Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hiding behind a street banister, Tim struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t tell if it was from the sprint, the oppressive heat of a Gotham summer, or from the man in front of him—Batman. No, not just Batman. Bruce. The man Tim had once believed was closer to him than his own father ever had been.

Tim closed his eyes so tight that colourful dots appeared. He was old enough – he was almost ten! He had been able to care for himself since he was five, barely a year after he got his first hug the same day he saw a happy circus family plummeting down to their deaths. He could care for himself. He had been doing that before and after his parents’ deaths. But also— also! He could…

He could simply… take a step into the night. A small, tentative step out of the shadows. Scream for help—scream in desperate need, in fear, longing to be swept into the protective arms of the city’s only vigilante...

But Tim couldn't.

The cloaked figure in the distance was no longer someone Tim trusted. Not for the first time, he wondered if the Dark Knight had ever truly been a knight. Those few weeks when he had known the man—when he’d seen both Bruce Wayne and Batman, gruff yet caring, showing kindness in small moments—were they real? Or had they been nothing more than a fevered dream born from one of Tim’s encounters with Killer Croc, or any of the other rogues that haunted Owl-infested Gotham?

Tim knew the Court of Owls wasn’t just a story to frighten naive children. It was real, and it thrived in the shadows of Gotham. Worse still, the Court abducted children, twisting them into Talons—mindless assassins and weapons of fear. Among their victims was a young acrobat with a bright, warm smile. Tim was determined to find him, no matter the cost.

Bruce—Batman—had reluctantly agreed to let Tim help after finding his newly adopted son in the Batcave, poring over classified files no child should have accessed. Batman had been investigating the Court long before the Drakes’ deaths. It was a nearly impossible task, made even harder after one of the Talons assassinated Commissioner Gordon and his family. Their deaths allowed the Court to install a new commissioner—one who would obey their every command.

For a time, Batman gave Gotham hope. He was trying. Tim believed that.

But then Alfred Pennyworth died, and everything fell apart. Whatever scraps of humanity Bruce still clung to vanished. The Dark Knight abandoned his "Brucie" persona entirely, retreating to the cave. He lived there now, seemingly fused to the cursed new suit he wore. In the months since, Tim hadn’t seen him step out of the shadows.

Batman had stopped searching for the lost acrobat. Stopped chasing the Court. Stopped listening to Tim or even acknowledging him. It felt hauntingly familiar—like the neglect Tim endured from his own parents. But this time, it was worse. Bruce had given him hope, a glimpse of what most people take for granted: companionship, maybe even affection. Love. And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

That’s when Tim stumbled upon files buried deep in the Batcave’s computer. Files that suggested Batman was no longer fighting the Court of Owls. He was working with them.

That following day, Tim ran away. He hid in the city, always on edge, always hungry, always afraid. He ran on the manic energy that only weeks of relentless stress and sleepless nights could provide, feeling hollow and desperately alone with each passing hour.

There was a very quiet, almost indistinguishable sound.

Batman emerged from the shadows, his heavy, metallic footsteps echoing as he approached his sleek, high-tech car parked in the heart of Crime Alley.

Tim didn’t move from his hiding spot. He barely breathed as he clenched his jaw and bit down hard enough to split the skin of his lips as he fought to keep the tears at bay. 

The man was gone.

Only then did Tim gasp for air, his chest heaving as his body trembled violently. He curled into himself, shaking, but at least the tears never came. His mother already was much disappointed in her failure of a son when she was alive. There was no need to upset her any more beyond the grave. 

After a long moment, Tim exhaled and brushed a strand of hair out of his face with a frustrated huff. Since Mister Pennyworth’s death, he had lost track of time, but the unruly length of his hair was evidence enough that months had passed. It now brushed against his cheeks, not quite long enough to tie back.

He couldn’t afford to sit idle. He had to move—to find food or a new hiding place where he could grab a few hours of precious sleep. Tim considered breaking into a library or an internet café. A computer with internet access might hold valuable information. The library was more likely to be deserted at this late hour, while the internet café might at least have some food.

Food, though, was a secondary concern. Tim had learned to survive on almost nothing. Hunger had stopped gnawing at him some time ago, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness. Sleep, however, was another matter. He had learned the hard way just how crucial it was. His body had once betrayed him, collapsing in the middle of the road from sheer exhaustion. He’d been lucky it happened during the day and that he was still quick enough back then to slip away before the crowd—or an ambulance—could trap him.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Tim stood up, scanning his surroundings before deciding to head for the library. He had just started toward his destination when a scream pierced the night.

It came from the alley where Batman had vanished earlier.

The cry was raw, pained—and unmistakably that of a child. Or at least, someone close to Tim’s age.

Tim tensed. Ever since Batman had gone off the rails, his methods on the streets had become increasingly brutal. He no longer distinguished between petty crimes and serious offenses—every criminal faced the full force of his wrath. Batman didn’t pull his punches. He hurt people. Badly.

Fresh blood trickled down Tim’s chin, dripping from his bitten lip. The taste of copper was sharp, a bitter reminder of how far things had spiraled. Batman assaulted and tortured, but he didn’t kill. Not yet.

Tim’s body ached, drained from barely escaping Killer Croc in the sewers. He’d been searching for what rumors claimed was a hideaway tied to the Court’s base, but it had almost cost him his life. Now, he was exhausted, freezing, and utterly powerless against a man twice his height and infinitely more skilled.

His lip tore further under the pressure of his teeth.

Batman didn’t kill criminals.

Another pained scream echoed through the empty street. The third one followed. The forth. More and more. Weaker and weaker, to the point that they were bound to stop any minute.

Batman didn’t kill.

A child was screaming—high-pitched, raw, and unrelenting—from the brutal beating delivered by Batman. The same Batman who had never before so much as laid a hand on a child.

Batman didn’t kill criminals. Batman hadn’t killed anyone yet.

Terrified but determined, Tim darted toward the alley. He couldn’t just stand by and let someone get murdered—not when there was even the slightest chance he could stop it.

Chapter Text

Tim wasn’t stupid. He knew he stood no chance of physically overpowering Batman, so he settled for the next best option—distraction. He wasn’t sure how he would buy enough time to get the unfortunate criminal out of harm’s way, but he didn’t have many choices. He grabbed what he had on hand—his backpack (filled with notes, photos proving the existence of the Court, basic survival necessities), and a few bottles he found on his way to the scene.

Tim was prepared to be met with a projectile to his head or a fist to the guts, but not to the completely empty dead end. At first he was disoriented, since he didn’t see anybody passing him on his way here, and even if Batman could fly in his new high-tech suit, as far as Tim knew, his car wasn’t yet able to do so. Still, Tim raised his head— and blanched.

The rooftop of a nearby building was completely overgrown with thick, writhing plants. Beneath that tangled mass, Tim could make out Batman’s car and the unfortunate criminal. It didn’t take a genius to guess who was behind this.

Poison Ivy.

Tim anxiously scanned his surroundings, but saw no sign of one of the few Rogues that Batman hadn’t yet been able to neutralize permanently. Still, not seeing Poison Ivy didn’t mean she couldn’t see him—especially not after the “therapy” Batman had been using on the Rogues.

Where most had been reduced to mere shadows of themselves, barely responsive to anything, Ivy had become something else entirely. She wasn’t unresponsive—no, she was far from it. But she was even less human than she had been before.

The mass of writhing vines—likely Batman—shuddered violently. The man inside was struggling to break free. Tim didn’t want to be anywhere near that when it happened, so he was ready to dart back the way he came.

But then he saw it: a smaller cocoon above the big one, twitching weakly. Another muffled scream echoed from within.

Tim froze. The criminal he had come to help— that somebody was trapped inside.

The larger cocoon trembled more violently, the vines threatening to give way. Ivy could be watching—or she could be somewhere nearby. Rationally, the best course of action would be to slip away now and hope the two adults would occupy each other long enough for Tim to escape undetected. But that would mean abandoning the person swallowed by the plants to a certain death.

So, instead of taking the calm, logical route, Tim chose to act impulsively—and recklessly.

He fumbled through his backpack, pulling out a pack of matches. He tore a piece of his tattered jacket and, using one of the bottles, quickly fashioned a Molotov cocktail. Without a second thought, he hurled it at the smaller cocoon, the one containing the potential victim.

The vines shrieked in agony as the fire hit.

Tim threw another heated bottle.

Finally, the vines loosened just enough for the boy in the red hoodie—furiously struggling and cursing—to tumble out of the cocoon. He hit the ground in a graceless heap, but immediately tried to push himself up, only for his legs to buckle beneath him.

The vines hissed, slithering toward the ground as they tried to reclaim their prey. Tim wasted no time. He dashed to the boy, grabbing him by the arms and tugging them both away from the enraged plants, whose attention had conveniently shifted to Batman, who had finally freed himself.

The other boy was taller than Tim, but in terrible shape. He moved slower with each step, his head hanging low, too weak to even lift it. Though he weakly tried to resist, he was too battered to put up any real fight.

None of that helped Tim, already dead tired, as he dragged the boy toward safety. But Tim was nothing if not stubborn.

 The sounds of explosions and banging faded as they moved farther away. Still, they needed to find somewhere to hide until the night was over—just to be safe.

