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Chapter Text

A hauntingly familiar, yet weirdly erroneous ceiling - he did not recall a mirror being on his bedroom ceiling and would like to think that would be something he would remember - the long-forgotten cosiness of a real bed, and the half-forgotten and abhorred aroma of lavender-cinnamon home perfume Mrs Mac had been so fond of. These were the first things Tim noticed as his eyes flew open. The second, of course, was that they should never have opened in the first place, for the last thing he remembered was lying outdoors in the devastated ruins of what was once Nanda Parbat, and you know, dying.

Tim was all about using his brain, it was practically his thing. He was the most intelligent person in his family, and one of the most intelligent people in the entire world and even universe. It made him rightfully dangerous in the eyes of the few who could see it. So much, in fact, that an alternate version of himself had tried to kill him and tried to take over his life without getting caught by anyone but Tim himself, Bruce had written in his will ‘Do not allow Robin to ever become a supervillain’, which had resulted into very tense looks of accusation thrown at every ex male Robin (not to exclude Stephanie), but not at Tim, who knew it was about him but his brothers wouldn’t even consider, as apparently he was too lazy to become a supervillain, which was true, but still rather rude. He could totally become one if he wanted to!

He understood it, though. Despite most of them never having been formally adopted, he had a lot of siblings, and if any of them snapped and went renegade, they would pose a significant threat. Nobody would be as dangerous as Cass, but that was practically a foregone conclusion. Stephanie cried when fictional characters she loved died, Barbara was too righteous to ever go off the straight and narrow path and Duke was just as much of a golden retriever as Dick, but without the anger issues, and he showed it in less obvious ways. This left the former male Robins.

Dick was a golden retriever in human form, but his anger issues were legendary in every way and honestly more than a bit terrifying. A genuinely nice guy like Dick/Nightwing snapping was something that even the most hardened criminals or vigilantes would hide from, and that was without even mentioning the weird guilt trip he would always have afterwards. The prime example of that was when he had actually killed the Joker, but then Bruce and him had revived the maniac because Dick could not handle being a killer and had some sort of breakdown over it. Tim still did not understand it; that action had indirectly been the cause of so many more deaths, but what did he know?

Jason and anger issues were practically interrelated at this point. The guy had perhaps not the roughest childhood of all of them, as that honour belonged to Damian, who literally grew up in an assassin cult, but he was the only one who actually could somewhat be considered as a supervillain already. Being thrown into the Lazarus pit after being betrayed by his bio-mom, brutally tortured and then killed by the Joker had been the cause of his rogue origin story, rather than a good, old-fashioned psychotic break, but still. The point counted. Bruce being apprehensive of him becoming a supervillain was somewhat understandable.

Damian, on the other hand, had the lowest probability of becoming a supervillain; the bat-glare, copy-paste of genetic looks, and catastrophic adoption issues (though Damian adopted animals rather than kids, but that could be because he's still a kid himself) were not the only things he inherited from the professional furry. The kid had some severe issues, as one would expect from a kid who had grown up like him, but he did not kill. He would gladly stab anyone, but the only one he would genuinely try to kill on occasion was Tim.

Tim, who was usually regarded as the weakest Robin. The replacement. The spoiled, rich boy who had always lived next door, staring wistfully at the neighbours through the windows of his empty house, and later, from the ages of nine to twelve, through the lens of a camera, from roofs and other hidden spots. Tim, who had only become Robin after blackmailing Batman himself, and even then, still had to return to the ever-empty manor every night, making up an elaborate scheme of a fake uncle when his parents died, as the tragic reality was that their absence meant no real difference to his life at all.

Tim, who was able to outhack Oracle and outthink the Riddler. Tim, whose morality had always been the most grey of any Bat. Tim, who had killed for and with Ra's al Ghul, as well as attempted to kill him multiple times, which had earned him the nickname 'The Detective' with a capital T (and D, regrettably) from the ancient maniac. Then he took that metaphorical capital D even further by snatching his spleen as if it were some wonderful ornament he could steal to use as a trophy, rather as an essential organ in Tim's body that he needed to function. Tim, who was and always had been so severely underestimated that his name even was in the word.

All of this meant that waking up after death in a slightly different version of his bedroom in a mansion that should no longer exist as it had been blown up years ago, was hardly the oddest occurrence he had ever experienced or would ever experience. He didn't panic over it, and instead instantly rationally considered several possibilities to explain what was going on.

The first and most obvious possibility was that this was all Ra's doing since Tim had just fulfilled his vindictive aim of destroying every base of the League of Assassins because he had stolen his spleen. Sue him, he was petty like that and always would be. It was the little things in life such as making elaborate petty revenge plans and fulfilling them that made it worth it. Ra's killing him via bomb had not been included in that plan, and he was glad he didn't have to be there when Bruce, who he had finally gotten back from the timestream, would have to hear that yet another son of his was killed via a bomb, because emotional messes and Tim did not go well together. If he took the old maniac with him in the explosion, he was good with that.

Of course, something went wrong - or right, depending how you looked at it - as he had a pulsing heartbeat and needed to breathe, meaning he was alive. It was for the best too, as unlike Greta, he would have made a horrible ghost. Ra’s al Ghul could have somehow saved him, as he had made more than clear that he would want nothing more than to have more than Tim’s spleen within his possession, meaning that this could all be an elaborate mind trick. It would not have been his regular mode of operation, but it would not have been the most ludicrous thing he had ever done to him either. His missing spleen was an excellent example of this.

Another possibility was that Tim was still dying and that what he was seeing now was simply the last vestiges of life his dying mind conjured up. Tim would never understand why he would vividly imagine an altered version of his bedroom in Drake manor instead of something else, anything else, really, but he could appreciate the humorous nature of such bittersweet irony. To die in the same way he had grown up: alone in an empty house.

Yet another possibility was that Tim had failed so horribly at dying that, rather than dying, he had somehow travelled across time, space, or even both. He was always aware that playing with time by building a temporal machine from the ground up to pull Bruce back from the time stream while consuming enough coffee to kill a small army would eventually bite him in the ass. Yet, he had presumed that it wouldn't be so fast after getting Bruce back; he had hoped to have at least the time to tell everyone who had called him crazy for believing Bruce was still alive that they were wrong. Perhaps he had hoped to even get an apology from Dick, who had tried to send him to Arkham. No hard feelings, of course.

Oh well, there was only one way to learn more about his current circumstances, he supposed. Things could have been far worse. He could have become lost in the time stream, like Bruce had, or awoke somewhere else than his bedroom in Drake Manor. Of course, there was still the possibility that he was lost in the time stream, that this was a mind trick, or that he was experiencing his own Flashpoint. Tim-Point? It was probably better to avoid thinking about the mind-trick and dying notions too much.

He looked at the weird mirror on his ceiling, rather than just blankly staring ahead of him as he had done before. The person in his reflection clearly was him, but in an almost uncanny-valley way, as the ever-lasting eye bags that made him look like the human equivalent of a raccoon were not present, nor was he as skinny as he had been, not having had Alfred to provide food for him for at least a half year; keeping track of time had not been his biggest priority when he was focused on getting Bruce back.

His always short and messy hair now had a healthy shine to it, was actually soft and was strangely styled like prince's charming hair from Shrek. It was not a fashion choice Tim would have ever gotten for himself, as longer hair meant you had to actually take care of it, and Tim just always picked a cheap 2 in one peach scented shampoo/conditioner to clean his hair. It was short enough for that to be absolutely fine.

Taking care of his appearance also had not ever been a priority of him, as as a child, there simply was no one around him, so why would he not just use easy shower products? Then, when he got older, no one commented on it, if they even noticed, so it was fine. While searching for Bruce, there were times he even forgot to shower entirely, being so engulfed into his research.

It was really weird to have such soft wavy long hair, though. Alongside the disappearance of the gigantic dark bags under his eyes, which made his sky blue eyes almost pop out, he looked so much younger, and less burdened than he had in years. He looked like the boyish equivalent of handsome. It was weird. Too weird.

Best not to think about it.

He was wearing a black satin robe, which was far more dramatic and luxurious than anything Tim had ever owned, but it felt like being hugged by a sentient cloud and looked dramatic enough to be something he would buy to wear while ‘allegedly’ blackmailing people from his laptop.

With much reluctance, he Carefully put the robe off, folding it and putting it next to him. He would have put it on his nightstand, but this bed was much larger than any other he had ever slept in. It definitely was bigger than a king size bed. Definitely custom made. It explained why the mattress was so comfortable.

Tim gasped out loud. The sound was immediately swallowed by the large, empty manor. The many, many scars and other wounds he had gotten from being a vigilante had vanished as if they had never been here at all, and instead of having a lean and far too skinny build, his muscles were well toned with a healthy tan and shine. It was the body of a guy who ate healthy, sun-bathed, worked out regularly and followed a strict diet with it. The body of someone who actually took care of himself.

This was so weird. The fact he was in his bedroom itself already proved that, as Drake Manor had been destroyed years ago and Tim had just never seen the point of rebuilding it, but looking in the mirror and seeing an improved version of yourself looking back, like some sort of perfected clone, was just too weird. At least he had his spleen back?

He quickly looked away from the mirror (best not to think about that any longer than necessary), put on the bathrobe again, and slipped out of bed.

Looking closer around his room, he found a concerning amount of drugs on full display. Cocaine to be precise. His father had always called that ‘lawyer drugs’, with an approving nod. Tim had never been one to do drugs, especially not how much he saw around here. This had to be enough to have killed a person Tim's size and although that could've been a foolish mistake, on the desk in his room was a scratchy note that said ‘I'm sorry dad’, clearly signifying the emotional state of the one who had written what seemed to be a suicide note. It was odd to see that written in his own handwriting, but weirder things had happened.

Tim couldn't help but see a slightly concerning pattern.

He had died and then woken up here, apparently possessing the body of another Tim who had clearly also died. The only difference was that this version of Tim had killed himself, while Tim had not planned on dying, but wasn't too bothered with it either.

Did that mean that he had some sort of freaky Friday situation going on with the other Tim, who now had to deal with Ra's al Ghul and the inevitable family drama of Bruce being back? If so, yikes. He would not envy him at all.

Had he practically stolen the soulless body of an alternative version of him before the body could even get cold? That would still be a yikes, and would make him a rather ironic replacement. Jason would have a field day if he'd find out. Not that he would ever find out.

Should he feel guilty about any of these possibilities? He probably should, but just did not. Did that make him a bad person? Did he even care?

Best not to think about it.

His father always told him - when he was around, that is - that a Drake never regrets anything. Especially not if it couldn't have been helped, or if it benefited him. It wasn't the most healthy way of thinking, but it stuck with him regardless. What was the point in having regrets when you couldn't change anything? Moving forward and having the ‘Que sera, sera’ mindset worked far better for him.

He put on warm slippers that lay next to the bed and walked outside of his room to look through the manor. The first thing to do in an unknown or strange territory always was to get more information about the situation. What better way to get more information than to investigate? Treating this situation as a case was the best possible thing he could do right now.

The hallways, just like his bedroom, were far cleaner than Tim remembered. What once had been his parents' bedroom had changed into a memorial, with their ashes underneath a photo of them with a Tiny version of Tim. Tim remembered that day; it had been the night Dick's parents had died, before they went out. He had always felt guilty about it, but it had been one of the most precious memories he had of his parents.

There were several archeological achievements that aligned with what had happened in his own universe, as the chance he really was on an alternate earth, inhabiting the body of a version of Tim who just died, was the most likely hypothesis.

There were handwritten letters with the exact same postcards and exact same words that his mother had sent to him. Everything was exactly the same as it had been, except for the fact that in Tim's universe, this room had never existed, as the manor had been destroyed not soon after his parents’ death.

Tim placed the suicide note their son had written by their ashes and stood a minute in front of them, paying his respects. It was the least he could do for the boy whose body he was now possessing.

The more he walked around the manor, the more subtle differences such as a vase here and there. A painting he had never seen before, and gorgeous shots printed out that could only have been taken by this Tim, instead of bought.

Then, there were the very unsubtle differences such as several official achievements on his name, including an award for being the youngest CEO in history, a high school diploma, and even several PhDs. Timmy had been a real wunderkind, it appeared. Multiple portraits of himself he saw hanging on the walls. Tim sure had loved himself, it appeared. Hopefully, this would not be too annoying to deal with.

