoided the Waynes pretty well all things considered. What with his apologetic note advising Damian to use his questions as a bonding activity between himself and his family (and, hopefully, new friends from his art classes-Tim was probably a bad influence anyway), deleting his Spotify, and working from the back room at the Rec Center whenever possible. The only Wayne who he hadn't managed to completely avoid was Jason-who had watched (arms crossed and unimpressed) one of Tim's self-defense classes. It wasn’t exactly fun to be knocked off his feet (twice) in front of the current Robin, but he didn't really care what the other teen thought. Tim did get some vindication when he easily dodged a strike and swept the leg of his opponent in the next bout, but by then Jason was gone.

“Do NOT make a mess. Do NOT break anything. Say thank you to your servers. Do NOT leave the cafeteria,” Mr. Levi droned on as they lined up for the lunch provided by WE.

Tim's classmates scrambled to get in line, shoving and arguing. The food would still be there when the crowd died down in five minutes, but teenagers weren't great at the whole “delayed gratification” thing. The throng of students made Tim fidgety though so he wandered over to a table in front of a TV and plonked down to watch the mid-day news.

“Gotham City is getting a bit more attention than usual from the federal government this week as recent blackouts have led many to question the integrity of the electrical grid,” a reporter announced.

“The power outages have also put a strain on local authorities,” her partner continued. “Gotham PD and neighboring Blüdhaven PD have reported significant increases in arrests for looting, domestic disputes, and property damage. All this while Gotham PD is operating with fewer officers than this time a year ago.”

“Later in our program, our very own Trent Howser will be speaking with Officer Calvin Brooks on how to stay safe during a power outage.”

“In other news, local business owners are calling for the closure of-”

“Is our cafeteria food that bad?”

Tim didn’t need to look up to know who had found him, “No, I just figured that if I was going to have to wait ten minutes to get food anyway, I might as well find something better to do than stand in line. I assume there will still be mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak once my classmates have made it through the line.”

“In my experience, teens rarely leave leftovers,” Bruce Wayne confided, taking the seat across from Tim.

“Yeah… Free food is the best food,” Tim replied. “Still, I think they’ll at least have a yogurt or a salad no one wants that I can take. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Mr. Wayne chuckled, “I wouldn’t worry. We host one of these a week and I don’t think they’ve ever run out of food.”

Tim nodded…because nodding was safe, right? Mr. Wayne approached him. Still, the whole ordeal made his skin crawl. Logically, he knew the Waynes didn’t hate him (except for maybe Jason), but they had to be confused as to why he kept popping up. And…maybe annoyed that it kept happening when they were just trying to live their lives. Deliberately cutting contact had the added benefit of curbing Dick Grayson’s hero complex. The guy couldn’t worry about the life of a kid he never saw.

Riiiiiiiiiight, because you were the one seeking us out. Sure, sure.

“Well-” Tim started.

“How have you been?” Mr. Wayne cut in before Tim could run away like the avoidant twerp he was born to be…(maybe? “Before Tim” might’ve been more of a “lean in” type if the voice in the back of his head was any indication).

“Umm, fine?” Tim replied, wishing he’d stayed in line to fight with Liam over desserts.

“Just…fine?”

Tim blinked, “Uh, yeah, I’m always fine. Is that…bad?”

“No,” Mr. Wayne said hurriedly. “It’s just… My…friend’s mother always says that just means you’re freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”

Did that “friend” have a question mark behind it?

“Did that ‘friend’ have a question mark behind it?”

“I don’t…think so?” Mr. Wayne spluttered.

“Okay…” Tim conceded. “So, ‘fine’ isn’t ‘fine’?”

“More an escape hatch,” Mr. Wayne offered. “It’s a neutral enough term that most people won’t give it a second thought. I think it’s a way to skirt around feelings…lie a little bit.”

Tim fidgeted in his seat, a longing for scones to go with this awkward conversation nearly overwhelmed him, “You think I’m lying to you?”

Mr. Wayne looked at him for a long moment, “No, I don’t think you’re lying to me.”

“Then I really should be go-”

“Damian said he hasn’t seen you around the Rec Center recently,” Mr. Wayne interrupted again.

Tim flushed, “Oh…”

“So, I wanted to apologize if we got you in trouble.”

“...What?”

“Mr. Greene? He took issue with you boys. The card throwing,” Mr. Wayne explained. “I’m sorry if that got you…fired? Can you even be fired as a volunteer?”

“Oh,” Tim exhaled and then he started laughing.

Mr. Wayne looked confused as Tim tried to stifle his chuckles.

“Ummm…”

“Sorry, Mr. Wayne, but you don’t have to worry,” Tim clarified. “Dennis Greene is a known menace down at the Rec Center. He pitches a hissy fit about everything all the time. He whined to Ms. Eliza and she told him that I had permission, from her, to use that corner for an ‘experiment in aerodynamics’. It turned out fine.”

“He seemed rather…uhh…”

“Unhinged?” Tim offered with a shrug.

“Well, I wouldn’t…disagree with that designation,” Mr. Wayne conceded. “He seemed rather intent to take out his temper on someone and I was there for my boys. I didn’t consider whether you had anyone in your corner.”

Tim blushed harder, “Oh, no, you don’t have to worry.”

Like that’s gonna stop him. :P

Could Tim hear old-fashioned emoticons now too?

“I’ve been told I’m a chronic worrier…and overthinker,” Mr. Wayne chuckled. “Though I still think I’m well within my rights to worry about you. Mr. Greene put me on edge.”

Tim shook his head, “It all turned out fi-okay. You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Wayne. It’s not your job.”

For a long minute, the two sat in silence. Tim was itching to get away, but something kept him glued in his seat. He wanted to know what Mr. Wayne was going to say. He didn’t know why. Tim rubbed at his forehead and glanced over to his classmates chucking carrots at each other.

“You think that I shouldn’t worry about you because it isn’t my job?” Mr. Wayne clarified finally.

“Umm, yes,” Tim decided. “I mean…you can, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to worry.”

“Hnnn. I imagine that must be lonely. Like life is transactional,” Mr. Wayne empathized, face carefully neutral. "Like you can't keep up with the rising costs."

Tim fidgeted with the complimentary lanyards the students were given at the end of the tour, “I don’t know if I think it’s transactional... I just don’t want people to go out of their way for me when I'll be fi-okay no matter what. I don’t want to be a hassle or a burden. I mean, I know I’m not inherently a burden, but I don’t want people thinking they need to rescue me when they don’t have to.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Mr. Wayne concurred.

“Yeah,” Tim said, his voice smaller than he imagined it would be.

“Though, I can’t say I agree.”

“What?”

“Caring isn’t always a conscious decision that we make. In many ways, it’s instinctual,” Mr. Wayne argued. “I didn’t decide to worry about you. You don’t have to earn my care. I just do.”

“I-”

“Everyone deserves to have someone in their corner when things get rough,” Mr. Wayne declared. “Even when things aren’t a mess. No prerequisites are necessary.”

“...Oh.”

Yeah, every once in a while he says the right thing… Kinda glad he saved this one up for you.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Tim startled a bit at Mr. Levi’s voice, but Mr. Wayne’s demeanor changed immediately.

“You must be the teacher of this fine group of students,” ‘Brucie Wayne' boomed, standing up to shake the teacher’s hand.

That ‘fine group of students’ was now spooning out all the pudding cups into one of the "door prize" drawstring bags.

Why does anyone still allow high schoolers to go on field trips? You’re all little monsters…they’re using CHOCOLATE. Where’s the respect? Like, butterscotch is RIGHT THERE. Waste that!

Tim failed to repress his grin.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, I told all the students to stay with the group,” Mr. Levi apologized. “I hope Tim wasn’t bothering you.”

Mr. Wayne shook his head, “Tim is never a bother, I assure you. We were just having a chat about his volunteer work down at the Rec Center. My kids hadn’t seen him in a while and they’d been asking after him.”

“I…see,” Mr. Levi muttered, clearly not ‘seeing’ at all. “Well, we must be getting back to our group, Mr. Wayne.”

“Oh, yes, lunch is nearly over, isn’t it?” Mr. Wayne fretted. “I’m afraid I monopolized all of Tim’s time.”

A dinner roll bounced off Mr. Levi’s head just then and he stormed off to deal with it. Trevor Cabot was definitely getting detention. And probably banned from field trips given he clearly stole the tongs he was now using to duel Nancy Tang.

“I guess our time is up,” Mr Wayne sighed. “I’m sorry you seem to have missed lunch.”

Tim spotted at a tray absolutely buried in everyone's cottage cheese, “I’m not sure any of them ate either, Mr. Wayne.”

Mr. Wayne shuddered, “Please, call me Bruce.”

“...Yeah, no thanks.”

He huffed out a laugh, “Sorry, it just sounds wrong.”

“Well, as my people say, suck it up,” Tim joked before he could stop himself.

Br- Mr. Wayne smiled, “I guess I’ll have to.”

“You do that,” Tim said.

The man hesitated for a moment before reaching out and squeezing Tim’s shoulder, “Just…so you know it’s okay to be fine.”

“Okay?”

“And it’s okay to not be fine,” Mr. Wayne imparted, giving his shoulder another squeeze before letting it go and ruffling Tim’s hair. “Neither makes you a burden. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.”

Tim nodded, “Alright.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you ‘Ryan Reynolds’ed’ me,” Tim called as he walked away. “If you’re gonna use my own methods against me, at least be a little bit subtle about it.”

He wears a furry suit to deal with childhood trauma, Timbo, I don’t think 'subtle' was ever an option.

“No thanks,” Mr. Wa- Bruce called back. “I needed to know you understood. For my own peace of mind.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim leaned his head against the window of the bus as Mr. Levi entered minute seventeen of his lecture about “This is Why Public Schools Can’t Do Nice Things”. While the rant was earned, it didn’t make Tim any less bored.

“Pssssst, Tim,” Liam hissed from the seat behind him. “Look at this picture I got of Levi before he slipped in that yogurt.”

Tim offered a glance at the Yearbook camera’s viewscreen, “You know Anders isn’t gonna let you put that in the newsletter…or the yearbook…or anywhere, right?”

“Let a man dream, Timmy,” Liam whined, snatching the camera back.

“It’s Tim.”

“Yo, what’s in your hood, dude?”

Tim reached back and fished around until his hand closed around a thin rectangle, “Hmm?”

“You a squirrel or somethin’?”

Tim stared down at the granola bar and couldn’t stop himself from grinning, “Must’ve forgot about this.”

A note was written on the wrapper: Good to see you, Tim. Sorry, you missed out on lunch. Hope to see you around the Center-B.

Well, of course, he says the right thing! He had PREP TIME! Unfair.

Tim knew he shouldn't feel so giddy about a granola bar...especially since he'd violated a condition of his agreement with Dick. But...it was nice talking with Bruce. Even though it also made him feel guilty. Knowing that the Waynes had worried about Dennis Greene made him feel guilty too. Being around them was a risk. Staying away from them didn't feel good either. Everything felt like a jumble. No matter what he did...it didn't feel right.

Tim was fine. Tim was always fine… He was conflicted, but he was fine. Tim took a bite out of his cinnamon and oats snack.

Sure...fine is fine. But isn't this maybe...just MAYBE...a little bit better?

And Tim felt bad...because he wanted to feel better.

Chapter Text

~Dick~

So…. It all hit the fan.

It wasn't like Dick was hiding things.

Umm, yes you are? Don't get me wrong, lying to B is essential for everyone's mental health. Lying to yourself is just delusional. Though…not an uncommon behavior for you. How are you so cool and yet such a mess?

The details of the Killer Croc incident weren’t a priority in light of the bust gone wrong turned rolling (continuous and unpredictable) blackouts.

Right, because civilians targeted by rogues take a backseat to Gotham’s crumbling infrastructure…Wait, no…You really should be working on the infrastructure thing. Long-term.

Besides, all of the GCPD’s reports named ‘Tess Estler-Runaway’ and ‘Alvin Draper-Not Interviewed’ as the two civilians.

Yeah, why did B look deeper than that? Your report and theirs matched up? Why dig furth- oh, right, Bruce.*

So, yeah… Thanksgiving hadn't been the relaxing holiday Dick had hoped for after a crappy month. Nope, it had resulted in accusations of withholding information (in the safety of the cave), additional accusations (at the hostility of the dinner table) from Jason about being left out of an important vigilante discussion, and Cass leaving in a huff for the clocktower an hour into whatever movie Damian had chosen… Her huff was accompanied by ice cream running down the wall of the den. He couldn't blame her, he was surprised the tense atmosphere hadn't peeled the wallpaper through bad vibes alone. Dick was barred from patrol for “misconduct as a ‘visiting’ vigilante” so he'd left. For once, the look of discomfort on Damian’s face acted as motivation for Dick to leave. None of his younger siblings deserved to see how Dick reacted… The long drive back to Blüdhaven did little to soothe his temper if the hole in his wall was any indication.

Good thing you didn't unpack those boxes yet…

Needless to say, Tim Drake had ruined his life.

Except, he hadn't. Dick had done that all by himself. By not divulging all of his encounters with the kid.

And when Bruce asked again on Thanksgiving, Dick had lied again.

Why did you lie again?

It was automatic, instinctual. He had perceived a threat and Dick had reacted. Because…Tim knew. Had always known... And had kept it to himself. If Bruce found out he knew, what Tim wanted and needed would be ignored. He'd be shipped off to parts unknown or... mind wiped...all because of Dick’s mistake.

So, for Tim's sake, he'd abided by the kid's terms.

Tim, presumably, was staying out of trouble. Not talking to any of the Waynes. Something they seemed to notice individually, but had not discussed collectively. It was convenient and expected given their spotty track record of open communication.

Dick, for his part, was staying out of Gotham. Staying out of Tim's business. Shrugging off questions from Babs. Keeping things from his family, his team. All for a persistent, calculating twerp who managed to make a cohesive, logical argument when he was scared. Scared of what Dick would do. Dick didn't agree to the deal, but he didn't fight it either. Because, regardless of everything else, Tim was a hero that night. Finding Tess, facing Croc, working with Huntress, and even saving Nightwing when… He owed the kid this much.

It was repayment. Gratitude. He could be the lightning rod for the Wayne family's anger. Tim did nothing wrong except try to help a girl in need.

Why did it make Dick feel so restless? Reckless? Aimless?

~Tim~

Another month and a marked increase in restlessness. Tim had quit for Pete's Sake! He was keeping his head down and his nose clean. Trying hard not to make his issues somebody else's. Trying to not get involved in the problems of others. He had no business interfering. He was a lightning rod putting everyone at risk with his meddling. His ‘help’ had the potential to end in disaster.

To his credit, Tim was putting in a valiant effort to appreciate his retirement from causing problems for everyone around him. He thumbed through the limited entertainment on his phone: a reminder email for the December Fair at the Rec Center and Manga Reading app. If he was sufficiently distracted, then Tim couldn't get in trouble. If he didn't get in trouble, he may be able to venture back into society as a reformed young man. He could check in with Tess regarding her family's new custody arrangement. He could go to the skatepark and blow off steam. He could hang with Ives and his new puppy (that he wasn't allergic to…though the dog was allergic to the mold that was apparently in their basement. They were getting it professionally removed while Ives lived with his cousin).

All Tim had to do was behave and mind his own business. Avoid anything that might trigger his need to be a nosey busybody.

The news didn't care about Tim's personal growth and goals.

“Authorities are again asking for any information regarding recent missing persons cases in the Gotham metro area,”the newscaster announced.

“Additionally, detectives report that there's been an increase in false missing persons cases being submitted. A reminder that knowingly making a false report doesn't just hinder the work performed by GCPD as they sift through statements, it's also a criminal offense. A full list of current, confirmed disappearances can be found on the police department website.”

Tim recognized the names of three of the missing persons. One was a holdover from back in September. The other two were filed away in Tim's hidden binders from the Silent Disco. For a moment, he considered dragging the dossiers out. He didn't have to be “involved”... He could just anonymously submit what he had to the police. Wasn't it his moral duty to do that at the very least?

Tim was about to pull the binders out from his skateboarding gear bag when the lights flickered. And then went out. He flinched, hard, and backed up until he flopped down on his bed. What had he been thinking?

Okay. I know that looks like a sign, but you don't even believe in signs, Timbo. It's not a crime to want to help people.

Dick’s opinions were ignored, but the feeling lingered. Staying in would just tempt him with his worst impulses. He wasn't allowed to go out…especially while Huntress was on the prowl.

Also, it's a blackout and it's dangerous?!?!? Honestly, Croc was right… Who raised you? Like I know who raised you and that doesn't expl- No, nevermind that does explain it.

Tim eyed his window and slid it open. A little fresh air wouldn't hurt him. He wouldn't even leave the premises.

Adhering to the letter of the law instead of the spirit of the law. I take it back. I approve of you and whoever taught you that.

~Dick~

Nightwing chose to take a break on the roof of a BBQ place on Third Street. By ten o’clock, it had already been a long night. Four muggings, two shoplifters, and one instance of vandalism (normally he wouldn’t care, but when it’s this cold…well, the eggs freeze). On top of that, he was tracking the movements of two crime families for Amy.

It's a lot, but you've got this! Although, you could take a break. No one would blame you… I mean, they'd clown on you, but that's fair play.

Nightwing had always had a fairly active inner monologue. Vigilantes needed to talk to someone while they were working but it had become decidedly more dry and sarcastic as of late. It was simultaneously annoying…and comforting.

As if he was shocked, the hair on Nightwing’s neck stood up.

“Hmm, gotta say. I don’t get it,” someone said. “Actually, I really don’t get it. Do you get it? You must get it. You’re you so you must know. Or does being you mean that you don’t know? Or can’t know?”

Nightwing whipped around.

Nothing.

“Ugh, I think I got the wrong guy. Are you the wrong guy? You're probably the wrong guy.”

Nightwing turned again as the voice moved. Open air.

“It's probably good that you're not the guy because this city stinks. A lot. A lot. A lot. And if you're not the guy then I get to leave. Right? Right. Goodbye, Gotham.”

Nightwing startled, “This isn't Gotham.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it's not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Then why am I even wasting time here? It's so boring. Is Gotham this boring? Because this place is duller than daisies.”

Nightwing finally located the voice. A mess of auburn hair and a wicked grin.

Between one blink and the next, it was gone.

A speedster.

This is going to go very terribly, I think.

~Tim~

A week and a half into his grounding, Tim had hauled a makeshift hammock to the roof (Read: he'd stolen a set of sheets and tied it between a clothesline and a lamp). Helena required him to keep his location on (fair) and he wasn't allowed to leave the premises but well…

“Cuius est solum, eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos,” Tim muttered to himself.

“Was that Latin? Please tell me you're not incanting up here. I have to be in and out of Gotham real quick, kid, and I can't take the time to deal with whatever magic mumbo jumbo you're up to right now.”

Tim sighed and turned his head to the red spandex invading his (technically kosher) rooftop retreat.

“Cuius est solum, eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos,” he repeated. “It is Latin, but it's just property law stuff. If you own property, that ‘ownership extends upward to heaven and downward to hell’.”

“And you're just chanting that on a rooftop to practice for your real estate license exam?”

The Flash (III) leaned against the roof access door, forced nonchalance riddling his figure. Heroes outside the Bats were rare in Gotham (and generally it was a collaboration situation), but Tim couldn't find it in himself to be surprised…nor to care, frankly. If anything he was more surprised at his own nonchalance. Shouldn't he be freaking out about an actual hero being on his roof?

Outside the ones who visited on the regular? Harsh.

“No,” Tim said, flat. “Anything else I can help you with?”

The Flash eyed him, “Maybe. I'm in town to investigate…something…”

“Somehow I don't think you're hedging your bets on a fourteen-year-old you found on the roof of a Chinese place,” Tim deadpanned, laying back in his hammock.

“Yeah…that's fair,” the Flash admitted, looking around. “Why are you up here? There's a blackout happening. Shouldn't you be inside or sleeping? I, personally, am exhausted. And hungry.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “I live here so I'm stuck here. Inside was boring. And, it's Gotham, we're all nocturnal here. What's your excuse?”

“Again, I'm investigating something,” the hero replied, but he sounded less sure.

“Given how much you're accomplishing on my roof, I might as well figure out whatever it is so you can go to sleep,” Tim critiqued.

“No need to be a snot, kid.”

“Didn't ask your opinion, adult.”

“... Do I know you?”

~Dick~

“Kid, I'm getting sick of chasin’ you,” Nightwing huffed, stopping for a breather on the roof of St. Eustace. “If you're not gonna stop and talk why don't you just leave Blüdhaven?”

The nuisance blurred into existence, “Wait, wait, wait… This is Blüdhaven?”

“Yeah, did you miss the fifty signs we've passed?”

“Hmmm, I guess I read the map wrong,” the speedster said, producing a US atlas from nowhere. “The lights should've been my first clue.”

“The lights?” Nightwing groaned. “What are you talking about, man?”

“The lights are on.”

Nightwing blinked, exasperated, “It's nighttime.”

“So?”

“We use light to see at nighttime.”

“Well, yeah, but the power is on.”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“Gawl, you're boring. Just questions and more questions. Who even are you? Wait! I shouldn't be wasting time. I came here on a mission!”

Nightwing barely caught glimpses of the speedster as he zipped from side to side. Dressed in just a jacket in jeans. Completely ignoring the vigilante sharing the roof with him.

It was pretty obvious the twerp was gonna zoom off again. Fine. Clearly, he was not Nightwing’s problem. He didn't even go to the right city. He'd just call the Flash later and have him be on the lookout.

He thought he was in Gotham. He's looking for something. Doesn't like questions, but asks a lot of them. Doesn't wait for answers…

And so what?

He hasn't left yet. He could. But he hasn't. He's still here. He's talking to you.

AND?!

He’s lost. He’s probably scared. He doesn't want to ask for help.

Good for him. Not Nightwing’s problem.

...

*Sigh*

“Sounds like you've got a lot to do,” Nightwing said.

The speedster stopped at the edge of the roof, hesitating, “Yeah. Talking to you really set me back.”

“Hmm… Hey, you wanna grab a burrito?”

~Tim~

Tim blinked, “Umm, no.”

The Flash zipped closer and gave Tim a once over, “Are you sure?”

“I think I’d remember meeting a guy in a red unitard,” Tim deadpanned, leaning back in his hammock once more, arms pillowing his head. “Besides, I’ve never been to Keystone.”

“Not grimdark enough for you?” The Flash disappeared and reappeared leaning against the AC unit, “You’re probably right though. I’ve met more than enough snarky black-haired kids to last me a lifetime… Y’all look the same.”