Finding a place to rest in Gotham had become a challenge, especially with the kind of surveillance Batman had established across the city. At least Crime Alley was almost free of the drones that monitored every other part of Gotham. Those drones were the eyes of Batman—their ever-present gaze, like a Big Brother watching to ensure the citizens behaved as they should. It felt straight out of an dystopian novel.

The citizens of Crime Alley weren’t exactly fans of the drones, and they destroyed them whenever they could, fully aware that it meant risking the Bat’s wrath.

Eventually, Tim spotted something that could serve as their hideout. The broken windows of an abandoned school were large enough for them to squeeze through, and the ones leading to the basement were conveniently at ground level. This way, Tim wouldn’t have to drag the older boy up through a window—he could simply drop him inside.

Sure, with all the windows shattered, there could already be people inside, but Tim would take that risk over facing either Ivy or Batman any day.

The inside of the building was moldy and barren. Anything of value had long since been taken, either to be sold or repurposed by someone else. Thankfully, there was no one here now.

The other boy was thin, probably a few years older than Tim, with short black hair and pale skin marked by blooming bruises and cuts at various stages of healing. He was trembling slightly, his breath ragged and shallow, his teal eyes vacant, staring blankly over Tim’s shoulder.

Had Ivy’s vines dosed him with something? Tim bit his lip, anxious, and looked around the room.

If this was a school, there had to be a nurse’s office somewhere. It might not have antidotes for Gotham’s weirdness, but at the very least, there could be some cots.

With that thought, Tim steeled himself. He carefully lifted the other boy’s arm over his own shoulder and, despite the weight of exhaustion pulling at him, pushed himself to his feet. He’d have to find the nurse’s office—probably somewhere on the first floor, where these places were usually located.

As soon as Tim opened the door to the basement, a thick wave of heat hit him. The first floor was stifling hot, almost suffocating. It had probably soaked up the heat of the summer day with no working AC to cool it down. The oppressive warmth only made Tim's growing headache and nausea worse.  

But Tim had a job to do. He squeezed the other boy’s hand tighter and forced himself to move forward. The boy had stopped resisting some time ago but was still somehow managing to move his legs. It was a small mercy, because Tim wasn’t sure he could carry the full weight of the other boy with his head spinning the way it was.  

Tim was opening his third door in search of the cabinet when he heard a noise from deeper in the building. He jerked his head toward the sound and saw a brightly colored figure step out from around the corner, heading down the corridor toward the two boys.  

Disoriented by the heat and exhaustion, Tim initially thought, from the acid-bright colors, that it was the Joker. He flailed in panic and collapsed, dragging the other boy down with him.  

A moment later, he realized it wasn’t the Joker—it was Harley. The realization brought a brief wave of relief, but that relief was quickly replaced by a punch of dread as he realized it was Harley Quinn, right here, in a confined space with him.  

On one hand, Harley still loved her "Mista J" and was a Rogue, but on the other, their relationship had been strained in recent years. Harley had dumped the clown, only to return to him like a pendulum swinging back and forth. Now, it seemed Joker was out of the picture for good—Batman had essentially fried the clown’s brain in his crusade to rid Gotham of its Rogues.

Batman didn't killed. But maybe, in the clown's case, killing would have been more merciful.

Regardless, Harley had been unstable for a long time. Whether or not she was still with the Joker, she was never shy about caving in skulls with her trusty mallet when someone pissed her off.

The mallet she was holding now menacingly, its oversized head gleaming in the dim light.

Harley had a mallet, and Tim had a severely injured boy who was barely conscious, leaving Tim to handle the mess alone.

Tim stopped moving, stopped breathing, praying that somehow Harley wouldn’t notice them.

It was a futile effort.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Who’s there playing dead mice? Wanna piece of me? Come and get it!” Harley yelled theatrically, one hand shielding her eyes as she squinted at the spot near the wall where the two boys were partially hidden in the shadows of the night.

Harley walked briskly toward them, her dirty pigtails bouncing with each step, and the mallet swinging through the heated air like an extension of her madness.

Since her last breakup with the Joker, Harley had kept a low profile—no heists, no burglaries, nothing that could bring Batman’s gauntlets crashing down on her. As a result, she was probably the only Rogue in Gotham still untouched by the Bat, still stupidly strong and properly crazy.

Tim was desperately trying to think of something, anything, to save them, but his exhausted brain offered no solutions. Panic threatened to settle in his small, trembling body. Before it could take hold, Harley came closer, her eyes catching the gleam of childishly large, bright eyes in the dark. She stopped, the swing of her mallet pausing mid-air. 

“What da fuck?!”

Tim tensed at her scream, pressing his back harder against the wall and pulling the other boy closer. It was impossible to predict what Harley might do… at any given moment of time, really. There were equal chances of Harley finishing them off or—

“Gosh, ya’r so ratty! And skin and bones! Which jail hav’ya run from, kiddo?!”

…or trying to help. Huh.

“Oh crap, there's two of ya! Wait, is the other one dead???”

“No, just, eh, not feeling okay”, finally found his words Tim, fidgeting uncomfortably.  “Ehm. Sorry to inconvenience you, ma’am,” he added, trying to be at least somewhat polite.

Harley squatted down to be closer to the boys and whistled. “Looks rough,” she said, grinning widely. “Did’ya know I have a doctor's diploma? I can help!”

Tim had his doubts. And was wary. And his tongue once again stuck in his mouth, blocking him from answering.

Harley nodded thoughtfully a few times, as though Tim had actually given her a response she agreed with. Then, out of nowhere, said “Nice t-shirt!”

Tim glanced down at his ragged shirt, which read, "If you find me relatable, seek professional help." Still struggling to speak, he jerkily nodded at Harley and then quickly stared at his feet, his mother’s voice echoing in his head: It’s rude and disrespectful not to look adults in the eye.

Beyond the fear of imminent danger, Tim felt horribly awkward. This was his first civilized conversation with an adult—or, actually, with any human in... he couldn’t remember how long. He didn’t know how he was supposed to behave. None of the lessons on manners he’d been drilled in were much help here. For a moment, the boy half-heartedly thought that being attacked would have been preferable to... small talk. At least with fighting and hiding, he knew what to do.

Tim bit his lip and dared a glance at the woman. She wasn’t coming any closer, just standing there, smiling at him. Tim blushed and quickly dropped his gaze back to his worn sneakers.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to loosen his tongue, but only making it worse. Not only was he still voiceless, but now his body was trembling too.

There was a shuffle of movement. Harley’s feet, which had been so close just moments ago, took several steps back. Still, there was no beating, no angry yelling—just silence. It was all so confusing. Tim had no idea how he was supposed to navigate an adult like this.

“Gosh, this stupid weather is killin’ me! I’m really thinking ‘bout breaking Mr Freeze out, or at least stealing his tech to stop this hellish heat!”

“Please don’t”, blurted Tim in panic.

Harley smiled again. “Yeah, you’re right, kiddo. Not with the crazy Bat there, ay? That bugger. But it could be fun. Imagine, snowmen in July! I would’a be so happy to make a snow angel right about now!”

Tim nodded, unknowingly to himself relaxing his posture a bit.

“D’ya like snowmen?”

Tim shrugged. He had never built one.

“Snow angels?”

This time, Tim nodded, even if a bit hesitantly. Harley grinned, but without showing her teeth this time.

“Ya wanna have some crackers? I have one still in a packet,” she said, fumbling a bit before indeed extracting some tiny packets from the pockets of her shorts. “Oh, not crackers, peanuts. D’ya want some peanuts?”

The thing was in a packet, and given Tim’s situation, it wasn’t like he had easy access to food, so he nodded.

"Can I come closer, hon? I ain't gonna hurt ya. Promise," Harley said, setting her mallet down and kicking it away, then raising her hands in a peaceful gesture.

Tim nodded. Harley slowly approached and then knelt down to not tower over the two boys, as if still trying her best not to intimidate them. But why? What was the point when she was so much stronger than them and could do anything she wanted?

Tim blinked, taking a moment to process what was happening.

Harley was nothing like the adults Tim had encountered in his life. She was loud, yet not aggressive, and was treating him like a child—even though he wasn’t one (he was nine and had been a responsible adult since he was five).

It also seemed like Harley really wasn’t going to murder them or feed them to hyenas anytime soon. So. She seemed safe, at least for now.

Tim raised his hand to get the packet of peanuts from her hand and jostled the other boy, who muttered something and tried to straighten up.

“Oh, look, he's really ain't dead!” Harley grinned.

“No, ma’am, he’s not,” Tim replied, slipping the peanuts into his pockets. “But I think he hit his head pretty badly.”

Harley squinted, her eyes checking over the other boy. Her tightened features relaxed a bit. “Nah. He just met some of the Pam's babies, he'll be alright after it in an hour or two after the last contact with the vines.” She hummed thoughtfully, then switched to the doctor's PhD mode that she once had. “That is, if he doesn't take any meds that can dampen or worsen the effects of the plant toxin. Does he do any prescription meds? Or drugs?”

“No. I mean—” Tim’s heart raced with panic. “I don’t know. I’ve just met him. I don’t know if he—”

The older kid didn’t look like someone who could afford proper medical treatment, especially in the state Gotham was in. But drugs, on the other hand...