The portraits were good though, he could admit. Just like in the reflection he had seen earlier, he looked far more healthy in them than he had in the family portraits that hung in Wayne manor. This was not the appearance of someone who had not slept a good night since he was nine years old. It was not the body of someone who had lived the stress, worries and loss of being a vigilante.

It was the body of a rich orphan. Of someone who not only seemed to like the lazy, luxurious lifestyle he had, but excelled in it. Tim would have bought it too, especially as the manor looked more lived in instead of just being a place to exist, if not for the fact that he had just killed himself.

He walked further into the office, before standing still before a hideous antique grandfather clock with moving dragons in it. Dragons were the one thing his parents had allowed Tim to like as a child, deeming the rest too childish. It was the fortune of being a Drake. His father had one time, when he was six years old and his parents were home for the week, drunkenly told him that the surname Drake came from an old legend that said his ancestors had been dragons and dragon riders.

Tim had not believed it at the time, of course, as magic was nothing but rubbish back then. Now, he wasn't so sure about it. The more he looked at the ancestral mansion, the more dragon references he noticed. It would be useless information, as he had exactly zero amount of magical skills. It was just one of those things you had to know in the cape community. It would be fascinating to know, though.

The grandfather clock reminded him of the broken one in Bruce's office that was connected to the Batcave. It even looked just as ancient - because Heaven forbid the Drake's would have any normal stuff instead of antiques and other things that really belonged in a museum. Sometimes literally - and stated that it was eleven in the morning. Not too late, not too early to cosy around in his bathrobe.

The calendar that hung next to the clock narrowed down some of Tim's hypotheses while fully scrapping others; the date was what it was supposed to be, making him still seventeen years old, but in either a drastically changed timeline or another universe. Even more points to the alternative Earth theory! Nice. He liked it when his hypotheses came true, even if the situation itself was… less than optimal.

The calendar was relatively busy, far more than Tim’s had ever been. It even showed him that he had four hours to get ready before having to drink coffee at a cafe named ‘Caffe-ine’. A rather silly and straight forward name and not one he had heard of before, which was especially odd as the address was clearly in the diamond district.

Even more points to his theory. He could practically call it reality by now, he supposed. He was in an alternate dimension, possessing the body of an alternate version of him who had just killed himself. Jolly.

He sat down in the comfortable bureau chair, opened the laptop on the desk and typed in the password he used for his own laptop; the name he had given to his first camera. The password was correct. Now he had exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes to get to know everything about Tim Drake and how to impersonate him, as he did not want to have to deal with Batman and how he might think Tim had killed his son, until he would eventually find a way home.

Chapter Text

The sound of Tim's string of curses reverberated throughout the office.

He knew that alternative Earths were supposed to be alternative. That some of them were straight up ridiculous, such as the bizarro dimension where the Earth is a cube, and that some were practically the Ying to his dimension’s Yang such as several Earths in which the Justice League was so cartoonishly evil it wasn’t even funny anymore. There was even one dimension in which Tim was still Red Robin, but the personification of the fast food restaurant, as humans did not exist there and everyone instead was some eldritch immortal personification of something in other dimensions, or the Earth in which Alfred turned out to be the Demon Head, Ra's al Ghul was Batman, Bruce had given away all of his money to charity and became a hippy, and the Joker was an official saint, but the less said about that one, the better.

No matter how much some may be alike, all Earths were alternative. There was always a difference and there was no apparent limit in just how alien they could be. He knew all of that. Batman had written countless contingency plans, and Tim had written even more. Anything was to be expected.

And yet, this was something he would never have expected in his wildest dreams. Even the dimension in which Tim became an FBI agent because he had hacked the FBI without having slept for three days straight and was caught and forced to choose between becoming a suit or going to jail was not as bizarre.

Scrap the bizarro dimension's name; this one deserved the name far more. If it wasn't so ridiculous, he might even have laughed.

A quick Google search of his own name showed that Karens could learn so much from him that they would most certainly declare him the manager of Karen-hood, as ‘Timothy Drake’, who indeed, really went by his full name and filed a lawsuit against everyone who would address him differently to the point that he had become an online meme - he seemed to have a genuinely big fan base, which made sense as Timothy Drake and drama were practically interrelated and people loved free entertainment - and was by far the worst nightmare of real managers, judges and anyone in retail work.

He became CEO of Drake Industries when his parents died at the mere age of twelve years old (yikes, Tim had still been stalking Batman at that age), and although Bruce Wayne had tried to get custody of him, seemingly seeing himself in the poor lad who had lost his parents at around the same age he had lost them, Tim must have blackmailed him with his Batmanhood, because not soon after, he was emancipated. That technically wasn’t legal as twelve was too young to be emancipated, but then again, it was very clear that Tim’s blackmail must have resulted in Bruce pulling some strings.

He could see the irony in himself and Timothy having blackmailed Batman to get what they wanted at the same age. The difference was that Tim had not been an orphan back then, got more family and started his Robin training, whereas Timothy was a fresh orphan (who didn’t need to come up with a fake uncle), blackmailed Batman to be left alone and started on his journey to graduate early and get his degrees and Phds while being the legal owner of Drake Industries and somehow looking better and healthier than Tim ever had.

The entire Batfamily seemed to be the same as in Tim's dimension, with the exception of Tim missing. Jason had still died, which resulted in Batman becoming downright scary for a while until Damian showed up and became Robin.

Then the Red Hood showed up and Talia publicly killed the Joker, stating he had hurt someone she cared about as if he were her own son, and would pose a danger to her other one if he’d continue living. No one could find out who she was, except those who already knew, and they wisely kept their mouths shut. Good riddance, if you'd ask Tim.

If anything, the version of his family here seemed to be happier than they ever were with Tim as a member. It hurt, but was not entirely illogical. Bruce never got lost in the time stream here because of the butterfly effect that had happened and thus, Cassandra had never gone to Hong Kong. Duke never lost his parents because Talia had killed the Joker before anything could happen, and while not adopted, he still, like Barbara and Stephanie, was a Bat.

Timothy began his endeavour to become the most unbearable he could possibly be shortly after being emancipated, by getting friends. Little Timmy had never had friends before, so it might have been a good thing, right? No. The little idiot was frequently seen with two other famous, rich orphans. Both of whom were much younger than they were in Tim's Dimension, being around his age and, most importantly, they were also alive here.

Roman Sionis and Sofia Falcone, to be precise. Tim had not seen that one coming, but he wasn't entirely surprised either. People being younger than they should be and alive wasn't the biggest stretch. That honour still belonged to Timothy Drake being who he was.

Just like in his dimension, Sofia Falcone had lost her entire family during the Long Halloween, but unlike on his Earth, she somehow escaped her fate by hiding in a safe in her father's house. A family friend took her in after her family's death. Tim couldn't find much about them, which made sense. Old mob families had been full of secrets; for all he knew, the person didn't even exist and Sofia did the same Timothy had done to deal with legal issues.

Roman Sionis' parents died in an awful occurrence on the same Halloween night the long Halloween started, in which the Sionis mansion burned down while he was wearing a Batman mask with makeup Janus Cosmetics had produced, which resulted in him looking like a tiny version of Black Mask but with a Batman mask without the ears. A Man mask, if you would.

Tim took a slow sip of the coffee he had quickly made for himself; his perfect body wouldn’t stay perfect for long with his coffee consumption, but it could always be worse. He could be a junkie. Besides, perfection was overrated anyway.

Sofia and Roman had seemingly bonded over their shared trauma, and they had sought out Timothy once he became an orphan of their standing as well. The three of them appeared inseparable, bringing out the absolute worst in each other.

Not long after the start of their public and very legal, as several lawsuits had proved, terror, it became clear that Jason Todd Wayne despised him so much that he had created an anonymous hate account (a rookie mistake, as he had used Wayne Manor's IP address), which is still active today.

He didn't know if he should feel honoured, as even his Jason had not been as petty as to create an online hate account, or if he should be wary considering the whole ‘Red Hood’ thing he had going on in the dimension too. Would he try to kill him here too?

The worst thing was that although being well-trained, with the swimmer's build he had here, this body was not as flexible or well-trained as the one he was used to, which meant he could not defend himself as well as he could have done in his own body. He knew how to fight, but that meant nothing when you didn't have the muscle memory, reflexes and flexibility for it.

Oh well, those were worries for later. Back to the background check of his apparent friends.

Roman did not become the CEO of Janus Cosmetics like in Tim's Dimension, instead selling the company to Timothy, who had changed the name into Drake Cosmetics, a branch of Drake Industries, and starting several online social media accounts named ‘Black Mask’, becoming an influencer with well over 400 million followers and a loyal fanbase who called themselves the ‘False Face Society’, a name Black Mask had given them.

Just on what kind of drugs was this Dimension?!

Black Mask, of all people, became a famous teenage influencer whose followers called themselves the same name the cult the Black Mask in Tim's dimension had called themselves. Sofia Falcone was also a teenager, and instead of committing unlawful acts (in public) like the rest of her family, she appeared to return to her Italian roots and decided to open a café in the diamond district called 'Caffe-ine'. It was the same place as his appointment, which was in less than two hours.

No matter how many times he repeated it to himself and no matter in what ways, it stayed absolutely ridiculous. It was just Tim's luck to be friends with them. The top of the icing was yet to come, however.

It was something he found in an encrypted file on his laptop with the title ‘Possible Blackmail Material’ on it. It was a bit on the nose and definitely not something he'd choose to name his own blackmail files, as the name was ridiculous. So much in fact that he half expected to get Rick Rolled by his alternate self, but even though video and audio evidence could be falsified with AI, a quick Google search confirmed what he found out.

The 'Possible Blackmail Material' file held a large number of videos, audio, and documents that would be lost without a backup. Tim was unsure if Timothy had produced one or was too arrogant to do so. Both would make sense, but the proverb 'Never put all your eggs in one basket' did not come about by chance.

Timothy, Roman, and Sofia were reportedly co-CEOs of Triumvirate Inc., a multimillion-dollar multinational firm. The four year old video in which they decided to establish the company was intriguing to say the least.

Tim pressed on playing once more.

The audio and video recorders must have been in his pocket and of such good quality it must have been made by someone who really knew what they were doing, which made sense considering its purpose, as everything in front of him looked as realistic and visible as if he was there himself.

Timothy was seated in a private era of what appeared to be an old-fashioned combination of a club and a restaurant, similar to the Penguin Lounge but more inviting. Caffe-ine's private rooms must look like this. On his right was a teenage girl with the natural tan that Italians were famed for. Her eyes were as dark brown as the locks on her head. On his left was a teenage boy with a black Man mask instead of a face and bored brown eyes.

He already knew they were alive and younger, but it didn’t make seeing them like that any less weird. Tim probably should get used to seeing weird things sooner than later.

“-is a good idea, and Drake Industries is already partnered with Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp.” A younger version of his own voice, with the Bristol accent so strong it almost sounded grating, even to his own ears, spoke.

Great, he'd have to talk like that all the time now too.

Sofia sipped her bubble tea. “Well, of course you are partnered with Wayne and Luthor. To not do that would be poor business and that's not like you, but Timothy, look at it like this: they're like my father. Like all of our fathers before they died because of their own foolishness. Old men. Practically fossils! Don't you think it's time for the new generation to shine?”

He wasn’t able to see Timothy’s face, but he could practically hear the raised eyebrow in his voice. “Wayne has more children than an orphanage ought to have and we all know it'll only get worse.”

Sofia shared an amused look with Black Mask, who had been sitting back and observing them carelessly, as if their discussion was the most natural thing ever (perhaps it was), before she burst out in laughter.

Still smiling mirthfully, she continued “Very true, Timothy. I couldn't have said it better myself, but let's stay realistic. Dickie Grayson is a circus boy who grew up as a pig of all things. Rather ironic, if you ask me, but what can you do? Jason Todd was a streetrat.. We all know that despite having had his wonderful Cinderella story, that that is all he'll ever be. Cassandra Cain can't even speak, and Damian Wayne is a bastard whose mother only showed herself to kill the Joker and then promptly disappeared again.”

“Damian Wayne”, Timothy sighed disappointedly. “He had so much potential, but he’s just too… je ne sais quoi..” He hummed for several seconds, before loudly snapping his fingers. “Too feral.”

