Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Now, Tim has a secret– a massive-potentially-life-changing – secret.

Like it’s so enormous, he can barely show the giant size by spreading apart his tiny arms. It’s at least twice as much bigger than that— and he’s eleven, so that's pretty big for a secret. 

And, nobody knows at all.

Tim Drake knows who Batman is. 

The Batman who saves the night, helping people and punching bad guys, looming amidst the darkness like a figure of hope…slightly scary, but still super cool. Tim witnessed it in-person, perched from a distant rooftop with a zooming lens. Batman punching and kicking and moving around stealthily, despite the several goons surrounding him— easily taking them down with a Pow! Boom! Bang! 

He remembers snapping several pictures then, and now a few printed versions lay delicately folded under his secret spot in the floorboards. It’s surrounded by a bundle of Tim’s other favourite photos of the nighttime vigilantes, with grins etched on their faces and defeated villains in the background. Tim also has a bat-a-rang that he once managed to nick, after a nasty fight with Killer Croc— it took him nearly twenty minutes pulling it from a steel pipe near the docks, but it's something Tim doesn’t think he can regret. 

Either way, the more important detail is that Tim knows their secret!

Batman is his billionaire next-door neighbour, Bruce Wayne, and the current Robin Jason Todd! With the original Robin, now turned Nightwing, as Richard Grayson!

And it’s all so super duper cool! 

His next door neighbours are legit superheroes!

Tim knows very well, he needs to keep this secret safe, because they have masks for a reason. And by definition they were considered “vigilanties”, which were not as much associated with the law… It didn’t mean they didn’t do any good though.

So, Tim knows not to tell a peep about this to anyone. 

He hasn’t written it down, or recorded it, because he knows how slippery villains can be. He also tries his best to keep his tracks hidden whenever he goes out, by avoiding some of the cameras— not that there are many after he leaves Bristol, but he still plans and tries his best. Tim also makes sure the Bats can’t see him, because that would be kind of awkward…

Either way, Tim thinks he can keep a secret. 

He’s smart enough.

Important people at parties had said it, his tutors had said it, his classmates say it too behind their hands in whispery hushed tones. He’s two grades above his age-mates, so it's no surprise really. Tim can keep secrets.

Moreso, however, he knows it because his mother had once complimented him on his intelligence, with a slight ruffle of his hair, and a noncommittal hum, before she sighed. 

“Oh, Tim,” and her voice had turned slightly soft, “You are such a big boy now…”. He had instinctively beamed towards the praise, and her lips quirked upwards with the slightest glimpse of a smile. It made something flutter in Tim’s stomach, and his grin shone.

“Well dear,” and she gently cupped Tim’s face, “that also means you’re old enough to be without any babysitter. Old enough to finally be by yourself.” 

She had given him a plesantary smile, as the words left her mouth, yet it didn’t stop the crack of his heart, as he glanced up at his mother. She continued, unbothered by the furrow in Tim’s eyebrows– “You don’t need anyone to take any care of you… do you now?”

She continued to smile, amused and unconcerned at Tim’s growing frown, “You are big enough to soon become a man in this household. It’s time you act like it.”

It was also why he didn’t need any nannies when his parents left a month ago for their archaeological trip. Only Mrs Mac comes by twice a week to give him packages of her meals, and fill up the fridge with some pantry goods. He was eleven– a double digit plus one, so he would be okay. 

And now, he has to be smart, to keep this secret a secret ; so no one ever finds out. But, it’s also so exciting for Tim, because nobody ever lets him know anything.  

He didn’t hear of his parents' current overseas trip (again), because nobody had told him (...again), till he got a phone call from their secretary informing him of their leave, two days after the house was emptied. (Obviously, Tim already knew, it just didn’t make sense why they didn’t tell him.) But, it would be okay—because Tim would be busy, very busy indeed — keeping his enormous secret quiet. 

And that’s okay.

…

But, there’s a small part of Tim that wants and hopes for something more . Because he knows he’s a big boy, but it doesn’t stop the churning of something twisted and ugly in his gut; his lower lip trembling and then the small tears that trickle down his cheeks, when he remembers he’s alone. 

He doesn’t cry loudly, because his parents never liked it when he was bothersome, but he can’t help the quiet sniffles that ring out in the empty mansion. 

He’s alone in his big house, and his parents aren’t coming back for months—so he has no one to play with, or talk with, or have a … family with. It’s lonely and sad, and sometimes Tim wishes things would be different. 

Tim’s parents don’t really care as much as the ones shown on TV do. The little families on the TV screen are always happy, grins etched onto their faces— they laugh and talk and have dinner together. Their parents help cook warm tasty food, and the little siblings run around the table, whilst the older ones laugh loudly setting the table. Everyone is happy.

Tim really wants to be happy like that too.

And suddenly, Tim Drake has the greatest idea ever. Because Batman, Robin and Nightwing are all family, happy and loving and bonding — and Tim craves for a family like that. 

He listens to their bantering sometimes, when he’s close by on the rooftops, and he can hear the laughs and giggles and amusement in their tones. Tim sees them other times, on a quick trip-stop, buying a Batburger or milkshake and lying on the tops of buildings, overlooking the view of Gotham— holding each other, quietly snickering. He catches them fighting crime, kicking their way through criminals and helping each other out, whenever they need; not waiting for a cry of assistance. Then, sometimes he looks over to them at galas, when they huddle around each other, and give a reassuring squeeze and a warm smile, before walking around to begrudgingly talk to other guests.

It seems so much better than on TV, because it makes something in Tim’s chest light, and he feels a slither of a smile on his face. It makes him warm inside, because it radiates something so beautiful, and comforting, and he can’t hide the urge of desire that floors him.

Tim really really wants something like that, like the Waynes have—something to keep a smile on his face, a giggle, to feel a part of something… Tim wants family. 

But, deep down, a desperate voice is quelled by the heavy weight of Tim knowing he could never quite get a spot there. 

It isn’t his place to go there, because Bruce Wayne already has two children, and they're happy and smiling— and Tim… he already has a home. It’s big and lonely and sometimes empty, but Tim has a home, and he doesn’t know anyone else with two homes. So, he doesn’t need another home or anything, he just needs a little bit of company.

He needs a little bit of a family . That’s all. 

And so, he needs to plan for the second closest thing, and the only surefire way of getting close to Batman, and in that case, Robin and Nightwing too—which is to become…

A supervillain . 

A mostly nice and not wrongdoing supervillain, but a supervillain nonetheless. Because, Tim couldn’t really be a hero without Batman kicking him out of Gotham (he had heard rumours of Batman never accepting other heroes in his territory), which would kind of be bad because Tim lives in Gotham. And Batman would probably track him down much quicker… before he really got close to the Waynes– which is not really what Tim wants. 

But, a supervillain on the other hand… would probably be easier to hide, and the Bats would probably be more eager to talk with him, to find out his secrets and stuff. Not that Tim has a lot (except for their identities), but a supervillain just seems to fit… better.