Still, the vigilante didn’t seem fully convinced, but that wasn’t Tim’s problem. He'd never met the guy.

“Not all of us can be blond…or red-heads,” Tim shrugged, eyes closed. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I hope you enjoy your time in Gotham. It’s famously…awful. Like just terrible.”

“Going with the hard sell?” The Flash joked. Tim could hear him flitting around the roof.

He’s not…leaving. He knows the absolute fit B will throw if/when he finds out that something strange is happening in Gotham (enough to attract a speedster who's keeping it quiet) and he’s not leaving, Dick noted. And he didn’t call ME?!?!?!?! To watch this dumpster fire. SHAME! SHAME! SHAME on all speedsters!

Tim sighed, “Is there something I can help you with? Need a map?”

“No.”

“Then I’m sure that you have better things to do than chat with a ‘snarky black-haired kid’,” Tim groused.

He wanted the Flash to leave. It was insanely cool to be so close to another hero, but speedsters had always made Tim nervous. It felt…instinctual to push them away. A self-preservation tactic. Whether he liked it or not, Tim was a time-travel aberration. Relativity dictated that speed and time were woven together. Tim didn’t like to consider what a speedster would do if they found out that he (through no fault of his own) was sent back in time and then (through the fault of Before Tim) made drastic changes to the events that followed.

Do you think speedsters are like…time cops who prosecute anyone screwing with time? Dick asked, a hypothetical chuckle tagged on the end.

“Should you be out here?” The Flash asked.

Flippin’ heroes needing to ‘ensure the safety of civilians’. Couldn’t teenagers just make ill-advised decisions regarding their safety in peace?

“Should you be in Gotham?” Tim shot back.

“I mean, it’s a blackout and this place isn’t safe when all the lights are on so…” The Flash continued, ignoring Tim’s jab.

“Until you showed up, no one knew I was up here,” Tim replied. “Why do you even-”

Tim cut himself off. The Flash was just trying to be helpful, right? He cared because that’s just what heroes did. If Tim continued to be callous and hostile, Flash would probably assume he was in a bad situation. It was his job to care about people…and Tim was sending up a lot of red flags indicating he needed to be cared for instead of dismissed.

You finally read that article on ACEs you’ve had open in your tabs for months…and you waste what you learned on a visiting vigilante?!?!? Dick seethed.

Tim sat up.

“Uhh, kid?”

“You came to Gotham. Which seems pretty rare for you hero guys. At least without working with Batman. You must be here for a reason,” Tim said, fidgeting with loose threads. “You could just ask a local hero for info. But you’re standing on a roof talking to me.”

“Uhh…”

“What exactly are you avoiding?” Tim asked.

~Dick~

“Woah, slow down, kid,” Nightwing grumbled, legs dangling from the roof of Burrito Bandits. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

The speedster blinked between one burrito and the next, “How would I even do that?”

A sigh, “Never mind.”

“Why waste time saying things if you’re not going to explain yourself? You already move so slow. Why make it worse?”

Nightwing ignored the remark, “So, who are you?”

“...”

Nightwing rolled his eyes behind the mask, “Are you serious? You flit around like a mosquito, insult me, make me chase you down, insult me some more, I feed you and you insult me again... And you have the audacity to not tell me who you are? Not even some fake name you made up?”

“Erm-”

“Wait… You’re in a jacket and jeans. Running around like some crazy Speedy Gonzales twerp. No mask, no nothing. In the wrong city,” Nightwing surmised. “You didn’t think of a secret ID before you did all this-”

“Wait, no I did I jus-”

“Wow, kid, that’s pretty dumb,” Nightwing chastised. “You’re running around, literally, with what amounts to cosmic powers and you didn’t even stop to consider concealing your identity,” Nightwing could nearly laugh, but he’d tried calling Flash seven times with no pickups so he was mostly just exasperated. “Did you think any of this through or did you just choose a direction and run? Gawl, kid that’s reckless. That’s stupid and im-”

“IMPULSE!” the kid shouted.

“What…?”

The kid straightened up, “I’m Impulse. So there, I did think this through. Just because…I don’t… I should’ve… No one gave me a map or anything. I had to guess.”

“Okay,” Nightwing allowed. “Why were you trying to get to Gotham in the first place? I’ve spent my fair share of time there… Ain’t exactly on most people’s ‘Ten Places to Visit Before I Die’ list. Because of, y’know, all the tourists who’ve died there.”

A pause, then, “The power outages.”

“The power outages?” Nightwing repeated. “You just really want to loot or somethin’?”

The kid frowned, “No! I’m not- I- They… He can’t figure it out.”

Oooooooo! Interesting! Are you gonna pick ‘who’ or ‘what’ first? It’s gonna be ‘who’, isn’t it? You always go for the human angle first.

Nightwing shook his head, “Who can’t figure out what?”

Cheater!

The kid looked up and considered him, “The Flash. He can’t pinpoint who's causing the blackouts.”

“Unless the Flash suddenly got his degree in electrical engineering-”

As if, Wally hasn’t ever had a real job…in his LIFE!... No, but seriously. The guy is smart but SO lazy. Must be fun to accomplish all your goals when the sun is still up. And then actually sleep.

“-I don’t think Gotham’s electrical grid issues are his problem to solve. Wait...what do you mean who?”

“No, he doesn’t care about their dumb infrastructure problems-”

“Hey-”

“That’s not what’s causing them.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment. He hadn’t spoken with Batman much in recent weeks. Easier to avoid accusations of ‘mismanaging civilians’ if he stuck to his turf. Still, the older vigilante had not mentioned any theories for the blackouts outside of ‘rampant corruption in local and national government resulting in an aging system that is constantly pushed to its absolute breaking point with no concrete plans to update due to low levels of investment and party politics’… Well, that was Robin’s theory/rant. Batman had ‘hnn’ed’ so Nightwing assumed that he agreed with that hypothesis.

“Okay, so if it’s not the grid, what-or who?-is causing them?” Nightwing asked.

The kid hesitated-as much as a speedster was capable of hesitating-and Nightwing couldn’t blame him. The vigilante had taken a hostile approach to dealing with the kid. Speedsters were…difficult. They functioned at a different level. Nightwing was already in a bad mood. Had been in a bad mood for a month because of another kid. It wasn’t the teen’s fault that he’d triggered Nightwing’s temper.

“Temporal EMPs,” Impulse answered finally. “Someone’s manipulating time and when it reverberates out it creates-”

“Echoes.”

~Tim~

“Avoid-”

Tim started to pace, “Something weird is going on and you can sense it.”

“Well-”

Tim waved him off, “You tracked it to Gotham and then you stopped.”

“I needed a bre-”

“It’s a big city, but you chose an area that’s currently in a blackout.”

“I saw a random kid hanging out on a roof. It’s my duty t-”

“You keep flitting around in all directions. You're not avoiding anything. You're looking for something.”

“I’m a speedster, kid-”

Tim continued to ignore the vigilante, “It could be a Doppler sensation… No, you’d still be able to pinpoint that after some trial and error.”

“Doppler? The siren thing?”

“So, that must mean that whatever you’re looking for is coming from all directions. Like…white water rapids. Waves crashing into each other with no clear source. Happening so fast it's hard to decide which route to take.”

The Flash was silent for a second, then, “How did you know that time is a wave?”

~Dick~

“You know about the echoes?” Impulse asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, they’ve been happening for years,” Nightwing explained. “The Justice League has been monitoring the situation.”

Impulse zipped away, came back with a notebook, and started rifling through the paged, “He didn’t mention that.”

Nightwing eyed him, “The Flash?”

“Obviously.”

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you guys…knew each other,” Nightwing explained lamely. “He never mentioned you.”

The kid looked away, “No, he wouldn’t have.”

“Wha-”

Impulse cleared his throat, “So, Flash…he hasn’t solved it. The echoes, I mean. So, I’m going to do it.”

“What?” Nightwing sputtered. “No offense, kid, but speedsters and the Justice League have been working on this mystery for years. What makes you think you can solve it?”

“Because,” Impulse huffed, “I have experience with time travel.”

“So does…like everyone…you’re not special,” Nightwing scoffed.

Impulse rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well, not ‘everyone’ is from the future.”

~Tim~

“Time is…a wave?” Tim asked.

The Flash nodded, zipping to Tim’s side, “Well, yeah, duh.”

Tim leaned back against the light pole, arms folded. Despite his experiences, Tim had never really considered “time” as a tangible concept. It didn’t matter to him. What mattered was changing things. Nudging events in particular directions. Did “time” as a concept really matter? Regardless of manipulation…time marched forward. Did its shape matter in the grand scheme of things?

“Time is a wave,” Tim repeated. “What kind of wave?”

The Flash considered him, “Well…it’s not. Hmm… It’s both metaphorical and literal. Like time exists, is existence itself in a way, but it’s also a construct connected with other physics-y nonsense.”

“Because of relativity,” Tim decided. “Which is why you’re looking into it.”

“Yeah,” the hero agreed. “Time and speed are intertwined through relativity.”

“Which is why you’re looking into it in Gotham,” Tim rambled on. “Because if time and speed are related to each other then by transitive property…they’re both related to electricity.”

“You got it-”

“Because electricity is the vibration of one electron to another. It's a current. Literal movement,” Tim continued, looking to Flash for confirmation. With a nod, he forged on, “When those charges move as a current it creates a magnetic field in addition to the electric field. Electromagnetism in particular travels in waves and moves very, VERY quickly in a vacuum.”

“Right,” the Flash actually sounded kind of excited. “But whatever has been happening here isn’t happening within a vacuum so…”

He was waiting for Tim to catch onto something. It was…weird. This adult, this professional hero was bouncing ideas off some random kid. Not an unheard of behavior, as an only child Tim’s early socialization was primarily adults. He knew how to articulate his ideas maturely and older people listened politely, but this felt different. They weren’t equals in this conversation, but the Flash took him seriously. Considered him a worthy person to discuss cosmic theories with.

“So… Because this combination of time, speed, and electricity isn’t contained, there is an electromagnetic burst. An EMP-”

“Which is knocking out the electricity!” the Flash concluded. He whooped and slapped Tim on the back. “Exactly!”

Tim felt a rush, “So…the power outages aren’t because Gotham is terrible!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Flash cautioned. “This place sucks and whoever is doing this is straining the grid to create the necessary energy to skip through time.”

“One point twenty-one jiggawatts,” Tim deadpanned.

“Gawl, I want a DeLorean.”

~Dick~

“...Yeah, that tracks,” Nightwing reasoned. “Would explain why the Flash never mentioned you. You don’t exist yet.”

“I exist!” Impulse was on his feet in a fraction of a millisecond. “I’m allowed to be here.”

Nightwing held up his hands in a placating gesture, “Woah, kid, I’m not saying you can’t…or don’t. I’m saying that you showed up. Fully baked and already a speedster. Not from here.”

“Hmph,” he disappeared and reappeared again, this time with another burrito. “Not from here, but I’m still cleaning up your messes.”

“Hey, I’m not causing the echoes,” Nightwing argued. “I would argue most of us aren’t causing them.”

Impulse tilted his head, “No, but you’re hit by them. Everyone is around here.”

Well…isn’t that cryptic.

“What do the echoes…look like?” Nightwing asked.

“Nothing.”

“Great…that’s super helpful.”

Impulse shook his head, “No, echoes are sound. They’re, y’know, invisible to the eye.”

“So, what, we sound weird?” Nightwing asked. “Like we’re all on helium.”

“No,” Impulse paused. “No, it’s just… Your song is…wrong. Notes change. The pitch jumps. The key flips.”

“We’re…songs?”

“Well, yeah, time is a wave after all,” Impulse explained. “Just like sound. When a time traveler drops in and changes things, the wave moves forward anyway. It’s not an entirely new timeline. It just rearranges the work. If you pull an instrument or something, the song still exists but it’s fundamentally different. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“They’re…what?”

“The echoes ripple out,” he continued. “They clash and make a mess. Everything becomes unstable because time is moving forward and being modified simultaneously. Like an impossible 3D geometric shape that just keeps rotating. If it doesn’t have time to settle, time doesn’t settle. If that doesn’t happen, everything gets blurry. Makes me queasy.”

Nightwing was quiet for a long moment. According to a speedster (an expert in the Speed Force and time), he had been hit by the echoes of time travel. His song had changed somehow and he hadn’t even noticed. That was a lot to take in… Made him feel queasy too. He scratched at his ears, willing himself back into vigilante mode.

“So…” Nightwing muttered. “You’re going to try to fix all of this then? Stop the echoes or whatever?”

Impulse looked away, “I have to.”

~Tim~

“Is…Isn’t this a bad idea?” Tim said plopping down to the roof, criss-cross applesauce.

“Time travel?” the Flash asked, having suddenly appeared in the hammock. “Well, yeah, it echoes out further and further. You can’t predict every possibility. Not whe-”

“No,” Tim shook his head. “I mean isn’t it a bad idea to discuss your important hero business about time travel with some random kid?”

The Flash laughed, “You’re not some random kid. You’re ‘power outage roof kid’. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”

Another speedster.

“Another speedster?”

The hero was quiet, letting the hammock swing gently. For all his notes, “Before Tim” shied away from discussing the speedsters. It had been a surprise to realize that the previous Flash had been…replaced…retired…died maybe? It felt like an omission…or an admission of guilt maybe. As if “Before Tim” knew it would happen, but had no idea how to avoid it so he just didn’t talk about it at all. Should this Flash hate him for his inaction?

“There’s not a whole lot of us kid,” the hero sighed.

“But you’re not the only one.”

“...No, but just being another speedster doesn’t mean we work together. Do you work with other randos you find on roofs?”

~Dick~

“Not that I doubt you.”

But you do.

“But isn’t that a little above you’re pay grade? You’re pretty young.”

“So?” Impulse crossed his arms, a pout on his face.

“Well, I have a brother a bit older than you and I wouldn’t dream of asking him to handle something like this on his own,” Nightwing reasoned.

“Well, I’m not exactly getting a whole lot of help!” Impulse retorted, walking along the ledge. “I’ve got to prove myself before anyone gives me the time of day. Flash’ll help ya then drop ya.”

Oh…

“So, you and Flash ain’t exactly simpatico?” Nightwing asked.

“He helped me when I first got here. Aging stuff, but he's pretty much ignored me since then. He sucks.”

“Well, you got that in common.”

“Hey-”

Nightwing ruffled the kid’s hair, “Sorry, but it’s true and I bet that’s the problem.”

“What?”

“Well,” Nightwing leaned back and thought of his fellow hero. “It’s hard…to look your worst traits in the eye. We can bury it in ourselves, but it’s hard to ignore it in another person. Like a mirror reflecting back something familiar yet fundamentally different. From what I can tell, you two are too much alike.”

“So…we’ll never get along?” a small, unsure question.

Nightwing shrugged, “I don’t know. The Flash can be kinda…hot-blooded and stubborn. Other things you two seem to have in common.”

Impulse nodded.

“But it doesn’t mean you have to handle these things alone,” Nightwing said. “The Flash isn’t the only guy out there you can rely on…or relate to. I’m sure we can find someone who’ll enjoy working with you. Like having you around.”

“Another speedster?” Impulse asked, hesitant.

“That would probably be for the best,” Nightwing admitted. “I’ll talk some sense into the Flash and see if he’s got anyone in mind.”

“Oh, he did,” he replied glumly. “Some guy in Arkansas.”

“Well, there you go!”

“He’s trying to pass me off to someone else,” Impulse sniffed. “I’m not good enough for the Flash.”

“Ehh,” Nightwing contemplated. “I’ll give it to ya that he might not like you very much, but he’s a good guy.”

“Sure.”

“Look… The Flash is pretty young and I don’t think he’s ready to be a mentor,” Nightwing admitted, thinking of his old friend…and his immaturity. “He probably found you a place that he believes will be good for you. He's giving you your best shot to succeed...hopefully, with someone more patient than him. Or me. Or most of the Justice League.”

“Making me someone else's problem,” Impulse deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Nightwing cringed. “But I guarantee you that he’ll show up if you need help. After all, you two are pretty similar.”

“So? You just said I suck.”

“You do, but you’re in Blüdhaven because you wanted to help,” Nightwing said. “There might be some other stuff going on, a need to prove yourself or whatever, but you didn’t challenge the Flash to a race. You tried to solve a problem. Fix things. That’s pretty cool, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure.”

“Well then,” Impulse zipped to the roof across the street, “I guess I better get back to it.”

“Huh, what, wait!”

“Nah, it’s clear that you guys aren’t going to fix this,” Impulse said, reappearing next to him again. “But I should probably do some…ugh…‘planning’ and stuff before I do anything ‘stupid’.”

“Uhh…”

Impulse appeared on the street, “I should get back before Max calls the Flash. See ya never, slowpoke!”

And then he was gone.

Nightwing finished out his patrol before trying to call the Flash again. Looked like Dick wasn’t the only one with a teen-shaped problem in his life. Neither of them seemed to be handling it well. It would be best for both of them to nip those problems in the bud before it all hit the fan… Again…

~Tim~

“Oh,” Tim breathed. “You don’t like other speedsters?”

The Flash waffled, “It’s not that simple, kid. Sometimes people just clash and don’t gel, y’know. I’d rather avoid the issue than lose my temper over it. He's not my responsibility. Not my problem.”

“I’m…not saying you’ve got to like other speedsters, but-”

“It’s really not your busines-”

“Gotham is full of vigilantes, y’know,” Tim leaned heavily on the ledge. “I…don’t think I’m their favorite person, but they’ve helped me out of a few jams. They don't treat me like I'm an 'issue' or a 'problem'. I'm not their responsibility and they still care.”

“Okay…?”

"Look... You might not get along now, but it can get better. And even if it doesn't, I still doubt you want anything to happen to them. You'll worry even if they annoy you. And, if something happens, you'll feel guilty," Tim muttered, twiddling his thumbs and looking away. "Save yourself the trouble and just try...a little. Even if you don't work together a lot, even if your never 'friends', you can still help each other. Look out for each other. Worry about each other. You'll regret it if you don't at least try to make peace."

Nigh- Dick had been worried. Helena had been worried. Bruce had been worried. None of them had to, they just did. Instinctively. Because that’s just a thing people do. Flash would worry about this unnamed speedster too, even if they annoyed each other. Tim felt that worry all the time and he was a civilian. It must be ten times worse for heroes.

They didn’t need to worry about Tim.

But they did.

The Flash wasn’t any different.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll check in with the twerp when I’ve got time.”

“Tomorrow,” Tim chastised.

“I’m bus-”

“You are literally the fastest man alive,” Tim scoffed. “You’ve got time. Or you can make time. Or something.”

“...Fine.”

The lights flickered back on and the Flash flickered to his feet.

“Hmm, time travel must be done for the night,” Tim mused.

“Not exactly how that works, but there’s not much I can do here anymore,” the Flash sighed, stretching. “The echoes have all but faded.”

“Sorry I wasted your time,” Tim apologized.

“Nah, I’ve always got time for you…random rooftop kid,” the Flash saluted and was about to take off.

“Wait!”

The Flash zipped back over, “Sup?”

“Does…time…try to fix itself? Theoretically.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if this time traveler is changing things, does time try to… I don’t know, stitch things back together again. Or fix things. Put them back where they’re supposed to be?”

Timbo…your parents…that’s not your fault.

Tim shook his head.

The Flash looked thoughtful, “Time doesn’t care about those kinds of things. It doesn’t care about anything at all.”

“Oh.”

“There isn’t one ‘true’ timeline… Time can bend and stutter and there are other universes, but that’s a separate thing. Though related.”

“So, time doesn’t care…that things change? Won’t…fix things after they’ve been messed with?”

The Flash shook his head, “No, it doesn’t.”

Tim nodded, feeling relieved…and guilty, “Okay, thanks for your ti-”

“People do though,” the Flash said suddenly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Time could not care less about us, but people… People are like lightning rods.”

“Lightning rods?”

“Yeah, there’s just some people in your life that…will always find you. Or…you’ll always find them. Find each other. Suck you in and hold you close.”

“I don't think that's how lightning rods work," Tim muttered.

"It's a metaphor, kid," he scoffed. "People...they'll always trump time in one way: They care. And when they care, they do whatever it takes to make things right. The way they're supposed to be. Find their way back to each other time and again."

"How can you be sure it’s not something else…a coincidence? Proximity? Convenience? A fluke.”

“You can feel it…a restlessness you can’t shake. Right down to your very soul,” the Flash said simply. “Love. It’s the most complex and most simple thing in the world, in the universe. Time…well, it’s only time. It flickers in and out of existence in an instant. Love though…that perseveres.”

With that, the Flash took off. Static left in his wake. Tim was alone with goosebumps and the familiar smell of ozone.

A restlessness in your soul, eh? Dick muttered. You must’ve loved a lot of people.

“I still do."

Chapter Text

Dick had been feeling pretty off-kilter in recent weeks…well, months. Self-reflection was not a strong suit for anyone in the Wayne family (an issue that was exacerbated in their hero work), but he was willing to admit that it was affecting him negatively. He was sleeping terribly, neglecting to unpack the moving boxes littered about his apartment, he was short(-er)-tempered with his loved ones, and dodging phone calls. Modifying his diet, adjusting his exercise routine, and making deliberate time for meditation were not helping at all. Regardless of the work he put in, nothing was improving. His current state was not sustainable in the long run. He felt awful.

And he finally had an idea as to why!

The day after meeting the aptly named “Impulse”, Dick had called Wally. After a spirited game of phone tag, they managed to connect and compare notes on the newest speedster and the potential time travel shenanigans plaguing the Gotham-Blüd area.

~

“Yeah, I just left Manchester,” Wally explained.

“Manchester?”

“That’s where… Umm, 'Impulse'? I knew I couldn’t handle…nor tolerate…the kid,” Wally admitted sheepishly. “I figured he’d do better with someone a little more chill. There’s a speedster down here. So, that’s where I dropped Bart off after he showed up a month ago.”

“You just left him with a random speedster?” Dick chastised. “That’s pretty-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But this guy isn’t some rando. He’s got a better handle on the speed force than pretty much anyone,” Wally sighed. “And before you chew me out, someone else beat you to it.”

“Uhh…”

“I’m not saying that we’ll ever be buddy-buddy like your family, but… I’m not gonna leave the kid high and dry,” Wally added. “He’s better off where he is, I’m sure of it, but I’ll be checking in on him. He’s Barry’s grandson after all.”

“Wait, what?”