She smiled. “Granted, that could have been a point in his favour. He could have become one of us.”

Roman snorted. “What, an orphan? I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Sofia, but I'd rather not have to deal with an orphan brat like Damian Wayne.

Sofia nodded. “Understandable. He was born with everything to be able to make it in the world, and to do so, we all need to be a little feral. The point is not even that he's a bastard; in what uncivilised century do you think we live? His mother killing the Joker is a good thing too, I wish it could have been me..”

She sighed wistfully. "I'll just have to be the one to off the Two-Faced bitch who caused my family's demise. That is not relevant right now, though. The point is that Damian Wayne is not just feral, but excessively so. He is too savage, too publicly belligerent. Clearly, he got that from his mother of let's say…dubious background. Someone of his standing, of his blood, should be able to control his emotions or at least not express them overtly.”

Timothy chuckled. It was a genuine chuckle, one he had heard escape from his own mouth countless times. Well, either that, or Timothy had been a better actor than Tim gave him credit for. He doubted it.

“Not be widely known for stabbing reporters?" He asked innocently.

Despite technically knowing the mask had become his face in an accident, he had never seen Black Mask - Roman Sionis. It was for the best to start thinking about him like that. - smile good naturedly before. It was almost as wrong as Sofia Falcone being the last person of her family being alive. It was almost as wrong as the three of them somehow having such a good relationship Tim would even call them friends. High society friends, that is, but still.

“It was rather amusing to see him stab Vicky Vale during the previous Wayne gala, though. He got away with it, too. All because of Gordon, I'm willing to bet. The safest way to prevent crime is to be crime, at least Wayne knows that.” Roman replied amusedly, before nodding at Timothy. “Don't you think it's time for a new… empire?” he suggested, that wide smile only growing even more.

Sofia rolled her eyes exasperated, yet incredibly fondly. “Always with the name jokes, Roman..” She took a small bite of her croissant. “He's right though, Timothy. We'd make a beautiful business trio. I can already envision it! We'd be taking over Gotham, then America and eventually the entire world! We'd make an empire of our own. Imagine it, Timothy! We'd be the new triumvirate. Practically untouchable.”

Before Timothy could protest, she held up a hand. “All perfectly legal on paper, of course.”

Timothy hummed. “Very silver tongued of you, Sofia. If I didn't know better, I'd accuse you of being a metahumans for always being so effortlessly smooth.”

“Says you.” Roman commented dryly. “Truly, if Soof were a metahuman, it'll be invisibility or something like that, as she managed to stay hidden when - no offence - the butchering of her family began.”

Sofia shrugged slightly. "None taken. ‘Sides, if I were a metahuman, I would just not hide that I am one. Who cares about Batman's little bigotry anyway? He is a furry who likes to beat up other furries and goons who really only want to make a living in this hellhole of a city. I prefer to avoid metahuman traffic rings and am glad I wouldn't have to deal with being hunted for being a metahuman, but let's face it: Batman can wax poetry about keeping metahumans and magicians out of Gotham all he wants, but that will not wash away the simple fact that this city was founded on insanity, crime and supernatural nonsense. Gotham's metahuman population is the highest of the entirety of the US, but unlike in other cities, here they just have enough reason to stay quiet about it. I'd even argue that the Bat helps them stay hidden."

Roman nodded along. “Yes, it's true. Look at the street rats, for example. Most of them are runaway metas. I wouldn't even be surprised if Wayne's little street rat pet is one himself. Granted, that'll make Batman a hypocrite as everyone knows Wayne is Batman's sugar daddy, but who am I to judge?”

He smiled and took a sip of Sofia's bubble tea, who rolled her eyes and shoved the tea to him, but didn't comment on it. It must be something he often did. “Anyway, Timmy, you could be the one to do all the legal loopholes of Triumvirate Inc. We all know you love them so much!”

Timothy sighed; clearly this, too, was something Roman had a habit of. “Do not call me that. I can and will sue you.”

Sofia leaned dramatically towards Roman. “Oh no, Roman! Don’t get on Timothy’s bad side. He’ll make you fall from grace! He’ll make the empire fall!”

Roman grinned widely. It was a look Tim had never seen on his face, but one he would recognize even while being blind. It was the look of someone who knew they would get what they wanted. The look of a rich and powerful person whose plans of becoming even richer and more powerful had just come true. It was a look he had all too often seen on Lex Luthor's face when stalking him.

“Speaking of empires, Wayne and Luthor seem to think that theirs are eternal.” He scoffed, “Just like my father did, until the ‘accident’, that is.”

Sofia nodded along. “Yes, of course. We know better than to be swallowed by our hubris, though. The longevity of an eternity is subjective at best, so why not make our own eternity?”

Timothy chuckled. “You two are absolutely ridiculous. But sure, why not? We'll just have to discuss later what kind of business it'll be. Worst case we'll lose some insignificant amount of money and have a good time. Triumvirate Inc has a nice flair to it, too...”

Tim closed the file and laptop and leaned back in his chair. So, apparently he was friends and business partners with Sofia Falcone, Roman Sionis, was business partners with Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne, and was an absolute terror with a reputation that was the equivalent of the love child of Brucie Wayne and Lex Luthor.

Absolutely amazing.

Tim could tolerate being called 'Timothy' if necessary, and it would certainly fit his overall asshole vibe, but he was desperately in need of some damage control to avoid being called Timmy anymore, even as a joke. Who was he? Timmy Turner? If so, where were his damned fairies? Fairy godparents would sure be a nice way to get out of this situation. Knowing that magic was just as real as alternate dimensions meant that it was entirely possible, too.

Knowing Tim's luck, he would probably accidentally find a djinn, though, and would curse himself more than the universe which obviously hated him had already cursed him.

Another reason why he would have to do some damage control was that he definitely was a potential future threat to Batman, and thus to the entire Cape community. This meant he couldn't simply approach them and ask for assistance. He'd bet his new, working spleen - no, he wouldn't - that Batman, who had a file the size of Gotham on him, was keeping a close eye on him to see if he might snap and become rogue instead of merely being a menace.

The plus part of all of this was that Tim had never been richer before, not even when Bruce had given him a trust fund. Drake Industries was not just doing well, it was in its’ golden age, well onto its’ diamond age. If the sky was the limit, Timothy Drake had built a spaceship and was on a journey to explore the wider galaxy.

The reason for the ridiculous wealth and success of Drake Industries was not Triumvirate Inc, nor Drake Cosmetics, although they certainly contributed to it, but the genius of Timothy Drake. Those PhDs had not just been a good show.

Tim was fortunate to discover Timothy's handwritten notes on the desk of this bureau, or was it luck? Was this planned by Timothy when he planned to kill himself? It was something Tim could envision himself doing if he ever intended to kill himself. He would have to find a better hiding spot for the documents containing Timothy's formulas and hypotheses, or possibly even get rid of them entirely, now that he comprehended and remembered everything.

While Timothy was definitely intelligent and knowledgeable enough to understand why it was a foolish and naive thing to leave them just hanging around, Tim understood why he had done it.

He probably wanted to not merely leave a legacy behind like so many others had, but wanted to ensure someone would find it and use it to better the formula in the future. Not that Tim would want to kill himself; he had had his fair share of intrusive thoughts in the past, but was simply too full of spite after dying to want to die again. Life was so much more than just suffering. If he had to punch it into submission to be happy, he would do it.

The notes had proven more than anything that he was a scientist who had discovered and patented a sustainable energy source supply that seemed to work for practically everything and was unlike fossil fuels not limited. The answer was quite literally in the air. It was so simple he could not fathom why he hadn't thought of it himself. Yet, the most genius things often were the simplest, he supposed.

It was a fair point towards Batman’s ‘Timothy Drake is a future rogue in the making’ theory he read when he hacked the batcave. Tim would probably suspect the same thing if it were about someone else, seeing all this information. Scientists and Gotham fit like a very disastrous glove that really should not be worn by anyone but was regardless, as it just was so beautiful in the way humans are instinctively attracted to darkness. Dark tourism was an excellent example of that, and despite the many warnings, dark tourists kept being attracted to the city like bees were to flowers.

Everything was patented, but he was not naive enough to think that would be enough to stop a person like Lex Luthor, who definitely wanted to steal everything Timothy had built for himself. It was probably the reason why Lexcorp and Drake Industries seemed to be on such good business terms and why Brucie Wayne had a partnership with him (besides the fact that Batman wanted to keep an eye on him). Roman Sionis and Sofia Falcone would probably also try to obtain the papers and somehow legally steal everything Timothy had worked hard for if they had the chance to do so.

It was probably yet another reason why Timothy left the papers there, although if he had to guess, they were probably meant for Bruce who wouldn't misuse them. That was what Tim would do, had he been in his shoes.

He sighed, stood up and popped his bones pleasantly. He took the papers with him, burnt them to ashes (best to do that now before anything could happen), dissolved the ashes in homemade acid in the bathtub in the bathroom directly next to his bedroom and walked into one of the four walk-in closets there were in this house.

The plus point of being really too rich than anyone should be was that he had a lot of fancy suits and cars to choose from. He grabbed the first suit he saw, a bordeaux red one, and put it on without looking into the mirror, not wanting another extremely uncomfortable feeling of seeing a wrong version of himself staring back. He had had enough of those feelings already and he hadn't even left his house yet.

The garage looked bigger than he remembered (which may have been because he barely spent time in there in his own dimension) and was filled to the brim with cars so expensive he barely dared to touch them.

Tim had always been rich, but despite that, he had never bought luxurious products for himself (besides cameras), just not seeing the point in doing so. Instead, he had always been more of a practical person. If something wasn't broken, why fix it? If something could be fixed, why buy a new one?

Many of the cars appeared to be just as bullet proof as the Batmobile, while actually being stylish. Not to slander the Batmobile, but the bat theme was only cool when Tim was a kid and hadn't been around it for so long.

A young Tim had spent many nights dreaming about taking rides in the batmobile, and spent even more hours imagining what it looked like from the inside. He had even imagined that Bruce would come get him when he was younger and take him out to eat a burger, like he had gotten Jason. That had, of course, never happened.

It was a fun way to spend time growing up, but when he actually had grown up and not only saw it, but had driven it, things changed. Perhaps it was because he just had gotten too used to it, or perhaps he had simply grown up, but it just wasn't that special anymore. Jason once said that being Robin was magic, and Tim fully believed that. He still did. It just wasn't the same kind of magic it had been when he was younger.

He ended up choosing a Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing. Even though the car was last released in 1963, and there were only 1858 models of the car made in total, this one still looked brand new. It made him feel like a James Bond villain, which was yet another point to the ‘Totally not a spoiled rich (future) rogue image’ he had going on.

Oh well, he might actually just have a little fun while being here and go along with his reputation until eventually one of the Bats would notice. Wouldn't that be hilarious? It was really the only thing he could do, too. Tim suddenly changing the way he acted would be super suspicious. What if he would act too suspiciously regardless? It couldn't be imposter syndrome if you actually were an imposter, right?

Yeah, he totally got this.

…….

Warm colours and the pleasantly welcoming scent of fresh coffee and baked sweets that were still warm immediately greeted him when he entered Caffe-ine. The entire place was empty, save them and a few workers. It made sense, as Sofia was the owner, but still. It was not something he was used to.

For a moment, he took the time to simply breathe in the air and savour the moment. He would-

“You're not wearing it.” Sofia commented delightedly, crushing his moment and extra preparation time like a hammer.

Tim's eyebrows shot up. Was his cover blown already? If so, it was a surprisingly quick record. Sofia would have made a terrifying bat or anyone in the cape community; she walked as silently as Cassandra, and was clearly intelligent and resilient enough. Her background would fit in very well too.

“What am I not wearing?” He asked casually, decidedly not showing his growing anxiety outwards.

“Your mask.” Roman called out from the seat he was sitting in. He was lounging back in a chair, sitting like some sort of pretzel, like he'd seen Dick often sit. It looked strangely comfortable.

Was Tim supposed to wear some sort of mask? Did he miss something on the agenda? Was this a mean girls reference? Did Roman even like mean girls?! Oh no, was he already a rogue here and not just some shady guy, also known as classic rich Gothamite and had he some sort of signature watch he wore?!