Either way, this finally gives him the opportunity to possibly banter with Dick and Jason, and maybe talk a little with Bruce. He could stand atop tall buildings and watch Gotham from above…maybe he won’t share milkshakes with the vigilantes— but he could always maybe lend them a hand sometimes too! And perhaps they won’t hug him, but he could always give handshakes ( because his father always said good handshakes were key to having good relationships), if they wanted.

It wouldn’t be too bad , and Tim doesn’t want to invade their trio of superheroes. Because Tim doesn’t need to be apart of it, even if they were to accept him— he just… needs some company and some people to talk to. A family of sorts.

So, then supervillain it was. 

He would become a supervillain, and then hopefully talk to the nightime vigilantes and possibly share a slither of their nightlife — but he won’t do anything bad, and then maybe things could be less empty. It might even be fun too.

Plus, he could also help them hide their identities better. It didn’t take too long for Tim to unravel the mystery, not after he saw Nightwings flips, and he doesn’t want anyone else to find out. 

Maybe, maybe then, Tim would feel less lonely in this large lonely house without anyone. 

Maybe then… he could finally find a little family .

Chapter Text

Now, Tim had come to realise supervillain-ing is a bit harder than he originally expected. 

To be a successful supervillain, he had come to understand, after watching and analysing copious amounts of villain fighting (a tiny bit illegally, because he was an upcoming villain afterall, and the internet didn’t have much besides blurry videos)— he would need to do a lot more than he had previously anticipated. 

First, Tim had decided he needed some knowledge. Afterall, knowledge was power– and then later, he could look more towards gaining some experience. Training, overlooking villains, heisting and hacking… all the fun things would come soon. Tim was kinda excited for all the big plans he had, his mind overrun with so so many ideas!

Like how, maybe, he could commit crimes to help the vigilantes? Not bad bad crimes, but a few morally grey little ones couldn’t hurt right? Batman was a vigilante afterall, it would be hypocritical. Or, he could place a mystery trail to lead them toward hints for upcoming villain heists… It was a little cliché in Tim’s opinion, but the bad spy movies always made them look cool. Perhaps he could be like a double agent and get Batman insider information.

Tim quietly giggled to himself, a small grin on the edge of his lips. 

Now these were some ideas.

Anyway, Tim also really really needed to make sure that he wouldn't be caught– by the Bats, his parents and probably also the GDPD. Because it would undoubtedly cause trouble, too much trouble, and Tim was kind of looking forward to this supervillain-ing (is that a word…?) adventure with hopes of gaining and becoming slightly more apart of the little Bat family. 

(Not part of it per say, despite what a traitorous part of his heart longs for, but like along-side them, beside them, next to them. 

Close, but not too close. That is definitely what Tim would do.)

Either way, Janet Drake in all her beauty, was a relentless mother– and if there was something Tim knew, for all the small periods they had interacted, it was to always, always make sure you had the upper hand with others. Make sure you know everything. 

Anyone could have the upper hand on you, so the only way to ensure they stayed quiet, was to blackmail them. ‘Blackmail’, she had explained, ‘is the only way the world runs’. 

Tim had witnessed it first hand at the previous gala. Someone had been a little too drunk, and started oversharing some trade-secrets of Drake Industries. When the noise reached Janet, she barely batted an eye, before walking towards the speaker, whispering in their ear and letting the other slowly grow pale. She walked away with a smirk on her lips and a newly instilled fear placed upon bystanders.

Either way, it applied the opposite direction too.

You should always keep your secrets close, if you ever knew they would bring trouble. Never tell a soul, or give a hint— only when all the cards are positively in your favour, then your hand can be shown. You must be sure.

Everything came down to these three rules:

1. He could never tell anyone about his identity, or the vigilante’s. It had to remain a secret so no villains would find out (except him obviously).
2. Knowledge was power. The easiest way to get around through anyone or anything, was blackmail. It ran the world, so it would surely run Gotham too, with corrupt criminals and such.
3. Lastly…he could never get too close to the vigilantes. He was there for some company. (That was simply it. Someone… to talk to, to be listened to.)

Now, he had to simply begin.

Okay, so Tim needed to make sure he had a perfect entrance into the villainy world, which needed some experience behind it. And really, the best way to gain experience– was to first gain knowledge, knowledge from villains themselves.

But obviously, Tim Drake was a careful fellow (he had once heard a passerby say ‘fellow’, and he had attempted to pronounce it, only to realise he quite liked the way the word rolled off his tongue), and would not unnecessarily place himself into danger. Therefore, he had successfully concluded– he needed plans.

So. Many. Plans. 

So, this had led Tim into a spiral of Gotham’s current villains throughout the city. He needed to know absolutely everything if he intended to follow them around for the next few weeks (and perhaps that would be counted as another unofficial crime of stalking?), from their usual meeting places, to their favourite crimes, their intentions, their current plans (and possible future plans), their fighting styles and maybe even mundane everyday things like hobbies, relationships and their favourite types of coffee? Anything Tim could get his hands on really. 

(And, it makes him quietly giggle to himself, because it sounds like too much fun, and it's so hard to keep still when he has so, so, so, many plans about what he’s going to do as a supervillain. As a ‘not-bad’ supervillain. Obviously.)

But, tonight, Tim was finally going to go and gain some knowledge!

And now, that's where he finds himself. Dressed up in black clothing with a domino mask, a wig, contacts, and his best Bat-man voice (which he had tried on some stray cats, and they didn’t seem too pleased– but Tim thought it was pretty good), Tim began to quietly climb up the rooftops. 

He landed with a silent thud upon the warehouse, where he was 96.78% sure (according to his estimated calculations over history ranging from the previous two years, because Tim does his research thoroughly, thank you very much), the Riddler was meant to be.

It was the usual discreet warehouse on the port, large and looming– perfect for some smuggling, if Tim could say for himself. Apparently, from his few information sources (namely the internet and some funky Reddit forums), it was only meant to be a quiet night, a small meeting with another gang for another larger scheme of Riddlers’. 

And so, Tim knew that tonight would be perfect to finally interview the infamous Riddler. 

Inwardly, a large part of Tim was squealing– because, yes, the Riddler was a bit scary and one of Batman’s villains, but, he was also going to help Tim pursue his goal of finally becoming a supervillain! (And meeting the Bats!)

Either way, now Tim is simply waiting. (Anxiously, excitedly waiting!)

And now, as he peeks through the small window outside, he can see the gang members slowly trickle out of the warehouse– which meant, the Riddler was finally alone. Now, was his chance to strike– to finally gain some information on the infamous Riddler!

Slowly, Tim began to slip through the cracks of steel, and carefully manoeuvred himself to go lower silently. He pressed his foot onto the ledge, in an attempt to steady himself– but then suddenly, there was an ear-piercing raucous screech–

Whoops.

There was a silence for a second, before the sounds of clapping reached Tim’s ears.

 “Well, well, well…” a deep resounding voice chuckles, and Tim fights the urge to roll his eyes, because it really did seem a little too cliche, “Please, dear uninvited guest, make yourself known.”