~

Wally had promised to drop in on Blüdhaven or Gotham the following week to discuss the time travel in more detail. It was frustrating to be put on the back burner by his best friend, but Wally had responsibilities to not only Keystone but also the Justice League. Still, if “Impulse” aka “Bart Allen” was to be believed, pretty much everyone in the Gotham area was being hit by echoes. That was an issue that probably needed to be addressed before the details got muddled even further.

Perhaps Dick (and by extension, the rest of the Waynes) were suffering the side effect of being hit by “time travel fallout”. Even if they weren't directly affected, the echoes might explain their recent restlessness. But solving time travel would take...well, time. So, even though it was difficult, Dick would just have to be patient.

In other (completely unrelated) news, it had been nearly two months and Timothy Jackson Drake had seemingly made good on his promise to stay out of trouble and distance himself from the Waynes. As far as Dick was aware, his family (and the Bats) had seen neither hide nor hair of the kid. Nightwing had made his grand return to Gotham after a (decidedly unapologetic, but sheepish) phone call from Batman regarding a case with the Riddler. Neither the kid nor Huntress were sighted that evening by any Bats. If Tim was still going out at night, he was being careful to avoid areas of Gotham frequented by vigilantes. He didn’t randomly appear on the streets of Blüdhaven either. Heck, Dick tagged along with Alfred once or twice to pick up the younger Waynes from the Rec Center and the consummate professional teen volunteer was nowhere to be found…a fact that seemed to weigh on the youngest Wayne.

~

“Excuse me?” Damian had whispered to the woman manning the front desk in Tim’s absence.

“How can I help you, young man?” ‘Ms. Eliza’ (if her name tag was to be believed) asked kindly.

Damian twitched at the address, “I was just wondering if Timothy Drake was vol–volunteering today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Tim won’t be in today,” she answered with a sympathetic smile.

“Could you tell me wh-”

Dick cut in, “We need to head out, Damian… Er… Maybe Tim will be here another time.”

Damian had nodded…just a bit dejected. Jason had spent the entire drive home trying to cheer him up along with a similarly forlorn Cass. Dick could tell his heart wasn’t in it, but Jason was trying. His efforts went unacknowledged as the two continued silently staring out their respective windows.

If Dick was being honest with himself, his brother’s efforts did not lift him from his gloomy mood either.

~

Lying to his siblings was not helping his mental health. He didn’t want to deprive them of a friend, but Tim had been right. It was best for him to keep his distance from the Waynes. All of them had interacted with the kid at one time or another…and it wasn’t like Tim was unpleasant to be around. On the contrary, he was a good kid…a great kid even. But he knew and it was only a matter of time until someone slipped up around him…or he slipped up. Limited contact reduced the chance of a Big-Bat-ervention. It was for the best! Dick was like…sixty-seven percent sure.

It’s just…Tim’s sudden absence didn’t sit well with the other Waynes and they were acting irrationally over the whole ordeal. Their responses (muted as they were) made very little sense. They hadn’t spent nearly as much time with him as Dick (or Nightwing) had. Logically, the kid’s “Irish Goodbye” (as sudden as his appearance back in September) should have barely been a blip on their collective (and individual) radar. None of them had “lost” anything in an objective sense. Their doldrums were unreasonable.

And yet, Dick couldn’t blame them.

Stupid Tim and his endearing, twerpish, clever, annoying, good-natured…

Absence.

It’s for the best, the voice in his head argued. Right? You made the right decision. After all, how long can a group of people miss something that wasn’t theirs to begin with?

Right.

Right?

Right…

“Master Damian, Miss Cassandra, don’t forget your passbooks,” Alfred was saying over the breakfast table. “And Master Jason, I have already loaded both the food and clothing donations into the back of the Forester. Master Bruce, it would be best if you helped the lad unload it as there is rather a lot.”

“Big plans?” Dick yawned over his oatmeal.

Damian blinked at his own bowl, “Today is the December Fair at the Rec Center. It is meant to be both ‘fun’ as well as ‘char-’ ummm…”

“Charitable,” Bruce finished. “Kids who take classes get in for free and receive tickets for games and rides by presenting their ‘passbooks’ of what they’ve done this year at the Center. Adults can receive tickets by donating to their pantry and other efforts.”

“Seems fair,” Dick said.

Jason nodded, “Alec came up with the basic system before asking other volunteers for their input. He says we need to make stuff like this as collaborative as possible to cover any blind spots. We want everyone to be able to participate no matter their tax bracket so if you’ve used the Center for anything at all this year like using the pantry, pickup basketball, walking, or whatever got you stamps too. None of the stamps say what you were there for, but it means that you can still get tickets if you can’t donate right now. People are more willing to donate if they don’t think it’s a prerequisite to participate. Clubs and classes are taking shifts as busboys with the food trucks too so any tips from that will go into the activity fund!”

“Jason’s idea,” Cass explained. “Good.”

Jason ducked his head to hide his grin, “Yeah, the ‘tip shifts’ was my idea… The ‘passport’ was Tim’s though.”

“Tim Drake?” Bruce asked, decidedly not looking up from his breakfast.

“Yeah,” Jason confirmed, studying Bruce’s reaction. “Apparently, he used to get stamps on his hand after gymnastics and soccer practice as a kid. Made him feel good, I guess… Suggested that everyone could get a little Rec Center notebook and keep track of what they did there. Staff and volunteers could hand out stamps and stickers. The kids and adults could add pictures or journal entries or just leave them blank outside of the stamps. The Rec Center doesn’t keep track other than kid attendance and the total number of pantry visits in a month so it’s apparently ‘minimally invasive’. Like a yearbook.”*

Dick shifted in his seat, also avoiding eye contact, “You talked to Tim Drake?”

Jason’s assessing stare shifted to his older brother, “No, kid’s been nearly nonexistent lately.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, I only found out the idea was his because I made fun of it,” Jason admitted, suddenly interested in his plate too. “Some blonde chick…Stephanie or something…told me. Well, actually, she mostly just chewed me out while some kid in a wrist brace explained it.”

“Hmm…”

“Ahem, we’ll be leaving a quarter after ten for the festivities,” Alfred announced. “Will you be joining us, Master Dick? You can claim our peanut butter and jam donations to obtain tickets. We are donating your old winter gear as well.”

Probably shouldn’t, the voice argued. For obvious reasons.

“Sure,” Dick said instead. “Why not? Could be fun.”

*Sigh*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a comically long time to unload all the donations once they reached the Rec Center. Apparently, the Waynes needed to purge their closets more frequently. Luckily, the items purchased for donation by WE were brought by Lucius Fox and some staff with kids, otherwise, Damian might have lost his mind waiting another hour for everything to be sorted.

“Come on, Dick,” Damian groaned, pulling on his older brother’s arm. “There is a petting zoo in addition to a pet adoption area. I would like to see the animals. Cameron said there will be ducks!”

Dick allowed himself to be pulled along through the repurposed parking lot. He spared a look at the dozens of carnival games. In all honesty, it was an impressive display of ingenuity. Many of the booths were designed and manned by older kids taking classes at the Rec Center. The bigger booths were sponsored by local businesses, schools, and public works departments. The event clearly took a lot of work. Dick was proud to see Jason helping kids try on coats while Cass and Babs hosted Storytime nearby.

“Hey! You told me there wouldn’t be karaoke!” an indignant voice shouted from three stalls away as Dick and Damian cuddled with a runty mutt from the Gotham Humane Society.

“No,” a familiar voice corrected. “I said I would not be participating in karaoke. There’s a distinct and important difference between those two statements.”

Damian’s head shot up, scanning the crowd. Reluctantly, Dick followed suit.

Sure enough, one Timothy Jackson Drake was among the crowd of carnival-goers. A little girl with curly hair was propped up on his shoulders as he wove through the booths following after a blonde girl and Tess Estler. Without a word, Dick and Damian tucked themselves out of sight but within earshot of the teens.

“Why do you refuse to be fun?” the blonde girl chided. “Sasha, honey, promise me you’ll find a better and more interesting role model than Tim here.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a bad role model,” Tess argued, warming her hands around a cup of cocoa. “But, yeah, a bit boring. We haven’t seen him in forever, Sash. You been hogging him all to yourself, kiddo?”

Tim tilted his head in consideration, “Tim is still grounded and Tim’s friends know that so Tim’s friends should keep their opinions to themselves.”

The little girl giggled, “Tim is silly!”

Tim sighed as the group wandered down the next aisle of booths, “Tim is tired… Should’ve stayed home.”

“Timothy is grounded?” Damian whispered to Dick. “You don’t think Jason and I got him in trouble?”

Dick frowned, “What would make you think that?”

Damian fidgeted before shrugging, “I would like to be done with the animals now.”

“Uhh, okay.”

The two stood up, brushing themselves off before thanking the attendants. Dick steered them in the opposite direction of Tim and his group. Damian noticed but said nothing.

Dick knew they’d be likely to run into Tim at the Fair. It’s why he agreed to tag along. The rest of the Waynes didn’t know about…well, everything regarding the teen. It was up to Dick to run interference on his behalf… And maybe he wanted to check up on the kid. Despite his insistence that he would keep his head down and stay out of trouble, Tim’s disappearing act left Dick feeling unsettled. He just needed to know the kid was okay. It was honestly more for Nightwing’s peace of mind than Dick’s. Hero stuff.

Then why didn’t Nightwing do it? the voice inquired and Dick could hear an odd tilt to the sound. Nightwing has access to a lot of records and tools… He’s great at his job. The best! He wouldn’t even need to actually talk to the kid. But he's not the one here.

Dick shook his head and offered to buy Damian a warm drink before they moved on to the STEM Lego Builders Booth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next hour or so, the Waynes moved in and out of each other’s orbits. Damian went off with Bruce to draw a “Season’s Greetings” card for Talia and take a shift at the coat donation table. Cass and Babs joined Dick for food from In the Mealtime… After, the girls wandered off to look at pieces from the pottery class Cass had joined the month prior. Left to his own devices, Dick wandered through the fair looking for Jason.

And found him munching on some popcorn at a secluded picnic table just next to the alley behind the parking lot.

“Whatcha doin’?” Dick asked from his younger brother’s blind spot.

Jason, predictably, flinched before taking a swipe at Dick, “Knock it off, creeper.”

Dick swiped some popcorn before plopping down at the table himself, “Where’ve you been? I’m bored. Wanna warm up inside at the three-pointer competition. Loser buys the winner cocoa and cookies. And puts gas in their car. Or motorcycle.”

Jason slouched down pointing to a gaggle of teens, “Shh!”

Dick didn’t have to look to know who Jason was referring to. Out of all of them, he’d expected Jason to be the least interested in the fate of Tim Drake over the past month. Damian was vocal about his fondness for the teen while Cass’ continued silence on the matter was an indication of her own melancholy over the situation. Jason, conversely, always seemed annoyed by Tim. He didn’t dislike the younger teen necessarily…just bothered by him. Probably leftover resentment from their first meeting.

And yet.

“Are you stalking a bunch of teenagers?” Dick murmured. “There are way less creepy ways to practice your tailing skills.”

Jason shot him a look, “His foster mom was helping run the coat handout. Alec’s daughter asked her why Timmy over there was grounded.”

Dick cringed, “So?”

“The woman-”

“Helena.”

“Sure, whatever, Helena wouldn’t tell her.”

“Okay? And why has that led to you stalking her kid?” Dick asked, exhausted.

Jason gave him a look, “Come on. That kid is a nerd.”

“So?”

“What does a nerd have to do to get grounded for three whole months?” Jason replied.

Dick ran his hand down his face as the teens (now with a few additional friends) got closer to their position, “It’s not your business, Jay. Leave it be.”

“Damian thinks we got him in trouble a few months back,” Jason whispered. “Dennis Greene threw an absolute hissy fit after we made a tiny mess-that we cleaned up I MIGHT ADD-the last time we saw him.”

“Yeah, I don’t think a kid is gonna get grounded over something as simpl-”

“Exactly, that’s bullshit.”

“Kid’s got a life, Jace, I’m sure a lot of things could have happened,” Dick reasoned. “After all, we first ran into the kid because he was out way past his bedtime.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“So, I got to thinkin’.”

“Ugh, what a waste of both our times.”

Jason took another swipe at him, “You and B got into quite a tiff on Thanksgiving.”

“So?” Dick sighed. “We’re always arguing over something. Kinda like you and B.”

“Yeah, but not because I withhold vital information from an incident report.”

“Shh!” Dick admonished.

“So, I went back and looked at your report and what should I find,” Jason sneered.

Dick coughed as his stomach dropped, “A well-written report by yours truly, I’m sure.”

“Down at the docks, Nightwing engaged with Killer Croc with the aid of Huntress in the defense of two teen civilians. A rather recognizable name: Tess Estler. And the stupid-as-hell name: Alvin Draper,” Jason continued in a whisper, smirking.

“That is indeed what was written,” Dick agreed, willing the conversation to end.

“A few other details you might be interested in. Tess ran off to call the police after ‘Alvin’ fell into the water. Kid surfaced and continued to help cause problems for old Croc.”

“Yeah, quite the scrapper.”

“Nothing else really stood out to me though,” Jason admitted. “Just regular Gotham civilians being a bit feral in the presence of a rogue. Nothing we haven't seen before. But then Damian reminded me just what exactly we were doing when Dennis Greene proposed getting Tim fired.”

“Fired?”

“We were throwing cards,” Jason explained. “And Tim wasn’t half bad at it. Managed to chuck one about fifteen feet if I recall correctly.”

Dick blinked. He hadn’t…known about that.

Oops, although, that would explain why B was so pissy, wouldn’t it? You didn’t just withhold information about any old civilian… You lied about one you know. And he knows. You did it for the right reasons, but…yeesh…

“B figured out who ‘Alvin’ was,” Dick concluded.

“One would assume,” Jason muttered, eyeing the teen they were discussing as he tried his hand at the dunk tank containing self-defense coach extraordinaire Travis. “I mean, I’m no slouch as a detective, but…well, I’ve also never claimed to be the world’s best.”

“Quite a leap in logic,” Dick griped.

Jason huffed a laugh, “Not if you’ve seen the kid in action… Like you said, he’s a scrapper. As Alvin or Tim or anything else. I bet he didn’t treat Croc any different than fuckin’ Dennis Greene.”

After missing each ball, purposely, Tim and the blonde girl charged the lever and sent Travis into the icy water. For a man now thoroughly drenched, Travis just laughed and told the two teens to scram before climbing back on his perch. He seemed supremely unbothered by the chilly December air.

Dick shrugged, “Why didn’t B just tell me he figured it out? All he said was that he knew I was ‘withholding information’.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him it was the kid?” Jason shot back.

Yeah, is he really worth incurring B’s wrath…or anyone else’s for that matter?

Yes.

“He already had Helena breathing down his neck,” Dick lied. “Didn’t figure he needed B too.”

“Yeah right.”

Dick sat up straighter as the group of teens finally wandered away from the dunk tank with a wave to Travis, “Okay, so I withheld information about Tim Drake. You've solved the mystery. Woohoo... Doesn’t explain why you’re stalking the guy right now.”

Jason hopped up from his seat, “Well, you see, I was interested in a few other things mentioned in the report.”

Dick scrambled to follow, “Yeah, like what…? Wanna see that Tess Estler is alive and well? Well, she's doing fine. She’s the tall girl.”

“Not exactly,” Jason sniffed. “N mentioned that the kid was climbing around the Boat House like it was a jungle gym and not a building that should’ve already sunk into the hell hole it was built upon.”

Dick frowned before realizing just where exactly the teen’s had finally stopped. A climbing wall.

Hmmm, didn’t see that coming. Jason’s full of surprises, eh?

“Hey, Piper!” Tim was saying to the woman supervising the wall.

“Timbo! Finally got rid of my daughter, did you?” the woman asked.

Tim shook his head, “Sash wanted to ‘help’ hand out coats with Eliza and Helena. I think Alec was trying to convince her to go color pictures instead. She wouldn’t let anyone try the purple coats.”

“Sounds like my daughter,” Piper sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Tim’s blonde friend declared. “She’s just holding onto them for me and Helena.”

“‘Helena and me’,” Jason corrected as he joined the teens with Dick in tow.

“Jason,” the blonde grumbled in lieu of ‘hello’.

“Stephanie,” Jason replied haughtily. “And co.”

Piper turned away to let the kids talk. Tim had gained a few friends since Dick had seen him last: a tall eastern European boy in a wrist brace, an Asian boy with a video camera, another girl (maybe Italian?) sporting a t-shirt for a nearby arcade, and a final boy pale with brown hair. Dick recognized the last one as Tess’ brother Teddy from the (now-closed) case file in the cave. It wasn’t all that surprising to see Tim had a lot of friends, but it was quite the departure from the kid who wandered the city alone.

“Uhh, hey, Jason,” Tim muttered. “And Mr. Grayson. Are you enjoying the fair?”

“Yup, Timmy,” Jason yapped. “Haven’t seen you around here in a while. Not since Trent put you on your ass in your self-defense class. How’d the floor taste?”

Tim, to his credit, didn’t take Jason’s bait, “Yeah… I s’pose I have a lot to learn. Only left a little bruised though so-”

‘Stephanie’ did take the bait, “You must’ve left before Tim laid Jeremy out then.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Before Stephanie could retort, Tim broke in, “It was a lucky leg sweep, Steph. In a real fight, it won’t do me much good. Jason's right my performance against Trent was kinda crappy.”

“Better than I could do,” the tall boy offered.

“Yeah, no surprises there,” Jason agreed, smug on purpose. He had changed his target when he recognized Tim could not care less about the snide remarks directed at him. Those targeting his friends however...

“Jason!” Dick chastised, recognizing the tactic. “Don’t be an a-”

Tim stepped up though, “Ives doesn’t take self-defense classes, Jason. He's got other hobbies.”

“Clearly,” Jason huffed with a derisive look at Tim’s friend. "You guys 'raid dungeons' together? Ives here ain't got a chance against goblins either, I'm afraid."

“Hey, there’s no need to be a jerk to him because you’ve got an issue with me,” Tim said, an icy calm to his voice.

Teddy, Tess, Video Camera, and the other girl took that as their cue to find a ring toss booth across the way ‘Very Interesting’.

“I don’t have an issue with you, Timbo,” Jason replied. “Just catching up with you.”

“By correcting grammar and making disparaging remarks?”

“‘Disparaging’? Big words for such a squirt,” Jason sneered.

“Jason, knock it off!” Dick hissed, attempting to drag his brother away without literally hauling the kid over his shoulder.

“Alright, Tim, the climbing wall is ready for you,” Piper announced upon her return. “Which friend were you gonna race against?”

“Uhh, Tess left,” Tim admitted. “I’ll come back later I gue-”

“I’ll race him!” Jason called, struggling against Dick’s hold.

“No, he won’t!” Dick snapped. “Don’t you have another shift in the food pantry?”

“Oh, this won’t take long. Will it, Timbo?” Jason said snatching a red helmet to contrast the green one handed to Tim.

Tim blinked up at Dick, “Uhh…”

“Trust me, kid, you don’t wanna race Dick,” Jason chuckled. “He was a circus brat.”

“That’s not-”

“Jason, stop being an as-”

“It’s fine, Mr. Grayson,” Tim insisted. “If Jason wants to race someone… Well, this is just for fun.”

“Okay, Jason,” Piper said. “Tim already knows the drill from earlier today, but I’ll give you a rundown of our safety system. Timbo, you’ll have to go through the checklist with me again before you climb, got it?”

“Yeah, course, Piper.”

Jason was led a few feet away to (unnecessarily) review the carabiner and proper climbing etiquette. Ives and Stephanie wandered over to the picnic tables to watch (and, presumably, cheer Tim on). Dick turned his attention to the other black-haired menace in his presence.

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

Tim shrugged, adjusting the straps of his helmet and pulling on the harness gear, “Jason’s got a bug up his butt. I don’t know what I did, but if beating me in a race gets him to back off… Who cares?”

“This is a bad idea,” Dick whined. “He shouldn’t be showing off in public.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tim sighed. “He’ll win, but he’s bigger and stronger than I am. No one will be surprised.”

“But-”

“Dick, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Tim mumbled. “Jason will be fine. Just let him get this out of his system. Then, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Before Dick could respond (or even decide how to), Tim marched over to the ropes and hooked in. Piper finished prepping Jason and checked that Tim’s line was correctly set.

“Okay, boys, make this a clean race,” Piper announced. “Stay in your lanes, please. When you reach the top, slap the button, and then rappel down. The pads down here will soften your landing so don’t worry if you can't quite keep your footing. Lotsa people stumble. No big deal.”

Tim nodded while Jason flashed a thumbs-up.

And, because things weren't tense enough, Dick smelled before he heard or saw Dennis Fuckin’ Greene.

“Well, lookie here, the Drake brat is gonna race the Wayne kid,” he slurred. “This’ll be good.”

He was inebriated at a fuckin’ family fun fair.

“Oh, do you know these boys, Denny?”

With a fuckin’ date.

“Both terrors around here, sweetheart,” Dennis snarled. “Wayne’ll wipe the floor with the shrimpy one. Kid's a disaster waiting to happen.”

And he was antagonizing children to show off for his fuckin’ date. Fuckin’ great.

“Hey, at least he’s not bumming around a kid’s fair with arm candy like a creep!” Jason snapped.

It’s amazing how easily Jason turns on a dime, huh? One minute he’s picking fights with this kid, the next he’s picking fights for this kid. Weird.

Not that weird. Jason antagonized Tim because he wanted to see what the kid would do. Predictably, Tim kept his head, kept his cool... Just like with Croc. And Jason already knew Tim could throw cards. Pushing and poking and prodding the kid into a climbing race would likely mean he'd go all out. Try his best. Tap into a competitive streak buried deep, deep down. Like when Jason needled Dick into playing Mario Kart... For Jason, annoying Tim was just a "fun" byproduct of pushing him to do his best. But only he was allowed to pick on the kid. Outsiders would face his ire. Typical Jason.

“Dennis, you can’t be here if you’re…well,” Piper began.

“Oh, we’re just watchin’, Pipes.”

“Seriously, Mr. Greene, if you don’t leave, I’ll have to get Travis escort you out.”

“I’m not a threat to the kiddos,” Dennis grunted. “Just wanna watch the Drake kid get got.”

Dick didn’t notice that he’d begun clenching his fists until he heard one of his knuckles pop. Dennis Greene was riding the last of Dick’s patience. Of course, he was beaten to the punch again by his younger brother.

“Hey, asshole, she’s tellin’ you to leave!”

“Watch your mouth, ya little snot!”

Dick’s vision took on a red hue.

Deep breaths, Grayson, this guy isn’t worth it. Don’t risk it when he's going to be dragged out by security in a minute anyway.