Sofia chuckled. “Don't bully Timothy, Roman! Look at him, you made him think too hard!”

Roman tskd. “We can't all have his brain, Soof. You can't blame me for making Timmy think of all things! That's like blaming me for stealing your homemade tiramisu! It's completely out of my control!”

She gave him a look. “So it was you! I knew it!”

He shrugged. “Who else? Casper the friendly ghost? The holy spirit? Honestly, there's no one else who lives in your home but me.”

He looked at Tim as if to say ‘Can you believe this shit?!’. Tim could not.

“Then, again, we always wear masks, I suppose.” Sofia grinned widely at Roman, who rolled his eyes, before she settled for a satisfied smile fixed towards Tim. “I suppose you might just have chosen to wear a different one today. It suits you.”

Sofia looked back, before saying something in Italian so quickly he couldn't follow it. Tim understood the language, but it was one he hadn't spoken in literally years. Of course, that was no excuse to not be as fluent in it as he could be, and it's something that he would have to fix as soon as possible - yet another thing on his to-do list, yay - but he couldn't do anything about it at the moment.

A middle aged woman with such a motherly vibe, Tim immediately felt more at ease, greeted them. Her hair was in a tight bun and she radiated an air of professionalism.

Roman instinctively straightened in his seat. “Amelia!” He greeted her delightedly, “how are the kids doing?”

Amelia scoffed. “You annoying kids are the only ones in my life, fortunately. Tony is already thirty-two years old and moved to Metropolis of all places.” She glared at him. “And I told you to call me Amy, not Amelia.”

“Ahh, c'mon Amelia, you know I only call you that because I love you so! You're like my soulmate if I were a few decades older!”

Amy sint scoffed again. “If I were your age, I'd rather have a good ‘ol fashioned block of cement to my feet in the harbour than date you.”

“Roman, you idiot.” Sofia shook her head fondly. “Have some respect for Amy. She took me in and practically raised me until I was old enough to live alone. It simply is not possible to get over fifty years old, while working in a cafe with actual regular customers for longer than most rogues have been active, or even alive, without a shrewd mind and the right connections.”

Amy smiled warmly at Sofia. “Which I will always be glad for. Your parents - bless their souls - gave me everything I love, including you, Sofia.”

Tim mentally filled away the information. Amy clearly had mob connections. Not those goons for hire every Gotham rogue had at least once hired who claimed to be a mob and had proclaimed themselves as the ‘goonion’, but the old-fashioned definition of the mob. The Falcone related mob, to be precise, as even though the golden days of Mafia families in Gotham had long since passed, remnants still remained if you knew where to look. Falcone may have been gone, but his network still remained. Sofia remained.

“Lola will get you kids the usual.”, Amy said, before walking away and continuing with her business.

Tim let out a relieved sigh, when Lola, the waitress working at the cafe, brought him his espresso with apparently eight shots of caffeine, four pumps of vanilla syrup, two pumps of cinnamon syrup and two sacks of brown sugar. She had looked so resigned upon seeing him that Tim almost felt bad for ordering it, but the horrified and even more resigned look on her face when he actually sipped his coffee and enjoyed it made it worth it.

Apparently Timothy had some good tastes, after all. Tim just always drank black coffee, but this overly sweet drink was actually good.

Who cared if he might get diabetes or other health issues from drinking this in prolonged times later? Tim absolutely needed his sugary heaven in the future after having drunk it once. Besides, he lived in Gotham; the chance he would die by random rogue attack was far greater than his unhealthy drinks catching up with him.

“Ever since you showed up all those years ago, we keep getting more and more customers, and it is only getting worse with all those stunts you pull lately.”, Lola grumbled, resembling a wet cat, if anything.

Tim inwardly winced. Right, the stunts. He had seen some of the stunts Timothy pulled. He apparently loved to seek out the limits of just what he could get away with by pulling the most ridiculous public stunts such as ordering everything on a menu and leaving if for the ‘street rats’. Often they were filmed and posted online by Black Mask. This gave him mixed feedback as he had fed the homeless, but in a less than pleasant way.

“Back in the day, there actually was some class around here.” Lola continued, not even looking if Tim was listening. “There were live singers, the right kind of dancers, too. ‘Ol Joe would play the piano, horribly, I might add, but still. That man was only good with his fingers in one way, if ya get my meaning... and there would actually be a good ambiance. People would come here specifically for the soul of the place. Now it’s just you kids and your phones and the unholy sugary drinks you consume as if they are water.”

Roman rolled his eyes, long since having gotten used to her dramatic antics. “Really, Lola, despite being at least twice my age you act like such a kid sometimes. I'd almost say you liikkee me.”

Sofia kicked his leg, earning a pained hiss from him. “Stop trying to cause drama and making my workers uncomfortable, you little shit.”

Roman sighed. “But everyone knows that old ladies always have the best gossip! Why they have chosen to include Timmy in their little gossip club, but not me, I would never know, but despite the weirdness of their not-friendship, getting free gossip sure is a good way to stay up-to-date.”

“Did you just call me old?!” Lola asked.

Roman nodded carelessly. “Sure did! Old like fine wine, of course! Will you ever let me capture your heart?”

Lola chuckled. “You casanova… you could have been my grandson. But very well, I'll indulge you with the latest gossip.”

Roman grinned. “Still got it!”

Lola shook her head, as if to say ‘sure you do, honey.. Sure you do.’. She sat down next to Tim and stole his still warm blueberry cupcake, which was rather unfortunate as he was planning to eat that. Oh well. He grabbed his phone to subtly record the conversation; Timothy recording every conversation he had was something he could respect.

“Why, just last Saturday, Brucie crashed yet another one of those hideous death-traps of his. While being drunk, even!” She scoffed. “I remember the days when Martha - bless her soul - was the one drunkenly crashing her fancy cars. She always said ‘Oh no, Lola, I would never be as irresponsible as to raise my kids that way’, then she would laugh and say she didn’t even know if she wanted children, preferring the party, single lady life. Yet, she ended up with Tommy, getting Brucie, and here we are! He takes after her like two drops of water. Gotham water, that is, but water regardless.”

Tim looked up from his phone. “You knew the Waynes?” He sipped a slow sip of his coffee, before letting out yet another content sigh. Seriously, where had this café been in his previous timeline, when he had been out as a vigilante in the dead of the night, running only on disgusting, bitter black coffee and spite?

“Knew them?” She got a far-away look in her eyes. “I knew Martha when she was still Martha Kane. She was one fierce woman, lemme tell ya that. Never took no as an answer when she wanted something, or someone..” She smiled ruefully, “And she always wanted something. Nothing was ever good enough for her, unless it was exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it.” She chuckled. “I suppose, Timothy, that you, too, are made of the same cloth. I wonder, though, what it is you want? Brucie obviously wants to just party, adopt some orphans, donate some money to charity and then party some more. He is a simple man. You, however, seem to be a rather complicated young man.”

Tim slowly finished his coffee. His parents had not taught him much, but what they had taught him was that if something was good, you had to take it slow. This applied to the smallest things such as drinking coffee, and the biggest ones such as a relationship.

“It is quite simple, actually.”, he spoke at last, breaking the comfortable silence she had given him to enjoy the last bit of his coffee. It was the little things that said something about someone's character, and this definitely was one. Lola was a gift.

She looked questionably at him and raised a pointed eyebrow. “Really? Do not let this old woman wait in anticipation, then.”

Tim huffed. “You are hardly old.”

“Ah, you and your silver-tongue! How charming!-”

Roman scoffed. “Sure, if he says it, it's charming, but if I do, I'm weird?!” He interrupted.

Sofia patted his shoulder to comfort him. “Not everyone can be as charming as Timothy, Roman. The sooner you'll face that music, the better. Jealousy does not suit you well.”

Roman swung an arm around Sofia. “I have nothing to be jealous of, Soof.”

Lola huffed. “As I was saying, I am not the naive twenty year old girl I once was anymore. Mindless flattery does not suit you well, dearest Timothy.” She smiled softly at him, regardless, eyes crinkling warmly.

He held up his hands faux-surrendering, before chuckling. “Alright, alright, you got me there. What I want is to simply live my life instead of just existing and eventually fading away.” That was what Timothy had wanted, right? It did not matter anymore, he supposed. Yet, he still needed to be as realistic as possible. The best lie was the truth, he supposed.

Sofia nodded happily. “An honourable goal. Why should we not desire to be great, when we were born with the right name, blood and brains? Some people are destined for greatness, and I am certain that we are.”

Of course, it was all exactly the kind of basic, narcissistic nonsense that Lex Luthor would sprout, but if the formula worked, why change it? It worked out for him, too. If this was the way to master the art of being obnoxious, it would be easier than he'd anticipated.

Lola grinned shrewdly. “Ah, I always knew there was more behind that pretty face than just a sue-happy rich boy.”

Tim fake gasped the way he had often heard Brucie do at galas. “Sue-happy?! Why, I would never! How could my spot-free reputation ever recover from such heinous slander?!”

Roman stole what was left of Sofia's coffee and drank it like a shot. “Spot free, my ass.”

“I'd sure hope so, considering you live at my house.” Sofia remarked, mirth shining in her eyes.

Giving him the look of a person who did not buy his nonsense for a second, Lola hummed airily. “Of course, of course. Reputations are everything for people like us. You would not want the wrong things to be heard by the wrong people.” She gave him a loaded look.

Tim nodded back just as airily. It would be easy to forget that Lola played the game just as much as anyone else in his life by the way she acted. He could respect the dedication, if anything. Unlike too many others - including himself - she simply appeared to not lie. Of course, that made her like the Fae, as every truth she spoke might as well be far more dangerous than a lie would have been, but that was the game.

“Of course.” He replied, nodding for good measure.

Lola brushed his shoulder with a look of delight on her face before walking away. The thought of it being fake did not even cross his mind once; she did not seem like the person to hide her expressions. Whether that was because she really just did not lie, or because she was old enough to be able to just not care about those things, he did not know, but he could respect it.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Sofia huffed amusedly at him. “It is always beneficial to be aware of who your allies and closest companions are. I will inform Amy that you, and therefore, Drake Industries, are still one and will remain so in the future. Do not be a stranger, Timothy."

He rose up, removed the serviette from his leg, left a generous tip on the table and beamed at her once more. "How could I possibly become a stranger if the coffee here is so delicious?"

Chapter Text

Ah, downtown Gotham… crime that was committed behind the fickle facade of a polite smile, superb clothes and the glamour of money, rather than openly and with far less care in less wealthy places such as the good ‘ol alley. Along with, of course, the heavy, classic Gotham charm that embraced the entire city, regardless of class. Including heavy air and an equally heavy grey sky forecasted heavy rain that would optimistically last until at least next week. Timothy Jackson Drake was under an equally heavy grey cloud. Not necessarily because of his overall dimension-hopping status, which was undesirable, granted, but because the spot where he had parked his one-and-a-half million-dollar car was now occupied by an abominable vomit-green ugly duck.

If someone were to steal his automobile, he'd appreciate they didn't steal his desire to have eyes with it. Unfortunately, beggars cannot be choosers, especially when they were in his shoes, thus he did the only rational thing to do in this position. He stole the hideous car parked here, adding to Gotham's shared mobility and doing the fine, wealthy people of Gotham a service by not having to see that particular abomination parked in the Diamond district.

He stepped back onto the uncomfortable, sticky leather seat. He had no idea why it was sticky, and had no desire to find out, for that matter. Unfortunately for him, the horrible and far too strong odours in the car forced him to cover his nose with his tie. Nonetheless, the strong odour persisted so strongly that he would have undoubtedly vomited if not for his vigilante training.

Tim opened the creaky window that definitely needed to be oiled to let the familiar, polluted Gotham air in the car. After he breathed it in, he finally relaxed and exhaled pleasantly. He’d take the devil he knew over the sickly, most-likely disease ridden, unfamiliar devil any day. Gotham smog rocked! It smelled like home.

As he drove his way out of the Diamond district, the wind tousled his hair. If Gotham were sentient, this would absolutely have been the city caressing his hair. Who knew? With all entities Tim had heard of and even personally met, fought with and against, sometimes at the same time, Gotham being sentient and sapient was a legit possibility. Tim and Gotham would definitely be buddies. Tim was a professional Bat stalker and a (previous) Bat. Gotham contained the Bats. What better combination?