Luckily, Tim has exactly twenty seven plans ready for this moment, so he simply begins to climb down. Less cautious now and under the watchful eye of the Riddler, making sure the old VHS recorder is tight in his hands, with a small notebook and pen.

“...Mr. Riddler,” Tim says with his best Batman impression in the darkness, the voice modulator making him sound less squeaky than his usual voice “I would like to ask you some questions,” and Tim emerges from the shadows. 

He glances up at the Riddler, taking in his dark green suit and purple tie, before Tim looks him straight in the eye and takes out his hand (‘because you always greet proper people with hand shakes Timothy!’), smiling widely.

There was a pause.

Before a squawk, and Tim furrowed his eyebrows, looking at Riddler— really, what was he so surprised at? He was meant to be the one giving surprises!

“Y-You,” and the Riddler looks at him up and down, his mask squinting,  “You are a child… A small child.”

And, oh, maybe Tim did forget to look a little bit taller– but really, Gotham had enough people for Tim to be a slightly smaller than average man. Maybe it was his voice? But, this was his best Batman voice, and the voice modulator made him sound more adult-y.

Maybe, the Riddler actually does lives up to his name and was very smart. 

Either way, the Riddler simply makes a small shooing motion, and Tim had been holding out his hand for nearly a minute so it was a bit rude,  “Well, whatever kid, but go away now. You can’t be in Gotham at night.”

And really, Tim had planned for a possible interaction for nearly a week– he would not be leaving now of all times. His mother was a stubborn woman, and Tim with her blood, would be an even more stubborn boy. It made him smirk.

The Riddler didn’t know anything about Tim, but Tim knew everything about Edward Nygma— that meant Tim had the upper hand, and now it was time for him to put up his facade.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Riddler, but no,” and Tim stood firm, pushing his shoulders up and straightening his back, “I will be conducting an interview with you. Right now, right here. Or, I could send these to the GCPD?,” and Tim innocently takes a USB from his pocket with a wave .

“Riddle me this, Mr. Riddler, what happens when Mr. Commissioner Gordan gains access to these couple files about some secret city-wide bombs?” 

And Riddler’s eyes pop open, and suddenly the atmosphere turns to a sudden chill.

“Oh my,” and a wicked grin etches onto Riddler’s lips, and Tim can feel the hairs rising on his back, “Oh my, oh my…I’ll indulge your curiosity, little one.”

He laughs cruelly, head tilted back. 

The sound crawls on Tim, and he barely suppresses a shiver, keeping his head held high— he had to do this interview, afterall. (But it doesn’t stop the little reminder in the back of his mind, to not intentionally cross paths with Riddler again. He was much scarier than the grainy footage.) It grates on his nerves, and he feels his mind spin for a second, at a million bad scenarios, but he bites his tongue and brings himself back. 

He can’t overthink, not now.

“Riddle me, young boy, what would you like to know?”

“F-First, thank you Mr. Riddler,” Tim spoke, staring at the older man “...Sir.” And the Riddler’s grin grew sharp. 

Tim pinched the middle of his palm, to stop his shaking legs, not now– he needed to be confident– villains in Gotham could practically smell fear! 

So Tim paused, swallowing his set of nerves (Maybe, maybe this was a stupid idea, because the Riddler was a big-time supervillain, and why did Tim just blackmail a massive villain who has had maybe too many murders in his hands? And maybe, really, Tim’s parents did come a few weeks each year to visit him– maybe that was enough, perhaps he really didn’t need the Bats to play family, maybe he was just better off alone–) and gave a shaky smile. 

He glanced down at his notebook or a second, steeling his nerves and quietly breathing in the rhythmic tappings of his finger (he had learnt the hard way, long ago, to calm his breaths) before glancing up at the grinning face.

“I.. I don’t want to waste…y-your time, Mr. Riddler,” Tim says carefully, his voice lightly cracking, cataloguing the minuscule changes in the Riddler’s face, “So I will keep it short.”

The Riddler tilted his head, subtle encouragement to continue.

“...What is your biggest tip for becoming a supervillain, Mr. Riddler?”

His face seems to light up, and he looms over Tim with a sharp smile on his face.

“Well, little boy. Riddle me this.,” and he pauses before he steps close to Tim, and Tim can suddenly see his brightly lit eyes and the fiery pits behind them, as the villain stands in front of him imposingly, before bending at the waist to meet him eye-to-eye. 

“I have billions of eyes, yet live in darkness. I have millions of years, yet only four lobes. I have no muscle, yet rule two hemispheres.”

He smirks, “What am I?,” before touching the tip of Tim’s forehead with a light flick of his finger.

“Use this,” and Tim can’t stop himself from  flinching at the coldness of the man’s hand , while his own palms start to feel clammy as the Riddler smiles. He gets up, turning around, low heels clicking on the ground, “And perhaps young potential, you may reach these great peaks that I stand upon,” the Riddler laughs loud and carefree.

“You have amused me, a difficult thing to do!” The Riddler gives Tim one last wicked smirk, his eyes glinting in amusement, “Now leave and never return.”

And Tim quickly ventures back into the darkness while his body uncontrollably trembles with both fear and a quiet excitement, grappling onto the poles from before, heaving himself up and over the window– where he immediately takes off his mask to breathe–

He was nearly killed by the Riddler.

Oh.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

Tim had now established that maybe, provoking supervillains that constantly go against Batman… might not have been such a great idea. He barely escaped against the Riddler, and that too, was due to his unwilling mercy on Tim. 

Even now, nearly twenty minutes later, Tim could feel his heart racing; pounding against his chest like the beats of a drum– ta dum, ta dum, ta dum . He’s stuck on the rooftop of the nearby building he had hastily climbed earlier, in pure instinct, after leaving the window; crawling on his feet and hands in a desperate attempt to escape.

Tim’s head throbs against the concrete slabs he rests his head on, and he looks down to see the smeared blood of cuts on his hands. From shattered glasses of littered bottles, and the broken windows of previous gang fights he had encountered on his adrenaline rush to the roof. It bleeds like a small crimson river, flowing down his palm, but Tim feels too numb to do anything. He follows the trail with his eyes, the way it stains under his pale skin. 

Oh , his breath hitches.

Tim nearly died.

The thought churns uncomfortably in his stomach, and he barely suppresses the urge to throw up. His clothes feel too tight on him now, restricting his breathing and his wig feels too itchy on his head, burning his scalp like the hot ooze of lava. He can’t breathe, and the rhythmic taps of his fingers are too quiet over the loud noises of his head. 

Tim had nearly died in the hands of a mad psychopath, who had spared him by the teeth of his skin. He had nearly been killed, and murdered by one of Batman’s foes, all because of his stupid reluctance to be lonely. 

Oh god. 

How could Tim ever think– 

What would his mother say, if she had known?

Her heels would click on their wooden floors, in the same systematic method they always do, but the tension in the room would crawl under his skin, uncomfortable bugs itching him. It would be met with the disapproving downturn of her lips, and the intense scrutiny of her steel eyes, that would make anyone immediately submit. 

But, she wouldn’t say a word. And somehow, that makes Tim dread everything even more. 