“It’s not worth it, Jason,” Tim sighed, mapping out the holds with his hands like he’d climbed walls a million times. “Travis will be over in a minute. Let’s just get this done.”

Dick couldn’t process this kid. Tim Drake. Eerily calm. Annoyingly reasonable. Repeatedly dragging people away from the edge of a bad decision.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Travis toweling off over at the dunk tank. Jason must have clocked it too. He eyed Dennis Greene a final time before turning his attention to Tim’s pre-climb routine.

“Okay, boys, ready?”

The two teens nodded and Dick heard Tim’s friends cheering from somewhere behind him. Though Dennis wasn’t an actual threat to the climbers, Dick refused to move from his position at the railing. He’d be staying between the younger boys and the drunk asshole thank you very much.

“Alright, count of three,” Piper called as Travis arrived.

“Get him, Tim!” Stephanie shouted.

“Climb good?” Ives rallied.

“Three!”

Jason shook his arms out.

“Two!”

Tim took a deep breath.

“One!”

Both boys crouched at the ready.

“Go!”

And in a twist of fate that surprised everyone but Piper (whose smirk was half-proud, half-"see everyone, kid can do it"), Tim was off like a shot. Climbing like a squirrel/raccoon hybrid on speed. Hands and feet moving with assurance and skill from hold to hold. Jason was keeping up, but only by going all out.

I mean… Can you really be surprised? It’s not like you actually know the kid, Dick. And what you do know indicates he’s got weird hobbies.

“Seriously gonna let the snot beat you, Wayne!?” Dennis Greene called as he was escorted away.

Dick ignored him as Jason pulled ahead. He was taller and stronger. Tim couldn’t compete with genetics and intense training. It was an impressive effort though.

Or so you'd think!

Just before Jason reached the top row of holds, Tim literally jumped the extra foot to slap his button first.

Tim Drake had beaten Jason Todd in a climbing race.

I mean, it’ll only work this one time, but just think of the years of blackmail you'll wring out of this moment.

His landing back on the ground lacked finesse, but Tim clearly didn’t care. The grin on his face was so bright it could’ve rivaled the Vegas Strip. He sprawled on his back for a moment while his friends cheered and Jason began to safely rappel back to the ground.

“Timothy Jackson Drake!” Piper chided. “What have I told you about stunts like that?”

“Uhh, not to? Because I’m setting a bad example for sane people?” Tim guessed still basking in his unlikely victory. “That you’ll be very angry with me if I die doing something I’ve been doing since I was five?”

“Good race,” Jason admitted once he reached the ground, holding his hand out to the younger boy.

“Thanks,” Tim said sheepishly as he was pulled to his feet by his opponent. “Don’t worry. That trick only works once. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, you’d beat me.”

“Hnn.”

Tim and Jason looked over to note the arrival Dick had missed in his confusion.

“Uhh, hey, B,” Jason muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mr. Wayne,” Tim acknowledged with a nod.

“Boys.”

“You beat Jason?” Damian exclaimed.

Tim pulled off his helmet and started undoing his harness, “On a technicality.”

“Technicality?” Cass repeated.

“Yeah,” Tim handed his gear to Piper who shook her head at him (but with a tiny smile). “This wasn’t an actual speed climb course and we didn’t agree on whether jumps were allowed.”

“Underhanded,” Damian whispered.

Tim nodded, “A bit, yeah.”

“I approve.”

Tim just blinked.

“Well, now that I’ve been thoroughly embarrassed by a shrimpy twerp,” Jason grumbled, a proud little smile of his own clashing with his tone, “B, I believe you owe me a warm pretzel.”

“Pretzels!” Cass and Damian cheered and sprinted off as Stephanie and Ives arrived to congratulate their friend...by jumping and shrieking.

Bruce stared at Tim for a moment longer before following his children to the food booths. Dick remained at the climbing wall.

“Tim Drake, climber extraordinaire!” Ives cheered nearly falling over in his enthusiasm.

“Woah, dude, I’m not giving you a piggyback to urgent care if you break something else,” Tim chuckled.

“Let’s celebrate! Cake pops and Zesti!” Stephanie shouted as their other friends reappeared to show Tim the video of his climb.

Tim seemingly noticed Dick’s continued presence and shied away from the other teens, “Uhh, I actually have to check in with Helena. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Ugh fine. Then karaoke?” one of the friends asked. “Can’t do AJR without a third guy.”

“There are already three guys,” Tim protested as he backed away from the group.

“Yeah, but Jin looks awful in the hat,” Tess retorted.

“You’re not wrong,” Video Camera admitted.

“Don’t let your dreams stay dreams, Jin,” Tim called out now that he was farther away. “I know you can wear a hat if you just believe!”

And, frustratingly, Tim Drake slipped away. As was his tendency.

I wouldn’t look into that if I were you, the voice whispered. Well, I would…but you shouldn’t. For your peace of mind.

Which made a lot of sense. Cause that voice hardly sounded like Dick at all. It was chiding, but supportive. Jokey while lacking in Dick’s usual harsh self-critique. Unnervingly calm. Exceedingly reasonable. Constantly dragging Dick away from the edge of bad decisions.

“A ringing in my ear,” Dick muttered to himself, scratching at his ears as he wandered over to the cars lined up in the alley. He needed to sit down.

How long had his inner monologue sounded like Tim Drake? Did Dick feel so guilty about the "Tim, Huntress/Helena, Croc Incident" that he’d conjured up a mental representation of the teen as punishment?

No.

The voice may be annoying, but it wasn’t dripping with self-hatred…or Dick-hatred? It offered insightful commentary and leniency. An unwavering belief in Dick’s ability to solve whatever challenge he was presented with. If anything, it was more critical of Tim (and sometimes Bruce) than anyone else.

Critiquing one’s self is a lot less work, the voice argued.

Dick shook his head and sat down on the bumper of the Forester.

“You’re not just off-kilter, Grayson,” he muttered to himself, bypassing the voice in his head. “You’re losing it.”

You’ll be fine. Just remain calm. There’s always an explanation. You’re a detective. Put the clues together, Dick.

A soccer ball from some kicking game skittered into the alley and a bundle of curls followed after.

“I’ll get it,” Sasha called to whatever person was in charge of the booth.

Dick sighed and prepared to gently chastise the little girl for running into the road after a ball, but he never got the chance. Because nothing in Dick Grayson’s life could be easy as of late, a car trundled down the road. Slowly, sure, but decidedly not stopping for a little girl and her soccer ball. Dick was on his feet in an instant and time slowed.

He wasn’t going to get to her in time.

“Sasha, move!”

Time froze.

And Tim appeared. Because of course he did. As he always did. Summoned by some unseen force time and again to challenge whatever harbinger of doom happened to be manifesting at that moment. Proof positive AND staunch denial of fate itself. The kid in a faded photograph. The shadow chasing away a panic attack. The stubborn young detective following clues no one else seemed to see. The impish menace refusing to leave anyone behind. The elusive, defiant piece of some convoluted game he never agreed to play.

Time sped up.

And Dick couldn’t move.

Tim sprinted into the alley and scooped up Sasha. He curled his body around her just as the front bumper rammed into his right hip. He twisted with the movement, absorbing the impact by following through on his fall. His maneuvering meant that his right side was what slammed into the asphalt and Sasha was spared any injury. A survivable, but painful sideswipe for Tim. The car stopped a half-dozen yards from Dick.

Dick still couldn’t move.

“Wahhhh!” Sasha sobbed burying her face in Tim’s neck.

The teen struggled into a seated position, the car now far ahead of their position. The danger had passed, but Tim continued to hold Sasha close... Her uncontrollable shivering aggravating his blossoming injuries.

“I’m so-so- Ti- Ti- TIM!!!”

“It’s okay, Sash,” Tim soothed, still cradling the girl as the tears of his jeans started to ooze blood. “You’re okay. It’s all over. You’re good. You're okay.”

“Sasha!”

Alec and Piper were sprinting towards their daughter and Tim.

Dick still couldn’t move…

“Mama! Papa!” Sasha wailed. “Tim is hurt!”

“I’m ‘kay,” Tim groaned as he handed Sasha off to her parents. “Just scratches and bruises, kiddo. It looks worse than it is, I promise. I’ve gotten worse at the skatepark, Sash.”

Liar.

Dick still couldn’t move!

A small crowd was beginning to gather on the other side of the alley as Sasha was carried over to Travis holding a First Aid Kit.

Dick heard Damian whimpering across the way. A look confirmed that Bruce was attempting to calm his youngest. Cass, Jason, and Babs seemed as frozen as Dick felt. Confusion, rage, and disbelief danced across their faces. Yet, they remained still.

Tim pushed himself to his feet as the car door opened.

Fuckin’!

Drunk!

Fuckin’!

Dennis!

Fuckin’!

Greene!

“What the hell do you think you were doing!” the man roared, stumbling toward Tim as his girlfriend watched. “Jumpin’ out in front of cars!”

“You’re the idiot who was driving drunk,” Tim huffed, examining the new holes in his jacket. Dazed, but defiant to the last. “You could’ve gotten someone killed, jerkwad.”

“What did you say to me you worthless snotbag little asshole?”

Dick could move.

Tim only seemed to notice Dennis Greene’s approach when the man’s hands wrapped around the collar of his torn-up jacket.

“Hey! LET…ME…GO!” Tim said as he struggled against the man’s grip.

Dick was moving.

“I bet you dented my car, bastard!”

“Doubt the cops’ll care much when they realize how…bleh…wasted you are,” Tim huffed, clearly losing steam.

Everything else faded out.

“You sure about tha-”

Dennis Greene was jerked away from the teen by his shoulder and then-

CRACKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!

“You HURT that kid AGAIN and you’re gonna be eating through a TUBE!”

Fuckin’ Dennis Fuckin’ Greene’s Fuckin’ Nose Fuckin’ Fractured.

The man was sprawled out on the alley floor and Dick regained his balance for the first time in a long time.

He stared at his fist as Dennis’ girlfriend ran over to fret over the man’s broken nose.

The crowd that witnessed the event was speechless. Jason looked satisfied by the display while Cass’ eyes burned with rage. Damian continued to weep quietly in his father’s arms while Bruce’s face was carefully blank. The man didn’t need a cowl to be terrifying.

What matters more? Avenging people, Tim Drake’s voice whispered in the back of his mind, or helping them?

Dick took a deep breath and turned to help the injured teen over to the First Aid tent…and the cops that would follow in a few minutes if Babs’ tense conversation on her cell phone was anything to go by.

But…

Tim Drake was gone. And Dick’s world was off-kilter once more.

Chapter Text

Tim felt kinda crumby… Like, emotionally. Physically, he felt downright awful. Dennis Greene’s car hadn’t been going very fast, but it was still thousands of pounds of metal ramming into him. Chances were that Tim’s entire right side would be one big bruise the following morning (or within the next two hours, honestly)...and that wasn't even accounting for the scrapes and scratches slowly oozing through the holes ripped into his jacket. Was it odd to be grateful that the accident happened in December? Tim couldn’t imagine how awful he’d look had he been wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

Yes, it is odd to be grateful about when you were hit by a car! Dick’s voice fretted. Goddammit, Tim, you were sideswiped by a drunk driver and you're minimizing it!

Tim tried to shake the voice away but only succeeded in tweaking his neck. Slamming into the ground shoulder-first hadn’t been his first choice, but moving with the car's momentum had been the right decision. Sasha had been scared, sure, but otherwise unharmed from their tumble. She would be fine. Tim, though, had been a bit…overwhelmed by it all. The accident…well, adrenaline was a hell of a neurotransmitter…it carried him right through the worst of it and then the immediate aftermath. Everything else though… The faces of the shocked onlookers. People he knew frozen in disbelief. The embarrassment of being on display holding a crying child and not knowing how to calm her. Dennis Greene grabbing him and blaming him and shouting at him as if the man wasn’t a functioning alcoholic a-hole that almost killed a kid! Dick appearing out of nowhere and breaking the guy’s nose. It was a lot. So, the moment all the attention had been diverted, Tim had bolted. If Dick chose fight (as a vigilante was wont to do, Tim supposed), then Tim chose flight (as a coward was predisposed to do).

Coward? Timmy, you saved a little girl. You comforted her while you were bleeding and other people stood frozen. Give yourself some credit…You’re a hero.

Tim took a deep breath and chose not to push the voice away. He deserved a little bit of comfort, right?

That little indulgence made all the difference…clarity began breaking through the cracks of shock. Tim was tucked away in a stairwell a few blocks away from the Rec Center. The narrow steps he was sitting on led up to a small law firm and provided a veil of shadow just big enough to obscure him from passersby. Not a bad choice for a kid who hadn’t thought of where to go, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. Tim needed to get out of the chill and clean up a bit. Unfortunately, all of his usual haunts were out of the question. Going back to the Rec Center seemed nearly impossible…all the eyes, all the concern, all the pity. No. Just no. Gio’s and the arcade probably wouldn’t appreciate a kid dripping blood all over the place. Helena’s was…well…Tim hadn’t left his window cracked open and unlocking all the doors and waiting for Helena to track him down… He just couldn’t.

Tim just…wanted to go home.

…

Which was more impossible than all of his other options combined.

So, with nowhere to go, Tim huddled up some more. The stairwell could provide enough cover that most would miss him entirely. Once he had the energy, he would head back to face the music. Until then, he would hide.

You need to go back, kiddo, people are panicking… For once in your life could you just let somebody lo-

A bus screeched to a stop on the other side of the road, cutting off Dick's chiding. Briefly, Tim considered sprinting across the street and hopping on and going literally anywhere else. People sat on Gotham City buses covered in blood all the time. Tim wouldn’t be that out of place, right?

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be as Tim noted a person approaching his new favorite place on Earth. He sighed and mentally prepared for the harried apologies he’d need to make to whoever’s stoop he was squatting on. The shadow stopped and Tim made to get up.

“I do believe that would be quite unnecessary and, if I do say so, rather ill-advised, young man.”

Tim blinked and tried to place where he’d heard that voice before. A familiar-looking gentleman in a gray peacoat crouched down to make eye contact… Albert? No…Alfred. The omnipresent butler of the Wayne family.

Oooooo, you’re in troub-

“Sorry?” Tim stuttered out because...why was the Wayne family butler trying to get into a law office on a Saturday?

“Also, unnecessary as I can’t find anything to fault you on,” Alfred replied. His delivery was as dry as the Sahara, warmth tucked away at the very edges. “If anyone is owed apologies and reparations, it would be you.”

Tim was uncertain as to how he should respond. Despite their wealth, his parents hadn’t been in the habit of hiring “help” outside of Tim’s nannies. They were out of town too often for it to be practical and their residences didn’t require much more than the cleaning services hired by their property managers. And sure, Tim had spent a lot of time at boarding school, but the veneer of academia had worn off when he realized he'd seen at least half of them hungover. They were formal in the way a doctor was…blunt, overworked, and unimpressed.

He’s going to think you’ve got brain damage, kid.

“Okay?” was the response Tim came up with after such a long pause.

Alfred nodded, “Now, has it escaped your notice that you bear some injuries from your entanglement with that car?”

“Uhh…no?”

“I should hope not, but you scarpered off rather quickly, and without much fanfare, that I thought it prudent to ask…lest you suffered injuries to your head that needed to be addressed with urgency. It was entirely possible that the extent of your wounds had been missed in the aftermath of the aforementioned incident,” Alfred explained with, quite frankly, too many words for Tim’s current state of mind.

Alfred gestured to Tim’s…well, everything.

“Yeah,” Tim said slowly. “I…uhh…I should probably clean up a bit.”

Once more, Tim tried to push himself to his feet but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He quirked an eyebrow, hoping the butler would be able to deduce his silent question.

“If I may, young man, I have some experience dressing minor injuries. Military service,” Alfred explained, lifting a small First-Aid duffel as evidence. “You, of course, can say ‘no’, but I would be remiss if I didn’t offer up some initial aid before you seek more thorough treatment from medical professionals.”

Tim blinked once…twice. Alfred was offering to patch him up. Some random kid he’d crossed paths with only a handful of times and spoken to even less.

It didn’t add up.

Alfred should be back at the Rec Center. Checking on Dick or, more likely, cleaning up Dennis Greene so he didn’t press charges against the Waynes. Instead, he was blocks away from his employers offering to help out Tim…who was hurt, yes, but… Also not his responsibility.

And?

“Shouldn’t you be…well…anywhere else?” Tim asked, eschewing politeness for the sake of brevity.

Alfred, surprisingly, just smiled, “I’d hate to think my charges so incapable that they can’t do without me for the time it will take to attend to your injuries.”

“That's...fair, I guess.”

“Furthermore, while I cannot find it in me to disagree with the sentiment behind Master Richard’s behavior, and I don’t entirely disagree with the behavior besides, it was imprudent of him to take such actions without first checking on your condition.”

“Umm…” Because that...What does one even say to that? Alfred approved of Dick assaulting a man? “Okay, if you’re sure you aren’t needed somewhere else.”

Alfred set to work immediately, putting down his kit and pulling out a pair of plastic gloves, “Quite sure.”

“Thank you,” Tim added hastily, remembering his manners as he removed his jacket.

“I assure you it’s nothing.”

The two worked quietly for a few minutes. Alfred focused on Tim’s face while the latter used antiseptic wipes to clean the cuts on his arm. Tim might be hurt but he was not entirely useless. It was…nice. For a verbose man, Alfred seemed to know when silence was preferred. Despite how Tim must have looked, the injuries didn’t seem too severe.

Seem.

“Crud Muffins!” Tim exclaimed as disinfectant was applied to a cut above his eye.

Alfred raised an eyebrow but continued working.

“Uhh…sorry,” Tim muttered.

“No need,” Alfred assured him as he affixed a bandage to the freshly cleaned gash. “I’ve heard outbursts a great deal more colorful than ‘crud muffins’.”

“Still…It was rude.”

Alfred moved to wrapping Tim’s arm, “While I have your attention, I have been meaning to speak with you. Though it is rather uncouth for me to do so only after you’ve been injured.”

Gawl, Alfred uses soooooooo many words!

“Okay?”

“I owe you a ‘thank you’, I think.”

Tim frowned, “You need hours to renew your First-Aid license or something?”

A small smile drifted across the older man’s face, “Ahh… There’s the wit Master Jason was referring to.”

Tim tilted his head in confusion and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his neck.

“Please, do try to keep still,” Alfred chastised lightly. “You will need to be checked over by a professional. You gave everyone quite a scare.”

“I know, but Sasha. I couldn’t just let her get hurt if I could do something about it,” Tim argued as Alfred applied a final bandage. “No one else was close enough.”

Alfred nodded and started to pack away the used medical supplies in a handy plastic bag, “I understand. It seems…outside your abilities to ignore someone in need. Though, selfishly, I’d rather you focus your energy on consultations instead of rescues.”

Tim shrugged back into his jacket, “Ummm, I don’t know what-”

The butler, now finished with his task, took a seat next to Tim on the stoop, “Surely you haven’t forgotten your correspondences with young Master Damian.”

Tim was glad their seating arrangement discouraged eye contact as he felt heat radiating off his cheeks, “Oh, that wasn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“Hmm…I see,” Alfred replied. “I believe the young boy would disagree. He found your advice to be quite helpful in pursuance of his extracurriculars and social growth.”

Tim smiled a bit, “Damian seems like a good kid. He would’ve figured it out on his own eventually. I just…nudged him a bit.”

“Additionally, it is my understanding that the Waynes aren’t the only family owing you a debt of gratitude,” Alfred continued.

“I don’t know what you-”

“You’re aware the Waynes are well-acquainted with the Gordons? The Commissioner and his daughter.”

Oh, you’re busted.

Instead of saying anything, Tim just hummed.

“They called on the Manor recently with a rather harrowing tale regarding a runaway,” Alfred articulated. “Apparently, she stumbled across a rogue and a young man managed to aid in her escape.”

Well, crap on a cracker, ”Alvin”.

“Hmm,” Tim hummed again, “they shouldn’t have… Told the Waynes, I mean. Sounds like both the people involved were minors. Can’t imagine they’d be allowed to disclose the details of an incident like that without approval from the kids’ guardians.”

It was rude to dismiss Alfred in such a way, but if the cops knew and the rest of the Bats knew… Tim could be in serious trouble! And, selfishly, Tim was still uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. It took him a few weeks before he responded to the e-mails Teddy sent updating him on everything that happened after he’d fled the precinct. The questioning by the cops, Trina showing up, the agreement on a new custody arrangement… It had all worked out in the end, but what if Tim had failed? What if Tess had gotten hurt by Croc? What if Trina had just taken Tess back to Arizona? What if Tim running off got everyone in trouble? It was a lot and it was scary to think about all the ways it could have (and probably should have) gone wrong.

“That is true,” Alfred admitted. “Though I assure you they did not mention either child by name. Just the details of an upstanding youth with a penchant for throwing cards and a desire to help those in need.”

“So…?”

Alfred sighed, a tired sound, “I must admit, the description was enough for a few of my charges to deduce who they were speaking of…”

Really showing your hand there, Alfie. Even with the details, only a Bat could put those pieces together.

“You must work for some real detectives,” Tim retorted, hating himself for how bitter it sounded.

“Hardly,” Alfred sniffed, ignoring Tim’s tone. “The young man in question has simply made a rather significant impression on them. I regret to say that those in my care are often self-absorbed.”

Tim frowned again.

“It is not so much a condemnation of them as an acknowledgment of their humanity. They are focused on their day-to-day and it can be hard to incorporate concern for someone new into their lives,” Alfred explained. “I daresay they are invested in you though.”

Tim blushed, “I’m… That’s kind of you to say. And it’s kind of them to care, but it's unnecessary. They should focus on those that matter to them. Who mean something.”

“I find myself agreeing and disagreeing with you, young man,” Alfred chuckled. “Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, you mean something to them. I would not discourage their emotional investment in your well-being. It would be hypocritical for me to do so.”

“...Thank…you?”

“The Wayne family has, historically, invested a great deal into working for the betterment of others. Donating time, energy, and their voices to those who have need of assistance. But rarely are they so personally invested in a specific individual.”

Probably hard to ignore him when they keep running into him...and having to save him. And save others from messes he created.

“Yeah, they’re good people,” Tim agreed quietly.

“Yes, and good people tend to be drawn to their own,” Alfred noted. “Even when they are insistent upon hiding.”

Tim cringed.

“If you could do an old man a favor,” Alfred appealed, “take pity on them. Or, as Miss Cassandra might say, 'go easy'. They’re quite committed to asking after you. They can be a bit much, but they mean well. And, it is my understanding, that they have missed you.”