The stolen car purred loudly beneath him, adding to the smog around him. He was glad that this wasn’t his vehicle, for it would never pass an official inspection. At least, not without some extra money thrown at the mechanic. The mould on the roof - and anywhere he looked, really. How this car ended up in the spot he had parked his car, he had no idea, but it was almost insulting - made him almost glad that he had not brought one of the delicious cups of coffee he had just drank with him. It would have ruined the coffee experience, but at least he would have had a coffee experience. The overly sweet scent of that coffee also would have helped with the lingering scent of things he did not want to think about.

All in all, he wanted to have that coffee back in his mouth as soon as possible. Going back to Sofia Falcone and Roman Siones would not be worth it, however. It was a close cut, though, but Tim hated awkward small talk much more than he loved coffee. He would not even submit Ra’s al Ghul to awkward small talk if he could; some ways of torture were simply too cruel.

The mere thought of having awkward small talk with the demon head itself, already was enough to make the hairs on his neck stand up; He could already imagine meeting him at a theatre while conveniently both of them were undercover, Tim asking him politely how he was doing and that asshat asking him what he was doing there with such forefulness, he would stumble over his words and make a fool of himself.

He shook his head slowly and forced himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. Being alone was great, he liked himself as company, but being alone with his thoughts was far less pleasant. It truly was a conundrum; not liking to be around people too often, yet not wanting to be alone. Con once stated that it was probably a result of his lonesome upbringing, when he was still planning to become a psychiatrist due to his mentor-like relationship with Black Canary after Superman acted not so super when Conner first came into their lives.

Then, of course, he died and Tim was alone again, never having had the opportunity with Con to talk about the ‘it’s complicated’ state of their relationship. He had thought many times about just spilling his guts, as to speak, but every time he chickened out, afraid that his best friend would not share his feelings and that Tim would ruin everything and end up being all alone again, because Con had understood him. He knew when he needed to be alone, knew when he needed a friend, be alone together and just stare blankly at the wall. Con being able to hear his heartbeat sure helped with that, but he always liked to think that it was more, as he had always understood Con like that too, and he definitely did not have advanced hearing.

The buildings around him started to become less and less fancy and more decayed, clearly showing the differences in architectural trends and aesthetics in time, as the further he drove, the older the buildings were. People cared less about things such as maintenance and buildings serving as symbols of power, cultural identity and prosperity, and more about things such as finding a way to pay the monthly rent, food and other bills such as electricity and water, which was not even granted for every inhabitant here.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows on the broken asphalt. Tim took a sharp turn, tires squealing and laughed loudly and genuinely despite himself. This car was not going to make it past today, but that was fully his intention. He still clearly remembered the disappointed looks Alfred threw at him and the many, many lectures Bruce had given him with that same disappointed look, further evidence that Alfred really had been the one to raise him, when he had borrowed the Batmobile for a joyride.

Was it smart to do, with how many enemies Batman and the Batclan as a whole had? Absolutely not, but surely he was allowed to have small joys in life? Even before he was Robin, when he had been all alone, Tim had often taken one of his parents’ cars for a joyride. He had even been chased by the cops when he was seven years old and had to improvise to reach the car petals. He had driven that car into the Gotham bay and his parents had not even noticed its absence, just like they had never noticed Tim’s absence when they were present. He sometimes wondered if the car was still there, but never asked Bruce to look for obvious reasons, and then when he was finally old enough to look on his own, life happened and it just never happened.

Perhaps it was better to not know, to let it be a fond childhood memory. It wasn’t as if one of the many ferraris of Jack Drake would harm the already unsalvageable Gotham bay any further than it already was. If anything, the car had to be a part of the unique biodiversity there, if it was still there. A bit of variety amongst the many chemicals, if you will. Besides, Tim had accidentally swallowed far too much Gotham bay water in his life than he should have, and he was perfectly fine, so there was no need to go looking for the car either.

If a Gothamite perished as a result of Gotham's water (including, but not limited to, drinking water, as that was many things but being considered safe to drink to outsiders was not one), it was essentially Darwin's law demonstrating its ability to adapt to any situation once more.

With a slightly unhinged chuckle at his own - admittedly terrible - pun, he took another swift turn with the very ugly duck. It reacted like the wild, dying beast it was, fiercely clinging to the final vestiges of life by pumping itself full of adrenaline, yearning for more. He glanced at the dashboard without bothering to look at the fuel tank. Who cared about fuel when you were soaring? Who cared how much gas a dying car had?

As he sped through the decayed roads, the occasional neon lights blurring into streaks of colour and the car singing along with him - although sounding more and more like the dying beast it was - Tim felt, ironically, more alive than he had had in ages. Who knew that stealing a car and driving like a lunatic could be so fun? Well, he did, of course, as it had been one of his greatest time-killers as a child, but he hadn’t done it in so long that he must have forgotten this particular type of adrenaline. It wasn’t quite like fighting for your life against ninjas. It wasn’t even like diving off a building without a grappling hook, relentlessly pursuing one of the rogues.

It was magic. Just as much as Jason once said that Robin had been magic. Of course, he had not said it to him, but as that was still in Tim’s stalker phase, he might as well have. Every Bat was an adrenaline junkie; one had to be one to be able to be a Bat. Simply having a strong sense of justice (or boredom, determination and starry eyes in Tim’s case) was not enough to become a vigilante. The training was awful to the point he was fully aware that he’d have problems with his body, should he ever get to be old (or lose his spine again), and it was hard, but Tim loved it. They all did.

He missed it.

Just like how he had missed driving like there was no tomorrow in a car that would never see the morning. Just like he missed being chased by someone, probably the cops. The blue-white light in his mirror confirmed his suspicions. It was no matter, though! These were Gotham cops and this was deep into the Bowerly. He had enough money with him to bribe any low-classed cop that would patrol this area of the city.

The worst thing that could happen would be that he had accidentally stolen Jason’s car, but if he knew anything about his brother, or well, not-brother in this case, as Jason Todd openly despised Timothy Jackson Drake to the point he still actively updated his ‘anonymous’ hate account (which was, frankly put, hilarious. Tim would 10/10 have done the same, were he Jason. They were petty like that and Timothy had been a real asshat. Still, he could only privately laugh at the Timothy memes Jason created, unfortunately), it was that he was a massive neat-freak. The only worse neat-freak he knew was Alfred, but no one could out neat-freak Alfred.

Just when he was about to pull off yet another sharp turn, the ugly duck spluttered to a stop. The flashing lights in his rearview mirror became closer and closer, brighter with it. He grabbed his wallet in one hand and a gun in his other.

As Timothy was anything but dumb, he had actually managed to get a gun permit and took his loyal bright pink gun with him everywhere he went. He was sure that there had to be a joke as to why the gun was coloured Barbie pink with real diamond glitters, but he suspected Sofia

Nevertheless, he was ready to defend himself in any means necessary, as even though Tim knew how to move, Timothy’s body was not trained the same way he had been and therefore, he did not have the needed muscle reflexes as he had had in his old body, nor had he the same agility. Truly, it was a shame.

The unmarked police car pulled alongside, window rolling down. Much to Tim’s dismay, the rough and all-too familiar face of detective Bullock appeared, eyes narrowing sharply. “Timothy Jackson Drake” he drawled out, voice as cold as ice. “You are not as clever as you appear to think.”

Tim could count on both of his fingers how many not corrupt cops there were in Gotham and Bludhaven together. Why did he have to meet one, especially now? Could he not have one fun night out in town? He was not even ruining a car worthy to be named! He must have upset Tyche or some other divine being with ‘Luck’ as their domain. There was no other way. Alas, this was still salvageable.

He shrugged carelessly, leaning further back into the sticky car seat, careless grin on his face. “I am sure that I don’t know what you are talking about, officer.” He drew out the ‘officer’ part exactly how Bullock had drawn out his name. Two could play this game, and Tim was very good at playing games.

Bullock huffed irritated. “That ain’t your car, kid.”, he lit a cigar and blew smoke directly into Tim’s face. The joke was on him though, it only further diluted the horrible car scent, and Tim had practically grown up on the streets of Gotham. He was used to the strong odour of cheap cigarettes.

He shrugged once more, still grinning carelessly at him. “Alright, you got me.‘ He admitted. “I was just enjoying the ride, though. Who cares whose car it is?”

Bullock’s jaw tightened. “I do,” he said. “It’s mine.”

Well, that was not good. He was certain now, however. He had definitely been cursed by some divine being with luck as their domain. Just his luck. The horrible pun once again made him crack a grin.

“You think this is funny, boy?” Bullock asked, voice rougher and more forcefully than before.

Tim nodded slowly, grin evolving into a genuine laugh. “A little bit. You don’t?” He asked. In a way, it was even funny. Tim was in a stolen body, in a stolen car, being held up by the cop whose car he had stolen. There was a joke to be made here and he was living it.

Bullock looked tiredly at him. Tim couldn't help but sympathise with him, being a cop sounded tiring. Being a Gotham cop sounded far beyond exhausting. Why anyone who was not at least a little bit of a masochist would do that to themself, he had no idea. He looked Bullock over, before humming slightly. Yeah, that man was definitely into some freaky stuff. He simply had to be. No one would wear skinny jeans that tight and an honest-to-the-luck-god-that-must-have-cursed-him real, vintage leather jacket, without being at least a little bit freaky.

Tim didn’t judge, though. He was many things, but being a kink shamer was far from one of them.

“What you lookin’ at?” Bullock asked harshly, making him aware that he had stared for far too long already. Oh well, Timothy did not have his reputation for nothing, however. He might as well have some fun with it, right?

“Just enjoying the view.” He said, grinning seductively, barely keeping a straight face. “You have that famed dad bod, ya’know?” He wiggled his eyebrows at him to put the cherry on the metaphorical top of the ice cream.

Bullock spluttered for a moment, giving Tim his silent victory. There was something so satisfying about making cops uncomfortable. He didn’t know what it was, but he found that he quite liked it.

At the continuing silence, Tim raised a sharp eyebrow. “What, are you homophobic or something like that?”

Bullock sighed. “‘Course not, just didn’t expect you of all kids to be.. Ya’know. Good for you, though, kid.”

Huh, who would have thought? Tim had never officially come out as a male-love-male and had not expected to do so in a situation like this, not even with all his many contagious plans, but it was nice, Bullock’s indifference was nice. He always saw the biggest pride events online and even in person, such as the infamous ‘coming out’ parties that occasionally happened in Gotham high society, which really were just themed galas where everyone was guaranteedly drunk.

Tim had always hoped that his loved once would simply respond with indifference, as that had always been the best kind of acceptance to him. It made it normal. Made him normal. It was nice. The perfect society would be one where no one really cared all that much, as it was considered to be perfectly normal to be who you are.

It made him feel like a total jerk for ruining Bullock’s car (even more) now, though. The salary of a Gotham cop was barely worth anything, especially the salary of a non dirty cop, and Bullock had obviously used this one to the point it was literally falling apart. If he had enough money, he must have already bought a new one, or must have at least been able to bring this car to a mechanic and car wash.

Tim cleared his throat just a tad too loudly, which was fortunately ignored. “You said that the car is yours?”

Bullock nodded. “Yeah, kid. It wasn't parked at the heart of the Diamond district for nothing..” He laughed roughly, “not my kind of venue, ya see?”

Tim nodded slowly, not wanting to offend this car or him for that matter, which he guaranteedly would, should he say anything. The raised eyebrow on the detective’s voice told him that he must have done so already. Oh well, at least he tried.

“You stole it from the wrong person, kid.” Bullock sighed wearily. At Tim’s questioning look, he elaborated “undercover work”.

Tim winced. He knew what it was like for one person to ruin an entire undercover operation. It definitely was not something he would recommend. “Did I-”

Bullock huffed out a laugh. “Nah, you didn’t ruin any evidence. I put surveillance up. The subject stole some fancy and extremely rare car that had been parked at the spot I parked this old thing after.” He shook his head slowly. “Why anyone would park their car there, I wouldn’t know, but the fool got what he deserved for driving a car like that in Gotham of all places, if ya ask me.”

Tim cleared his throat sharply. “What kind of car?” He asked, already dreading and knowing the answer.

