Chapter Text
When Tim finally decided to take matters into his own hands and become Robin to save Gotham from Batman, he was perfectly aware that meant he had to save himself from Batman, too.
Bruce was always very hard on Tim. He trained him to exhaustion (usually Bruce's, it's very hard to tire a dragon out), left him on the floor, bleeding and broken (stupid fragile human body), and he was very cold and distant and sometimes outright rude. And he understood, really! Bruce didn't want another Robin, he didn't want to endanger another child. He had just lost his son, and he didn't want to get attached to Tim.
Well, too bad.
Tim would let him, truly, he would! He'd let Bruce keep him at arm's length. He didn't mind (ok, he did mind a little. It hurt, just a little bit), he was perfectly fine just working with Bruce. But it would be simply inefficient. For Bruce's own sake, he had to be hoarded. Bruce was too reckless at the moment, and Tim needed to be able to be there when he was needed. How was he supposed to know when Bruce was in danger if the man was too stubborn? Hoarding him was simply convenient.
So, he has two options: injecting his venom or making him ingest it.
See, he doesn't need to bite Bruce to inject his venom. He could technically transfer it to a syringe and inject it when Bruce is asleep or distracted.
He probably wouldn't like that, would he?
So probably ingesting it is a better option. He wouldn't realize he even did it.
Now, Alfred makes Bruce's food, and it's impossible to mess with Alfred's food. But he can certainly mess with Bruce's drink!
He'd have to bring him a drink often, make it a common occurrence, so when he adds the poison, he won't think anything of it.
So perhaps bringing him a coffee every night or every other night. Every time Bruce is focused on the computer instead of resting. He can probably pull it off as trying to get closer to him. He won't like that, but it'll keep suspicion off his true motives.
Yeah, that's it. He's got this. He'll start tonight.
Tim skips happily to the batcomputer, coffee in hand, black as he knows Bruce likes it.
"Hey, B!" he chirps. Bruce grunts in acknowledgement. "I see you're very busy. I brought you coffee!"
Bruce tears his eyes away from the screen to look at the cup, then at Tim, then back at the coffee. He sighs, taking it from his hands, surprisingly gentle.
"Thanks, kid. I appreciate it." he takes a sip of the steaming drink, then lets out a content sigh. "Hey, kid? I'm organizing the files. It's boring, I could... Use some company. You can sleep on the bench, or the med beds, or the mats, I don't know. I just... Could really use some company."
It's evident that requesting this is hard for Bruce. Tim's eyes sparkle at the thought of sleeping near his future hoard, in a nice, big cave.
"I'd love to." Tim agrees easily, smiling discreetly at Bruce's relieved sigh.
Tim pulls a thick mat to be near the computer and lays on it, letting himself rest knowing that if something happens, Bruce is right there, under his protection.
He wakes up hours later, bundled in a thick blanket and with a pillow under his head. Still, he's on the mat, being shaken awake by Bruce.
"I'm done now, kid. You helped a lot, thank you. C'mon, let's get you to bed."
It became a sort of routine. During busy nights at the batcomputer, Tim brings Bruce a cup of coffee and lays on a nice mat to rest while he finishes, usually with a pillow and a blanket, sometimes even a stuffed animal, and when Bruce's finished, he wakes the boy up and they head to their respective rooms to sleep, which means those nights Tim stays at Wayne manor and doesn't have to go back to his empty house. Everyone wins. Bruce gets some company, Alfred has the peace of mind that neither of them are alone, and Tim gets to sleep soundly knowing he can protect Bruce. Plus, you know... he's getting Bruce used to Tim's cup of coffee.
So, after a month of doing this, Tim figures he can finally hoard Bruce.
It's the first time he attempts to extract his own venom, and he's a bit nervous, but he remembers watching his mother doing it, though she extracted her Dragon Venom, though he figures it's the same process. So, Tim buys a small glass vial, and holds it to one of his fangs. He closes his eyes and imagines he's biting Bruce, injecting his Hoard Venom into his bloodstream to hoard him, to protect him. He hears liquid dripping into the small bottle, and he keeps his eyes closed until it stops dripping. He takes it from his mouth and looks at the slightly lilac tinted liquid, satisfied that he didn't accidentally extract the brownish orange Dragon Venom.
Tim is surprised to find the ache in his jaw is reduced after the extraction. He supposes his body automatically makes Hoard Venom when he's near those he loves, his unclaimed hoard. That makes a lot of sense, as it usually happens around people who threaten them too (so practically every night), and the ache is relieved when he spits the Dragon Venom into his sink.