“I dn do any fkin drugs!” slurred the older boy, suddenly awake. “I hate drhs! "

The boy tried to stand up, but crumpled into Harley's arms.

“Leggo o' me!”

Harley cooed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Aw, you struggle like a kitten!”

The older boy went beet red. Harley giggled and said, “Ma name’s Harley! What about you, spicy kitten?”

The older boy spluttered, “I know who you are! I’m not blind or stupid!” His speech was getting clearer.

“Aw, I didn’t say that, hon. Ya just have to say your name if ya ask for others’, ya know?”

The older boy huffed, struggling to move his limbs, but with little success.

“Easy there, hon,” Harley said, her tone soft but teasing. “Pam’s babies start with the brain, then hit the muscles. It stops workin’ in that order and comes back the same way. Your head’s probably clear now, but the best you can hope for is a wobble in a minute or five.”

The other boy grumbled. “Where the fuck am I?!”

“Crime Alley, Spicy Kitten!”

“Don’t call me that! Where in the Alley?!”

Boy, this one was loud too. Tim groaned inwardly, feeling utterly miserable.

“Well how do I call ya if you won’t tell me ya name?! There are two of ya, I hafta separate your asses somehow!”

“I’m Jason! Wait. Two?”

All the attention snapped to poor Tim. “Hello,” squeaked the younger boy.

“Who the fuck is this fucker?”

“He was dragging ya here and bravely protecting from me before we shared some peanuts and made peace!” happily supplied Harley.

The Jason kid looked highly sceptical. “Are you working for the fucker whose tires I stole?”

Tim made a choked noise. “DID YOU STEAL TIRES FROM BATMAN?!”

“Wow, Kitten, I applaud! Ya brave rascal!”

“My name is ain’t fucking Kitten!! I’m Jason! Ja-son!” roared the kid.

“Why did you do that! Do you have a death wish!” asked Tim, gravely shocked.

“Free tire is a free tire. You snooze, you lose.”

“You nearly died!”

“The fuck do you care, little shit!” fumed Jason. Tim was starting to think the teen either had serious anger issues or had taken one too many hits to the head. And frankly, Tim was—dare he say it—pissed.

“I care because I had to drop everything to save you—from an enraged Batman and Ivy’s angry vines, and then drag you all the way up here not knowing if you were about to die or not!” Tim’s voice broke at the end of his tirade.

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip and cheeks to hold back the tears threatening to spill. It had been a terrifyingly close call. Minutes passed as he worked to steady himself, trying to shake the overwhelming emotions.

Tim flinched when a hand landed gently on his head, ruffling his hair. Opening his eyes, he found Harley sitting beside him, her expression surprisingly soft.

“Ya okay, hon? D’ya want a hug?”

Tim’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. In his entire life, he had only ever been hugged once. Just once.

“I’m gonna hug ya, hon. Tap me if I shouldn’t.”

Before Tim could react, Harley’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him against her chest. A hand resumed petting his hair, the gesture stull surprisingly gentle.

Tim’s cheeks burned. His mother would have screamed at him for being so improper—for being a pitiful disgrace to the Drake name. But... it was so nice. Not as nice as his first hug, but still, a hug.

Tim let himself sink into the embrace of one of Gotham’s most infamous Rogues, savoring the warmth.

“Better, hon?”

Tim knew that answering would shatter this fragile haven, but he couldn’t let himself be childish forever. So, he nodded, even though more than anything, he wished he could stay like this for an eternity—or two.

“Okie-dokie!” Harley chirped, and Tim felt himself being carefully shifted. To his surprise, and growing embarrassment, Harley didn’t let him go. Instead, she maneuvered him so that he sat with his back to her chest, facing the other boy, while Harley continued to hold him.

“I—I’m okay now. This isn’t necessary,” Tim stammered.

Harley’s arms tightened. “Nah-uh. Ya’re still clingin’ to me, so nope. We’re stayin’ like this for a while longer.”

Tim jerked his hands away from her shirt as if burned. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Harley sighed but finally let him go. Tim quickly scrambled to his feet, afraid to look at the other boy, who, with his cocky attitude, was surely about to start taunting him for being a baby, a weakling. But he couldn’t avoid him forever. Tim stubbornly raised his head to meet the older boy’s gaze—and was surprised.

There was no mocking on Jason’s face. In fact, the older boy looked surprisingly solemn.

“What?” Tim snapped.

“Why did you help me?” Jason asked, his tone serious. “You could’ve died.”

“If I hadn’t, you would’ve been killed,” Tim mumbled, dropping his gaze.

Jason huffed, clearly processing Tim’s words.

“So! What’s your name, hon?” Harley asked, turning her attention to Tim.

The younger boy tensed. There was no way he could let anyone know Timothy Drake-Wayne was out there, lost in the streets of Gotham. He couldn’t use his real name—not now. He needed a fake one. But his brain was so clouded with stress, nothing good came to mind, just the absurd greeting from the Columbo TV show about a quirky detective.

“R ya there, kid?”

“Did you forget your name?”

Their concern grew with his silence, and Tim blurted out, “I’m Columbo!”

Harley blinked, taken aback. Jason cringed.

Tim winced.

“Ya don’t look like a Columbo, hon, to be honest,” Harley said, then shrugged. “But eh, who am I to judge people for their nicknames or whatever? So, Jason and—ehm, Columbo—how about we check out those cuts, huh? Up we go!”

“Let me down!” screeched Jason. “I'm fine! I'll walk it off!”

Tim had doubts. His opinion was clearly reflected on his face, if Jason's scowl was anything to go by.

Harley let out a vicious giggle before lifting the older boy in a fireman’s carry.

Chapter Text

Tim was perched on one of the fallen cupboards, watching with curiosity as Harley tended to the cuts and bruises with surprising professionalism.

“Some ice would’a been nice, but we ain’t got no fridge, so bruise-relievin’ gel’s what we’re workin’ with,” Harley explained, her tone casual as she worked.

Jason shrugged, doing his best to hide any signs that Harley’s ministrations hurt—even a little. He was almost convincing, too, but his act fell short in front of a literal psychiatrist and a kid whose parents had drilled microexpression recognition into him.

“Did ya see Pam when ya met her babies, kid?” Harley asked, sticking another star-shaped Band-Aid on Jason’s scowling face.

“Thank fuck, no,” Jason grumbled.

Tim couldn’t agree more.

“Hey! Pam’s babies might look scary, but Pam’s nice!” Harley whined, pouting.

“Her ‘babies’ murder people daily,” deadpanned Jason.

“Her ‘babies’ murder people daily,” Jason deadpanned.

“Yeeaaaaah,” Harley admitted, drawing the word out. “Pam’s a bit nuts after... well, after the Bat went off the rails with his new ‘treatment’ of criminals.”

Jason huffed at that, clearly unimpressed. Once he’d tested his limbs and confirmed he could move normally again, he slipped away from Harley, retreating to a corner of the room. Leaning against the wall, he silently glared at the other two, his suspicion plain.

“So, Spicy Kitten—”

“My name is Jason! You asked for my name, so use it!”

“—was making some questionable decisions to score himself some cash,” Harley continued, ignoring the outburst. “But what about you, Columbo? Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere,” Tim replied automatically, then bit his lip.

Could he tell them about the Court? He wanted to—desperately. The weight of that awful knowledge was suffocating, and he craved someone, anyone, to share it with. But it was too dangerous. You could never be sure who might be working for the Court.

If either of them were connected to the corrupted owls that infested Gotham, Tim would be dead meat the moment he revealed what he knew.

“So!” Harley exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Neither of ya have anything super important to do, right?”

Before either boy could protest, she quickly added, “What d’ya say we stick together for a bit and help me out?”

Tim tensed, his shoulders stiffening. Jason, still lurking in his corner, looked just as wary.

“Not burglaries or anything!” Harley said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Ya met Pam’s babies, didn’t ya? Can ya show me where that was? I’ve been tryin’ to track her down for ages!”

“Why the fuck would I willingly go with a Rogue to find another Rogue? Do I look suicidal to you?” Jason snapped.

“I’ll feed ya if ya help! For a whole month—maybe more!” Harley countered with a grin. “And I’ll trash anyone who comes at ya! Think about it—Harleen Quinzel, the one and only, as your personal bodyguard. Free of charge!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “What’s it to you, dragging both of us along? One’s already more than enough. And it sure as hell isn’t worth playing babysitter for a month.”

Harley hummed thoughtfully. “Would ya believe me if I said I don’t really fancy leavin’ you two out in the wild? No offense, but ya don’t exactly look like ya got things under control. And it’s pretty clear no one’s checkin’ up on ya. So, I’m bored, you seem fun and desperate enough, and I do wanna find Pam. Everybody wins!”

She clapped her hands, grinning. “Come on, losers, the more, the merrier! We wait for Grumpy over there to get better, and then—a world full of adventures is waitin’ for us!”

“Deathly adventures,” Jason mumbled, clearly weighing how he could use Harley to his advantage—and then ditch her. Tim could tell by the way Jason was subtly (or not so subtly) sizing her up.

“Fine,” the older boy finally grumbled.

“Yay!” Harley cheered, throwing her hands in the air.

“We don’t wait, though,” Jason added quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Ya sure?” Harley tilted her head, giving him a once-over. “’Cause right now, ya kinda look like that blue monster from that kids’ puppet show.”