“A real classic.” Bullock said, smiling slightly. It was the smile of a man who could appreciate a good, pretty car. “Ain’t ever seen a car like that in real life.. ‘T was a Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing. A real beauty.”

Tim tilted his head back and burst out in loud, booming laughter that lasted at least half a minute.. After the moment was over, he took a deep breath and wiped away the tears of laughter that had graced his face.

Bullock started to look warily at him. “Ya took some Joker gas or sum?” He asked warily, hand subtly going to his pocket. “That stuff is bad for you, far worse than the other stuff you rich people normally take. Far more addictive, too.” He frowned. “If ya have a problem, I can send you to someone trustworthy. Just say I sent ya.”

Tim breathed in once more. “No, it’s not that. Thank you, though. It is just-” He smiled widely, “-that’s my car you were talking about.”

Bullock stared at him, before laughing just as unhinged as Tim had done mere moments before. When Tim didn’t laugh with him, he stared simply blankly at him. “Shit, kid.. You’re actually serious? No shitting?”

Tim grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing. “On god.”

Bullock frowned for a moment, before his eyes lit up in recognition. “Keep your silly online references away from here, kid.” He shook his head bemusedly, before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Step out of the car, kid.” He ordered roughly, yet with a slight hint of amusement. “Your joyride is officially over.”

Tim sighed, pushing the door open with a loud sound that resembled a broken accordion. As he stepped onto the pavement, he wondered if he’d feel that rush again soon, or if he’d have to wait for literally years again before he could utterly destroy a car in a way he would not be hurt. It was a fine balance, but one of his many talents. In another life, he might have been a Formula One driver, or even a simple street driver. The thought was nice, but that was all it would ever be.

When Tim stood next to Bullock, the detective looked carefully around him, only to sigh in relief when he found nothing and no one around them. To Tim, the Bowery had always looked much more ominous when it was empty than crowded with criminals, but each to their own, he supposed. For a moment, they simply looked at the now utterly inusuable vomit-green ugly duck. It still was hideous and the world would be better off without it, but seeing the car like that, brought a smile upon his face.

“It’s your lucky day, kid”, Bullock eventually cut through the silence. He once again put a large and heavy hand on his shoulder. It reminded him of Jason's hands. He had never really been much of a hugger. Tough love, food and literature were his love languages.

Tim looked up at the taller man. “You won’t press charges?” He asked, subtly showing his wallet to the detective.

Bullock’s lips curled downwards. “Put that thing away. Ain’t dirty.”

Tim nodded, “which I can respect.”

“Uhuh,” Bullock muttered darkly. “That’s why you have your big wallet out already, huh, rich boy?”

Tim simply grinned cheekily. “What can I say? I am a man who takes any opportunities he gets.”

Bullock looked at him. Not as before, but closely. As if he was trying to pick him apart with his eyes. As if Tim was a puzzle to be solved. Eventually, the detective nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with something he must have seen in Tim.

“You are hardly a man, boy, but I can see your point”, he said, taking a deep breath. “Which is for the best, too, as despite being a rich kid, this is still Gotham. Opportunities are how we survive.” He smiled down at him, “And I have an opportunity for you.”

Tim braced himself for the worst. Bullock not being dirty was great and something that co-lined with his own dimension, but not being dirty was not necessarily equal to following the law to a T. Besides, cops did not make the law, but they were relatively close to those who did and those who made the laws did not necessarily have to break it.

“What kind of opportunity?” He ended up asking carefully.

Bullock once again smiled widely. It was a natural smile. “A win-win one.” He replied. You’ll get away scot-free with your little adventure, and you’ll help us with the case we are working on. The case in which your car was stolen.” He grinned. “If you’re lucky, you’ll even get your car back, kid.”

Tim ignored the comment about his admittedly awesome missing car, and looked around them once more. “Us?” He asked.

“Yes, us,” an even rougher and even more familiar voice than the one of detective Bullock spoke above him, making Tim jumpscare. Why did he not think to look up? Everyone knew that the first thing to do was to look up in situations like this.. Tim could not afford to become sloppy, especially not now.

He took a deep breath, then turned around. "Batman!" He remarked, "What a pleasant surprise."

Batman grunted. "Timothy," he said cautiously, as if he was speaking to a wounded animal rather than his Robin, which made sense given that Timothy had never been his Robin, and according to Batman's files, he was a far too intelligent, wealthy, connected, and traumatised boy for his own good and that of others, labelled as '(possible) threat', '(possible future) rogue', and, most importantly, 'needs to be saved from himself before it is too late'.

This was going to be so much fun.

Chapter Text

“Soo,” Tim drew out the world deliberately extra slowly, using so many syllables that Jason - his Jason, that is, not the common bitch Jason here - would have playfully strangled him. There was nothing like some good spirited attempted fratricide and although Damian had had his turns, it just wasn't the same as when Jason tried to kill him and vice versa

In a way, it kept them sharp. You have to put some poison in your tea to be able to taste true victory, after all, and what is victory if not a competitive dance with death and winning? Tim has poisoned many teas in his life as well, but he preferred the sneaker ways. Poisoning someone's tea was what either a drama-queen-slash-former-theatre-kid like Jason, or some unimaginative bitch like Damian would do.

Besides, it was mightily wasteful and tasteless to waste a good cup of tea like that. Those of course, were the real reasons why Tim steered clear from messing with tea. Not, of course, because of the (un)official head of the Wayne family, whose Britishness deemed it a blasphemy to mess with tea. Especially if said tea was the good, imported stuff rather than the near tasteless supermarket stuff.

“Do we have a plan, or are we just going to hang out?” He asked the men in front of him, wiggling seductively with his eyebrows.

Bullock made a face - which, rude. Tim was a downright snack! Especially now. Greek statues would be jealous of him. Helena of Troy, who? - before shaking his head slowly.

“Ain't gonna happen, kid.” He replied with a firm emphasis on the word ‘kid’.

Tim pouted adorably to make this situation as dramatic as possible. If the agitated look on Bullock's face was any indication, it was working. Tim was skilled like that; no one was as good as annoying people as Dick, but he HAD stalked the best and learned from that, which basically meant that Dick had taught him his ways.

His mama always said when she was around, “Never let them know your next move, Timothy”. Granted, she then surprised him by leaving with his father in the middle of the night, over and over again, until he really wasn't surprised anymore, but it was about the idea!

If not even Tim knew what was going on, as he really was just enjoying the vacation the universe had given him and going with the vibe, then all was well. This could have been far worse too! He could have ended up in a place where he was homeless and poor, like a baby Jason impersonator. Tim didn't like to flaunt his wealth the way Timothy obviously had, but that didn't mean that he did not like being rich.

Any rich person claiming to hate being rich, was a filthy liar or the worst kind of delusional hypocrite. Money was great and no one knew that better than the super poor and the super rich. Was it ethical to be as rich as Tim? Nah. Did he feel guilty about it? Also no. Should he? Most likely and in a perfect world, no one would be that rich. Then again, he liked money and did actively try to make his Gotham better, so perhaps it evened out?

Either way, he was already over his minor freak out. Freaking out about minor displacements was sooo last year, when Bruce was displaced. Been there, done that, got the trauma. Sure, he'd still continue finding his way home, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. Que sera, sera, carpe diem, and all that. He'll be responsible again when he'll be back in his home dimension.

Also, what better way to ignore all his problems, than to solve a brand new mystery? Solving mysteries happened to be one of his favourite hobbies, and this dimension happened to be filled with them, like a theme park specifically designed for Tim. It was great! He also got to work with Bullock, his new favourite cop - sorry, not sorry, Dick.

Tim hummed, looking Bruce over, which, ew. It was good thad he had had acting lessons, because even though he wasn't his Bruce, it was still A Bruce and Tim wanted to crawl his eyes out and then put them in bleach.

“You know?” He said smoothly, making it once more clear that this Tim had had singing lessons beyond the basic ones his parents forced them to go to when he was young, until he just stopped going, as no one really cared and definitely not Tim.

Batman's eyes pierced through him. If he wasn't used to his intensity, Tim's neck hairs would've had stood up at the moment. The joke was either on Tim, Bruce, or both of them, though: almost nothing could make his neck hairs stand up anymore. The only time it happened recently was when he saw Dick's room in the manor. It was filled with the most creepy, soul-stealing dolls in existence.

When he asked him about the dolls, Dick just laughed fondly and stated that they had been in his family for generations. All Tim could do was backing off slowly and never ending his brother's room again. He already suspected that the manor was haunted, being an ancient one in which generations of Waynes had lived and died, but that was the moment he was certain.

He had seen far too many horror movies about creepy dolls and had encountered said dolls in real life and fought them, to know better to mess with that kind of insanity. The regular Gotham insanity had been enough already.

“I know?” Batman repeated after a moment of silence. It wasn't really a question, but rather a curiosity.

Tim grinned, fortunately pulled out of his thoughts on Dick's creepy family dolls and whatever else he saw in the room. Some of it, he couldn't even recognise anywhere, and he had been too wary to ask him at that or any other time.

“Yes, you know that you're a hottie!” He replied, winking. “I mean look at you! The fursona is flawless! And that confidence with it, too! Why, if I were into that, I would commit a crime right here and now, only to be apprehended by you! Oh Batman, my Batman!”

As both Bullocks and Batman looked distinctly uncomfortable, Tim allowed the corner of his lip to curl upward. Sweet, sweet victory! Granted, just like Tim, Batman had only shown a micro expression, but Tim could read him even when blind.

“Timothy.” Batman said calmly, looking as if he were to say something, but then thinking better of it and simply staring at him once more. Tim did not mind, he was used to people staring at him and B was weird anyway. He decided to stare back without blinking, naturally.

Tim nodded back just as calmly at him, as if they were greeting each other on a bright day and not dramatically standing in the middle of a deserted street in the Bowery, having some sort of dramatic stare off.

“Batman.” Tim replied cheerfully, using the distinct Robin voice every Gotham raised kid was familiar with. Even the rich and annoying ones that hadn't stalked Robin, as Tim had discovered when he was young. Crazy doesn't care about sparing poor rich kids and Gotham was nothing if not BATshit insane.

It made Batman blink first, which automatically meant that Tim had won their dramatic stare off and got the invisible brownie points. Tim once again allowed his lip to curl up amusedly, he still got it!

Bullock cleared his throat, not even beginning to address the nonsense around him anymore, or looking even a bit faced by it. Tim could understand and respect that personal trait and habit. He was a rare, basically extinct species in Gotham; a clean (figuratively speaking, as he definitely smelled) Gotham cop. Nothing could face the man.

“Wonderful! Now you've officially been introduced to each other, we can use Batman's car to go to a more private location.” Bullock said.

Tim groaned like he had heard the spoiled teens do at the galas he was forced to go to all those times. The sound was grating, even to his own ears. “Must we?” He whined. He gestured lazily at Batman. “Full offence, because look at him! Batman's bleeding from several places and not even trying to cover up his blood! Imagine how-” He scrunched up his nose “-dirty his car must be? I am certainly not interested in sitting in his blood, of all things, thank you very much.”

Batman shrugged slightly in response, wincing slightly at the movement. His injuries must be worse than Tim had anticipated. It probably had to do with the earlier Arkham breakout today, but what did Tim know? Either way, Batman was bleeding from several places and if he kept losing blood at this pace, he might end up in a Superman situation - ergo, being surprised by a surprise clone. God, he missed Con - in the future.

“You do not have permission to drive the Batmobile, Timothy.” Batman said sternly, most likely mistaking the expression he must be making for contemplation on how to convince Batman to let him drive the Batmobile. He made a face; Batman had said that far too fatherly for his tastes, once again reminding him of his Bruce.

Tim's smile immediately became sharper as to avoid the emotions that came with Bruce's fatherly voice. There would be no annoying… emotions today, or any day soon, if it were up to Tim and surprisingly enough, it actually was up to him here.

Bullock took a deep puff of his cigarette, before he huffed out some of the smoke right at Batman. “I heard some rumours on the streets, but you seriously call your car the ‘Batmobile’?!” He asked dryly, basically oozing judgement. Tim liked Bullock, he wanted to keep him.

He nodded in agreement with the detective. “To be fair, it IS a rather freaky name.” He grinned, leaning towards the Batmobile. “What you got in there? B-Man? Is it powered by batpower instead of horsepower? Are YOU illegally some sort of bat demon?” He grinned widely and more than a bit unhinged. “ Please be a Bat demon!”