Her warm gaze upon him, not just looking at him but really seeing , that's all he had wanted– to be witnessed as more than just an unruly child, to be viewed as something more than the mere title arranged for him at birth. Tim only wanted to be seen by his mother, to reach her high standards and thrive . To be taken to their archeological digs, to be researching and learning alongside them, to uncover the secrets hidden beneath the surface. He wanted to be seen, as an accomplishment in their eyes, as a star, as something that shone .

Tim Drake desires to be wanted and he wants to be loved. 

But, her sharp gaze would pierce through him, and he would shrivel. Because he had nearly killed himself for a small worthless desire, for the small inner needs of a child. A lonely, isolated child. He had placed the entirety of Drake Industries; of his mothers success, of his father's business ventures under investigation, under the eyes of Gotham, of the world.

And now, suddenly it’s not about him anymore. 

Tim Drake had destroyed everything. 

There was no air anymore. He can’t feel himself breathing, the lack of oxygen surrounds him and the world seems to spin on its axis. Tim desperately attempts to engulf something, anything to stop the pains in his chest, and the pounding of his skull. His mouth is full of sand, and there’s a distinct tingling in his feet–

In his anguish, he tries to move his hands, his arms to feel something, to touch the cold concrete of the roof, or to feel the wind howling on his skin. He needs to ground himself, to stick himself into reality. But the rooftop is suddenly fraying, and it spins and curls, and everything is twisted and tilted and wrong.

His heart seems to spasm, and his legs are giving out underneath him and the cold hard fact flits across his mind– Tim was going to die alone in that warehouse by the port, with the Riddler’s cruel laughter taunting him, stuck in his stupid Bat costume he made, knowing too well he was alone and abandoned–

There’s a cold hand on his back, and a soft voice in his ear.

“Hey, hey, hey kid. I’m here…”, there’s a weirdly familiar noise beside him, and a slow hand massaging his back. It moves up and down in the same circular motion, and the tips of Tim’s fingers regain the coolness of the ground.

“Oh, little bird…”, and he can barely hear the murmurs of the voice, but the hands remain steady upon his back, before it vanishes again. There’s a whoosh of air besides him, and he can hear the grappling of a gun in the distance… Tim feels himself involuntarily tremble, the cold weather sending a spike of shivers down his spine. 

He can still hear his heart rapidly pounding in his ears, and it scares him even more. Tim had nearly died , been on the verge of death– so close to meeting the gates of Hades’ lair, all because of his stupid lonely heart that ached to have something more. Something beyond the dusty old floors in big manors. 

He had risked his entire life, his parent’s entire life, for some childish need for him to not be isolated– he just wanted to be loved. It makes him sound so desperately pathetic, but he just wanted to be seen, to be known, to be loved by his family.

Suddenly, there’s a warmth that envelops him. It’s cozy and soft against his skin, and it hugs him loosely, draped upon his form. The coldness of the ground is replaced with a wooly texture, and Tim’s fingers linger on the small weaves of the thread. He feels a long breath exit his lungs— his fears still plaguing his mind, but everything stills for a moment… as Tim slowly blinks open his eyes.

“Hey there, kid”, there's a distinctly familiar voice above him, and Tim gradually looks up for the source of the sounds, only to meet the blue greenish eyes of Robin. He winks at Tim, giving him a small grin, “Ya back with me now?”

There’s a pause, and Tim freezes. Is that… Oh, oh. Is that Robin?

Tim attempts to open his mouth, but all that comes out is a raspy cry, and Robin immediately hushes him. 

“Oh, hey, hey little bird. Don’t need ta keep talking, it’s okay.”, he gives Tim a small quirk of his lips, as he manoeuvres himself to sit beside him. Tim watches closely, fumbling for the pinkish blanket atop him, and holding it tighter. 

He glances again at Robin, who reaches out from a stachel beside him, and pulls out a plastic water bottle. He offers it towards Tim, who hesitantly takes it. The drink seems to instantly soothe his sore throat, and he gulps it down like a desperate man in a desert— it spills slightly but that doesn’t deter Tim.

“Hey, slow down kid.”, Robin gently lowers the bottle from Tim. “Don’t drink too fast. It might be a lil’ too much for your body right now.” 

Tim quickly wipes his mouth, nodding, his face slightly red. Robin gives him a small smile, capping the bottle, and passing it towards him. 

“It’s all yours, little bird. Just be careful from now.” 

He nods again, curling up towards the blanket more now, holding the bottle to fiddle between his fingers. His hands are still quite bloody, but it's dried now, and the red has faded. 

Tim doesn’t understand fully what happened, and thinking back makes his head spin. He knows he had just escaped from the Riddler (and the name sends shivers down his spine), but all that's left is being plagued by his fears. He… doesn’t want to go back to them, so he resolves to leave it. At least for now, he can do his own investigation later.

Or maybe he could ask Robin…

Tim slightly waves his hands, and Robin’s attention immediately snaps back to him.

Tim began to move his hands; first towards himself in a point, and then in a shrugging motion with a tilt of his head, and his hands in a vague gesture of confusion.

“Oh!”, Robin’s eyes light up, “A game of charades to save your voice”. Tim nods slowly, a wobbly smile on his face— maybe, through this, he could figure out what happened (even if a small part of him dreads it, it would be for the better). 

“Well… You wanna know what happened to ya?”, and Tim nods. Robin’s eyes soften, and he looks up from the rooftop, as Tim slowly inches closer towards the nighttime vigilante.

“I found you here all panicked, and I was tryna get you back. But”, and Robin turns towards him, “I didn’t want to touch ya, cause I wasn’t sure if you wanted it”. His eyebrows furrow, “I did end up patting you a bit on the back, and I think it helped…?”, he looks back at Tim questioningly.

Tim nods, giving Robin a small smile. After a small moment of deliberation, he also gives a hesitant thumbs up, and Robin barks out a laugh. “Thanks kid.”

“After that, I saw ya shivering quite a bit.”, he continued, “ So, I quickly ran to get a blanket from one of our top-secret Bat hiding spots.” At this part, he winked towards Tim, whose ears had turned bright pink, “and that seemed to help ya get better. Then I just waited a bit, and you slowly came out of the panic attack.”

Tim looked down now, before whispering a raspy, “...Thank you.”

Robin’s eyes crease, and he gives a large smile to Tim, “Anytime kid. Anytime.”

There’s a small silence that settles between them, as they glance up towards the polluted night sky, where only the renowned Bat signal shines bright. Tim can hear the distant sounds of police cars, and commotion but it all seems to fade in the background. 

Tim’s heart seems steadier now, beating only slightly quicker than usual. There’s no cold now either, as the blanket hugs him in protection, and his head isn’t violently banging against his skull. It releases a small weight on Tim's shoulders, and he feels himself slowly relax against the cosy blanket, a yawn at the edge of his lips.

It’s not too long before Robin speaks again. 

“Kid… I don’t think these kinds of attacks are common with you.”, he turns towards Tim with a small frown on his face. “And I know there’s a reason you came up here, without any parent or guardian.”