“I’m fine. We should go,” Jason said firmly. “It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long anyway.”

“It’s fine with me,” Harley whined, crossing her arms in mock exasperation.

Jason ignored her, turning his gaze to Tim. “What about you, Fake Name Kid? Are you coming?”

Tim pondered. He was fairly sure that, for some strange reason, Harley was genuinely worried about their safety and wasn’t planning to harm them. In fact, he almost believed she would protect them and help keep them alive. On the other hand, the cost of that protection was a suicidal mission to track down a murderous plant lady.

Sure, Pamela Isley had once been a scientist and an overeager ecology enthusiast—back in the days when she’d hung out with Harley. But Harley had admitted herself that she hadn’t seen her friend in a while. Now, for all they knew, Poison Ivy might try to kill them on sight just for daring to track her down.

And Tim couldn’t afford to die—not if he was going to uncover the truth about the Court. So, death was simply not an option.

But Tim had been hitting dead ends for what felt like ages. He tried again and again, but nothing worked. He didn’t just lack a way to reach the Court; he had no idea how to escape Gotham and get help from someone truly unaffiliated, someone safe.

Theoretically, calling out for Superman was supposed to be a surefire way to fix things, but if Batman was aligned with the Court, that meant the entire Justice League might be too.

He needed information. Desperately. And Poison Ivy, with her vines, might be the key to getting it.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I’m going too.”

As they neared the spot where they'd seen the vines, both boys felt their nerves tightening, while Harley, oblivious to their unease, whistled an off-key tune. The sound seemed destined to attract unwanted attention. Even though it was daytime now, following their nap at the school, Crime Alley was never a place where attention was something you wanted to draw.

Tim was also worried about Batman. Thankfully, when they arrived, there was no sign of him or his car. It felt as if last night had been a dream, with only Jason’s cuts and bruises serving as reminders that it had been real.

But there were no vines, no clues to lead them to Ivy.

“Pam! Pam, get your ass over here! Pam!!! Let’s talk!” Harley yelled, with Tim and Jason frantically shushing her.

“Relax, you guys,” Harley said with a grin. “If Pam really had a blast here yesterday, I doubt anyone’s gonna be eager to get close.”

Tim considered that. It seemed like a fair assessment. Only crazy and stupid people would do something like this—crazy like Harley, and stupid like him and Jason. Or maybe he and Jason were slowly sliding into the kind of insanity that suited Gotham’s Rogues. Maybe it was contagious. Tim idly thought it would be interesting to read some research on that later.

“Maybe the babies are hiding. They do that sometimes,” Harley mused.

“Fine,” Jason muttered, stepping forward to search for the vines that had nearly killed him. He walked stiffly but without any wobbling. The bruises on his face were concealed beneath a medicated mask and some makeup—courtesy of Harley, despite Jason’s vocal protests. Harley had explained her reasoning: she liked her current reputation and wasn’t keen on adding “children’s abuser,” “trafficker,” or “kidnapper” to it.

Tim and Harley joined the search, both of them scanning the area. Tim, proud of his keen observation skills, was the first to spot something.

“Look! Some of the vines are hiding closer to the roof!”

“Nice one, Columbo!” Harley cheered, her voice full of enthusiasm as she sprinted to the fire stairs. “Boys! We’ve got a lead!” she yelled from the top of the stairs.

“Did you have to search it for real?” Jason muttered to Tim, his lips barely moving. Tim awkwardly smiled. The thought of only pretending that he was looking for anything had crossed his mind, but he really did need to find Ivy, so he dismissed it.

“Boys, we’re going that way!” Harley called cheerfully from the roof.

Jason groaned and dragged himself in the same direction, gradually picking up speed to catch up with Harley, who was leaping effortlessly from roof to roof.

They moved farther and farther away from Crime Alley, heading toward Gotham’s harbor and then into the desolate wasteland of abandoned factories. Like Hansel and Gretel following breadcrumbs, they tracked the trail of vicious greenery left by Ivy.

Harley was already ahead, effortlessly leaping across the rooftops, while Jason, with his longer legs, moved faster on the ground. Tim, struggling to keep up, felt his anxiety rise with each passing moment—not because of Ivy, but for another reason.

As dusk deepened, a familiar unease crept over him. Batman. Normally, Tim would have avoided the night at all costs, staying hidden whenever possible. But now, exposed beneath the pale light of the moon, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking straight into trouble—even with Harley’s assurances of safety

Tim was seriously considering slipping away into the night when Harley let out an ecstatic squeal. “Pam!” she cried, leaping down from the roof and darting toward a small park area beside the abandoned factory they’d been circling for hours.

Tim frowned. He was certain they’d passed this spot earlier, and it had been empty then—no Ivy, no sign of her presence. Yet here Harley was, charging ahead like she’d found treasure.

“Hurry up, you two!” she called back, her voice ringing with excitement

Both Tim and Jason followed cautiously, their wariness growing with each step.

As they approached, they saw Ivy seated near the factory, motionless. She didn’t blink, didn’t respond to Harley’s calls, nor acknowledge their presence. Her gaze was vacant, fixed on some distant point only she could see.

Her scarlet hair and emerald leaf dress appeared faded, lacking their usual vibrancy. Yet her green skin gleamed faintly under the harsh glow of the factory’s street lamps. Around her, the plants swayed and shifted, moving rhythmically, almost as if they were alive—breathing.

The sight was unsettling, an image pulled straight from a horror movie.

Yet, without a hint of fear, Harley approached the lethargic Rogue. She placed her hands gently on either side of Ivy’s face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stroking the dull red hair with surprising tenderness.

“Pam?” Harley called softly, her voice warm and coaxing. “Would you look at me, hon? Pam?”

The Rogue didn’t react, her vacant eyes staring past Harley with the lifelessness of a doll.

“Oh, Pam,” Harley murmured, pulling Ivy into a tight hug. Her voice wavered with both determination and sadness. “I’ll fix ya. I promise.”

Tim thought it was stupid of Harley to give promises she couldn’t keep. Then he screamed.

A vine had slithered up his ankle, tightening its grip like a living shackle.

“What the fuck?!” Jason shouted, pulling a wrench from somewhere in his jeans. He froze, however, unsure whether it was wise to strike the sentient plant. His voice was sharp with urgency as he called out, “Harley!”

Tim's heart pounded wildly, each beat echoing in his ears. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think clearly. His mind was unraveling, turning to mush. Every breath grew shallower, more labored, as his knees buckled beneath him.

He collapsed, his body trembling as more vines coiled around him, constricting and draping over his limbs like heavy chains.

“Harley!” Jason shouted, his voice laced with panic.

Tim barely registered the tugging at his arms before they went completely numb, the sensation quickly spreading to the rest of his body. Darkness edged at the corners of his vision.

“He hurt my babies,” whispered a voice from the leaves, soft and cold as a hiss of wind. Tim’s stomach twisted in realization—he had burned the vines yesterday while freeing Jason.

“HARLEY!” Jason’s roar cut through the growing chaos, filled with desperation.

Tim’s vision blurred, the world around him fading into a shapeless fog. His hearing dulled, the sounds of Jason’s shouts and the rustling plants growing faint and distant. His body felt like it was slipping away, consumed by the relentless grip of the vines.

“Pam, stop! He’s a good kid! Pam!”

The voice from the leaves whispered again, chilling and calm. “He hurt my babies. He must pay.”

Suddenly, a loud horn blared, slicing through the tension, and then—everything went black.

Chapter Text

Tim felt cold—bone-deep, numbing cold. His body was unresponsive, as if he were trapped in a block of ice. Even his thoughts moved sluggishly, crawling through a haze of nothingness.

Gradually, muffled voices broke through the fog. One was worried, tense, while the other was unnervingly upbeat. The worried voice softened over time, while the upbeat one grew louder and more insistent, tugging him toward awareness.

Then warmth flooded over him, enveloping him like a cocoon. It was so blissfully comforting that if he could, Tim would have cried.

He tried to open his eyes but saw only darkness. He knew he should be alarmed, but he wasn’t. The warmth melted away every other thought, and Tim let himself drift, surrendering to the sensation.

“Look! Relaxing, am I right? Catwoman knew a thing or two about these things!” the upbeat voice chirped, cutting through the haze as Tim’s hearing snapped into focus.

The next sensation hit him like a jolt—he could feel his body again. He was sitting on something slick and slithery, the texture unsettling against his skin. Something coiled tightly around his legs, arms, and neck. Ropes? No, not ropes—something alive.

“He’s good, Pam! Look! He’s just a kid! A nice one at that, all polite and shit!” The upbeat voice rang out again, clearer this time, and Tim finally recognized it—Harley.

Tim guessed he could check if the vision had returned. Slowly, he opened his eyes. What he saw made his heart skip a beat—he was trembling in Poison Ivy’s lap. She held him tightly, cradling him like an oversized teddy bear, except instead of ribbons, he was wrapped in sentient vines that pulsed faintly against his skin.

Jason stood nearby, nervously hovering close to Harley, who greeted Tim with a bright smile. “Hey, you’re awake!”

Tim tried to stand, but his legs wobbled beneath him, nearly giving out. He would’ve fallen if not for the vines, which gently lifted him upright, acting as makeshift green crutches. Only then did he notice Harley’s neon purple jacket draped over his shoulders, its warmth a small comfort against the surreal scene.