Batman looked tiredly ahead of him presumably cursing his existence once again. Tim tended to have that effect on people with a Bat theme. “Please stop spreading the rumour that I am a demon, Timothy. The first Robin came up with the name.”

Bullock huffed out even more smoke at Batman. “That's what ya get for letting a kid fight crime at night in Gotham, without even wearing proper clothes.”

Batman decided to wisely stay silent this time, continuing to walk - although it was more of a wobble, really - to the Batmobile.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You do not deny it.” He spoke slowly, looking the vigilante over once more. ‘it’ having more than one meaning in this case, but when did it not? He hummed. “I can kinda see it, too. Don't worry, B-man, I will keep your little secret.”

Batman nodded softly, as if he had expected this answer l. “Yes, you are rather good at keeping secrets. Aren't you, Timothy?”

Tim was honestly getting over constantly being called by his first name. It was an interrogation technique to make the subject feel more at ease, but all it did for Tim was reminding him of his mother when she addressed him. Everyone calling him that was just weird. It made him feel like he was about to get the scolding of a lifetime. He couldn't help but unconsciously straighten his posture and make his face blank.

Bruce must've noticed, as he appeared to want to say something. Probably an unnecessary comfort or something like that. Before he could, Tim turned to the detective. “Hey, Bullock”, he said, going back to fully ignoring Batman.

“Yes, kid?” Bullock said, before crushing his cigarette on the road underneath his feet. He started to walk to the Batmobile, where Batman was now subtly leaning on. It was not Tim's business anymore, but he knew that Alfred would have Bruce's hide when he came home, as he should. It was completely irresponsible to go out on patrol, being as wounded as Bruce was.

As both Batman and Bullock were now sitting in the car, Tim did not have any choice but to either follow them into the car, or be left behind. Being left behind would have just been boring and Tim happened to be allergic to boredom, stupidity, Ra's al Ghul and strawberries created by Poison Ivy. He had no idea what she put in them, but those were the only strawberries that could, would and had hospitalised him.

“I will buy you a new car.” He said out of the blue to Bullock, before quickly sitting in the Batmobile. He could easily afford it and he admittedly did feel a bit bad about ruining the monstrosity he had called a car. Not because of the car - which was such an abomination that the world was better off without it - but because Tim started to grow fond of the human disaster next to him. He didn't really need any other reason to buy him a car than that. It was a perk of being rich with a capital R.

The Batmobile was just as cosy as he remembered when he entered it for the first time in another universe in a far away past that almost felt like an entirely different life by now. It looked extremely different, though. Where Tim's Batman's Batmobile had been all black outside and inside, like the overgrown emo Bruce was, this one was completely yellow on the inside with black bats on it. Even the ceiling of the car was like that. It was honestly such a silly look that he couldn't help but let out a short, yet extremely genuine laugh. Bullock did the same thing at the same time, at which they quickly shared a look that said ‘can you believe this guy?’.

“You know what?”, Tim said dead serious. “I don't want to be beaten up by you anymore, B-Man.”

Batman grunted his relieved, yet pained and amused grunt, as he started the car. It was a very specific grunt, but as a former Robin, he was fluent in many languages, including Bruce's non-verbal one.

“Yes, why is that?” he asked calmly, obviously trying to ignore his pain. Tim was this close to offering him a paracetamol, but that would mean admitting to being more perceptive than Bruce thought he was, which would lead to unnecessary trouble he didn't want to deal with.

Tim made a face, as he gestured around the car. “As a Gothamite, I am most certainly not into clown core.” He stated dryly. “Like, seriously, dude, I get that you have this whole… thing going on, in which you dress up as a bat and beat up assholes who deserve it, which is good for you, man, but you're leaning a bit too much into it for my tastes.”

Bullock nodded. “Kid's got a point. If not for the fact that no one would believe me and that it would most likely end in me being thrown in Arkham with the other crazies, I'd shout this from the rooftops.”

Tim grinned mischievously. “That's probably why he does this. No one would ever believe us if we'd say that Batman has a weird bat fetish or whatever is going on around here. They'd say it's far too ridiculous and on the nose to be the truth.”

Bullock nodded, before he loudly snapped his fingers. “Aahh! So that's why those mini, sharp boomerangs of you are bat-shaped.” He replied, getting one of those out of his pocket and showing it as evidence. “That’s one less mystery to be solved.”

Batman grunted. It was his ‘Why did I ever allow these two people to meet each other’ grunt. Tim would feel bad if he wasn’t having such a great time. Well, perhaps. “How did you get that?”

Tim whistled slowly. “Not to burst your bubble, B-Man, but you leave those practically everywhere to the point that there are whole online communities of fans who collect the various types of Batarangs.”

Bullock nodded. “‘Sides, they're good bottle openers.”

Batman sighed, most likely thinking something like ‘Alfred help, now there are two of them!’, before addressing Bullock, “You shouldn't drink on the job.”

Bullock nodded. “That might be true, but you shouldn't drive while slowly bleeding out.” He laughed harshly, “or did you think that just ‘cause I'm not some sort of furry vigilante like you bats are, that I'm some sort of oblivious fool? Ya don't get to become a detective in Gotham without at least some detective skills if you ain't in someone's pockets, bats.” He took a deep breath. “Now, here's what we're gonna do. You're going to drive to the free clinic in the alley and get some treatment. Then, and only then, we will have our talk with Timothy here.”

Batman looked like he was about to protest, but Bullock held up a hand and gave him an Alfred-worthy glare that immediately shut him up. “He may be a downright brat, but he's still only a kid. You're not going to die in front of a teenager because of your own pride, stubbornness or whatever reason you may have. If you are at least an inch the man Gordon thinks you are, then you don’t want to have that on your conscience.” His no-nonsense voice was so much like that of Alfred, which was probably why Batman did not complain too much and drove to the clinic.

As Batman stepped out of the car, he turned around to face them once more. “Stay in the Batmobile. I will be back as soon as possible.”

Tim, keeping up what he liked to call his 'little shit’, or ‘Damian, had he not grown up in the League of Assassins and become a little murdering goblin, but an average goblin instead’ act, decided to just go on his phone and play some ‘Block Blast!’. The game was unsurprisingly addictive, so naturally, that was the reason why he had downloaded it in the first place. What was the point of playing a game on your phone, if you weren't even addicted to it? He played it with the sound on, to hear the ‘awesome!’ and ‘amazing!’ sounds when he did something right. Guy gotta get his validation in some way, right?

After a few levels, when his phone was playing once again one of those annoying and super misogynistic ads in which a girl had to get a makeover in order to go on a date with some sort of jerk that reminded Tim of Bruce's playboy persona but so much worse that it was not even funny anymore, Bullock let out a deep breath and grabbed his phone. “That's enough.” He stated.

Tim shrugged and got a second phone out of his pocket.

Bullock blinked slowly at him, before muttering underneath his breath. “Seriously, kid? Another phone?”

Tim shrugged carelessly, as he played even more ‘Block Blast!’ on his second phone. “Of course! You never know when someone decides to steal your phone.” He emphasised the ‘someone’.

Bullock huffed. “I was doing everyone here a favour by taking that..” He grabbed his second phone “and this away.”

Tim looked annoyed at him. “Everyone here?! It's only us here.”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “The game's annoying and will ‘rot’ your brain, as you kids say nowadays.”

Tim shook his head slowly. “Weren't you the one to tell me to keep those ‘silly online references’ away? Besides, you're not even allowed to steal my phones!”

Bullock laughed. “What are you gonna do about it? Rat me out to the big Bat? Call the cops on me?!”

Tim grinned, despite himself. “Alright, alright, you got me there.” He admitted, before grabbing a third phone out of his pocket.

“What, are you some sort of walking phone store or something?” Bullock asked, his tone light and teasing. “How many phones do you even have in there?” He rolled his eyes, clearly amused by the sight of Tim juggling multiple devices.

Tim, unfazed, pulled out yet another phone from his pocket while staring Bullock directly in his eyes. Bullock’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the sleek, shiny device. His expression quickly shifted from curiosity to outright disgust.

“Seriously, kid? A Lex Phone?!” Bullock’s voice was thick with playful disdain as he practically spat out the words. “You know who makes those, right? LexCorp. Keep that Metropolis junk away from here!” He jabbed a finger at the offending phone, as if it were some kind of contaminant.

Tim shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “It’s just a phone, Bullock.”

Bullock looked warily at the phone in Tim’s hands. “Those are very famous last words, kid.”

Tim shrugged. “To be fair, it was a gift from Lexie.” He gestured at the neon pink phone, with a Joker-green phone case. It hurt even Tim’s eyes, which said enough. Even the inside of the Batmobile they were sitting in was less eye-hurting than this abomination.

Bullock let out a low whistle, clearly impressed by the sheer audacity of the gift. It took some guts to give anything with a Joker colour to anyone from Gotham, especially if it originated from Metropolis, the antithesis of Gotham. “Jeez. Luthor must really hate you. What did you do to earn his hate like that? Publicly adore Superman?”

Tim hummed nonchalantly, his attention still on the game of ‘Block Blast!’ he was playing. “Worse.”

Bullock raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Did you steal a business deal under his nose? You got your own big-name companies, after all.”

“Close, but not quite,” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from his game. “I made a business deal with him.”

Bullock’s eyes widened in surprise. “You made a deal with Luthor? And he gave you that eyesore as a thank you? Man, you must have really gotten under his skin. I am actually quite impressed, kid”

Tim smirked, finally glancing up. “Let’s just say, it wasn’t the deal he was hoping for.”

Bullock shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Kid, you’ve got guts. Just make sure that thing doesn’t start spying on us or something. Last thing we need is Luthor knowing our every move.”

Tim chuckled, pocketing the phone. “Don’t worry, Bullock. I’ve got it under control.”

Bullock leaned back in his seat, still shaking his head. “You know, back in my day, we didn’t have all these fancy gadgets. We had one phone, and it was attached to the wall. If you wanted privacy, you had to stretch the cord as far as it would go and hope no one else picked up the other line.”

Tim laughed. “Sounds like the dark ages.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad,” Bullock said, a nostalgic smile on his face. “We managed just fine without all this tech. Sometimes I think we were better off.”

“Maybe,” Tim conceded. “But technology has its perks. Like being able to play ‘Block Blast!’ anywhere, anytime.”

Bullock rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that’s what the world needs. More people glued to their screens.”

Tim grinned. “You’re just jealous because you can’t beat my high score.”

Bullock snorted. “Please. I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on some silly game.”

“Like what?” Tim challenged. “Eating donuts and complaining about the younger generation?”

Bullock laughed. “Touché, kid. Touché.”

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, the hum of the Batmobile’s engine the only sound. After a few minutes, Bullock spoke up again.

“So, what’s the deal with this business arrangement you made with Luthor? How did that come about?”

Tim sighed, putting his phone away. “It’s a long story. Basically, he needed some tech expertise for one of his projects, and I saw an opportunity to make a deal that would benefit both of us. It wasn’t easy, and it definitely wasn’t pleasant, but it was worth it in the end.”

Bullock raised an eyebrow. “And he gave you that phone as a parting gift?”

“More like a parting shot,” Tim said with a wry smile. “He wasn’t too happy with the terms of the deal, so he gave me this monstrosity as a way to remind me of his displeasure.”

Bullock chuckled. “Sounds like Luthor, all right. The man’s got a flair for the dramatic.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim muttered. “But hey, at least I got what I wanted out of the deal.”

“And what was that?” Bullock asked, genuinely curious.

Tim’s expression turned serious. “Access to some of his tech. It’s cutting-edge stuff, and it’s going to help me reach my goals.”

Bullock nodded, impressed despite himself. “Well, I guess that makes it worth it. Just be careful, kid. Luthor’s not someone you want to mess with lightly.”

“Don’t worry, Bullock. I know what I’m doing,” Tim said confidently.

“I hope so,” Bullock replied. “Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the force, it’s that you can never be too careful when it comes to the likes of Lex Luthor.”

Tim nodded, appreciating the advice, even if it was unnecessary. “Thanks, Bullock. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Tim spoke up again.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Any leads on your case?”