He glances at Tim again, and the boy has his eyes widened in fear. 

“Hey, hey now. I’m not gonna be calling anyone up. Don’t worry ‘bout that.”, he shakes his head, his hands attempting to placate the other. “I just need to know that ya okay”, he gives Tim another grin. 

“That’s why”, and he takes out a small button looking device, and he smirks, “I’ve got this.”

Tim looked at the button in surprise, curiosity in the edge of his eyes. 

“Well…”, and Robin drags the word out in dramatic fashion, “This is a super secret magic button kid. Whenever ya press on it”, and Jason demonstrates by tapping on it lightly, “I will get an alert that you're in some kind of danger…Which means, I’ll be there, and comin’ to getcha”.

Tim’s eyes widen, and he looks up at Robin with a newfound sparkle in his eyes, “I’ll be waiting to save ya kid.” Robin smirks, “Plus the big Bats designed it too, so it’ll work anywhere, anytime.”

Robin gently opens Tim’s palm, before placing down the button, now with a softer quieter voice,  “Please kid, don’t even hesitate to press it”. 

A small smile emerges from Tim’s lips, his voice still slightly hoarse, “Thank you… Robin.”

He gives Tim a slight ruffle of his hair, “No problem kid.”

Chapter Text

It’s another twenty minutes before Robin leaves—wiping away the dried blood stuck on Tim’s hands, and under his nails. It’s dirty and grimy, but Robin doesn't seem to mind. He takes Tim’s hand gently, with a tenderness that Tim finds foreign. It’s been a long time since someone had held him like this, with warmth and genuine regard for his health. 

Robin continues, as he takes out another cloth from the Bats-emergency package, and Tim blearily watches his movements. A good amount of time has passed since his panic attack, and he finally feels some of his pent-up anxiety slowly ebb away– yet, there's a blanket of tiredness that's settled in his bones.

“Here,” Jason’s voice brings him back to the present. He’s holding a small wet cloth in his hand. “Turn ya’ hand around”, he commands, and Tim wordlessly follows. 

Tim’s mind is in a daze right now, and he barely suppresses the urge to yawn. Robin sees him anyway, and gives the other a small grin, “Long night, huh?” 

His voice is soft, and he takes Tim’s hands to lightly scrub off any remaining dirt, making an effort to not be harsh. Tim pauses then nods lightly, and Robin chuckles again. The soft sound makes something flip in his stomach, and he watches, transfixed by Robin.

Robin.

The name usually sends excited shivers down his spine, and he can barely withhold his eagerness on the vigilante. It was the name of his most favourite Robin of the two, and it never failed to spark a shimmer of hope in Tim’s eyes. But now…

Tim glanced up at Robin, who was now wrapping his hand in bandages. Tim winced as Jason pressed on the wounds, and the other looked at him with an apologetic smile.

Robin is so much smaller than he could have imagined.

It hits Tim like a truck, because Jason is barely much older than him, he realises. He was nearly two years older, and already on the streets fighting thugs, killers and villains. It makes a spark of determination spur inside Tim, as Robin grins his way. He pushes the feeling aside for now, but he can’t stop the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

He was meeting Robin in the flesh , right now. It wasn’t through carefully photographed images, or his imagination, but the real, real Robin that was whispered across the streets of Gotham, like a myth.

“Sorry ‘bout this kiddo”, Jason is deliberately slower now, and moves Tim’s hand with a soft smile on his lips. “It’s gonna sting a little bit”, and the younger scrunches his nose. 

Tim feels the antiseptic before he can prepare himself, and he immediately sinks his teeth onto the soft flesh of his lips, in a quick attempt to stop his hiss of pain. His face apparently still lets out a grimace, as Jason looks over with the slightest worry on his face.

“Hey, hey little wing”, and Tim can hear Jason shuffling towards him, “I’ll try my best to be careful, yeah?” He’s still holding his hand, but now he’s closer and Tim opens his eyes at the others words. He hadn’t even realised he had closed them.

Tim lets his head give a reluctant nod, and Jason continues, “It might help if you think of something else, y’know?”. He pauses then, giving a little hum of thought, before a grin makes its way to his face.

“Did ya know Batman’s car is called the Batmobile?”, he winks. Tim feels his eyes widen, as he looks at Robin, and Jason laughs.

“It was Nightwing’s idea, and it kinda just stuck. Batman never quite stopped it…”, and Jason comes closer to whisper in Tim’s ear, “cause I think he also kinda liked it too.” Tim felt his eyebrows rise even higher, and he looked at Jason in amazement. 

Batman could be funny?!

The thought feels so surreal to Tim– to link the feared vigilante (who quite literally lives in the shadows) towards something so comical. It seemed to better fit the persona of Bruce, eccentric millionaire, known for his dramatic demeanour. Batman continuing on with a joke, seemed like the wrong piece in a puzzle. 

Perhaps the facades weren’t as distinct as Tim first believed.  

“And then, since Batman accepted that”, Jason continued, watching as Tim looked up at him with wide-eyed curiosity, “Nightwing kept naming everythin’ else with ‘Bat-’. Now we have like a massive list of ‘em all, like bat-a-rangs, bat-signal and bat-computer.”

Tim’s mouth was open now, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think he nearly named a dog, Bat-dog once”, he added, with a sly grin. Tim couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle, as he imagined Dick holding a dog, with an excited grin on his face, and Batman sighing exhaustingly as he rubbed his temples. 

It sounded so family-like, and the thought warms Tim’s heart. Maybe, one day, Tim could witness the funny times too. Soon, his mind whispered, when Tim did a proper villain entrance (he shivered remembering his previous attempt not long ago) or something… and landed on the Bats’ rader— hopefully not as much of a threat. 

Either way, it was enough for Tim to finally meet Robin. The Robin. Tim’s heart couldn’t stop squealing, and he was helping with Tim’s injuries?! It felt like some-sort of distant dream. 

Tim looked up to see a smiling Jason, as he stuck the final bandaid on Tim’s hand, wrapping it around his finger with careful precision. He was done now, and it seemed that the distractions had worked– Tim barely felt any pain once Jason began recounting memories.

Robin was magic. It made him feel warm, and he felt his cheeks heat up. 

“What ya thinkin’ ‘bout now, kid?” Jason's voice dispels his thoughts. He feels his heart stutter, and his face flushes more– and he murmurs out a reply.

“Yeah kid?” Jason moves his ear closer to Tim, holding it out, with a grin on his face.

Tim looked up at him with a small tilt of his head, “D-did all this r-really happen?”, he whispers. His voice flays at the end with a short cough, and Jason immediately unseals a bottle of water for him.

Tim takes it eagerly, a dribble running on the side of his mouth, which he wipes hastily when he’s quenched his thirst. Jason's lips twitch upwards, and Tim’s face reddens.

“...Yes, little bird”, Jason answers, ruffling the top of Tim’s head, as the other scrunches his nose, setting down his water. “And there are plenty more Bat-named things inside the Cave.”