Ivy watched him intently, her emerald eyes unblinking. Tim shivered, his body betraying him with a sudden chill. Odd—hadn’t it been stiflingly hot just a few hours ago?

“Nope, nope! You’re not going anywhere until that toxin’s cleared out,” Harley declared, her tone equal parts stern and playful. Before Tim could protest, she gently pushed him back toward Ivy’s embrace—if it could even be called that. Hugs? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“Wha—” Tim croaked, his voice weak and unsteady. He wasn’t exactly up for talking, but he tried anyway.

Harley chuckled, her grin as bright as ever. “Sorry, hon, you’re a sweet cookie, but I ain’t cuddling you in this weather. Besides, ya seem to be doin’ wonders calming Pam.”

Tim had his doubts about the last fact, even if Ivy’s hands robotically clutched him the second he was pushed into her arms.

“You okay?” asked Jason worriedly. “You got a dose of one of the Ivy’s toxins.”

“Cold,” Tim mumbled, letting go of his struggle and sinking into his third hug in his life—his second in the last twenty-four hours. Wait, Ivy had hugged him twice now. Huh. Rogues of Gotham: 3, his parents: 0, and the acrobat from his childhood (who was, realistically, probably dead by now): 1.

Tim flinched as he felt something warm on his elbows. Looking down, he saw Jason rubbing his arms with a furrowed brow.

Tim wanted to say that it wasn’t necessary, even it was really nice, but he still felt too floaty for such a long phrase. Though, at least he could somewhat move now, even if a bit slow.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay now. She won’t hurt you. Harley explained it wasn’t your fault. It’s all on the stupid Bat,” Jason said, his voice gruff but oddly reassuring.

Tim nodded faintly, letting the words sink in. It was a relief, knowing the vines curling nearby weren’t planning to tighten around his throat. Even so, he couldn’t quite shake the tension in his chest. It wasn’t exactly easy to trust anything or anyone lately—not after everything he’d been through.

Still, for now, he let himself believe Jason.

Ivy’s grip on Tim tightened, the vines coiling around him with a sudden, almost possessive strength. “Not Batman,” she rasped, her voice raw and jagged, as though unused to speech.

“Pam, it was him,” Harley countered, her tone softer but firm. “He even hurt the kids, the bastard. You saw what he did.”

Ivy caught Harley’s hand and tugged. “Not Batman.”

“Pam—”

“The Court will fall,” whispered the leaves.

Tim’s breath hitched.

“Who’s gonna fall?” cocked her head Harley.

“The Court of Owls,” said Tim numbly. “You know about the Court!”

For the first time Ivy looked Tim straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Court of Owls? Did some owls get caught in a fight or something?” asked Harley in confusion.

Tim let out a hysterical laugh. “You can say that.”

“Do you mean the Court from the children’s lullaby?” slowly asked Jason. 

Yes. The one who steal little kids, murder parents, murder parents' butlers, drive said parents insane and declare a hunt for little boys, making them hide in the sewers and wait for their death that should come any minute of their existence. 

Instead of answering, Tim tucked himself closer to Ivy, pressing his face into her shoulder.

He felt the weight of fear that had been building up for so long suddenly collapse onto him. He had been brave, pushing through day after day, never letting himself truly feel the terror gnawing at his gut. But now, in this moment, all the fear came rushing in.

He was exhausted—so utterly drained. The constant vigilance, the paranoia that anyone could be watching, anyone could be a spy for the Court of Owls. Every conversation, every interaction could be a trap. The world felt like it was closing in around him.

But Ivy couldn’t be working for the Court. If she were, she would never have mentioned them, especially not so openly. The Court was a shadow, a secret society that only ever revealed itself when it was ready to strike. Ivy had spoken of them, yes, but that meant she wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t a threat. She was safe. She was someone who could listen, if nothing else. Maybe even help.

And if Ivy was safe, so was Harley. Jason?..

“Safe,” whispered the leaves, a gentle breeze stirring through his hair, the scent of something soft and calming in the air.

Tim felt his body relax ever so slightly as Ivy's hand brushed his hair. For a moment, just a moment, he let himself believe it.

“So what the fuck with the birds?” asked Harley.

“The Court will fall.”

“Pam, hon, I have a doctorate, I got that part the first time. What I didn’t get is, the fuck that’s supposed to mean?”

“There’s an evil organization that controls Gotham,” Tim said quietly, pulling away from Ivy just enough so the others could hear him clearly. “They call themselves the Court of Owls. They control Gotham from the shadows.”

Ivy nodded.

“Oh! How do you know, kid?” Harley asked cheerfully, clearly pleased that one of the children was opening up, especially about something Ivy struggled to communicate. “Do tell!”

Tim paused for a moment, then said flatly, “My parents are dead.”

“Oh.”

Harley’s voice softened with a tinge of guilt.

Harley’s voice softened with a tinge of guilt.

“My stepfather now is Bruce Wayne,” Tim added unconsciously, the words spilling out of habit, and immediately he winced, regretting it.

“Oh shit,” Harley responded quickly. Tim braced himself for the usual spiel about how lucky he was to have a rich father, but instead, Harley caught him off guard. “Em. Oh, I wanted to pay my respects to Brucie. Died so young. So sad. That shopping day Red made him give us was one of the best—”

Tim stopped listening, his mind crashing into the overwhelming reality of Bruce’s death.

“Hello? Anybody there?” called Harley, but Tim wasn’t answering. His mind was busy screaming.

He hadn’t checked the newspapers in weeks, ever since he discovered that everything—every outlet, every form of communication—was under the Court’s control. The police, the city’s leaders, they all danced to the Court’s tune. But for Bruce to be dead—

Surely, Bruce could have faked his death, but why?.. What for?

One more thing.

If Bruce was really dead, then who was the Batman they had seen the other day?

Tim was shaken lightly. “Kid, I’m sorry I mentioned your parents,” Harley whined. “I get it, they’re why you know about the bird baddies. Can you please unfreeze now? I’ll give you more peanuts!”

“Don't be sorry. They were... I knew the Court was there even before their deaths,” Tim said, his voice eerily calm. “Well, not that it was the Court of Owls exactly, but that it was something dangerous. I noticed the signs while I was searching for… for a lost boy. I saw the patterns with children going missing right before they should’ve been placed in foster care. I noticed the connections in the deaths of powerful people in Gotham. I knew there was something. Just wasn’t sure.”

Tim cast his eyes down.

"I told my parents about it. Told them it's not save. Begged them, actually."

“This doesn’t really sound like a story with a nice ending.”

Tim fully turned away from Ivy, looking at Harley and Jason. He said blankly, "I tried to warn my parents. They didn’t listen. In fact, they scolded me for wasting their time in front of a gala crowd, accused me of being 'pitiful' and 'unworthy of the title of a Drake,’ and ‘just a clueless child,’ then left me there, alone, as they went home. A few hours later, they died—on their plane to another one of their digging sites at the other end of the world. Just like I warned them they would.”

That day’s events were seared into the back of Tim’s eyelids.

“It wasn’t the first time they pulled something like that on me for daring not to be the little robot playing by their manual for a perfect heir. They always dismissed me—treated me like an inconvenience. A piece of furniture to ignore until it disrupted their lives or looked unpresentable. Then it was time to ‘give a lesson to remember.’ Afterward? Back to ignoring me until the next ‘unfortunate incident.’

I’d suspected for a long time they didn’t see me as their child. Maybe not even as human. But that day, their indifference didn’t just backfire on them—it backfired on the entire high society of Gotham. If they’d only listened… if they’d left Gotham and called for help…”

Tim paused, drawing in a shaky breath.

It hurt. He had been bitter. Angry. But… they were still his parents. Until the very end, he had wanted them to care. To love him, the way parents do in the stories.

“That gala was at Wayne Manor,” Tim said quietly. “Bruce Wayne saw me there. He… he let me stay with him.”

He had turned out to be Batman. He’d promised to help with the Court.

But he’d broken that promise.

And now, he was dead, too.

“Yep. Not a fun story,” said Harley. 

“The Court will fall,” Ivy declared, this time speaking directly. Her green eyes settled on Tim, unblinking. “Help?”

Tim hesitated, then nodded. “I can help.”

“Goodie!” Harley clapped her hands, her cheerfulness snapping back like a rubber band. “Do we have a plan? I’m ready to start!”

“You’re crazy,” Jason muttered, rubbing his temples.

Harley giggled, twirling a pigtail with one finger. “You’re just noticing that now?”

Chapter Text

Something screeched above them. Tim barely had time to process the sound of wrenched metal before one of Gotham’s camera-drones crashed to the ground. Its light flickered and died, the lens darkened. A bulbous, sinewy flower writhed on its shattered remains. Ivy must have fired off one of her parasitic plants, dismantling the drone with frightening efficiency.

“What the hell!” Harley screamed, jumping back. “I didn’t see any of these shits following us!”

“What the hell!” screamed Harley. “I didn’t see any of these shits following us!”

If Tim were superstitious, he would say that their talking about the Court had attracted unwelcomed attention, much like the name of the evil villain did in the Harry Potter books.