Tim huffed a laugh, “They barely know me.”

Alfred nodded, “I don’t believe they see that as much of a barrier to entry, I'm afraid. They have a collective tendency to become attached rather quickly once the right person crosses their path.”

Well, look at that, you have something in common with us.

“I-”

“Tim!”

Of course... Helena was looking for him too. She might not have seen the accident from inside the Center, but no one would keep that from her. And he disappeared.

Hmm… Not the best idea to run off without telling her again, huh?

“Hele-”

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she said scrambling up the stairs. For a moment it looked like she was going to crush him in a hug, but she stopped herself… Despite it all, Tim appreciated her restraint. Getting cleaned up didn't erase the bruises and scratches.

Gawl, you must look awful, Dick joked.

“Helena, I’m-I didn’t…I panicked,” Tim bit out. “I didn’t even think. I’m sor-”

“Tim you… I was so…” Helena kept starting and stopping. “By the time Travis told me what happened, you were gone. And now there’s cops and… Are you okay? You look- That asshole hit you with his car! I can’t believe he’s telling the cops- That Grayson guy should’ve broken his jaw too!”

Tim could barely keep up, “I’m…alright Helena. I just…got overwhelmed.”

Helena blinked and reached out again… Hesitated and turned her attention to Alfred.

“I’m sorry, but…Who are you?” Helena asked. “I don’t mean to be rude of course, but…”

“Of course, Miss, it is completely reasonable to fret when one’s charge is in the company of a stranger,” Alfred said kindly before offering his hand. “Alfred Pennyworth. I am in the employ of the Wayne family.”

“O…kay?”

Alfred cleared his throat, somehow sheepish, “I was…concerned when Timothy got lost amongst the tumult of the accident and subsequent assault. I thought it prudent to ensure that his injuries were attended to. I realize now that I should have located his guardian prior to chasing after him. I must apologize for my overstepping.”

Helena looked uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t know how to talk to such a formal man either? That didn’t explain the guilt hiding behind her worried eyes.

“Umm, thank you,” she said finally, looking at Tim. “For finding him and…cleaning him up a bit. I took too long looking for him. I didn’t know where to start.”

“That’s not your fault!” Tim refuted then turned to Alfred “I…I ran off. I… Sorry, Mr Pennyworth, I umm…do that sometimes. Just kinda run off… so I don’t have to deal with stuff. So I don’t have to take responsibility. This isn’t anyone’s fault but mine.”

If Dick was critical of Helena, Tim couldn't imagine how a man like Alfred might perceive her. Tim running off wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. It’s what he did when…when he felt alone and trapped. When his parents died. When he was stuck in that awful house with all those suffering kids. When Helena’s apartment was a little too quiet. He left…ran off. Like a coward. As if someone else would come along and solve his problem or clean up the mess in his absence. It was purely selfish.

Alfred looked a bit stunned before pinching the bridge of his nose, “I see.”

Tim nodded, “Thank-”

“Neither you nor Miss…?”

“Uhh, Bertinelli…”

“Of course, neither you nor Miss Bertinelli is at fault, Timothy,” Alfred asserted.

“But-”

“It is completely reasonable to want to remove one’s self from a troubling situation,” Alfred argued over Tim’s objection. “Just as it is completely reasonable for your guardian to not always know where you are. She is neither omniscient nor omnipresent. She found you with haste. I do not doubt that now she’s here you’re in good hands. However, if either of you is ever in need of assistance…please do not hesitate to call on the Waynes. I assure you, they will be more than happy to provide aid and shelter.”

“So…many…words,” Tim whispered to himself.

“Umm, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth, but I need to get Tim back to the Rec Center,” Helena explained, offering a hand to Tim and helping him to his feet. “There are cops who want to question him and paramedics who need to check him over.”

“Of course, Miss Bertinelli,” Alfred agreed, standing with his First-Aid duffel. “Could I offer yourself and Timothy a ride back to the center?”

Helena hesitated, looking Tim over, “Uhh, that’s kind of you, but you’ve already done so much. I’d hate to keep you from your employer for much longer.”

“Nonsense, Miss,” Alfred responded. “I assure you, it’s no hardship. We are, after all, returning to the same place.”

“...Right…”

Tim eyed them both before saying, “I appreciate it, sir, but I think I would like to walk back. It’s only a block or so and I think the movement will do me good.”

Alfred looked, for just a fraction of a second, like he was going to insist… And Tim knew he’d (for some insane reason) be required to acquiesce to the man’s urging. Tim wasn’t used to taking (or listening to) orders, but he was sure that he’d be incapable of disobeying Alfred. A bit extreme for manners, but…

No one says ‘no’ to Alfred… At least not more than once. Because if you did, he’d leave…and then what…like, just no Alfred? Not likely to end well, kiddo.

Tim was spared though when Alfred just nodded and bid them farewell. Helana and Tim watched as he climbed into a nondescript Subaru Forester and joined the afternoon traffic.

Helena sighed, “Kid, must you keep scaring me?”

Tim shrugged and winced, “I was doing pretty well for like…a month and a half. And it’s not even my fault this time.”

She (gently) threw an arm over Tim’s shoulder and started leading him back to the Rec Center, “Yeah, it’s Fuckin’ Dennis Greene’s fault. Fucker…”

“Is…ummm…”

“He okay?” Helena offered. “Broken nose from what I could tell. And still drunk as a skunk.”

Tim shook his head, “No, I don’t care about him. He can suck dirt for all I care. Is Sasha okay? I’m pretty sure that I took most of the blow, but I didn’t consider whiplash or a concussion from headbutting my chin or-”

“Sash is okay,” Helena assured him with a squeeze of his shoulder while they waited at the pedestrian crossing light. “She freaked a little when everyone noticed you were gone, but the little Wayne kid-”

“Damian?”

“Yeah, he reminded her that you were tough,” Helena chuckled. “Said you were a skateboarder and skateboarders knew how to take falls in ways that would limit their injuries. She might’ve even believed it if the kid wasn’t crying himself.”

Tim frowned as they started moving again, “Damian was crying?”

“Well, yeah… A car hit you, his brother decks a guy, and you disappeared. That’s pretty scary for a little kid,” Helena sighed. “Bruce Wayne was working overtime trying to calm his kids down and handle the cops.”

Tim groaned, “Crap! Dick is gonna be in so much trouble… That’s like…what? Second-degree assault?”

Helena shook her head, a grin playing across her features, “That’s just like you. More worried about everyone else. Don’t get too worked up though.”

“Why?”

Helena smirked, “No one other than Greene’s girlfriend is corroborating his version of events. Everyone who has been asked says that he broke his nose on the airbag and that Grayson’s bloody knuckles are somehow unrelated.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I don't know who started it, but it seems like everyone has agreed on an...alternative series of events,” Helena continued. “The cops didn’t even bother asking the Waynes by the time they got to them. I don’t think Brucie would lie, but given the girl... Uhh, Cassandra...had to hold the other boy, Jason, back to stop him from pouncing on Greene too… Well, there’d be some conflicts in the narrative.”

“Oh…”

“You must’ve done a real number on that family,” Helena said, quieter. “Your little hero stunt seemed to really scare them.”

The Rec Center was coming into view and it looked as if much of the fair crowd had dispersed in response to the incident. Members of the staff were beginning to clean up while several police officers milled around along with a pair of paramedics. The fair was meant to last for another four hours at least… Guilt pooled in Tim’s stomach.

It’s not your fault. Bruce will write a check to cover any deficit in the fundraising…even if he shouldn’t just throw money at problems to solve them.

“Ah, Mr. Drake and Miss Bertinelli,” Commissioner Gordon announced their arrival…return? “I’m glad to see you standing under your own power, young man.”

Tim blinked, “Uhh, yeah, it was…just a sideswipe. Mr. Greene wasn’t going too fast. I think…I think I was more shocked than anything else.”

The crinkle at the corners of his eyes indicated Gordon’s smile more than his mustache did, “So, the bandages are just for the sake of fashion?”

Tim shrugged, “Uhh, Mr. Pennyworth? The Waynes'… um, butler…? He tracked me down and helped me clean up the scratches a bit. I think he knew I was overwhelmed.”

The Commissioner nodded, “Sounds like Alfred. Circumventing protocol.”

Tim’s eyes widened, “Oh, no! I mean, he was helping me out. I don’t want him to be in trouble just for that. It’s my fault that I ran off before paramedics and you guys could get here… I was…I wasn’t thinking. Please don’t-”

“Woah there, Chief,” the Commissioner chuckled. “No one’s in trouble… Well, except for Mr. Greene. He was hauled down to the station by some other officers. Drunk driving is no joke. Alfred isn’t going to be in trouble for administering some First-Aid. However, we’d like the paramedics to look you over while you answer a few questions about the incident.”

Tim looked over at Helena who smiled, “Uhh, yeah, I can do that.”

The interview with Commissioner Gordon and Officer Brooks went as well as could be expected. Tim explained what happened from his perspective. Seeing Sasha, hearing the car, running before he truly understood what he was doing, getting hit… Dennis Greene grabbing him. They pressed him about Dick’s involvement, but Tim just shrugged and claimed ignorance. Regardless of everything else, Dick Grayson had pulled the drunk off of Tim… There was no way that he’d be responsible for Dick getting punished on his account. The cops let it go and allowed the paramedics to finish their evaluation. There was no need for a visit to the hospital, but they recommended a visit to Dr. Leslie Tompkins at a nearby clinic for an additional opinion. In short order, they left too. Helena fretted for a minute before asking Tim to sit tight for a moment while she grabbed their stuff and updated the Rec Center staff.

Tim was left by himself which he was both grateful for…and dreaded. The quiet was nice, but being left alone with his thoughts didn’t sit well with him. Realizations were finally breaking through Tim's fatigue and pain.

Tim had gotten hit by a car! Everyone saw it happen...and it had somehow got worse from there.

Because…because Dick Grayson had absolutely lost it! On Tim’s behalf. There was a difference between being a hero, being Nightwing, and laying a guy out as a civilian. Tim couldn’t ignore how…specific it was. Dick wasn’t just angry that it happened. No, he was angry that it happened to Tim. Dennis Greene sucked and pretty much everyone hated him, but it wasn’t about him. If it was some other a-hole in that car, the result would have been the same. It was about Tim. Tim had been hurt. Tim had been accosted by a drunk. Dick had stepped in. Dick had broken the guy's nose. Dick had protected Tim.

You HURT that kid AGAIN and you’re gonna be eating through a TUBE!

And…well, Tim didn’t quite know what to do with that information. He never doubted that Nightwing cared, but Dick was...different. Dick was...just a guy. A guy who was so angry on Tim's behalf that he'd just...punched Dennis Greene without a second thought. That was crazy, right?

It was weird that…it didn’t seem all that weird.

“Timothy?”

Tim looked up and barely had time to brace himself before Damian Wayne barrelled into his midsection. If he hadn’t been sitting, Tim would’ve been knocked right off his feet.

You think he learned that move from Sasha…or you, I guess… Very reminicent of your stunt earlier today.

“Ooomph!” Tim groaned, instinctively holding the kid close. “Hi, ow…Damian.”

“Timothy… You must not… I thought that…” Damian mumbled, his face buried in Tim's chest. He paused for a long moment. “I am not sure what to say.”

“Well, uh…most people say ‘hi’ before charging me,” Tim offered.

Damian’s arms tightened more around his middle. Despite Tim's injuries, it felt really nice.

“You okay, Damian?” Tim asked when he realized the hug wasn’t ending.

Damian scoffed, “I was not the one who got hurt. You and Miss Sasha were. I am fine.”

Tim thought for a moment, then, “Just because it didn’t happen to you doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you. Trauma and pain and feelings and…living…none of it’s a contest. Me being hurt or Sasha being scared…doesn’t mean that you can’t be hurt or scared too.”

“But-”

“Nope,” Tim cut Damian off and gently nudged him back a bit so he could look the kid in the eye. “Your feelings may not ‘make sense’ to you, but they’re real. You’re allowed to have them.”

“I wasn’t hurt though. My emotions are a distraction from what’s important,” Damian argued, avoiding eye contact. “It’s selfish and imm-imma-”

“Damian, the only reason I got to Sasha in time was because of my emotions,” Tim interjected. “I was worried and scared and I didn’t want her to get hurt. Am I selfish and immature?”

Damian considered for a moment, “No. You’re not.”

“Thank-”

“But you are reckless and I can’t trust you not to do stupid things,” Damian continued, crawling down from Tim's lap. “Please don’t do something like that again… Not again, please.”

Tim was taken aback as Damian stepped away, “Uh…okay. I’ll try.”

Damian nodded, “Good. I will check in with you next week to ensure you are keeping your word.”

“Uhhh…wait, what?”

“Damian, Alfie is waiting for us,” Jason called, jogging over to their picnic table. “B went down to the station with Dick.”

“He shouldn’t be in trouble at all,” Damian sniffed, crossing his arms. “Dennis Grenne is the problem!”

"You're not wrong," Jason muttered before giving Tim a once-over. “Gawl, kid, quite the performance today. You show me up on the climbing wall and then you go play hero before dramatically spiriting away. Not giving any of us a chance.”

Tim frowned, “That’s not why I di-”

“Oh hush,” Jason grumbled. “I’m just messin’ with you. You did good, Timbo… I mean you look like you dragged yourself out of hell, but you did good.”

Which was high praise from a grammar Nazi. Tim didn’t do well, he did good...just like Mr. Feeney taught kids to do in the early 2000s.

Tim was quiet, contemplating everything and allowing exhaustion to finally hit him. Everything would be okay… Well, Dick might be charged with assault, but it was unlikely to stick given the lack of video evidence and…like...so much lying perpetrated by the community.

Did…did Gotham just become Skidmore? Except with second-degree assault instead of like…homicide? Should we be okay with that? Like, we do vigilante justice all the time, but… This is different, right? We shouldn't promote lying about crimes.

“Well, we should head out then,” Jason announced, breaking the awkward silence. He reached out, ostensibly to punch Tim in the shoulder if the fist was any indication, but opted for ruffling the younger teen’s hair instead. “Stay out of trouble, kid, and we’ll…see you around.”

Tim ducked away and nodded, “See ya. Bye, Damian.”

Tim watched the brothers join Cassandra (who was clearly standing guard) and wander off towards the parking lot. Tim was alone again. It didn’t feel as overwhelming as he thought it would… He didn’t even feel bad about breaking his deal with Dick. It wasn’t his fault the Waynes were all up in his business…and he couldn’t help but appreciate their concern. It was nice…getting patched up by Alfred, getting Jason’s approval, getting Cass’ silent protection…getting a hug from Damian.

Having Dick in his corner...even if it wasn't great to punch a guy.

The Waynes’ attentiveness might not be the 'home' Tim had been craving an hour earlier, but he didn’t feel so crumby anymore… Something warm settled just behind his ribs.

Like I was saying...just let somebody love you for once in your life.

Chapter Text

~

Sleeping in the back of the Forester wasn't Dick’s best idea, but well…limited options.

“Erghhhh!” he groaned.

“Finally awake?”

“Herghhhhh,” Dick replied.

“Yeah, I bet. I hate to say it, but we're not as young as we once were. Posture might actually matter to our skeletal structure. Who knew?”

Dick huffed out a laugh, “Like you know anything about proper posture, goofus. The way you sit in chairs should be studied. Curled up and yet somehow sitting up straight. How is your back not in constant knots?”

“Well, you see, all of my stress sits in my neck and shoulders. The rest of my body couldn't care less about its arrangement as long as my neck isn't out of whack.”

“Hmm,” Dick mumbled, considering climbing into the front seat so he could see how far his brother had managed to drive while he was out. “And who did you inherit that from?”

“Dad had back problems and Mom had migraines… Guess the universe decided to split the difference and put everything on my upper spine.”

“Woe is you, little brother,” Dick replied with a yawn. “You want me to take over? How long did I sleep?”

The previous days had been…trying. In the early days of their road trip, they'd stumbled across severe weather. It had been fine…for them, but the communities they drove through hadn't been so lucky. The destruction and pain didn't sit well with either brother so they'd researched the volunteer effort and joined in without a second thought. They had camping equipment, old clothes, and emergency response training. Stepping up made sense.

After all, being a helper is often more important than being a hero… A phrase Dick’s little brother repeated so often it might as well be his motto. Maybe it was.

Still, being a helper wasn't devoid of risks. Dick’s phone crapped out without warning and an incident while moving concrete slabs nearly broke his brother's foot. It was frustrating and it only got worse when both of them got a face full of sewage. Dick had just about had enough of the entire situation. Then…

I've been so good, I've been helpful and friendly
I've been so good, why am I feeling empty?
I've been so good, I've been so good this year
I've been so good, but it's still getting harder
I've been so good, where the hell is the karma?
I've been so good, I've been so good this year

The impromptu karaoke had thrown Dick so off balance he'd nearly fallen into the sludge. One look at his brother's face though and…well, he couldn't find it in himself to do anything but laugh. Despite the setbacks and irritations, their trip was worth it. Dick had missed their shenanigans, sure, but he'd missed how easily they balanced each other out more. His little brother knew exactly what he needed to be pulled back from the edge. In return, Dick stepped in when it was time to take a break.

After profuse thank yous and teary farewells from a few of the locals, they'd returned to the road. The cleanup would last for months and the state wasn't organizing very effectively, but FEMA had arrived so it was time to move on. Four days of volunteering wasn't enough. Nothing ever would be. The two had to accept that.

Dick crawled into the backseat and zonked out somewhere on I90 heading back east. He was a bit glum that they wouldn't get to their adventure in the Tetons, but they couldn't just abandon their responsibilities back home. It was crazy to be upset when he’d just witnessed what real loss looked like. There wasn’t much he could complain about when he still had a home to return to. He was just so…conflicted. The only reason he’d met his brother (the second time) was because of nightlife stuff. It was how they became brothers. But all of that got in the way of them being brothers sometimes.

“Hey,” Dick said.

“Hmm?”

“You didn't answer me. You need to switch out?”

“Eh, I'm good for another hour or so, I think,” his brother lied. “You can go back to sleep. I'll wake you at our next stop.”

“Sure,” Dick snorted, still not moving. “Where are we anyway?”

“Uh, Ohio.”

“Really?” Dick chuckled, finally stretching. “Wanna go see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or just really jazzed about the Cleve?”

“Neither?”

Well, wasn't that suspicious? It wasn't just an easy route home then…

“Cedar Point?”

“Not after the last time we got stuck upside down on a ride. Gawl, my neck was outta whack for weeks!”

“So?”

“Ummm, Cuyahoga?”

“Seriously?”

“I mean, it's on the list and it's a legit park… We've already gone to Mammoth Cave or I would've detoured that way… Everything else was too far out for when we told B we'd be back. As much as I'd love to lie to him and extend our trip to like…the Everglades, there's a new threat in town so we need to be back sooner than later.”

“Woah, dude, calm down,” Dick said, finally sitting up fully in the backseat with a cramped stretch. “I'm not judging you or your decision. I'm just surprised. Aren't you tired…and injured?”

Silence.

“Ti-”

“I know that you… We just spent… I'm trying…”

“Take your time,” Dick muttered, rubbing his eyes.

A long pause and Dick nearly fell asleep again.

Then, “Am I a terrible person?”

“What?”

Silence.

“Dude, what are you on about at…five-thirty in the morning?” Dick asked with a glance at his new phone.

Another pause.

“Hey, pull over. I think you need a break if you seriously think you're a terrible person after spending multiple days cleaning up sewage and sustaining injuries.”

“It's not that,” was the reply. “I know that I'm not like…I know I do good in the world. Regularly. It's just-”

“Just?”

“I'm just so frickin’ frustrated! I'm not upset that we stopped to help. I wanted to help, but I'm sick and tired of putting everything else that matters to me on the back burner! We haven't hung out in months and… I just wish… Everything gets in the way! And it's unreasonable to be so annoyed because the only reason we're close to begin with is because of like…so much trauma and our night jobs. We literally save people! I shouldn't be so dismissive of all of that when it's the bas-”

Yeah, this spiral wasn’t happening. Not after he’d watched his brother fix several devices others thought weren’t salvageable. Not after he’d donated half the clothes he’d brought to a teen who had lost everything. Not after he’d insisted on looking for a family dog who hadn’t been seen since the evacuation (and finding him in a half-flooded cornfield).

So, (emotional) shock therapy.

“Hey, you wanna know something?”

“Dick, I'm trying to expl-”

“I wouldn't trade you for anything.”

“...”

“I realized a few years back that… I miss my parents all the time. It still hurts. A lot. But when I think about my life… What I've accomplished, the people I've saved, my friends and my family. I wouldn't go back and change things, I think. I know, actually. And I thought for a long time that it made me horrible and selfish. How could I not save my parents? But it's true. I wouldn't trade you guys for anything. I'd go to the ends of the universe and back for the people I love, but I can't let you go.”

“Oh.”

“So what, you’re mildly frustrated that your plans got derailed by a natural disaster and its fallout. Well, I am too. You're only as horrible as I am,” Dick sighed, avoiding eye contact from the rearview mirror. “And I have it on good authority that you're my biggest fan so… If you still think I'm great then you're awesome. I've sincerely considered beating people up who thought otherwise.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah, but to be fair I don't really need much of an excuse to want to beat the crap out of Jean-Pa-”

“No, not that. You wouldn't change anything?”

Dick thought, “Well, I might make one tiny adjustment.”

“What would that be?”

“I wouldn't introduce you to Bruce.”

“Dick, you didn’t want to be Rob-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dick chuckled. “Let me be a little bit selfish here. Sharing you with the rest of the family is exhausting. Is it fun? To be so loved?”

“Jason nearly set my hair on fire on the fourth, Dick. I mean, he said it was an accident, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, you got into shenanigans with someone else, I know,” Dick whined, noting the change in landscape as they neared the park. “It hurts a lot less when it's your old Young Justice crew. When it's a sibling, it's just insulting.”

“Haha,” came the expected deadpan.

“So?”

“So what?”

Dick hesitated for a moment. Trauma wasn't a contest. Bad days and bad years and bad experiences didn't cancel each other out. Was it fair to ask? Would Dick even want to know the answer?

“If you could go back and change things, would you?”

“Im-”

~

THUNKKKK!

Dick jolted back to consciousness to the sound of a car door slamming shut.

“Ridiculous.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up fully, “What? That they just dragged me down here just to tell me I'm not being charged.”

“Hnn,” Bruce ‘hnned’, inserting his key into the ignition. “Dennis Greene was insisting that Tim Drake pushed the girl into the alley.”