Tim looked up at him, his voice hoarse but unhiding his excitement, “The Cave?!”

Jason winked.

“Anyway…”, Jason slowly began to stand, stretching out his legs, before he offered Tim a hand with a grin, “I think it’s time to get ya back home, little bird”

Tim took his hand, but his face fell as he listened to the words, “Okay…”. His lips turned to a frown, but less than a second later he yawned, and he wiped a tear from his eye. 

Jason chuckled, poking Tim’s cheek, “Don’t worry, I’ll drop you off. Make sure ya safe at home, yeah?”

Tim nodded, his eyes slowly closing, as another yawn came out of his mouth.

“Come on little bird”, and Jason took Tim’s hand gently with his own, as Tim wrapped his fingers around the Jasons. “I’ll take you home”.

—

“Now”, and Tim’s hand unconsciously grips Jason’s hands tighter, as the other lets out a small sigh, “I know you don’t want to talk about it…”, Jason’s voice trails off.

They’ve been walking for nearly 10 minutes now, and Tim can see the faint outline of his house coming nearer into view. After some grappling (which was actually so so cool , because Tim had felt like he was flying like Dick Grayson, and Jason had whooped over so many buildings and Tim had too hold on so tightly, which was scary, but he was literally flying like a Robin –), Jason had taken him down and they had began a small trek to his house.

And, some part of Tiim, was really hoping Jason wouldn’t bring it up, but maybe he held his hopes too high, because he can already feel the upcoming lecture at the tip of Jason’s tongue. But he already knows what he did was kinda stupid!

It was really reckless to even try to go after a criminal, much less one of Batman’s foes. And, Tim did actually talk to him, and get closer, and then genuinely threaten him to the police force– Tim can still see the vicious smile on the Riddler, his voice cruel and daunting, as his laughter that echoed through the warehouse crawling under his skin. 

And, maybe he should have stopped his dreams from the beginning, but he couldn’t help the need to look further for a family. And it really was a stupid reason wasn’t it?! Why was he so–-

“Hey…”, Tim feels a warmth in his hands, and Robin is kneeling down on his knees, slightly under Tim’s eye level, squeezing both his hands. “Ya’ here with me?”

Tim feels tears prick at the ends of his eyes, and Jason immediately engulfs him in arms of warmth. He burrows his head in the Robin suit, clutching at it in desperation, and it's slightly uncomfortable with all the streams of tears and snot that come out, but it feels so nice. 

Robin gently rubs his back in small circles, and Tim nearly cries even more. It’s been such a long time since someone had cared for him so much, and given him so much attention, or even a hug. Jason had swooped in and saved Tim from his panicking, made sure his wounds were treated with funny stories and now, went further to walk him home. 

Was this what being in a family meant? To be cared for, held, and loved?

Jason pulls back, and gently wipes a tear from Tim’s face. 

“I’m sorry, little bird, I didn’t mean to scare ya”, Tim looks at Jason who gives a reassuring smile, as he softly holds Tim’s face in his hands, “I promise kid, I just want you to be safe.”

He looks at Tim’s eyes, still wet with tears, and continues with a sigh, “If you ever do go out, ‘specially during night, ya got to be able to protect you”, and he points at Tim, gently pushing his finger at his chest.

“You hafta be careful with all that risk-taking ya doing out there”

Tim looks up at him, and nods. Jason gives him a tired smile, something looking distinctly older than his age, before he sighs.

“You have the button I gotchu?”, he asks. Tim opens up his pocket zip, where he had placed it earlier, and pulls out the emergency device, “Good on ya”.

“Now, whenever you need anything, kid.”, and he looks Tim in the eye, his eyebrows furrowed, “Please, press it. I will come running to you as soon as I can. I just need you to press it for me.”

“Can you do that?”, he asks, looking at Tim.

“Y-yes”, he answers, voice raspy, and Jason gives him a smile, before he ruffles Tim’s hair half-heartedly. 

“Ya promise me?”, and Jason takes out his pinky finger. Tim’s eyes widen, and he takes his own to twist them together with a small smile on his face.

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since Tim's encounter with Robin and, subsequently, also the Riddler. Tim feels himself unconsciously shiver, his mind still haunted by that fateful night— the laughter that continues to crawl on his skin, and the bloodshot eyes that keep appearing between blinks.

Things are… improving, now. Somewhat.

But after Jason had dropped him nearby that night, with several reassurances from Tim that he could get home safely, the chilling fact still remained with him. Tim had tried to confront the Riddler. Not only speak to him, but question him, but daring to even threaten him…. Tim feels his hands tremble, the air shallow in his lungs, and he clutches the kitchen bench.

Breathe in… Breath out.

Robin's voice guides his thoughts.

He can't fall into that pit of memories again— he had already sat there for the past week, his mind stuck in a replay of events, creating his own catastrophic endings. What if the Riddler hadn't let him go? What if Jason never found him? What if he was caught and his identity revealed—

All of his fears had begun to haunt him.

Tim shakes his head, willing his thoughts to leave. It's no use pondering, especially since it's already been two weeks. If Janet had known, she'd probably be furious he had thought of it for longer than a few days, much less two weeks. She wouldn't let any threats harm her, like Tim did, instead she would stand her ground and make sure the Riddler couldn't hurt anyone again. Especially herself.

Janet would thrash him onto the ground with the ruthlessness she possessed— that was what made her a terrifying opponent in social circles. Unlike Tim, who could barely manage to stutter out words in front of the brainy villain, instead fleeing at the slightest opportunity he had gotten.

It makes his stomach twist and turn, and Tim can't help the inward shame he feels.

Tim Drake wasn't anything like Janet Drake; nothing like his mother.

He shakes his head again, physically reeling from the painful thoughts. He has to move forward. Tim had spent too long simmering in his own fear and regrets. 

He sighs, before rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

Sleep still lingered, with his nights spent staring at the ceiling. He was slightly scared since the night of the encounter, (maybe a bit more than scared, not that he was going to admit that), and he had temporarily paused his nightly pursuits of the vigilantes. In case the Riddler was looking further into him… The thought nearly made him recoil.

Either way, he couldn't risk it.

This also meant he had extra time to spare… meaning more time to antagonise himself and get lost in his thoughts of— He paused. No.

No, he wasn't going there again.

Tim opens the fridge, glancing down at the empty shelves with a sigh. Mrs Mac hadn't come for the past two weeks, apparently stuck at home due to a heavy illness, so no easy microwavable meals had been prepared.

It wasn't all negative though, because Tim wouldn't know how to explain his apparent 'wallowing in silence' to Mrs Mac. Thus, if she never saw him, she wouldn't be able to tell it to his parents, who would most definitely bring it up when they came back. His only time spent with them would be back-to-back lectures, and disappointed stares.

It might also mean Tim had to explain some things… which he certainly did not want to do. So, even if he had to live off biscuits and crackers for the rest of the week, that was okay. They weren't too bad, only slightly plain… and boring.

He glances down and grabs a Zesti, relaxing at the familar touch of the cool drink in his fingertips.