Tim corks the vial and ties a rope thin around it so he can have it around his neck, as he doesn't know when the next busy night will be.
Tim should probably give his luck a bit more credit than he usually does.
He had fully expected to wait around a week for the next busy night, but he didn't have to wait much! Two nights after extracting his Hoard Venom, Alfred informed him that Bruce was, once again, hyperfocused on casefiles.
The grin in Tim's face was slightly off-putting, but Alfred was used to weird stuff.
Tim skips to the coffee machine and hums as he makes Bruce's cup of black coffee. Just to be sure, he uses a big cup. As far as he knows, Hoard Venom has no taste, but then again, he's used to his own venom. However, even if it does have a taste or a smell, it should be disguised by the coffee, just like the light lilac tint. So, without worrying much, he slips quite a bit of it into Bruce's coffee once he's sure Alfred is not around.
"Hey, Bruce!" Tim chirps, setting the cup in front of his mentor. "Alfred told me you'll be working late tonight. Hope you don't mind some company?"
"Yours, kid? No, I don't mind it."
"Great!"
Tim grins, pulling the mat to be near the computer and grabbing his blanket and pillow. He plops down on the mat, happily curling up and covering himself from head to toe with the blanket, effectively hiding inside it. He hears Bruce chuckle, and then hears the sigh he always, without fail, lets out before starting a new cup of coffee. Tim doesn't remember what getting hoard marks feels like. Dragons hoard their parents back when they are born, as during the first few months of their life, they feed exclusively off their hoard's blood, generally the parent's. But he asked his mom, and she says it's comforting, like coming home to his den or like a wing wrapped around him, so he's not too nervous. He closes his eyes, focusing on the sensations of his body. He doesn't feel any different, not for a few minutes. Then his right forearm starts to feel funny, tingly, and Tim grins, pulling up his sleeve. Tim is very grateful for his night vision, as he can see the mark perfectly while hiding inside the blanket.
Tim had genuinely expected a bat, but the mark he got fits Bruce better. A wolf in his forearm is confidently standing atop a mountain peak, staring at Tim with a strict gaze softened by pride and love. It melts Tim's heart. Hoard Marks don't lie. If the Hoard Mark says Bruce is proud of him and loves him, then he does. Simple as that.
Tim finds it funny and comforting that Bruce's mark is in the same arm as Jack's scratched out one. For years, he's attempted to erase Jack's mark on him, he's made his bicep bleed over and over in order to cover it with scars. And in the same arm, bellow but more visible, is Bruce's. It's the father he got and the father he chose. And Bruce's is not only in a more visible place, but it's bigger than Jack's, meaning Tim's space in Bruce's heart is bigger than his space in his father's, and he couldn't be more glad.
He's a bit sad he has to hide it, though. It's not exactly normal for an eleven-year-old kid to have tattoos, so Bruce would definitely question it, and that's not something he wants to deal with right now. Tim rolls down his sleeve again and sleeps, listening to Bruce's happy, relaxed hums and sighs.
"Hey, kiddo, wake up. I'm done, go get ready for bed."
"Mhm, ok." Tim yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you get everything done?"
"Yeah, I did. You know, it was easier once you were around. The coffee helped too, but your presence takes away from the stress, and it's easier to work without so much of it."
"Glad I could help." Tim hums, rubbing his eyes. He turns to stare at the stairs like they have personally taken the time to annoy him for years.
"Why're we staring at them like they bully you?" Bruce asks fondly, kneeling next to the boy and playfully glaring at the stairs too.
"They do."
"Oh, do they? How so?"
"Call me names." Tim says, his expression and voice dead serious, though he's clearly just playing along.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, we can't have that, can we? we don't stand bullies in this household." Bruce tuts, his voice equally serious, and just the faintest hint of a smile in his face.
"But we can stand on bullies."
"Now there's an idea. C'mon, kid." Bruce stands, a genuine smile on his face. He runs and hops on the first step. "Don't bully my kid, you mean stairs!"
Tim giggles, copying his motion, running and stomping on the first step.
"Meanies!"
Together, they hop and stomp on each step, scolding them for bullying Tim.
It'll forever be one of Alfred's favourite videos, the one he took of Bruce holding Tim's hand and scolding the stairs for annoying his child. Usually, he wouldn't stand for hopping on the stairs, but he figures they do much more dangerous things every night, and Bruce is watching out for the young boy. Besides, it's been too long since he's heard Master Bruce laugh so freely.
The very next day, a picture of Bruce and Tim laughing, Tim holding Bruce's hands as he hops on the next step, is printed and framed in Bruce's study, where it'll remain until the day he dies.