“Where there’s one of those, there soon will be many!” Jason yelled, his voice sharp with urgency. “We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

Tim scrambled away from Ivy, managing to stand for the first time since the ordeal began. For a fleeting moment, he felt a spark of triumph—his legs were holding.

Then, it hit him.

A wave of cold, sharp and unnatural, slammed into him. The July heat felt like a distant memory as the chill spread through his body, seizing his muscles and draining his strength.

Tim gasped and fell to his knees. His body was getting numb.

Harley’s mallet swung down, smashing another camera drone just above Tim’s head. The debris clattered to the ground as she caught Tim by the arm, and a strange, immediate warmth seemed to steady him.

“You’re still shaking off Pam’s little beauties, so stick close for now,” Harley said, casually batting away another drone with a practiced flick of her wrist. More of them buzzed overhead, an irritating swarm of mechanical mosquitos. “Thank fuck these ones don’t have guns!”

“There are armed ones too,” suppled Tim, who new Batman’s new arsenal intimately. Even if Bruce was dead, someone else was in the suit, using every piece of that technology. His stomach twisted at the thought. “These drones are just searchers. The cavalry will show up soon since they’ve found us. It’ll either be heavier machinery or—

“The Bat. FUCK!” screamed Harley, yanking Tim closer with one arm while smashing another drone with the mallet in her other hand. “We gotta go, Pam!"

Jason was on his way out, but Poison Ivy didn’t move. Harley lurched at her, “Pam!”

One of her hands was busy with her weapon, the other — with a child. Tim was a problem.

Now knowing what awaits him, Tim bit his lip and untangled himself from Harley.

“Kid!”

Tim made an unsteady step back. The world around was getting fuzzy, but if he locked his knees and tried not to fall, he could still walk. “I’m okay, Harley! You can’t get distracted. I’ll follow Jason.”

“Wait, you stupid little idiot!” said Harley, kicking a drone that was flying at idle Ivy. “Pam? Pam, hon? Let's go, Pam!”

Harley insistently tugged Ivy by the hand.

“Must stay,” whispered the leaves.

“Why the fuck, Pam!”

“Wait for him. Have been waiting for him, long. Again and again. Can’t catch. Have to wait. Want to give a present.” The last word sounded almost as Ivy from before. It made Harley hesitate.

Tim didn’t know how Ivy had found out about the Court. She could have discovered them if she had been trying to catch Batman for her revenge, but she had said, “It wasn’t Batman.” Yet now, she wanted to give Batman a present. The present could have been Tim himself if Ivy knew who both Batman and the random kid dragged by Harley really were, but it didn’t seem like it. Ivy didn’t do anything to stop Tim from fleeing, focusing only on her “waiting.”

A fragile hope fluttered in Tim’s chest. Was… was Bruce really under someone’s control? Had someone forced him to fake his death, making it easier to manipulate Batman? Could…

Could Ivy do something about it?

Could Tim get at least one person he cared about back?

Someone caught Tim by the elbow, and the coldness washed away, bringing back a sharp clarity.

Ivy now had Harley’s hand in hers, staring at her with an intensity that made Harley momentarily still. They stood just a few feet away from Tim.

But Jason was closer. He had come back and was now pulling Tim away, his grip firm and insistent.“We’ll be okay! Harley, do your thing!” yelled the older by. “I know places in Gotham where to hide!”

“We will find you,” murmured the leaves, their whisper brushing past Tim like a ghostly promise.

Harley hesitated, torn between the urge to follow and the bond pulling her toward Ivy. But loyalty to an old friend triumphed. “Don’t ya fucking dare die, or I’ll find ya, and ya’ll be very sorry!” she shouted after them. 

“Roger!” Jason yelled back without missing a beat, his grip tightening on Tim’s arm. “Come on, move!”

With someone’s warmth against his skin, Tim found the strength to run. A pathetic part of him longed to stay, just for a chance to see, maybe even one last time, the person who had promised to be a father to him. But he wasn’t a child anymore, not one to believe in fairy tales. He made the choice to be sane, to be responsible. So, he followed Jason, his footsteps quickening as they fled into the dark streets of Crime Alley, leaving the screeching sound of twisting metal behind them.

Jason wasn’t joking when he said he knew how to hide. Tim thought he knew Gotham fairly well, but the narrow, strange passages Jason led them through were unlike anything he’d seen. Jason must have been incredibly unlucky to be caught by the?fake? Batman that day. 

As they stopped to take a breather, Jason nervously asked Tim, “Are you okay? Did the weird cold thing go away?”

Tim performed an experiment and tugged his hand out of Jason’s. There was no numbness.

“I guess it did,” said Tim.

“Good,” grumbled Jason. “Let’s go.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get away from the drones if we separated?” asked Tim.

“And know you’re gonna die after a minute or two? Hard pass,” huffed Jason, leading the way toward the Marina—the harbor area of Gotham, where most people were extremely poor and lived on boats.

“First of all, I’m not weak. I can take care of myself,” Tim said, his tone sharp. “Second, even if I were, what’s it to you?”

“First of all—sure you do,” hummed Jason, ducking under a bridge. “Secondly, I give the same amount of fucks you gave when you didn’t walk away and instead helped me that first time.”

Jason said this with such a straight face, like what he was saying was the most obvious thing in the world. Tim, on the other hand, felt himself blush.

It felt awkward. Tim did save the teen, but he had been operating on the “people need to be saved” basis, not thinking about the “someone owes me their life” basis, which seemed to be Jason's current mindset.

It was strange, but weirdly nice of Jason. Though he really shouldn’t have, so Tim told him exactly that.

"It's okay. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to help me. I know you don't feel comfortable with all this crazy mess, and I’m not exactly nice company, so it’s really fine if you just go."

Jason stopped, but didn’t turn back to Tim, still looking forward. “The fuck?” he said.

Tim winced. He really did suck at social interactions. “I said…”

“Get the fuck down!”

Jason yanked Tim down just as a brick crashed where his head had been mere seconds ago.

A female figure in a purple cape landed next to the two boys. The person looked young, and so was her voice as she raised her mask at the boys and said. “Oh crap.”

There were screams from the roof the girl just dived down from.

Chapter Text

Several things happened in quick succession.

Tim grabbed the fallen brick, already mid-swing toward the girl, when Jason intercepted, catching his arm in the air.

“Whoa, whoa! It’s fine!” Jason exclaimed. “It’s Spoiler! She’s a cape, but she’s not with the Bat!”

The girl—Spoiler—blinked in recognition, her wide eyes darting between the two boys. “Crap, Jason! What the hell happened to your face?” she blurted.

The Spoiler girl was talking fast, her words spilling out between heavy breaths, the kind people usually take after hours of running or fighting. Clearly, she’d either been chasing someone or fleeing for her life.

“Life happened, what else,” Jason grumbled, his tone as sharp as the glare he shot her way. “Not just to the face, either.”

Something like an engine roared on the bridge above, so loud that it sent ripples across the river’s surface. The sound grew closer, a deep, mechanical growl that made the air vibrate.

Without warning, Spoiler grabbed both boys and yanked them against the wall of the bridge. Tim’s head smacked into the rough concrete, stars bursting in his vision.

“What the fuck was that for?!” Jason hissed angrily at her, rubbing the back of his head.

"Quiet!" Spoiler hissed, her voice sharp with urgency. "Before he—"

A loud metallic click echoed in the air.

The roar of a propulsion system followed, and in the next instant, the hulking figure of Batman landed with a thud near them. His imposing suit gleamed under the dim light, the white lenses of his cowl scanning their hiding spot with unnerving precision.

The children froze, and Spoiler let out a small, panicked squeak. "Crap!"

“You shouldn’t disturb the system. You must follow orders for the better future of the city,” declared Batman, his voice cold and mechanized.

Then he lunged.

There was no hesitation, no pause to assess; his gaze briefly flickered over shocked Tim before dismissing him and Jason as insignificant. His primary target was Spoiler.

“Fuck you, control freak!” Spoiler snarled, hurling a small device at him. It detonated on impact with the metal armor, releasing a burst of smoke and sparks. The explosion barely made him stagger.

Jason yanked Tim to the right, pulling him out of the immediate danger zone. Spoiler darted in the opposite direction, drawing the mechanical menace toward her and away from the boys. 

“Wasn’t he supposed to be with Ivy and Harley?!” Jason hissed, practically dragging Tim, who had gone uncharacteristically still.

Tim’s feet barely responded, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and the surreal sight of that Batman.

“Dude, come on! Move your legs!” Jason snapped, frustration clear in his voice. “What’s wrong with you? You’re gonna get killed!”

A grappling hook nearly snagged Spoiler’s shoulder, and the following ninja star struck her arm. The girl neither screamed nor faltered. Instead, she darted around Batman, deftly evading his reach, and aimed for his back. Her attacks weren’t meant to harm but to distract, leading him further away from the boys. She maneuvered toward the center of the bridge, a precarious space with limited footing due to the river below. It was a deliberate choice—an area where the taller and heavily armored Batman would find it harder to maintain an advantage.

Tim’s heart pounded with dread, a cold fear gripping him. He desperately hoped Batman’s presence didn’t mean one of the Rogues they’d left behind was dead. He fought hard to push away the horrifying thought that either the monster in front of them was Bruce, twisted into something unrecognizable, or worse—that this thing had murdered Bruce and stolen his identity to plunge the city into chaos.