“What?” Dick was fully awake but he felt numb. “You've got to be kidding me. If these idiots-”

“Don't worry,” Bruce assured him, tapping his ear to indicate his comm and Barbara’s hacking. “They're not buying it. He's drunk as a skunk. Not even waiting for his lawyer.”

Dick relaxed, slightly. The numbness remained, “...Good.”

“Apparently, eyewitness accounts are claiming you merely pulled Greene off the kid he was assaulting. No punches were thrown at all,” Bruce continued. “Greene isn't even asking for charges to be brought against you. He's claiming it's ‘the Drake kid’s’ fault’ and that a teenager was ‘sabotaging him’.”

Dick was silent for a long moment as they pulled into Saturday afternoon traffic. When he'd been told he was free to go, he made a bee-line for Bruce's car. He had been so tense and short-tempered all afternoon. His continued presence in the precinct would have only ended in disaster. The older man had hung back to speak with the Commissioner. Their conversation had lasted a full half-hour if Dick’s watch was correct.

“Fun talk with Gordon?” Dick ventured, glum.

Bruce hummed, “He interviewed Tim Drake about the incident.”

“Can't imagine he got much out of the kid,” Dick murmured, quietly relieved the kid had been found. “He seems to like to fight his own battles.”

Bruce nodded, “He's an…even-keeled young man.”

“Not everyone's kids are as fussy as yours, B.”

“I agree, but he seems as prone to lying as mine are,” Bruce grumbled.

“What makes you say th-”

Bruce glared at him as they waited for the light to change, “He claimed to have no prior incidents with Greene and I know for a fact that isn't true. Based on Jason's reaction, I'm sure there are others I'm unaware of.”

Dick fidgeted with the window controls, “I only know of one other time…”

“You didn't think to bring it up.”

“Tim Drake’s life isn't your business, B!” Dick snapped. “I’m not obligated-”

Bruce cut him off as he completed a left turn, “You're right, his life isn't my business. It's his foster parent’s, his supervisors’, his teachers’, his case worker’s… And apparently, based on your behavior lately, yours.”

Dick took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his temper in check. His dad wasn’t a threat. Not to him, not to Tim. Still, it felt like Dick was losing control of the situation and he really didn’t want Bruce involved… Heck, Dick shouldn’t be involved, right?

“So, Jason was right about you decoding the ‘Alvin Draper’ of it all?” Dick asked, propping his arm up on the window.

“Hnn, it took a few leaps in logic, but I got there eventually,” Bruce admitted. “It wasn’t the first time he’d used that alias. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Dick blinked, “Because there was no way that you were going to be normal about it.”

“Tim Drake is a civ-”

“I know, B, I know, but…Hasn’t he put up with enough?” Dick muttered, leaning hard on the other man’s sympathy. “He lost his parents to a natural disaster. His first foster home was…what it was.”

“I understand that you feel-”

“B, why does it matter if it was Tim Drake and not some other kid named Alvin?” Dick asked, frustrated and grasping at straws. Leaning on cold, numb logic. “You’re right. The kid is a civilian. He’s no different than any other person we run into on the job. He’s alive. He’s fine. Who cares if it specifically happened to Tim Drake?”

Wow, harsh…

Dick flinched. They were his words. They were true. But they stung with a strength that shocked him from his manufactured apathy.

“Hnnn.”

And the two were silent the rest of the way to the Manor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t a surprise to find Tim Drake lying on a picnic table in Robinson Park at nine-thirty the following evening. As a matter of fact, Dick was banking on the kid being out and about. Of course, he’d hoped that it was somewhere safe or at the very least warm, but he still checked the park first. The teen’s head was pillowed on one arm while the other was stuffed in the pocket of his roughed-up jacket. He looked completely immersed in staring up at the trees. Dick’s approach was either missed or ignored. He kicked the bench and got some enjoyment out of the teen’s alarm.

Tim lurched into a sitting position and blinked rapidly, “Dick?”

“No, you don’t get to be surprised to find me out here,” Dick balked, climbing onto the table to sit. “I have exclusive rights to be surprised right now.”

Tim fixed him with a look, “You don’t look surprised.”

Dick shrugged, “I’m not.”

“...Okay,” Tim replied and scooted over to sit next to Dick. “You gonna tell me to go back to Helena’s?”

Dick quirked an eyebrow, “I believe you already told me you wouldn’t do this anymore a couple months ago.”

Tim fidgeted, “And…I did. For the most part.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dick nodded, “Okay then.”

“Why are you out here…and in civies?” Tim asked after a long minute of silence.

Dick shivered as a breeze blew by, “I owe you an apology, I think. For...a lot of stuff.”

Tim stiffened next to him, “Why’s that?”

Dick considered for a moment…a long moment.

You sure this is a good ide-

Dick turned to face Tim who tilted his head in that damned familiar way. The older of the two scoffed and ruffled the winter cap covering the younger’s head. Tim looked thoroughly frazzled and vaguely annoyed as he fixed his hat.

“Hey-”

Dick pulled Tim into a hug.

Tim didn’t hesitate for even half a second before hugging Dick back.

It was nice. All the numbness rapidly thawing out. Relief taking its place. Tim was okay. Still in one piece, even if he was a bit battered. Still full of mischief. Still playing in shadows. Still joking around. Still slipping past the masks Dick wore to drag him out of the gloom. Being the only thing he needed to be: there.

Dick wasn’t timing the interaction, but it probably lasted an unreasonably long time. It was comforting to know that Tim was okay after…well, like, everything that had ever happened to him. Selfishly, it was also a relief to know that Tim didn’t seem to hate him.

“Uhh, Dick? Are you okay?”

Dick squeezed the kid extra tight one more time before reluctantly letting him go, “Sorry, you just scared the hell out of me, kid.”

Tim rolled his eyes as his cheeks tinged with pink that had nothing to do with the cold, “Seriously, how many people are gonna freak out on me? You’d think that-”

“You got hit by a car?”

Tim deflated, sheepish but unrepentant, “Yeah, yeah… I know. I’m a bit banged up, but I promise that I’m fine.”

“Again. You got hit by a car. Yesterday,” Dick reiterated, blunt.

Tim glared at him, “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing. Sasha could’ve been hurt…or died.”

“Actually, boy basketcase, I wouldn’t do the same thing,” Dick retorted, flicking Tim on the forehead.

Tim reared back and looked affronted, “What?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have gotten hit by a car while saving her,” Dick taunted, a little giddy despite himself.

Tim huffed, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I’m a professional,” Dick replied, mock-serious. “Though it is perhaps unreasonable to expect the same level of proficiency from you, I suppose.”

Tim nodded, eyes narrowed, “You’re right. By the way, how’s your hand?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I mean, you punched a guy,” Tim said, fully mocking. “Not exactly standard procedure after a car accident in my experience.”

Dick didn’t like where this was going, “Well-”

“Now, me, I would’ve focused on just dragging the guy off of the kid he was assaulting,” Tim continued, ignoring Dick’s indignation. “Though I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect a ‘professional’ to choose the more challenging route of de-escala-”

Dick grabbed him (gently) and proceeded to administer a prolonged noogie. Despite his struggling and sputtering, Tim was laughing. Again, it was nice. Easy. Something just shy of a shenanigan, but that Dick had been lacking all the same. It was nonsense, but the kind that lifted spirits and steadied boats in choppy waters.

Why had Dick missed this kid so much? All civilians mattered. Why did this civilian matter more?

The photograph? Picture kid?

No, Tim had mattered more before that revelation.

Proximity?

No, the kid was almost constantly running away from all of them.

...

“Okay-” Tim huffed out between laughs. “Uncle- Uncle! UNCLE!”

Dick let him go, fixing the teen's hat as he went, “To be clear, Dennis Greene fuckin’ sucks. I didn’t really need much of an excuse to punch him in the face. I'm not sorry for that. He hit you with a car and then got mad at you for it. I am sorry for not checking on you first though. I have my whole life to punch that guy in the face... You and Sasha had more immediate needs and I blew right past them.”

Tim rolled his eyes again, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry if you got in any trouble.”

Dick shook his head, stood up, and pulled Tim to his feet, “Nah, your Rec Center crew was remarkably eager to lie to law enforcement on your behalf.”

“On your behalf,” Tim corrected, following along as Dick started walking towards the edge of the park.

“On our behalf,” Dick decided. “Now, I’m hungry. You think that Gio would be willing to make me a gyro at ten at night?”

“Pretty sure he won't care as long as you pay,” Tim said with a shrug before stopping.

Dick frowned, “You coming?”

Tim chewed on his lower lip, hesitating despite their banter, “You’re not gonna rat me out? Or get mad about our arrangeme-”

Dick rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Tim's shoulders to nudge him along, “Dude, I never actually agreed to your terms in the first place.”

Tim started moving, “You didn’t disagree with them either.”

“Yeah, well, that’s when I believed you might actually be capable of staying out of trouble,” Dick replied lightly. “It’s become clear that you can’t so I don’t see the point of adhering to your dumb arrangement.”

“Dumb?!” Tim squawked.

“Though, I do have to ask,” Dick admitted, trying to suppress his annoyance. “What are you doing out?”

Tim was keeping up with Dick’s longer strides and his eyes were set ahead, "It was suffocating. All sorts of people were contacting me out of the blue about what happened. I hadn't talked to most of them in years. I guess I just needed to be anonymous for a while. Have some space to breath or whatever."

Dick felt a wave of guilt roll over him, "Yikes... Sorry to wreck your plans."

"Nah," Tim snorted, a small smile pulling at his lips as they waited at an intersection. "You're good. I know you won't pester me about it too much... Or pretend you care just to get something from me."

Dick tried very hard to push down the smug satisfaction pooling in his stomach... And failed, "Darn, guess I won't be getting your autograph then. eBay will be so disappointed."

Tim snickered and shoved his hands in his pockets, "Facebook marketplace, maybe. But I'll sign whatever you want if you split the take with me. I got my eye on a second-hand camera and some new gloves."

"Fifty-fifty and I'll just buy you some gloves," Dick declared with a gentle shove and then added very carefully. "What about Helena though? Won't she freak out when she notices you're gone? Can't imagine she took the accident well."

“Helena stayed in last night, but she always goes out on Sundays," Tim answered, equally careful. "It’s the best night for recon and test runs for infiltration since there’s usually less security.”

Dick was working overtime to keep his voice steady, “She told you that?”

Tim shook his head, “Nah, I figured it out on my own based on her sightings on Reddit and Twitter. I knew I could be out for a few hours before she’d check in. She tries to respect my need for 'alone time'.”

They walked in silence for a while. Dick didn’t trust himself to not criticize Helena’s decisions, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. It’s not like his parental figures (barring biological) were paragons of parental perfection. Bruce literally let him out in Gotham when he was younger than Tim. Alfred would (at the very least) consider trading all his pseudo-grandchildren if it meant that Bruce could have a normal life. Dick loved them, but were they really better than Helena?

“So you never mentioned... Why aren’t you working tonight?” Tim asked as they turned onto Gio’s street.

“Eh, didn’t feel like dealing with Jason being smug all night," Dick lied.

Tim held the door open for Dick, “Why would he-”

“He figured out the whole… “Alvin’ thing,” Dick admitted reluctantly.

“What?!”

“Don’t worry,” Dick assured him. “You’re not in trouble. I got them to back off.”

No you did not. You just asked why they cared so much and they didn’t have an answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, who do we have here?” Gio boomed through the kitchen window. “Tim Drake who I haven’t seen in months and Dick Grayson who I haven’t seen in years.”

Dick cringed. He’d forgotten that he usually showed up at Gio’s in costume. Jason considered the food too heavy and Cass was particular about the fries. Damian wasn’t comfortable at restaurants. “Brucie” was forced to dine at places with Michelin stars. And Alfred was just a snob about diners in general. Still, his stomach and his feet had insisted on Gio’s.

“Hey, Gio,” Tim said. “I’ve been grounded.”

“Curfew?”

Tim rubbed his neck, properly chagrined, “Sorta.”

Gio nodded, stepping fully out of the kitchen and motioning for them to sit down at the counter, “And Dick Grayson? You been grounded for three years?”

Dick cringed, “Uhh, moved to New York for a bit… Then Blüdhaven was suggested to me by an old friend.”

“That hellhole?” Gio laughed as he poured each of them a glass of water. “I hope you cut that friend off.”

There hadn’t been a friend actually. It had just seemed like the right call to move closer with Jason, Cass, and Damian around. Easier access for Nightwing (and Dick) in case of incidents like the one with Bane the year before. It would’ve gone a lot worse had Nightwing not been around to pick up the slack. After all, there was no one else that Batman would entrust Gotham to. Between him, Cass, and Jason; Bruce was able to take a proper break. They were just glad no one had to wear the big bat suit.

“Yeah, don’t know what they were thinking,” Dick agreed anyway. “But I don’t hate it. City just needs a little love and care is all.”

Gio frowned, “Sure, sure. And how do you two know each other?”

Dick blanched, but Tim didn’t miss a beat, “Family friends from before. Those annoying galas my parents had to go to, y’know?”

“I see.”

“Dick offered to tutor me in math,” Tim continued unwrapping his straw. “Finals are this week so he’s motivating me to study more with the promise of fries.”

“Bribery?” Gio asked. “That approved protocol?”

Dick blinked at how easily Tim came up with such a believable lie, “Uhh, extrinsic motivation is a proven technique despite its disadvantages.”

“Hey, Gio, I finally got skin in this ‘do well in math’ game,” Tim groused. “Don’t ruin it for me.”

Gio shrugged, “Okay, one order of fries and what about you, Grayson?”

“A gyro, my good man,” Dick requested with gusto. “And a cookies and cream milkshake for the twerp. He deserves it.”

Gio jotted it down, “He a math prodigy or somethin’?”

Dick grinned and jostled Tim’s shoulder, “Nah, Tim here is a hero.”

Tim stiffened and started blinking rapidly, “Umm, that’s not tru-”

“Oh, right, Alec did mention that incident while picking up dinner yesterday,” Gio said. “Well, looks like you’re getting your meal for free tonight, Chief.”

“That’s not necessa-”

“Hush and respect your elders,” Gio interjected before heading back to the kitchen.

Tim groaned and dropped his head into his arms, “...Owww…”

“Not the best idea there, Chief,” Dick joked. “You’re still pretty banged up.”

“Meh…”

They were quiet for a while waiting for their food, Tim doodling on a napkin while Dick listened to the radio. He was very aware of how bad of an idea it was to hang out with the kid, but he had missed him. It didn’t make any sense, but neither did Bruce taking in a bunch of random kids. Maybe Dick had just inherited the older man's habit of picking up strays. Besides, Tim was just easy to get along with. An ornery but bright ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Damian and Cass liked him. Sought him out in their own ways. Bruce listened to him, asked after him. Jason let his guard down around him. Alfred had, apparently, patched the kid up the day before. Even Barbara seemed intrigued by him. Tim was remarkably unremarkable, but he was Wayne/Bat/Gordon-approved. Maybe they could keep him around? Or Dick could, at the very least, keep checking in on him. Provide a little levity or advice to the only other living occupant of their shared photo.

Coax a smile out of him when he's glum... Like right then in the diner.

“So, you seem pretty down for a hero,” Dick mentioned after they got their food and Gio returned to the kitchen.

“I…don’t think I’d make a very good hero,” Tim admitted with a shrug. “I’ve always been more of a helper.”

Dick frowned, “What’s the difference?”

Tim sighed, dipping a fry into his milkshake, “Heroes, they’re these big symbols. They come out of nowhere and save the day.”

“Which is what you did-”

“Helpers are more…consistent?” Tim interrupted. “They’re not there forever or anything, but they see things through. Stay with someone who is injured until EMTs arrive. Fix a bicycle tire so a kid can get home. Just listen when someone is hurting.”

“I see.”

“It’s just-I think I’d make a better helper than a hero,” Tim concluded. “I don’t think I can pull off the big things reliably, but…I can nudge things in the right direction if I’m given time.”

Dick read between the lines, “You keep replaying the accident in your head. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t got there in time.”

Tim nodded.

“Well, you did, so don’t dwell on it,” Dick said. “You did good. But…you’re not wrong about helpers. A lot of the time being a helper is more important than being a hero.”

Tim looked at him, something unreadable behind his eyes. The radio proceeded to play an uncharacteristically upbeat song for the late hour.

When's the last time we dropped our things and went?
Woke up somewhere that we've both never been?
Growin' up doesn't mean gettin' older

Maybe it's just left turns off familiar streets
I just wanna come back with a memory
Growin' up doesn't mean gettin' older

“So, accolades aren’t what you want for your actions?” Dick guessed.

Tim shook his head.

“What do you want?”

Like a river connects to the ocean
This pavement touches wherever we go, and
White lines flyin' by, who knows what we'll find
You and me tonight
Drive

Like a river connects to the ocean
This pavement touches wherever we go, and
White lines flyin' by, who knows what we'll find
You and me tonight
Yeah, let's drive

Let's drive

“This,” Tim said pointing to the speakers

“What? An underrated musical career?” Dick ventured. “Got pipes of gold?”

Tim grinned and shook his head, “Nah, I kinda just wanna jump in a car and go. Somewhere. Open skies, shady forests, giant lakes, hidden creeks.... Just wherever.”

“Can you even drive?”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Don’t you drive a Camry?”

“Okay, okay,” Dick conceded. “So, what, you want to leave Gotham for good?”

“No, I’d come back, but… My parents, they spent so much of their time traveling. I didn’t really get much of a chance to travel with them. A few National Parks. Chicago, once. Not much that I remember or appreciated. My parents, though, tried to see everything! They always came back from all these places with wild stories about their adventures. I guess I just want the opportunity to do the same thing. Y’know?”

Dick scratched at his ears, “Yeah, I get you. Pragmatic wanderlust. I have some leftover from traveling with the circus. Sometimes I just wanna escape for a bit. Run around the country looking for an adventure or a story.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I do sometimes. Did sometimes, I guess,” Dick admitted. “Back when my friends were less busy. Before we grew up.”

“Your family doesn’t offer to go with you?” Tim puzzled.

“Damian doesn’t really like traveling much…stuff from when he was younger,” Dick explained. “Jason isn’t the spontaneous type. He’s a planner. Cass would probably run off on some side adventure without telling me. Bruce doesn’t like to be out of Gotham for too long either. Road gets pretty lonely. Adventures are the best when you share them. The Camry is great, but not much of a talker.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dick chuckled, humorless.

“Well, no one else is apologizing.”

Before Dick could retort that he hadn’t meant to bring the mood down, the lights flickered and went out.

Another blackout. Great. And Dick was, once again, dealing with a civilian with no concerns about the danger instead of... Well, all of the other less concerning civilians.

“Time travelers,” Tim whispered before grabbing another napkin to scribble on.

He’d whispered it so quietly that Dick had almost missed it.

Must he say everything he’s thinking out loud?

“What?”

Tim’s eyes widened.

“Hey, Gio, I should get Tim back to Helena’s!” Dick called, dropping two twenties on the counter. “Thanks for everything!”

“You bet!”

Dick ushered Tim out the door and onto the sidewalk.

“Dick, maybe you should go-”

“Not a chance, kid,” Dick growled. “How on Earth do you know about-”

“Umm, a friend of yours,” Tim stuttered still scribbling on his napkin. “He was in town a while back during one of the blackouts. I, uh, met him and he explai-”

“He talked to you about it?” Dick sputtered. “Wait, you met the- Well, you know, and you didn’t mention it?”

“Uhh, yes and yes,” Tim replied, confused.

Dick took a deep breath, “Why?”

“Am I required to notify you whenever I talk to someone new on the roof?”

“You met him on a roof?! I thought you said you were staying out of trouble for the past month!”

“I met him on Helena’s roof,” Tim spat back. “I wasn’t out looking for him. Technically, he was trespassing, I think… Helena owns the building. I’m pretty sure she can prohibit randos from chilling on the roof.”

“What?”

“I…don’t know,” Tim admitted. “It’s just- He said the blackouts were tied to someone time traveling. So, um, I started tracking where and when it was happening.”

Dick shook his head, “Why?”

“Umm, I just wanted to-”

“Help, right, no that makes sense,” Dick sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course Wally-”

“Wally? Is that his name-”

“-would find some random kid and just spill very delicate information!”

“Wally… Who names their kid Wally anymore?”

“And, now, there’s two kids trying to solve time travel!”

“Wait, what other kid is ‘solving time travel’ because I’d like to compare notes if I coul-”

“Why is it you? Why would he find you out of everyone? You're just some civilian. Like any other civilian. Why would he even talk to you?”

“Hey, I’m not that bad!”

“No, you’re not, but you sure run into a lot of trouble,” Dick finished, hurrying them along the dark streets.

“Sorry, didn’t realize I was such a problem,” Tim scowled.

Dick sighed and shook his head, “You aren't. I just don’t get why he’d talk to you about it. It's risky. And dumb.”

Tim fidgeted, “I think he just wanted someone to bounce ideas off of. He seemed a bit-”

“Irritating?” Dick offered.

“Overwhelmed,” Tim corrected. “Like he had to handle it on his own to prove something to himself. Talking to me was a way to organize his thoughts without having to-”

“Ask another hero for help.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot easier to pretend you’ve got it together when you’re talking to someone who hasn’t seen behind the mask,” Tim argued, frustratingly insightful.

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “I guess.”

They began walking back towards Helena’s apartment more slowly. Dick was reluctant, but Tim shouldn’t have even been out in the first place. Tim got in trouble in broad daylight. Heck, Gotham was unsafe when the lights were on, Dick wasn’t risking him running around in a blackout.

“So,” Dick ventured as they wandered the dark streets, “you’ve been tracking the blackouts?”

“Yeah, I figured- Uh, I don’t know. I just thought maybe someone might be able to pinpoint what changed if they could zero in on the affected area?”

“Not a bad plan,” Dick admitted, tired. “But who exactly were you going to tell?”

“The time fairies,” Tim deadpanned without missing a beat.

“Seriously, kid, what use is that information?” Dick asked. “Did you expect to be able to hand it over to him?”

Dick barely made out Tim’s shrug in the dark of the street, “I don’t know, but I couldn’t ignore it once I knew what it is.”

“Don’t you have enough to worry about?” Dick mumbled. "These things aren't your responsibility. You've got like... Teen stuff to worry about, right?"