Bullock shook his head with an amused glint in his eyes. “Nice try, kid.. Nice try. We’ll have to wait for Batman to show up. I can tell you that I’ve got a feeling this one’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”

Tim smiled. “Aren’t they always?”

Bullock laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But that’s what makes the job interesting, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Tim replied nonchalantly. “But with you by my side, I know we can handle whatever comes our way.” Was he lying it too thick? Eh, that didn’t matter, this conversation was far too amusing not to do that.

Bullock grinned, a rare warmth in his eyes. “Damn right, kid. Damn right.” He looked far away for a moment, lost in thought. “You know?” he asked, his voice softer, “you’re a nice kid. You don’t deserve the shit the media and everyone gives you, simply for being a rich kid.”

Tim looked at Bullock, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “Thanks, Bullock. That means a lot.”

Bullock nodded, his expression serious. “I mean it. You’re out here risking your neck just like the rest of us. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve got. You’ve got heart, kid.”

Tim smiled, feeling a genuine warmth spread through him. No one had said something that kind to him, without Tim having saved their life in suit, in ages. “I appreciate that, Bullock. Really.”

Bullock waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t get all mushy on me now,” he said with a smirk. Tim chuckled, shaking his head.

“You know, Bullock, for a tough guy, you sure have a soft spot,” Tim teased back, leaning against the Batmobile’s sleek interior.

Bullock raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Kid, if I had a soft spot, it’d be for donuts, not for you,” he retorted, patting his stomach for emphasis.

Tim huffed, the sound echoing in the confined space of the Batmobile. “I’ll remember that next time I need to bribe you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bullock replied, rolling his eyes. “Just make sure they’re from that bakery on the 14th. You know the one.”

Their banter continued, light and easy, until the sound of footsteps approached. Batman emerged dramatically from the shadows, as if he had not just been to the free clinic because he had been bleeding out.. even his cape billowed slightly in the breeze. He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, his presence immediately commanding attention.

“All good now,” Batman announced, his voice steady and calm. He glanced at Bullock and Tim, a hint of amusement in his eyes at their playful exchange.

“About time,” Bullock grumbled, though his tone was more relaxed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Batman nodded, pressing a button to start the engine. The Batmobile roared to life once more, the powerful hum of the engine filling the air. He navigated the vehicle through the dark streets, heading towards a private location, the city lights blurring past them.

Inside the Batmobile, the atmosphere was a mix of tension and camaraderie. Tim, sitting in the passenger seat, looked around, curiosity evident on his face. “So, what’s going on? Why the sudden rush?”

Batman’s eyes remained on the road. “We’ll explain everything once we’re safe.”

Bullock nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Yeah, kid. Just sit tight for now.”

The Batmobile sped through the city, the streets gradually becoming less familiar as they moved away from the bustling centre. Tim watched the buildings blur past, his mind racing with questions. He knew better than to press for answers now, trusting that Batman and Bullock would fill him in soon.

The Batmobile finally came to a stop in front of an unassuming warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Batman pressed a button, and a hidden entrance slid open, revealing a ramp leading down into an underground garage. He drove inside, the door closing behind them.

As they exited the vehicle, Bullock looked around, impressed. “Nice setup you got here, Bats. Real cosy.”

Batman led them to a large table in the centre of the room, covered in maps and documents. “We’ll be safe here. Let’s get to work.”

Tim, still unsure of the situation, looked at the maps and documents spread out on the table. “Okay, can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Bullock pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression serious. “Alright, kid. Here’s the deal. We’ve been working on a case that’s a lot bigger than we initially thought. It involves some people you know—Sofia and Roman.”

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise and mirth he tried to keep hidden. This case was getting more interesting by the second. “Sofia and Roman? What do they have to do with this?”

Batman joined them at the table, his face grim. “They’ve been caught up in something dangerous, Timothy. We believe they’re being manipulated by Lex Luthor.”

Tim’s expression turned to one of confusion and concern. Had he missed something? Sofia and Roman could have been acting weird, but Tim wouldn’t have known as he did not know them - not really. “Luthor? What does he have to do with Sofia and Roman, besides the business deal we made?”

Bullock leaned forward, his tone serious. “Luthor’s been making moves in Gotham, trying to expand his influence. He’s been using Sofia and Roman to get to you, Tim. He knows you’re close to them, and he’s using that to his advantage.”

Tim shook his head, trying to process the information. “But why? What does he want from me? He doesn’t need my fortune.”

Batman’s voice was calm and measured. “Luthor wants to control Gotham, and he sees you as a potential ally—or a threat. He’s been trying to manipulate you through your friends, hoping to sway you to his side.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s why Bullock went undercover as a waiter? To get close to Sofia and Roman?”

Bullock nodded. “Yeah, kid. I had to find out what they were up to and who they were working with. Turns out, Luthor’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. He’s been funding some shady operations, and Sofia and Roman got caught in the middle.”

Tim’s mind raced as he tried to piece everything together. “So what do we do now? How do we get them out of this?” From what he knew, Sofia and Roman were no saints, but they were just kids with civilian lives and their ambitions were out of the ordinary, they were not too crazy. Sofia wanted to become as great as her family’s name had been once, but to own it herself. Roman wanted… Tim wasn’t exactly sure, but he clearly liked being famous and being with Sofia. He didn’t want to drag them into his personal troubles.

Batman placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. He must have assumed the look on his face was for different reasons related to Sofia and Roman than it was in reality. “We need to gather more information and figure out Luthor’s next move. We also need to protect Sofia and Roman without tipping off Luthor that we’re onto him, which means that your friends cannot know what we are doing.” He said the last part with a strict look on his face, once again resembling his father figure from another universe. Tim ignored the pain in his gut that that look caused; it wasn’t that difficult, as he was used to ignoring his emotions regarding Bruce, anyway.

Bullock leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And kid, this just goes to show you can’t trust Luthor. You need to think twice about any future business deals with him.”

Tim nodded. Arguing with Bullock wouldn’t help at all and for all they knew, Tim was just a kid. Not a veteran vigilante. “I understand. We need to stop him.”

Batman nodded in agreement. “We will. But we need to be careful. Luthor is dangerous, and he won’t hesitate to use your friends against you.”

The three of them spent the next few hours meticulously going over the information they had, trying to piece together Luthor’s plan. Bullock, with a weary but determined expression, recounted his months spent undercover, making Tim wince slightly again about destroying his car. Bullock had observed Sofia and Roman’s inner circle, gaining their trust as a professional and effective waiter who didn’t ask questions through careful manipulation and calculated risks. It was during this time that he uncovered the sinister involvement of Lex Luthor.

Tim listened intently, but unlike the usual tension that accompanied such situations, he felt a thrill of excitement. This was his vacation, and instead of lounging on a beach as he imagined normal people did when they went on vacation, he was diving headfirst into a mystery. The gravity of the situation was still undeniable, but the challenge invigorated him.

“Luthor’s been pulling the strings from behind the scenes,” Bullock explained. “He’s got Sofia and Roman wrapped around his finger, using them to further his own agenda. From what I gathered, he’s planning something big, something that could put a lot of people in danger.”

Tim’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “We need to figure out his plan and stop him before it’s too late. Did you get any specifics on what he’s planning?”

Bullock shook his head. “Not exactly. But I did hear them talking about some kind of shipment coming in next week. They were pretty secretive about it, but it sounded important.”

“A shipment?” Tim mused, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “That could be anything. Weapons, drugs, even something more dangerous. We need to find out what it is and where it’s coming from.”

Bullock nodded in agreement. “There’s a warehouse down by the docks that Sofia and Roman have been using as a base of operations. We should start there.”

What was it always with warehouses in this city? Even this secret hideout of Batman was a warehouse! This was getting ridiculous.

“Good idea,” Tim replied, before thinking what a non-seasoned vigilante might say at this moment. “We need to be careful, though. If Luthor’s involved, you can bet he’s got eyes and ears everywhere. We can’t afford to make any mistakes.” That’ll do it, right?

“Don’t worry, kid,” Bullock said with a reassuring smile. “I’ve been doing this a long time and despite not being an actual legal detective, Batman knows what he is doing. We’ll get the information we need.”

Tim nodded, remembering that he should be acting like a kid way over his head. “I know. It’s just… this is bigger than anything I’ve dealt with before. We can’t let Luthor get away with whatever he’s planning.”

“We won’t,” Bullock assured him. “We’ll stop him, no matter what it takes.” Batman gave the detective a sharp look, clearly referring to an earlier conversation they had about just how far doing ‘whatever it takes’ went.

Tim took a deep breath, his excitement fueling his determination. “Alright. Let’s get to work. The sooner we figure this out, the better.”

As they delved deeper into their investigation, Tim couldn’t help but ask, “Bullock, when you were undercover, did you notice any patterns in their behaviour? Anything that might give us a clue about their next move?”

Bullock thought for a moment. “Sofia and Roman are pretty methodical. They don’t make a move without consulting Luthor first. It’s like they’re waiting for his approval on everything.”

“That means Luthor is the key,” Tim said, his mind racing with possibilities. “If we can find out what he’s planning, we can anticipate their moves. Did you manage to get any intel on Luthor’s communications with them?”

“I did,” Bullock replied. “They use a secure line, but I managed to tap into it a few times. Most of the conversations were coded, but I picked up a few keywords that might help us. ‘Project Phoenix’ kept coming up. Any idea what that could be?”

“Project Phoenix…” Tim repeated, the name echoing ominously in his mind. “It sounds like a codename for something big. We need to dig deeper into that. Maybe we can find something in Luthor’s business dealings or his recent activities.”

“I’ll start looking into it,” Bullock said. “In the meantime, we should keep an eye on Sofia and Roman. If they’re planning something, they’ll need to make preparations. We might be able to catch them in the act.”

“Good thinking, it can never hurt to double check Luthor’s business activities; especially the ones that aren’t officially listed.” Batman agreed. “I will have surveillance set up around the warehouse. If we can catch them off guard, we might be able to get the upper hand without needing to resort to violence and outing ourselves at all.”

Tim hummed. “Then, would it not make more sense for me to do so? If I get caught, I can just bribe my way out.”

Bullock huffed. “I hate that you are right.. You and your bribing.. Just be careful, kid,” Bullock warned. “Luthor’s not someone to be underestimated. He’s always one step ahead.”

“Do you think there’s anyone else involved?” Tim asked, looking at Batman and Bullock, breaking the silence. “It would make sense for Luthor to have a network of people working for him.”

“It’s possible,” Bullock replied. “It would mean that Sofia and Roman are just the tip of the iceberg.. Luthor’s got connections everywhere. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“Agreed,” Batman said. “We should also consider the possibility that Luthor has moles within our own ranks. Him having people in GCPD is practically a given. We can’t trust anyone completely.”

“You’re right,” Bullock said, his expression grim. “We’ll have to be extra cautious. I’ll start vetting our contacts and see if anyone’s been acting suspiciously.”

“I know,” Tim said, his excitement tempered with caution. “But we have to try. We can’t let him get away with this. Also, I was thinking…” Tim said, a new idea forming in his mind. “What if we try to turn Sofia and Roman against Luthor? If we can convince them that he’s using them, they might help us.”

“It’s a risky move,” Batman said, considering the idea. “But it could work. Sofia and Roman are loyal to Luthor, but if we can show them that he’s just using them as pawns, they might switch sides.”

“Exactly,” Tim said, feeling a spark of hope. “Maybe we can find something that proves Luthor’s betrayal. Maybe some documents or recordings that show his true intentions.”

“Let’s hope so,” Bullock said with a sigh. “Either way, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “But we’re not alone. We’ve got each other, and we’ll get through this together.” He just couldn’t resist that sentence, if only to be able to semi-quote ‘High School Musical’. It was perhaps not the best time to do that, but Dick would undeniably have been summoned through universes, should he not have grabbed that opportunity. Besides, again, it was his vacation. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t at least be enjoying himself whenever he could.

“Damn right,” Bullock said with a nod. “Batman will look for hidden patterns and I will continue with my undercover job as a waiter.”

“Good idea,” Tim said. “In the meantime, I’ll focus on gathering more intel on Project Phoenix. If we can figure out what it is, we might be able to stop it before it starts, or find out how to stop whatever it is.” Whatever it was, Tim had a feeling that it was related to him. He hoped it wouldn’t be in a too horrible way, but knowing his luck, it probably was.