One thing was for sure. As Tim snapped back into focus and started running, his resolve hardened. Whatever was now wearing the Batman suit, it was not his adopted father. It might have been foolish, with no proof to back it up, but Tim refused to believe that the man from his memories would mercilessly hunt down teenage girls, shoot at innocent civilians, or knock around homeless kids.

There was a sound, and Tim stopped, glancing behind. Spoiler was fighting back fiercely, but she was on her last leg, growing sloppier with every move. She threw a projectile at her attacker, but it ricocheted off the metal suit. What caught Tim's attention, however, was the sound of the collision. Yes, Batman’s new suit was metal, thick and heavy, but even so, it shouldn't have sounded like that.

It shouldn’t have sounded like there was no human inside.

Spoiler was losing, her movements growing slower and less precise with each strike. She wasn’t fast or strong enough to overpower the machine. Jason skidded to a halt, his eyes darting from Tim to Spoiler, to Batman, and back again.

Tim’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of information at lightning speed.

If there was no one inside the suit—if it was just a machine—then maybe, just maybe, he had a plan.

The younger boy darted back toward the fighting vigilantes just as a metal fist struck Spoiler, sending her sprawling to the ground. Without hesitation, Tim launched himself like a cannonball, slamming into Batman’s midsection. The impact didn’t even stagger the machine.

With mechanical precision, the robot grabbed Tim by the shoulders, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. The grip was unrelenting, its strength enough to bruise.

“Leave him alone!”

A second cannonball—Jason—slammed into Batman, with equally underwhelming results. The mechanical giant didn’t even flinch.

“Put him into the river!” screamed Tim.

"Inefficient," declared the mechanized voice.

There was something unnerving about it—not completely devoid of emotion, but unnatural in its inflection. From the first encounter with this twisted version of Batman, the voice had always carried an eerie facsimile of humanity. But now, it was laced with something sharper—disappointment.

The sound cut through Tim like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, stirring an instinctive urge to retreat, to hide somewhere dark and safe.

But he couldn’t.

Not now.

“Jason, duck!” screamed Spoiler as a shot to the chest made Batman stagger back a step.

The robot paused, recalibrating, its mechanical limbs straightening with an ominous hiss.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Tim took advantage of the moment, planting his dangling feet against the wall of the bridge. With a burst of desperate determination, he pushed off, using the momentum to hurl both himself and the hulking Batman suit over the edge and into the dark, churning waters of the river.

From the moment Tim launched his first attack, his fingers had been searching frantically, blindly, until they closed around a small switch embedded in Batman’s utility belt. It was a desperate gamble—hoping the control device was still there, hoping it hadn’t been replaced or reprogrammed. But luck was on his side.

As they plunged into the cold, murky river, the sheer weight of the metal suit dragged them down fast. Tim didn’t hesitate. He pressed the switch, praying it would do what he needed.

A jolt. Sparks erupted from the joints of the suit, illuminating the water for a brief, eerie second before the river swallowed the light. The robotic body seized violently, its descent accelerating as it powered down and became lifeless.

Tim kicked desperately, struggling against the current and the suit's relentless pull.

The electric shock coursed through Tim as well, momentarily stealing his breath and setting every nerve alight. But it achieved what he’d hoped—the mechanical hands gripping him released, slackening as the lifeless suit sank further into the murky depths.

Tim kicked frantically, fighting the weight of the water pulling him down. His lungs burned as he struggled upward, but he had only managed to rise a few feet before his movements slowed. He probably should have planned this better.

The realization hit him hard, almost as much as the water filling his mouth and nose: he wasn’t going to make it. The surface seemed impossibly far away, shimmering tauntingly above him. His limbs felt leaden, the current dragging at his weakened body.

A grappling hook sliced through the water, just within reach. Tim’s desperate hands grasped it, and he quickly wrapped the line around his torso, pulling with every ounce of strength he had left. The rope tightened, and he was yanked upward, propelled toward the surface.

With a final surge of effort, Tim broke through the water, coughing violently as he gasped for air. His body was heavy with exhaustion, but the pull of the line dragged him toward the shore, and he collapsed onto the cold ground, trembling and soaked.

“That was fucking bananas, kid! How did you do that?” Spoiler yelled, pulling Tim out of the water.

Tim almost said, I’m Batman’s adoptive son, I know his tricks, but managed to bite his tongue in time. If Bruce was alive and still out there somewhere, revealing family secrets wouldn’t be nice of Tim.

The water behind them splashed, and a mechanical voice reverberated, “Inefficient.”

Tim yanked his feet out of the water and pressed the switch. This time, he wasn’t afraid of frying himself along with the robot, so he pushed the button until the entire river sparkled with lightning, Spoiler shielding the boys with her cape.

After a while, everything finally stopped. Tim forced his fingers to release the switch and then pressed it again, and this time nothing happened. No electricity. No figure surfaced from the river.

The switch was meant to help with Ivy's plants and other situations where a brief, full-suit shock could help escape a trap. It was powered by the suit, so... no more shocks meant no more power in the suit.

And no more fake Batman. Hopefully.

“Jesus. Christ. On the fucking. Bike,” breathed Spoiler. “Who the fuck are you, kid?”

Maybe the short lack of oxygen was at fault, maybe it was the electricity. Either way, without thinking, Tim hastily said, “My name is Inigo Montoya.”

Spoiler looked at him weirdly. Oh, she probably saw the film.

“Weren’t you Columbo?” said Jason drily.

Oh fuck.

Tim had officially fucked up.

Spoiler groaned, “I’m too tired for all of this. Jay, can you help me to my bike? It's on the bridge.”

“Can you even ride a bike?” asked Jason, but still helped the girl to stand.

“Not legally,” snorted Spoiler and then hissed and grabbed her head, “Ow, ow, ow.”

Tim realised that she was actually grabbing her ear. There probably was an earpiece. Come to think of it, there was no way a teenager could be a vigilante without some sort of extra support.

As Jason put the girl’s hand over his shoulder and started walking, Spoiler was wincing, keeping silent, a hand pressed to her ear. It looked like somebody was screaming something at her via a radio.

Tim then noticed one of the things Spoiler used as throwing weapons. He bent down and picked it. The design was very familiar.

They hauled Spoiler to her bike. By this time, he girl had started to snap back at her mysterious benefactor, looking very pissed.

Jason tugged Tim by his hoodie, signing with his fingers that they should go. Tim nodded. They really should better go to find Harley and Ivy.

Spoiler swore yet again and yelled at her earpiece. “All right! All right! Geez.”

Then she stared at Tim, angrily. “You.”

“What?” asked Tim, not understanding what did he do wrong. Then he flinched. Did her mentory figure made the connection that Tim was associated with Batman? Now, when at least one version of that horror was gone (Tim wasn’t sure if there weren’t any more copies of the thing), did they want to take Tim to prison?

Tim took a step back. The police were still heavily corrupted by the Court. He couldn’t go there. Tim was about to dart, when Spoiler caught him and wrenched to her bike.

“You're coming with me now,” said the vigilante.

“Spoiler, either you say what the fuck and let the pipsqueak go, or I’m tearing your tires now, and will do so also ever again I see any of your stupid bikes, cars, or whatever other stupid shit you might ever have,” threatened Jason with a too even voice.

Spoiler sighed dramatically, annoyed rather than worried. “Can you, like, come with us and say this exact threat to his father’s face, Jay?”

Jason frowned, while Tim brightly quipped, “Which of the dead ones?”

Chapter Text

After some protests, one bitten hand, and a completely law-breaking ride, the three of them ended up inside an abandoned clock tower.

Spoiler didn’t explain much, only that Tim’s dad—“not the dead-dead first dead one”—really wanted to see his son and would explain everything when he arrived. Then, the girl tore off her mask and collapsed onto the sofa in the center of the room. The space was so large it resembled a miniature concert hall.

It turned out she was blonde, with hair longer than Tim’s had ever been. Curling into a tight ball, she groaned, “I'm so beat. That creep’s been following me for hours!”

Tim glanced around. The stairs they’d climbed to reach the top of the tower were solid enough, with a functional ramp alongside them, but their dilapidated state suggested years of neglect. In stark contrast, the space they now stood in was polished and modern, a sharp, unexpected departure from the crumbling exterior.

The hall was illuminated by the soft glow of the clock face outside, overhead lamps, and the hum of a few dozen computers lining the far wall. The machines whirred loudly, their presence commanding attention. Nearby, snacks and bottles of water were scattered around the high-tech setup. When they had first entered, it only took one heavy glare from Jason for Spoiler to hastily shove both boys toward the provisions and then to a pile of pillows stacked along the wall.

Jason was halfway through his meal, tucking the other half into his pockets with practiced ease. Tim, on the other hand, stared forlornly at his share. He still didn’t feel like eating, even though he knew he needed to. Eventually, he forced himself to nibble on a few crackers and drained two bottles of water. He felt sleepy, the world going fuzzy at the edges.

“So,” Jason began, his voice low. “How does Bruce Wayne know Steph?”

“Steph?” Tim blinked, exhaustion dulling his mind.

“Stephanie. Spoiler,” Jason said, nodding toward the now-snoring vigilante curled up on the sofa.