Tim fixed him with a look. Then:

Somewhere in the universe
Somewhere someone's got it worse
Wish that made it easier
Wish I didn't feel the hurt

The world's smallest violin
Really needs an audience
So if I do not find somebody soon

I'll blow up into smithereens
And spew my tiny symphony
All up and down a city street
While tryna put my mind at ease
Like finishing this melody
This feels like a necessity
So this could be the death of me
Or maybe just a better me

Now, come in with the timpanis
And take a shot of Hennessy
I know I'm not there mentally
But you could be the remedy
So let me play my violin for you

“The hell!” Dick laughed, caught completely off guard.

Tim shrugged, “That’s kinda what it's like in my head. It’s chaotic, but… Everyone has bad days. Bad days aren’t a contest. I’m allowed to have them and so are you and so is everyone else. Everyone talks to me like I'm one bad day away from a complete breakdown. Trust me, I’m not. I get my chance to play my stupid, metaphorical violin and whine to my heart's content. Deal with 'teen stuff'. Then, I can go out and function and be helpful. Figured hearing it might drag you away from the edge of whatever whirlpool was about to drag you under.”

“I don’t think that’s what the song means,” Dick muttered.

“Maybe,” Tim admitted. “But that’s how I choose to take it. I'm allowed to feel hurt and acknowledge other people's. If I bottle it up I'll go insane, but I don't let it drown me. I keep a level head about it all and try to get better so I can help others. Let out the melodrama and move on instead of dwell. Better than actually melting down.”

The lights flickered back on. Tim scribbled on his napkin again and Dick sighed in relief.

“Well, looks like they’re done,” Dick said.

“Not exactly how that works,” Tim quipped, then his eyes widened. “But, hey, maybe you can bring him my research! You’re friends with him, right?”

“Woah, Tim, I’m not sure-”

“Please, Dick, I don’t want all of the stuff I did to go to waste,” Tim whined, eyes still wide and now pleading. “It’s dumb and inefficient.”

“...Fine.”

They started walking again.

“So?” Tim asked.

“So what?”

“Why do you think they’re time traveling?”

Dick fixed his new (temporary) partner in crime (time shenanigans) fighting with a confused look, “Don’t you want to know what they’re doing.”

Tim shook his head, “Nah, that’s easy.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, they’re changing stuff.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Tim nodded, “The thing is, they’re doing it a lot. Which means they have some sort of consistent motivation to do this. I want to know why. Maybe that will help you guys find them. Like, if there’s a pattern in the changes they make? If there is a common theme?”

“Think about time travel a lot?” Dick said, tired.

Tim flinched, “Uh, I just…really loved Back to the Future as a kid? Still love it.”

Suspicious little punk.

“Uh…huh.”

“Yup, I kinda always wondered why Marty or Doc didn’t try to change more things,” Tim admitted as they reached his fire escape.

“Too many variables,” Dick guessed as they climbed.

“Maybe,” Tim said as pried his window open and crawled into the room. Dick remained on the fire escape. “What would you change?”

“I wouldn’t,” Dick answered without thinking.

Tim returned to the window with a binder labeled “#4”, “Really? You wouldn’t change anything?”

Dick blinked, his ears suddenly itchier than usual, “No? No. I…wouldn’t change anything.”

Tim smiled, holding out the binder, “You must be really happy. That’s awesome!”

“Uhh, yeah,” Dick replied. “It’s not perfect, but… I suppose I’ve got everything I need. I have my family. I have my friends. I have a future. I save people. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Tim continued smiling as he sat on his window sill, “Stop bragging, dude.”

“Well,” Dick hesitated.

“Yeah, you should probably go before Helena gets back,” Tim admitted. “Pretty sure she’d shoot you.”

“Haha…” Dick turned to climb down.

“I’m not joking. She’s a good shot with that crossbow, I think… I mean, she has to be or she wouldn't use it. Or the name 'Huntress'. I’m not too eager to look into how accurate she is though.”

“Okay then-” Dick hesitated again.

You don’t want to know, Dick. For once in your life, don’t dig.

Just as Tim was about to close his window Dick asked, “What about you?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you go back in time? Change things?”

“Immediately and without hesitation,” Tim said…immediately and without hesitation.

“Oh, right, your parents,” Dick muttered.

Right, like that wasn’t a consideration for you too.

Tim shook his head, eyes forlorn, “No, uh, I don’t think- I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to save them. I want to believe I could, but… I just don’t think it’s in the cards.”

Dick frowned.

Stop digging, Dick, seriously.

“Then why?” he asked anyway.

Tim made unrepentant eye contact, “I guess…if it meant I could help someone. Make things a little bit better… Like, if I could get the Coopers caught earlier and those kids wouldn’t have had to- I’d do what I could to make that happen. Make them suffer less."

"That's a big risk to take for something that might not turn out the way you want...or expect," Dick insisted.

Tim shrugged and then cringed at the pain in his shoulder, "It’s not like I could lose more than I already have. Time wouldn't care either way.”

Dick was struck dumb. Stunned. Simultaneously unsurprised.

Immediately and without hesitation. If it meant that the people I care about wouldn’t have to suffer… Or would suffer less. How could I not change things on their behalf? No matter what, I’d be okay. If they’re happy and safe, I’m okay.

There was a thump on the roof.

“Crap,” Tim whispered. “Tell Wally or whoever good luck and let me know if he needs anything else!”

Tim slammed the window shut and yanked the blinds closed. Dick blinked a few more times before descending the fire escape and heading towards the nearest bus stop. Every step felt like an oncoming panic attack…or the aftermath of one. The culmination of…something.

Why this civilian. Why does he matter more?

Asking that question hadn’t been Dick’s best idea, but… Well, Tim had warned him, hadn’t he?

Chapter Text

“The kid is a civilian. He’s no different than any other person we run into on the job. He’s alive. He’s fine. Who cares if it specifically happened to Tim Drake?”

Dick wasn't wrong. Objectively. Batman was used to civilians lying about who they were. They had their reasons: fear of trouble, potential retribution from thugs and rogues, distaste for vigilantes and law enforcement. When possible, his partners insisted on respecting the privacy of those involved. If it was consequential to a case, the Bats did the legwork to discover the true identities of those involved. If it didn't matter, they filed the reports with “alias” or “assumed name” tags attached.

The Killer Croc incident did not require “confirmed identities” given that the rogue didn't target the minors involved. Wrong dock, wrong time. Even the runaway case (which wasn't strictly within the Bats’ manufactured “jurisdiction”) didn't require more than Tess Estler’s information. Tim wouldn't be considered an accessory or a co-conspirator. If anything, he'd be an eye-witness. Given that the case and custody concerns concluded without many roadblocks or issues, Tim's potential information wasn’t necessary. Also, he was a minor.

Batman understood. Objectively.

Bruce Wayne, however…

‘Alvin Draper’ was an anonymous civilian. Tim Drake was not.

Except, he was? By all rational metrics, he was.

Batman's brain adamantly accepted these facts. Bruce's gut vehemently disagreed.

“Mornin’, B.”

“Jaylad,” Bruce muttered as he reread an email from Lucius for the fourth time.

Jason yawned before grabbing a jar of overnight oats. He'd been thoroughly annoyed for the past month. Not lashing out by any means, but still a bit touchy and quick to anger. Since the fair, though, he'd been downright pleasant. Somehow without the usual smugness that came with his good moods.

It was strange, but not unwelcome.

“Last week of classes this semester,” Jason announced around a mouthful of fruit and yogurt. “Ready to be done with Professor Cuthbert.”

“Jay-”

“Don't worry, my final essay is a delight to read. I hid all my criticisms beneath my floweriest language,” Jason explained. “He'd actually have to know how to do his job in order to catch on.”

Bruce fixed him with an unimpressed look. He'd go to bat (no "bat" pun intended) for his kids, of course, but he was tired of doing combat with the Literature Department… And, confusingly, the Computer Department. Though, that might be more Barbara's influence than anything else.

“Father, I would like to add- add- talk about something with you this evening,” Damian declared as he entered the kitchen. He spoke with authority…that was only slightly undercut by his dinosaur pajamas.

Jason frowned, “A family meeting on a Monday night? Must be serious.”

Damian eyed his brother warily, confidence wavering behind his green eyes, “I would pre- prefer to talk with Father privately before presenting to the entire family.”

“Present?”

Alfred appeared with Cassandra (half-asleep, but aware) and Dick (dead on his feet) in tow to deliver the morning paper.

“Yes,” Damian muttered, poking at his grapefruit. “It is a family dec- decision.”

Dick furrowed his brow at the younger boy, “Okay…then why not just talk to all of us at once?”

Damian rubbed his arm, “I’m not… It'll be easier to speak to Father first.”

Cassandra blinked, “Nervous?”

“No, but if my req…if what I want isn’t possible then there's no reason to waste your time.”

Bruce watched this exchange silently. It wasn't uncommon for his children to come to him individually… He'd been working on being more open and available to them ever since Jason went behind everyone's back to track down his birth mother. Barbara had been the one to tip him off and it was lucky that she did. It could've ended very poorly given what they uncovered about the woman. The long discussion he'd had with his son was a wake-up call that he couldn't just expect his kids to be automatically comfortable seeking him out. He had to actively engage with them (individually and collectively) in less formal ways. Have fun with them more often than he had been. Make time for them to just be normal. Ice skating with Cass, roughhousing with Jason, going on walks with Damian, card games with Dick… Movie nights with all of them and trips to the store and amusement parks and the zoo. Good parenting was more than just talking about the big things. Little things made the big things easier. At the risk of sounding cocky, his efforts were working…even if Bruce was still making mistakes. There wasn't always enough time and some days were bad days. Tempers flared and secrets were kept. So…making a lot of mistakes. But it was a lot better than it was before.

So, his kids coming to talk with him on their own was not uncommon.

But…

When one of them wanted something, they usually combined forces. Dogpiled him. His kids understood strength in numbers. Their multiple pets, trampoline room, video game consoles, dance studio, new pottery wheel, library addition, four new charities, and DIY mini golf course in the backyard were a testament to their teamwork.

If Damian was approaching him alone…it had to be about something personal…or controversial.

Bruce cleared his throat, “Would you like to talk before school, Damian?”

His youngest shook his head, “No, I would like to think over what I want to say, I think. I will be ready tonight.”

“...Okay, if you're sure.”

Bruce's other children did their level best to feign disinterest. They picked at their preferred breakfasts, shooting glances across the table. It was clear that Damian would not be elaborating.

Curiosity killed the cat, but it drove the Bats. They were detectives. Curiosity was a core trait.

And they were having information withheld from them.

They were going to be insufferable all day.

“Ahem. Master Jason, Master Damian, if you're ready we'll leave in five minutes,” Alfred announced.

When Damian went to change, Dick sent Jason a poorly disguised look. A plea to pester the youngest for information and pass along the details. Jason nodded subtly and pushed away from the table.

Yeah, that wasn't going to fly.

“Jaylad, I'll remind you that it's you who harps on the importance of privacy,” Bruce implored over the rim of his coffee mug.

Jason froze and sighed before nodding.

It wasn't a promise, but he'd try at the very least.

Cassandra finished her food and wandered off. Barbara would come pick her up later. Dick remained at the table. Tense.

“What do you think Damian wants to talk about?” Dick asked once it was clear Bruce wouldn't break the silence. “Seemed important.”

Bruce shrugged, “I don't know and I won't know until he talks to me… And he already made it clear he would this evening. Until then, I know as much as you do.”

“And you're okay with that?” Dick asked, indignant. “You're the personification of paranoia and you're just going to what…wait?”

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted, opening his newspaper. “Looks like the GCPD is still having trouble staffing their shifts.”

“You don't have any ideas what this is about?”

“...No.”

Bruce shut the newspaper abruptly.

“...You hesitated,” Dick accused as Bruce stood with his dishes. “Don't deny it.”

Bruce paused in the doorway to the kitchen before redirecting the conversation, “Where were you last night?”

“Chasing down leads,” Dick replied, too quick to be true. “Another blackout. Gathering intel that might lead to the perpetrator.”

“That all?”

“No.”

“And you're not going to tell me.”

It wasn't a question.

“...No.”

“You hesitated,” Bruce said simply as he nudged the door open.

“I'm not sure if it's anything yet,” Dick muttered, following Bruce with his dishes. “No use wasting your time if it's nothing.”

“A familiar argument in this family,” Bruce sighed as he deposited his bowl and mug into the sink. “Just remember, I'm here. Whenever you're ready to talk.”

Dick scoffed, “Right. And can you promise me that you're not going to blow it all out of proportion?”

The long history of Bruce and Dick's relationship was...rocky...to say the least. Bruce was not ready to be a parent when he'd taken the boy in. It hadn't been a practical decision. Bruce wouldn't change it for anything in the world, but...impractical. They were simultaneously too different and too similar. A shared sense of justice and an inability to let others in when it was necessary. Dick closed off emotionally when faced with terrible situations. Became cold and harsh. Bruce was not capable of breaking through those barriers entirely. Not when he was so poorly regulated. Bruce had been unreasonable about...Killer Croc, but Dick had been deliberately opaque. Neither was completely in the right. It was a cycle they shared. Bruce wouldn't make promises he couldn't keep though.

“No,” Bruce answered honestly. “I can’t make determinations without knowing the particulars. That said, there's strength in numbers when attacking a problem.”

“What…what if it's not a problem? More an… anomaly. Something confusing. Weird and kinda, maybe, just a little bit crazy?”

Bruce blinked and his eyes drifted back to the newspaper, “You’re allowed to have bad days, Dick. You’ve had more than your fair share… We all have. We can untangle all of that mess together whether it’s a problem or not. Then we go back out and we try to prevent others from having a bad day…or at least reduce the damage when we can.”

Dick stiffened a bit at that. Bruce wouldn’t have even noticed had he not heard a clink of dishes in his son’s arms.

“Right,” Dick said instead of whatever he actually wanted to say. “I think I’m gonna go call Wally later… See if he can stop by tonight.”

Bruce bristled, but buried his misgivings under, “Another set of eyes on your ‘anomaly’?”

“Yeah, a second opinion,” Dick admitted. “He’s actually had his own run-in with the situation. I think his perspective could be invaluable.”

“Hnn.”

“Or I’ll just yell at him for not telling me about the whole thing to begin with,” Dick muttered under his breath.

Bruce quirked his brow but chose not to comment. He still hadn’t quite apologized for the…arguments surrounding the ‘Killer Croc Incident’. Pointing out the hypocrisy wouldn’t absolve Bruce of his response.

Should he take the opportunity to apologize? Exhibit growth?

He looked over at Dick who had continued speaking while he washed his utensils. Ranting a little, but in better spirits than he had in a while. Perhaps even a year.

Bruce cleared his throat, “Uh, Dick-”

“Don’t worry, Bruce, we won’t make a mess,” Dick interrupted. “This is purely a fact-finding visit. We won’t create headaches for the GCPD…might harass a few muggers though.”

...Better to not ruin it? By bringing up a sensitive subject? Hmmmmmm….

“Okay, Bruce, I’ll talk to you later,” Dick said as he dried his hands.

“Hnn,” Bruce acknowledged and then remembered.

“Lovely sentiment.”

No time for it now probably.

Wait.

“Will you be around for Damian’s…family meeting?” Bruce asked.

Dick hesitated in the doorway, “I’ll try, but it’ll depend on Wally’s timetable… Why don’t we just assume I’m on Damian’s side if I’m not here, kay?”

Then he was gone.

“Dami won’t like that.”

Bruce didn’t flinch but it was a near thing.

“Cassandra.”

“Bruce.”

“Eavesdropping?”

Cassandra hopped down from wherever she was hiding in the kitchen just to tilt her head, “How do I ‘drop eaves’?”

“Ask Samwise.”

Another head tilt, “Sam is wise?”

Bruce fixed her with an unimpressed look, “Jason has made you watch ‘Fellowship of the Ring’ five times, Cassandra.”

She shrugged, “Eh.”

“Alright, do we need to discuss, again, why we shouldn’t listen in on others’ conversations?” Bruce asked.

Cassandra was partial to learning through observation. It made sense. That was how she was taught in her younger years. Fighting, body language, and stealth were all learned through her eyes and movement alone. Other than demonstration or parroting, Cassandra’s input was not valued by David Cain and her other "trainers". Even now, she preferred not to ask questions and instead seek out the answer through watching and spying. It was…what it was.

“Hippo crutch,” Cassandra replied with another shrug, snacking on a bag of granola Alfred had prepared.

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes, asking whatever deities might exist for patience. Because… Cassandra wasn’t wrong. He was constantly invading people’s privacy (though he was trying to give his children a reasonable amount of space… though he would pry when necessary, they weren’t adults yet and needed some oversight). It wouldn’t be right to lie to Cassandra, but she needed to be more willing to engage with her family in an honest way. Talking to them or actively participating in conversations, discussions, and decisions. Loving her unconditionally didn't mean there weren't things that she could work on. That they all could work on.

“‘Hypocrite’,” Bruce corrected finally. “And I probably am, but it doesn’t excuse either of our behaviors.”

“When it’s family?” Cassandra asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“And friends,” Bruce added. Though Barbara was probably even worse than the rest of them at the whole ‘privacy’ thing. One didn’t reach her level of skill in hacking without a lot of practice on ‘lower level’ targets.

“Fine,” Cassandra said, probably choosing to forget this conversation when it was convenient for her. “Now, Damian.”

Bruce ran a hand down his face, “You too?”

“Mmmm.”

He hesitated for a moment then asked, “Did he seem nervous to you?”

Cassandra considered for a moment, “Frustrated. Concerned.”

“School?”

Damian had not been too keen on attending school with other children. It was essential for his development. He was such a bright boy, but he had to learn how to cooperate and communicate with his peers. No matter what he did in life, he would come across people who didn’t agree with him and it was best to practice the proper response at a young age. How to disagree in a civil manner with the guardrails of school guidelines, rules, and teachers. Damian seemed to be doing better in recent months. Activities were good for him. Still, he might have had a bad day or week. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he wanted to switch back to homeschooling. It would also explain why he didn’t believe his siblings’ input was necessary in the early stages of discussion.

Cassandra frowned, “No. Not about him, I think.”

“The-”

“Ah, Master Bruce and Miss Cassandra. Would it be an inconvenience to aid me in unloading the groceries?”

Alfred had returned and Bruce felt guilty. He’d told Damian they would talk about it when he came home from school. Even if he hadn’t said it, Bruce had implied he would wait until then instead of digging in like it was a case to be solved. All the answers would be presented to him if he was patient. Bruce was a patient man…in certain circumstances. Stakeouts. Confessions. Tiny mistakes made by criminals at all levels. He rarely displayed this skill when his children were involved.

Bruce cringed and replied, “Not a problem, Alfred.”

He would recommit to respecting Damian’s privacy once he’d brought in the dog food and bagels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh, testing is dumb and I am tired and school would suck less if we just learned instead of reinforcing it through one-size fits all assessments.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed school, Jay,” Bruce grunted from his desk where he was reading a report from Lucius.

His son had walked into his office, still in uniform, and face-planted onto a couch. The dramatics were expected though the boy’s current pose had to be murder on his back and neck.

“Why must you mock me, Old Man?” Jason groaned.

Bruce shrugged and jotted a few notes, “It’s fun for me?”

Jason pushed himself up on his elbows and fixed his father with a withering stare, “My pain amuses you?”

“No, but I have heard this particular monologue before,” Bruce replied. “I’ve always enjoyed your routines and support your endeavors in speech and performance.”

“You’re a terrible person. You know that right?”

“It’s been mentioned to me on a few occasions that I may, in fact, be less than perfect. I haven’t seen any hard evidence though so I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Seriously, absolutely awful.”

“Hnn.”

Jason was quiet after that. He opened his bag and extracted his school computer to work, but mostly kept to himself. It wasn’t uncommon to find father and son working separately in the same space. Even when they were arguing, the two tended to congregate in Bruce’s office. There was an understanding amongst other members of the family that they expected quiet in that particular room.

After about a half hour Bruce cleared his throat.

“You didn’t pester Damian, right?”

Jason rolled his eyes, “No, but I wasn’t given much opportunity-”

“Jaylad-”

“Sheesh, calm down, B. The kid put on headphones and jotted down notes the entire car ride to school,” Jason explained. “I had open campus because of testing. I hung out with Babs at the library for a while before heading back here by bus.”

Bruce frowned, “I could’ve come and got you.”

“Nah, I like the bus.”

“Right…”

“Well, I don’t like the bus, but it’s not terrible,” Jason corrected himself. “It’s a good place to think. Or people watch. Besides, I think we should provide more support for public transportation.”

“I’ll have our public outreach team look into it,” Bruce conceded, jotting another note to talk with Melissa DeBoer.

Jason always checked in later to ensure that his father did what he said he would. It could be frustrating when Bruce’s employees had other things that took precedence. Jason wasn’t patient and, although an exceedingly intelligent young man, unaware of typical timetables for the projects he wanted to work on. It was why working at the food bank was good for him. Seeing the intricacies of charitable work (and how long it took to make lasting/sustainable change) made him less likely to bite other people’s heads off over their “inability to get anything of substance accomplished”. Still, it was an odd flaw for him since Jason was a good planner.

Regardless, Jason would check in and it kept Bruce honest. Personality traits could be frustrating and valuable at the same time.

“Plus, the walk back from the bus stop was nice,” Jason admitted, closing his laptop. “Fresh-ish air and a chance to think.”

“Anything in particular?”

Jason fidgeted and then got up to sit in one of the chairs across from Bruce at his desk, “I’m… Those missing kids cases. Did anything come from them? It kinda feels like we all just got distracted and forgot about them.”

Bruce frowned again, “I believe most of them were resolved. Misunderstandings that cleared up after a few days.”

Jason looked unsure, “Isn’t that…kinda insane? There were easily two dozen cases between Gotham and Blüdhaven. I can barely remember any of the details.”

“People go missing all the time, Jaylad,” Bruce assuaged. “Usually, it’s resolved without much of an issue.”

Jason looked unconvinced, “I know what the statistics are, but… I just-”

“Hmm?”

“I forgot about it!” Jason snapped. “It mattered a lot to me and I let it fall to the wayside for…like no reason! Have I…Have I…”

“Have you what?” Bruce asked, getting up to sit next to his son…maybe provide comfort.

Jason took a deep breath, “Have I become desensitized or cold… Do I just not care anymore?”

“No, Jay, of course not,” Bruce challenged vehemently, squeezing his son’s shoulder.

“Then why did I just let it go?” Jason asked, clearly distressed. “These weren’t random civilians that I saved from a mugging or henchmen. They were missing kids, B! Kids who needed help! Ones that I personally helped you create files for! I did hours of research! And I just, what, let it go? For no reason?”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, “It’s been a rough-”

“Don’t say it's been a rough year. It’s always a rough year around here,” Jason snorted.