Mrs Mac wouldn't allow him so much soda, but she wasn't here anyway. Plus, Tim needed a booster-up, something to get him off his mindless thoughts that kept drifting to the  dubbed 'Incident Night'. 

Overall, it was a win-win, of a sort.

He is doing well. Jason had saved him. Stayed with him on the rooftop, wrapped up his injuries with a care and delicacy foreign to Tim, brought him home with a ride on the grappling hooks (which Tim is still completely awestruck by).

The wrappings on his hand were only slightly bloody, now, and only pained when he gripped something extremely hard. Otherwise, it felt okay.

He cracks open the can, as it lets out a hiss. Tim takes a sip, and his shoulders fall.

Even with nightmares plaguing his every living thought, he can't help the deeper urge to go out again. To pursue his goal of becoming a supervillain. It’s dangerous, he knows, but when he saw Jason in action, helping him from his panicked state— Tim couldn't help the overwhelming urge of comfort that enveloped him.

Witnessing Robin help him, providing him with supplies, comforting him with stories, assisting with his wounds— Jason was barely fourteen, yet he did so much for Gotham, for its people. It inspires something deep in Tim, and he knows he can't resist the desire to go out.

Robin was magic.

And, it desperately made Tim want to become a supervillain.

Tim didn't do it right the first time.

He sat on his desk, an empty notepad in front of him (he couldn’t do anything digital, that had the possibility of being tracked and he was a little paranoid). He spun around, lips twitching, as he twirled with his pencil.

This time, he needed knowledge, practice, training and extensive plans, because he needed to be better. Last time was not going to happen again. He thought he was prepared, but his near panic attack proved differently.

He wanted to use the interviews to really gain knowledge about the practices of villany, gain some better expertise from the people who ran Gotham, and went toe-to-toe with Batman. 

But it seemed like blackmail didn’t go so well with infamous villains… Which probably made sense, the more Tim thought about it. He wouldn’t like it if people started revealing his plans and using it to interrogate him further. Especially if you were well known to be feared.

Maybe, he just needed to be more persuasive. 

‘Half the power of blackmail was laid in the persuasion of your enemy’– his mother had mentioned once, slipping on jewels around her neck, preparing herself for a gala, as Tim watched from behind. ‘Of making sure you knew everything, and would use it against them.’

Tim needed to be better.

School had been out for a while now, and he only had a few more weeks before he was confined to the classroom once more— so it was the perfect opportunity for his supervillain practise before a debut.

First he needed some training. He already had some karate practice, which he’d begged his mother for after seeing Batman and Robin in action— and his mother had reluctantly agreed on the terms that he would go without a babysitter for the holidays, to prove he was big and brave enough. He had never gone too far, but he knew some basics of self-defence. 

It would be best to enrol in a few classes then, courtesy of his father’s card. Not that they would realise, Tim knew their busy schedules meant they couldn’t bother over unnecessary things (cough Tim cough), and they had more than enough money to spend anyway.

He rolled his eyes and began writing.

Perhaps, he could do karate, maybe kung-fu or kick-boxing? He hummed, a small smile on his face. All of them sounded fun, and it also meant he’d get stronger to take on any goons. Maybe like a two or three hour class each week, for a month or so. It’d be good to slowly build up his strength— it took Batman decades to get where he was afterall.  

He giggled. Soon he was going to actually see Batman, close-up, in the flesh!

Next, Tim needed a supervillain suit.

Last time, he had gotten a fully black costume, some tacky brown contacts and a silly blonde halloween wig. It was mostly covered by his hoodie and mask, but it was kinda obvious it was fake. Now, Tim needed to be more realistic, if he wanted a better chance at villain-y. 

A costume was the basis of your identity, so it had to be good. Nightwing had his escrima sticks with the blue and black uniform, Robin had his bright colourful costume for reassuring victims, and Batman had his dark broody suit to hide in the shadows and truly become fear. 

He pressed a finger to his lips, his mind spiralling in possibilities. What would Tim want to show? Something dark, and villain-y but also… fun. 

It couldn’t be black, that was Batman… and he did want to be recognised more. But, he also kinda liked Robin’s costume, with the flying colours of red, yellow and green. Perhaps… he could choose a darker kind of red? 

Red was symbolistic of passion, love and desire. It did, in a way, underline Tim’s reasons for choosing to become a supervillain. Plus, it kinda did suit Tim (when he pressed his mother’s red dress towards his body, the colour shone out his paler complexion)... if he could say so himself. 

So, red it was. Not too dark, but less bright than Robin’s. 

The Bats usually stuck with kevlar, or some spandex type material that was close to their body, to not interrupt their fights. They had their main form of weaponry; like Nightwing’s escrima sticks, or Batman’s bat-a-rangs, alongside other smaller weapons, for any situation that may arise. Maybe Tim could use a little utility belt too. 

Hmm.. he needed a breathable type of fabric, weapons, and a pocket belt. 

Fabrics he could probably sort out online, commission a designer to get him some fabrics, or at least sew some pieces together. He just couldn’t tell him too much, otherwise they might get suspicious, and Tim didn't need more problems to worry about right now. Besides, sewing couldn’t be that hard right? Youtube was made for a reason.

Apart from that, he also needed some type of weapon. It would take too long to properly master anything, if he wanted to debut soon, so something easier would likely have to be done. Maybe something to throw? Like gas bombs, but perhaps they could be filled with other things too?

Hmm… what about glitter?

Hard to get off, easy to blind people, and easy to see that it was Tim’s work. He felt a smirk rise to his cheeks, his brain already forming a million ideas, as his hands scribbled down everything. Now things were getting really exciting. 

So…Tim was wrong. Sewing was not easy. It had only been three days but his hands were plastered with millions of tiny bandaids wrapping around each finger, and his eyes were filled with tears.

(He was just fortunate his previous cuts had been mostly okay now, with barely a scar to keep track of its previous existence.) 

Youtube had been helpful, but Tim didn’t realise how difficult it was to hand-sew fabrics together. It went okay at first, but suddenly he made a slightly bigger hole, tried to reverse it, accidently pricked his finger, and the whole string ended up in a massive tangled mess. He was lucky he did it on some spare fabric (some old clothes at the back of his mothers closet that she had been complaining about throwing out), but his fingers were going to be in slightly worse shape for a while. 

He had commissioned some fabrics from his father’s usual tailor, and although suspicious at first, with a bit of extra money (stolen from his father’s card again), they didn’t say another word about it. They delivered it to a nearby cafe, and Tim took it from there, disguised with his previous wig and contacts. 

It now lay atop his bed, when Tim was finally ready to cut and sew it together…which, on second thought, might be a little while longer. 

On the other note, he had been able to create glitter bombs and gas bombs. With a bit of help from his physics textbook and Reddit, he had come up with an easy method to disperse the glitter to a great distance around the area. Once he pressed the button, it came on with a little three second timer, and then poof! The area would be officially glitter-ised (it was a word he came up with himself). It worked the same with the gas too.