“-Existence,” Bruce finished. “I’m sorry that this fell through the cracks. We can spend tonight making sure all of the cases have been resolved, okay?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, “Fine, but-”

A knock on the door.

Jason sighed and shrugged off Bruce’s hand, “Come in.”

The knob twisted and Damian entered the room. He had changed out of his school blazer but opted to remain wearing his button-up and slacks. Apparently, this discussion called for business casual. Luckily, Bruce had video calls earlier that afternoon. Hopefully, his turtleneck will suffice.

“Hello, Father. Jason.”

“Squirt,” Jason muttered as he stood up to stretch. Still not in great spirits, but feigning normality for his brother's sake. “I’ll see you guys at dinner. Gonna go ask Dick for some help in math.”

Damian blinked, “He was leaving when I got here. He said he had to meet West and would listen to my ‘pitch’, whatever that is, tomorrow.”

Jason groaned dramatically as he slumped back over to the couch, “B, you wasted all my time!”

“You came in here of your own volition!” Bruce squawked. “I didn’t do anything.”

Jason shook his head as he turned to leave, “This is why you’re terrible, B. Can’t even take responsibility for your actions. For shame, sir, for shame.”

“Uh-huh,” Bruce told the now-closed door.

Bruce turned to his youngest who was putting on an admirable show. There was a slight tremor to his hands, but his face was impassive. The boy had never been required to don a mask (and, hopefully, he never would), but he did an admirable job of creating one organically. It wasn’t something that Bruce should support or commend… Yet, he had taught his children, intentionally or not, to hold their cards close to their chests. Was there a way to put that toothpaste back in the tube? All the “open doors” and “family fun time” couldn’t completely break down their walls, right? They shared trauma. They shared loss but in completely unique ways. Was Bruce doing enough? Should he let it be?

“I’m sure you’re wondering what brought me here today,” Damian began, refusing to sit down.

“Well, you live here,” Bruce deadpanned.

Damian frowned.

“Sorry.”

“Yes, well, I have been thinking recently about our respo-responsibility to others,” Damian continued.

“Okay, would you-” Bruce cut himself off… He needed to listen before offering solutions or opinions. His son deserved the opportunity to lay out his case first.

“Umm, do you remember what you said to Mother when you first brought me here?” Damian asked.

Bruce did. Talia had been willing to fight tooth and nail (literally) to keep Damian with her. It took all of Bruce’s self-control not to immediately lose his temper… He’d let a little bit of it out to be fair. Still, he didn’t want his relationship with his son to begin with lies and fights with his mother. So, he’d made the best argument he could.

~
“Talia, he’s not safe here.”

“I’m keeping him safe enough, Beloved. As you can see, he’s still alive.”

Bruce had sighed, “Talia, he’d be safer with me. You must see that. Here you’ll have to constantly be watching him…constantly be on guard for your father.”

“Yes, and?”

“I know you love Damian,” Bruce had pushed. “Whatever Ra’s has planned…it won’t be good for the boy.”

“How did you even discover his existence?”

“Does it matter?” Bruce had asked. “It just proves that I’m right… The League is one of the most secret organizations in the world and I managed to find out you were keeping things from me.”

Talia had pursed her lips, “Do you not still cling to the title of ‘world’s greatest detective’, Beloved?”

“A title I’m sure you took into account when considering the level of security you would need to keep me in the dark.”

Talia had narrowed her eyes, “And what exactly do you believe you can offer him that I can’t? Bruce Wayne is a public figure. Damian would be less anonymous and secure with you.”

“Anonymity is not always protection,” Bruce had argued. “He won’t be a well-known person, but being known at all means that I can rally additional support if anything were to come after him. Not only the public and its news outlets but also the Justice League and their various allies.”

“And your allies are better than mine?”

“I trust them with my life…and the lives of my two other children,” Bruce had said honestly. “Can you say the same of yours?”

“...”

“Talia, I wouldn’t argue for this if I didn’t know for sure he would be safer,” Bruce sighed. “I mean, I would ask for visitation and time with him, but I wouldn’t…I’m not just taking him away from you. I can offer him protection. Brothers. Security and education and…a childhood. I know it may not mean much to you-”

“How do you know his childhood means nothing to me?”

“...”

“Fine. He’ll be safer with you. He’ll stay with you…but if you fail…”

“Talia, I’m sure there would be a line of people ready to end me, but I’d reserve the first spot for you.”

“...Damian will live with you.”

~

“I do,” Bruce answered.

“I’m safer with you, yes?” Damian asked.

Bruce frowned, unsure of where this conversation was going, “Yes, we all work very hard to ensure the safety of you and your siblings.”

Damian nodded.

Bruce fidgeted in his seat, “Do you not feel safe here?”

Damian blinked, affronted, “Of course I feel safe here. I would not be asking you this if I thought it was unsafe.”

“Okay?”

Damian took a deep breath, “Father, I believe we have a responsibility to provide protection to those in need. Those whose current homes are not ade-ade- um…”

“Adequate?” Bruce offered.

“Yes.”

Bruce felt a rush of affection for his youngest. Even if it was wildly impractical, it was nice to see him care so much for the plight of others. It was crazy for Jason to think he had gotten cold over time. All of Bruce’s children had such big hearts and cared so much.

Still…pragmatism.

“Damian, we help where we can, but we can’t take in every single person whose living arrangements are in-”

“I’m not speaking about everyone, Father,” Damian cut in.

Bruce gaped, “Uhh, then who?”

“It has-” Damian looked down at a notecard held in the palm of his hand. “It has come to my attention that Timothy Drake is a foster child. His current…placement is with a Ms. Helena Ber-Ber-”

“Bertinelli,” Bruce offered, dumbfounded.

Damian nodded, “Yes, thank you. Ms. Bertinelli is a…an ad-mi-ra-ble woman, but I do not believe Timothy Drake is safe with her. I would like to ask you to take over his…fostering? Umm, in order to provide him with a more…stable and safe home.”

Bruce blinked.

“The kid is a civilian. He’s no different than any other person we run into on the job. He’s alive. He’s fine. Who cares if it specifically happened to Tim Drake?”

Well, apparently, Dick and Bruce…and Damian.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Gotham, Tim Drake sneezed.*

Well, not just somewhere. The Rec Center at six-thirty on a Monday evening. Sifting through conflicting data while feeling conflicted. He was supposed to be uploading pictures of the fair to social media, but that would take him five minutes. The binder in front of him was supposed to be tucked into the back of a closet. But…Tim had known he would be bored with so little to occupy his attention. And, well, “Bored Tim” was the second-worst version of Tim (after “Before Tim”, of course, who he blamed for “Bored Tim’s” penchant for bad decisions… Stupid “Before Tim” if his homies knew about him they'd all hate him). So, “Pragmatic Tim” brought something to alleviate the malaise: binder three. “Now Tim” was beginning to think “Before Tim” and “Bored Tim” and “Pragmatic (*cough liar cough*) Tim” were all the same Tim… Since he was acting like them, did that make him all of them too?

Tim blinked, “Oww…”

Ignoring “Hey, Maybe this is a Bad Idea Tim”, the teen highlighted another name for cross-referencing. Regardless of everything else, all Tims were incapable of leaving a job half-finished.

“Ahem…”

Tim was not set up in front of the Rec Center computer. He'd chosen to hunker down underneath the back counter to work with as few interruptions as possible. Last he checked, Ms. Eliza was running the desk.

He ignored the summons and marked an address with an asterisk.

“Ahem!”

The desk wasn't his job on Mondays. His job was to check in with instructors or do walk-throughs with Alec to catalog supply levels or places that required upkeep. The desk was someone else's job.

Tim ignored the continued pestering.

“AHEM!”

Tim was in the middle of uncovering something. He wasn't sure what it was just yet, but he knew he'd lose his thread if someone distracted him. The buzzing in his ears made it easier to tune out interferences.

“Timothy Drake! I can see you hiding underneath there. Get off your lazy ass and actually do something for once!”

Tim startled so badly that a styrofoam cup and a pile of papers fell to the floor around him.

“Dennis Greene?” he asked, not really needing a confirmation–he knew that voice.

The man in question was wearing his typical racquetball outfit. Stark white on white that only made the dark bruises masking his face stand out even more. His girlfriend…or rather the woman he’d been escorting around the fair was a few yards away, tapping away on her phone. She was dressed similarly, substituting a skirt for shorts. Tim could barely process…

This asshole? They let him back in here? Both of them!

“Mr. Greene, kid,” Drunk Asshold #1 scowled. “You’d think all those fancy boarding schools would have taught you some manners.”

Tim blinked a few times because…because the Rec Center wouldn’t let him back on the premises, right? Not after…he’d been drunk! He’d nearly hit Sasha and had hit Tim. He’d been arrested! They…they wouldn’t let…

If he were smart, he wouldn’t have come back, in a tone that sent ice coursing through Tim’s veins.

“Hey!” D-Bag Central snapped his fingers in Tim’s face, causing the teen to flinch hard. “God, I know you’re just a volunteer, but you could at least answer when you’re being talked to.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. The ice hissed as it met the fire bubbling at his core.

“What the actual hell are you doing here?”

Dennis Greene had made everyone’s lives miserable from the moment he moved into the neighborhood. He whined and complained and made messes. He insulted everyone who worked at the Rec Center. He’d torn down Tess’ posters. He’d pestered the Waynes. He’d harassed people at the fair. He’d been drunk! He’d risked Sasha’s life! He’d hit Tim with a car and then made it seem like it was Tim’s fault.

“Excuse you?”

“I would if there was one, but you’re clearly incapable of not making yourself a nuisance to everyone around you!” Tim snapped. “I’d say I can’t believe you're stupid enough to show up here after what you did, but that would be a lie. Your entire personality is wrapped up in being as horrible as possible to everyone around you!”

Greene’s girlfriend looked up from her phone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” the man sneered back.

“Did you suffer brain damage from the blow you took?” Tim spat. “Are you kidding me? I’m the one who got hit by a car!”

“What on God’s green Earth are you whining about?”

I simultaneously hit him too hard…and not hard enough, sharp and controlled.

“Denny, what’s taking so long?” the girlfriend pouted.

“The kid is whining about some nonsense instead of opening up the court for us,” ‘Denny the dick (derogatory…obviously)’ explained.

“Sorry, lady, but your boyfriend is suffering from memory loss,” Tim sneered right back.

The woman looked between the two and then, “What do you mean?”

Tim scoffed, “Please tell me you’re not serious? At least he has an excuse, I don’t recall you getting cold-cocked.”

“Hey! I get that you’ve got issues with me, you little bastard!” ‘Denny the Dunce’ hissed. “Have some respect for Aisla.”

‘Aisla’ eyed Tim a bit more closely, “Denny didn’t get ‘cold-cocked’, Munchkin. It was a pickleball accident.”

“Right, and I got these from a fight during lunch today!” Tim growled, ripping back his right sleeve to reveal his mottled collection of purple-yellow bruises.

‘Denny the Disaster’ chuckled, “Can’t say I’m surprised somebody finally put you in place, ya little bastard.”

Now…Tim wasn’t, by nature, prone to anger. Frustration and annoyance and irritation. Sure, all the time. Life was hard and feelings were real whether he bottled them up or let them out. Anger, though, was not on speed dial. It took a lot for him to get there. It narrowed his vision and colored his cheeks scarlet. Burned through his energy and left him feeling exhausted. Empty… It didn’t matter, though, Tim only needed a few seconds to do damage.

“You are psychotic,” Tim said, voice even. “You play games with other people’s lives. You make everyone around you miserable. You are chronically incapable of taking responsibility for your actions. Get your girlfriend to lie for you.”

“Where is Lizzie? You clearly need to be-”

“-Behave like an entitled child… You nearly killed a little girl and you have the audacity to come back here? Act as if nothing happened? Well, let me make something extraordinarily clear, I will burn your entire life to the ground if you go anywhere near her again.”

“What the hel-”

“Timothy Drake!”

Tim registered Ms. Eliza, but kept his eyes on ‘Dennis the Detestable’.

“Still think it was a good idea to hire some snot from foster care, Lizzie?”

Ms. Eliza laid a placating hand on Tim’s shoulder and called to the backroom, “Alec, can you go open Raquetball Court number two, please?”

“Not a problem, boss,” the man said, nudging through the door before nodding at “Douche-Canoe Dennis” and “Accomplice Aisla”, “Yikes, Dennis, I heard about your fall at league on Saturday. Surprised you’re willing to get back at it so soon.”

The scum of the earth shrugged, “Can’t stay off the horse too long. Looks worse than it is.”

Tim didn’t hear whatever else the trio said. There was a roaring in his ears. Alec was Sasha’s father and he was chatting with the human-shaped shitstain that nearly- Fathers protected their kids! They didn’t let things go when their kids were involved. Jack...he'd never tolerate some bastard who put his son at risk, right?

“Timothy!”

“What?!”

Ms. Eliza rubbed her temples, “I understand that you’ve had trouble with Mr. Greene before, but you can’t get into shouting matches with them in the lobby.”

Tim stiffened and then shrugged her hand off his shoulder, “He shouldn’t even be in the lobby! He shouldn’t be allowed within three hundred feet of the front door!”

“We can’t just go banning people because they’re unpleasant,” Ms. Eliza sighed.

“Unpleasant?” Tim huffed. “He’s deranged!”

“Timoth-”

“No, I know Gotham is insane, but are you seriously telling me that you’re allowing him back in here after he hit me with a car?” Tim spat. “He almost hit your goddaughter!”

Ms. Eliza’s eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t believe you’re all acting like this didn’t even hap-”

Oh…

Because…it didn’t happen, did it?… Not to them anyway.

Ms. Eliza was studying him, “Timothy, why don’t you explain to me what you think happened.”

Tim didn’t even look at her, “It won’t matter, will it?”

“What?”

Tim shook his head, “It’s not worth it. He hits me with a car, I keep the bruises, and Dumb Dennis gets away with it. Yeah, no, that makes sense. I’m sure I deserve this for some reason. Right, universe?”

“That’s quite the accusation.”

Tim flinched again.

Aisla had returned to the front desk.

“Ms. Reid,” Ms. Eliza sighed, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from Tim. “How can I help you?”

Aisla pasted on a fake smile, “We’re having trouble with the lights on the court. Alec needs you on the walkies while he cycles through the fuses.”

The woman pointed in the direction of the courts. The entire corridor had gone dark.

Ms. Eliza hesitated, “Right. Timothy, why don’t you head to the breakroom? I think we need to talk.”

Tim shrugged, glaring at both women before turning to pack his bag.

“Right…I’ll be back in a minute,” Ms. Eliza muttered before taking off with Aisla.

Yeah, no, I don’t think so. You’re not stay- Oh, you’re already leaving. Got it. Good.

Tim shouldered his way through the front door. There was no way his ‘talk’ with Ms. Eliza would go well. Because her reality was fundamentally different than his. He was covered in bruises because time had to keep internal consistency for its own sake. It didn’t care about the details as long as things continued to move forward. Maybe Tim’s Saturday changed and he had fallen from his skateboard or he really had got into a fight… Perhaps the reason Sasha was so quiet when she hugged him today was because of a nightmare or a bad day at school.

Time didn’t care about the details! Didn’t care about Tim or Sasha or stupid Dennis! As long as there was consistency. Tim was hurt. Dennis had a broken nose. That remained true regardless of the details. The results mattered to time...not the actual cause and effect.

Tim had spent the better part of four years gently nudging at time. Tiny adjustments so as to not disturb anyone else. Making small alterations to help people he barely knew. And it had all worked out for them. It hadn’t worked out for him. He’d still lost his family. His parents. Time hadn’t even been punishing him for his hubris… Because TIME. DIDN’T. CARE.

Some small change that probably had nothing to do with Tim at all meant that he had to play nice with DENNIS FUCKIN’ GREENE!

And Tim didn’t even get the gift of forgetting about the incident like everyone else would… So much for taking Dr. Sinclair’s advice to not “purposely retraumatize” himself.

*****
He was two blocks away from the Rec Center when Tim noticed his vision starting to swim. Ragged breathing broke through the ringing in his ears. It was much too chilly for the wetness on his face to be from rain…

“Ohh…” he whispered to himself.

This was behavior he was familiar with…

Tim’s feet were moving without his input. Towards a bus station. Just like last time (just like every time), there was nowhere to go. He was a block away from a full-blown panic attack and his stupid feet insisted that running away was the only option. No one was going to hurt him (again) and no one was going to save him either. Eventually, someone would look. Helena or Ives or Alec… The whole thing would be solved eventually, but not before Tim stupidly disappeared. His feet wanted to run away knowing full well that would only cause more problems… Was he…? No, but he wasn’t the solution either.

All he ever did was RUN AWAY.

From whatever caused him to agree to be sent back.

From responsibility for every change he nudged into existence.

From school when he failed to change the one thing that actually mattered to him for once and not some now-nonexistent version of him obsessed with a family that wasn’t even his!

From the horrors of a home that had long abused others before he ever showed up. Waiting much too long to run to someone with the evidence. To give others a chance to get away.

From one honest conversation with literally anyone!

Running, running, running…with nowhere to run to and nothing real to run from.

Tim’s tears were silent but blinding. He tucked himself in the alley behind Gio’s and slid to the damp gravel. Everything was still spinning and Tim could feel the tendrils of dread leaking out of his abdomen and constricting his airways.

Right hand on your head.

Tim frowned but complied.

Left hand on your chest.

Check.

Three DEEP breaths.

Can d-

With each breath, apply a little pressure with each hand.

Oh, okay.

In, press, out. In, press, out. In, press, out.

Good. Now, move your right hand to your stomach.

What about-?

Your left stays on your chest. Now, repeat the procedure.

In, press, out. In, press, out. In, press, out.
*****

“Nice work, you calmed down a lot faster than I expected.”

Tim blinked…because that wasn’t in his head…and that wasn’t the voice he was used to.

“Wha-”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really deal with panic attacks,” the voice admitted, sliding down to sit next to Tim. “I mean…I’ve had a few, but who hasn’t? But I only knew like one technique before the JL insisted on adding ‘Mental Health First Aid’ as a requirement for membership.”

Tim rubbed at his face, “Why are you back here?”

“What are you? My secretary?”

Tim rolled his shoulders and pushed himself into a more comfortable sitting position against the brick wall, “I think they’re called ‘administrative assistants’ now.”

“Is that your pitch?” his companion asked. “Because, if so, you’re hired. Largely because you’re the only person who’s applied.”

Tim narrowed his eyes and finally turned to face the Flash, “Benefits?”

“Uhh, well, I can’t pay you…or provide medical or dental insurance. Small business, y’know?” Flash confessed. “But I can promise that you’ll be in the first…fifty people I save in the event of a disaster.”

“ETA, in said event?” Tim probed, feeling more himself.

Flash cringed, “Anywhere from two minutes to…five hours. Depending on location and the nature of the disaster.”

Tim huffed a laugh and stretched his legs out in front of him, “Then I think I’ll pass.”

“Yeah, no… That makes sense.”

Tim shrugged out his bag to retrieve his water bottle. He should probably rehydrate after spiraling, right? That’s what Dr. Sinclair would say. She’d also demand that he move his next appointment up to this week, but Tim wasn’t going to mess with her schedule so close to Christmas. He'd just barely convinced Helena not to do it after he got hit by... Well, that didn't even matter anymore, did it? It was hard for everyone during the holidays and it wasn’t like he’d be able to discuss this with her anyway.

“Uhh, yeah, Doc, you know how I never told you that I was shot back in time to my ten-year-old body? And then spent the next four years being a general nuisance to time? Yeah, that… No, now is not the time for clarifying questions, ma’am. No, we need to discuss the new way time has chosen to ruin my life. There’s a time traveler in the city and I think that they're disappearing and reappearing people in the ‘wrong’ places… Yes, I understand how my own actions could be misconstrued as being similar to this mystery villain. Well, ‘wrong’ is a relative term because time isn’t actually… You know what, I’m not even sure I understand the details, but the point is this other time traveler decided to delete an incident that was…pretty bad. To me. Well, yes, I guess I should be glad that it ‘never’ happened, but my brain still remembers it so…”

Tim didn’t want to be committed at fourteen. He had like three items left on “Before Tim’s” checklist. He was so close to being done with it and having a life of his own. He’d earned it!

The teen took another swig from his water bottle. Yeah, water and…like sleep were the proper treatment.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked again after a long silence.

An eternity for a speedster. You honestly saved him. He might’ve suffocated.

“Hero work, obviously,” Flash snickered. “Why aren’t you on a rooftop, Rooftop Kid.”

"Working out of my secondary office today," Tim rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna stain your suit sitting out here.”

“Gotham chicks don’t dig gravel ass?”

Tim snorted, “Seriously, you said yourself that you don’t exactly do mental health checks.”

Flash looked around their dingy digs and sighed, “I’m here for a meeting actually. Noticed a familiar hoodie. Figured I owed it to my…fourth? Seventh?...favorite Gothamite to help out.”

Tim nodded, “So, you followed a panicking teen into a dark alley?”

Flash stiffened, “Uhh…yes. But for hero stuff instead of creep stuff so… It’s all above board.”

“Sure, sure… And no assistant to file the report so no one will ever know, right?”

“I’m beginning to regret helping you, Rooftop,” Flash groaned.

Tim smirked, “Is your meeting about ‘Proper Procedure for Rapport and Interactions with Civilians’? Because you might need a refresher.”

“Incorrigible.”

“Unprofessional.”

“Annoying.”

“Snappish.”

“Unrepentant snot.”

“Short-tempered whiner.”

“...Truce?”

“Quitter.”

The Flash laughed at that, “Okay, you’re clearly having a bad day so I’m gonna let your attitude slide.”

Probably for the best. You weren’t wrong about the temper thing…

Like ‘Mr. Punch the Drunk’ had room to criticize other’s tempers.

“...Sorry,” Tim said.

“It’s okay. I mean, you shouldn’t take your negative feelings out on oth-”

“Oh, not for that,” Tim snorted. “That was funny as hell. I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Wha-”

“No, I’m apologizing for sidetracking you when you’ve got a meeting,” Tim muttered, picking at some fuzz on his sleeve. “Thanks for helping me, obviously, but I’m sorry that-”

“Yeah, no, shut up,” Flash said. “Meetings are dumb. Helping people is the job description. Plus, I’m only gonna be a few minutes late.”

Tim smiled and his phone vibrated.

Give ‘em HELena-Chief, I’ll be home at 9:30. Still have twenty essays to grade. Pasta’s in the fridge. Get some sleep, you have tests tomorrow.