He also had some other things delivered as weapons. Like a taser, which was probably good for any villains coming close range, and a pocket knife, just for as a bit of a threat for any one coming close. Tim was looking towards purchasing a grappling gun… but it wouldn’t work as well as the Bats’, and although Jason’s ride was wonderfully fun, it was slightly terrifying going so fast at such heights. 

He might look into it later, but he’d probably leave it for now.

All that was left was some good old blackmail…(and perhaps sewing lessons).

It had been quite a few days since he’d hatched his new debut plan, and it was mostly spent stuck inside his empty house. So, in an attempt to get some fresh air, because apparently it was good for getting ideas, (something he’d stumbled about in a random Reddit thread as he tried to figure out the disparity distance of the mini-bombs), Tim decided to go out.

He still needed a few things to organise, like his next villain target and the fun endless nights of collecting blackmail— but his costume was making some progress, and he had started some of his lessons. 

(It had been harder than expected, because Nightwing made everything look flawless, and Robin made everything look easy— but it was kind of fun, and the instructors were nice.)

That’s how Tim finds himself in a small café, tucked in a corner and skimming through posts and forums about possible Gotham crimes (he had gotten a little distracted from his original aim, but it still worked well for him).

He’d purchased a small lemonade, in substitute of a Zesti (they didn’t have any), and was now idly fiddling with the straw, as he stared down at his screen.

An online forum had been discussing some potential large shipments coming through Gotham. It hadn’t been specific, but the user was supported by other various comments of general agreement. 

Plus, Tim had already seen an upscale in activities through the harbour, with the Bat’s patrol being targeted that way too. So, something was definitely going down. He just couldn’t put his finger on it…

His frown deepens, and he’s about to take a sip of his soda, when the scraping of a chair interrupts him. 

“Oh hey, you’re not using this are you?” a cheerful voice asks from above, and Tim pauses. Somehow, he can’t help but notice the familiarity of the voice. It was so weird. It sounded just like—

Richard Grayson stands across him, in all his glory, a bright grin etched on his face, and his hand on the chair. Tim’s heart stops. 

One of his greatest idols is standing there, right in front of him. He’s dressed casually, in a bright blue t-shirt, but Tim can still see the traces of toned muscles, and the faint scars on his skin, barely visible. It’s Nightwing.

Grayson looks down at Tim, smiling. This time using a slightly softer tone. “Is it free?” he asks again, kindly. 

Tim’s mouth is dry. It’s a desert— he opens his lips but nothing comes out. He’s gaping like a fish, staring at Richard awestruck. His mind is in shambles. 

Nightwing is standing in-front of him. 

The Boy-Wonder, the first Robin, is staring at Tim.

“Uhhh…” Grayson scratches his head awkwardly, “It’s fine, if you say no.”

Tim blinks. He’s been staring at the other for ages, whilst Richard waited for a reply. He should say yes, and nod his head and go back to working on this case, and silently fan-girl over the fact he just met the Nightwing.

“I saw you at the circus.” escapes his lips instead. Tim’s eyes widen, and he immediately rushes to cover his mouth, a silent gasp echoing between them. Nightwing is looking at him with a blank face, before it stills to a small polite smile.

“You did?” he asks, hands gripping the seat tighter, his voice lower.

Tim nods slowly, eyes never leaving the other. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. Grayson was looking so painfully uncomfortable, it made Tim squirm. Mother always said he wasn’t the best with words, and it seemed to hold true. 

“I, uh”, Tim stumbled over the words, hurriedly attempting to explain, “I-I was like four years old, and my, uh, parents took me. It-it was meant to be a birthday treat.” 

He twists his fingers together, looking down to avoid the weighted stare of the other. “I saw you in the tent, on the hanging bars with your parents.” Tim glances up at Grayson, “You were so high, I thought you were flying.” 

He can’t help the small grin that settles on his lips, as he remembers watching the young boy dance in the sky. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” 

It’s only then when a small weight settles on his head, and a soft hand gently tussles his hair, in a playful manner. He looks at Grayson, his eyebrows furrowed in a question, and the older one gives him a soft smile.

“I never expected someone to recognise me from then.” Grayson says in lieu of a response.

“It was the night, when…”, Tim begins again, then pauses as they both fill in the gaps. 

“I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that—!” he rushes quickly, his hands waving around as he tries and fails to rewind back time. He feels the embarrassment flushing his face, and he presses a tight hand to his mouth to stop any more words from spilling out.

There’s a huff of laughter from above, and Grayson gives his hair another tussle. “It’s alright kid, you’re okay.”

A moment of silence lasts between them. 

Hesitantly, Tim glances up again, and just as quickly his head falls down.

“I’m really really sorry, I don’t want you to be sad.” he says, this time in a whisper. The mood of the conversation had changed so quickly, and Tim fiddles with his hands again; his nails pressing moon-shaped dents on his palms. 

When he looks up once more, Grayson just gives him a polite smile, and his hand falls down to gently squeeze his shoulder, “It’s okay, I promise.”

Tim feels a burn at the back of his throat, and his stomach clenches painfully. He hates the way the words come out of his mouth, from his mother to Riddler to Nightwing. Nothing ever goes the path he intends, and the only reason it worked with Robin, was because he barely had energy to speak, much less spill his guts out.

A soft hand ruffles his hair again, and he looks up to see Nightwing still standing there. 

Tim would have thought he’d rushed away by now, weirded out by Tim’s bittersweet conversation with him. Instead, Grayson looks at him with a grin.

“Say kid, what’s your name?”, he looks at Tim, a quirk in his eyebrows, “You look a little familiar.” 

Tim blushes, and he feels his mind run away with a thousand possibilities. Grayson laughs to his embarrassment, but he gives out his name anyway. “Tim, uh, Timothy Drake.” 

He mentally berates himself, he had to stop giving out Tim (his parents never liked the nickname, it took away all the importance and left him with a common street name). 

Grayson doesn’t say anything about his mishap, instead humming, “Can I call you Tim?”

He nods quickly, and Grayson laughs. It’s a pleasant sound, light and full of life. It automatically brings a grin to his face too, and he barely hides the giggle.

“Well Tim, I’m Dick Grayson.” and he gives a playful bow, “But you can just call me Dick. It’s nice to meet you Tim.”

He smiles, nodding, “Nice to meet you too Dick. And, uhm, you can take the chair.”

Dick pauses, “Well, thank you. But my order’s already here”, and he points to the counter where a lone strawberry milkshake stands, whip-cream half engulfed by the drink. 

“Oh!”, and Tim feels his cheeks getting red again, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Dick laughs again, waving his hand, “Don’t worry about it!” He moves up, to stand tall again, and gives Tim another small ruffle of his hair. Tim can already feel himself blushing again.

“I’ll see you later!” Dick calls as waves goodbye, grabbing his drink. Tim waves back, a dopey grin on his lips. 

As soon as Dick’s out the door, Tim squishes his face into his hands, panic overriding his entire body. What just happened?! 

He just met fricking Nightwing?! And he managed to mention his dead parents in the first two seconds?!

Oh god, Tim just wanted to bury himself in a hole. This seemed even worse than his encounter with Jason.