Tim frowned, uncertainty flickering across his face. He still wasn’t sure if he could reveal Batman’s secret identity, so he went with a half-truth. “I don’t know how he knows her. It probably happened recently… while he was dead.”

“Right,” Jason said flatly. “Dead. Any ideas how the fuck someone can be dead but not dead?”

“I don’t know,” Tim replied, suddenly more awake, a mix of embarrassment, humiliation, and guilt surging through him. “I didn’t even know when or how he died. Just that it happened sometime after he’d ignored me for months, doing who-knows-what without telling me anything.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know what he’d been doing for months? Your father lock you in your room or something?”

“Eh. No. He locked himself... (in a cave) in a basement and refused to let me in. Or talk to me.”

“Oh, must be tough for the family,” Jason said, his tone oddly neutral.

Tim winced. “He is the whole family. There’s nobody else.”

Jason frowned again, thinking. “So, if he was holed up in a basement all day and night, who was taking care of you?”

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Can we change the topic?” he asked quietly.

Jason gave a small nod, his face turning serious. “All right. But can I ask you one thing?”

Tim hesitated. “Okay?”

“This dude… the one who, on a whim, adopted you and then decided to completely ignore you.”

“When you put it like that—” Tim started, feeling a mix of defensiveness and unease.

“Did he...” Jason’s voice wavered, shaky with uncertainty. “Do anything to you? Anything that… you didn’t want?”

Tim froze, blinking as his brain stalled for a moment. Then, all at once, he erupted into hurried explanations. “No, no, he was fine! He was good! He talked to me every day, asked about the things I liked. His butler took care of me too—cooked all my favorite meals, made sure I went to sleep on time, took me places. They both… cared. It’s just…”

He trailed off, his voice faltering. “After... after a tragedy, he stopped doing all that.”

Tim dropped his gaze to the floor, avoiding Jason’s eyes, unwilling to see whatever expression was there.

“Sorry,” Jason said, his tone softer now. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. It’s just… you didn’t exactly look thrilled about seeing your suddenly undead father, and I got a little worried.”

“I don’t need coddling,” Tim huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not a child!”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what a child would say.”

Before Tim could fire back, Stephanie’s groggy voice cut through the air from the sofa. “I can kill Jay for both our sakes if he doesn’t shut up soon enough.”

“Ha-ha,” Jason deadpanned, not even glancing her way. “Very scary. I’m trembling in fear.”

Spoiler childishly stuck out her tongue before flopping back onto the sofa, her face buried in a pillow. Her voice came out muffled but still teasing. “You frown too much. You’ll get wrinkles before you hit puberty.”

“Excuse you!” Jason gasped, feigning outrage. “I already hit it!”

“Oh, really? Where’s your mighty beard, then, oh wise senior one?”

Jason grabbed the pillow he’d been sitting on and marched toward the sofa. “You’re younger than me!” he declared, swinging the pillow down at her.

Spoiler giggled at that and dodged.

“Didn’t you want to sleep?” asked Jason as he swung the pillow down. 

“Not anymore, thanks to you!” Spoiler shot back, twisting out of the way.

“Sucks to be you!” Jason retorted with a grin, shifting to aim another swing.

Tim watched them goof around, a flicker of amusement passing over his face before a question surfaced in his mind. “Stephanie?”

“Yeah?” Steph replied, just as Jason finally landed a soft thwack with the pillow, making her yelp.

“Oof!” she muttered, swatting him away.

“You’re a vigilante?” Tim asked cautiously, his brow furrowed.

Steph paused mid-swipe and shot him a wry grin. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

Tim ignored her teasing tone and asked, more seriously, “Why did you become a vigilante?”

The smile vanished from Stephanie’s lips. “I did it to find the assholes who lobotomized my good-for-nothing pops. Good enough reason for you?”

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain. “I just… even before I met Bruce, I was searching for someone. I sometimes wondered if it would’ve been easier if I’d become a vigilante too. Fighting for justice. And for revenge.”

“Nah, I’m not really the revenge-type girl,” Stephanie said, shaking her head with a frown. “Honestly, I kind of wanted to send a thank-you card to the guys who lobotomized my pops. But then they decided my mom was next on their hit list, and, well… things got personal. That’s how all this ‘catching the ill-minded and their associates’ craziness started. I love my mom, after all. Guess that’s something Jay and I have in common—shitty-as-hell dads and okay-ish moms.”

Jason grinned.

Stephanie hummed. “I never really wanted to fix the past or anything. When I started, it was more about what I could do for the future—my future. I’m selfish like that. And you know what? I don’t think it’s a bad thing. So before you even think about giving me lectures on my decisions, save it. I’ve already gotten plenty of that crap from the hypocrite Mr. Broody.”

“He won’t give you any grief, he’s cool,” said Jason the same time Tim said “I won’t, I’m the last person who can judge people on their questionable decisions.”

Stephanie giggled. “Okay, I trust you.”

“Cool. Ehm,” said Tim. “How do you know…” Did she mean Bruce or Batman, when she said ‘dad’? Oh to hell with it. “How do you now my…my dad.”

“I don’t, really,” shrugged Stephanie.

“Isn’t he your mentor?” pressed Tim. 

“Nah. My mentor is the cool lady who owns this place. Your old man just barged in our line, when I was fighting with the crazy robot, and then he started screaming orders, like he typically does when he visits or finds me on the patrol.”

“Oh. I see.”

Stephanie whistled. “Speak of the Devil.”

Tim whipped his head around, looking behind him, then toward the door they’d come through, and finally scanning the room. But Bruce was nowhere to be seen. Confused and a little on edge, he opened his mouth to ask Stephanie what she meant when a familiar, gravelly voice rumbled from above, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t antagonize Timothy.”

Tim froze, his heart pounding. The voice was unmistakable. Bruce.

“Wasn’t dreaming about it,” huffed Spoiler, crossing her arms.

A shadow fell nearby, long and unmistakable, the familiar outline of a cape. But this wasn’t the monstrous metal suit that had haunted Tim earlier. This was different—plain, practical, and unmistakably human.

Tim’s breath caught in his throat as the figure stepped forward into the light.

It was Bruce.

Flesh and blood.

The man rushed toward Tim, reaching out.

But Tim took a sharp step back, his entire body trembling. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed, his voice cracking, raw with emotion.

Bruce’s outstretched hand faltered midair.

Stephanie moved swiftly, stepping between Tim and Bruce with Jason right beside her, their presence forming an unyielding barrier.

“Nuh-uh, think again,” said Spoiler, her voice sharp and unwavering.

Jason hissed something far less diplomatic, something about chopping Bruce’s head off if he so much as thought about trying anything funny.

Bruce stopped in his tracks, his gaze darting between the three of them. Even with the cowl masking part of his face, Tim could see it—the flicker of shock, the hesitation, and then... hurt.

He looked hurt.

How dare he.

How dare he look hurt after... after everything. After disappearing without a word. After shutting Tim out, leaving him to flounder and piece together the shards of his own world while Bruce played whatever twisted, secretive game he had been so obsessed with.

Tim clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, grounding him against the wave of emotions threatening to consume him.

Bruce glanced at Jason and Stephanie, before looking back at the younger boy, “Tim. Chum…” he said in a raw, gutted voice.

How dare he.

Tim couldn’t take it.

“Don’t call me that!” Tim yelled, his voice shrill with fury. His face, flushed red, twisted in a mixture of anger and betrayal. “You don’t get to call me that!”

Bruce froze, his mouth parting, but no words came.

Tim’s sharp little voice pressed on, each word landing like a blow. “Why did you fake your own murder and not tell me?”

“I didn’t fake anything,” Bruce said, carefully, as if trying not to startle a wounded animal.

Tim glared, his eyes bright and accusing. “Then you look suspiciously well for a zombie.” 

The room fell into silence. Jason shifted uncomfortably, while Stephanie crossed her arms, her gaze darting between Bruce and Tim.

Tim’s anger wavered, replaced by something smaller, something rawer. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Where were you?”

Bruce didn’t answer. 

“All this time,” Tim said, his words soft but piercing. “When I was all alone in your other house. When I didn’t have anyone to help me, and I was so hungry I chased rats. When Ivy’s plants caught me, and I couldn’t get away. When that... that thing hurt me, and it was wearing your face.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Tim pressed on, his voice growing louder, shaking with emotion.

Bruce’s broad shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of Tim’s words. His voice, when it finally came, was soft, almost pleading. “Tim… I never wanted to leave you. I thought…” He faltered, then started again. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Tim laughed hysterically, the sound raw and uneven, echoing through the clock tower. He knew he was scaring Bruce, could see it in the man’s subtle expression, but he couldn’t stop. The laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, spilling over like water from a broken dam.

“Worked like a charm, huh?” Tim managed between gasps, gesturing at himself. His clothes hung awkwardly on his thin frame, his eyes hollow and ringed with exhaustion. “And what’s with you calling yourself my… my dad? Oh, but wait, that checks out.” His voice pitched higher, cracking under the weight of his words. “They left me. You left me too. Of course! How silly of me not to see the connection.”

Bruce looked stricken, his usually composed demeanor cracking at the edges, but Tim couldn’t stop. The haze of insomnia, exhaustion, and the flood of emotions from everything he’d endured broke his restraint completely. His words spilled out in a furious, trembling cascade.

“When my parents were alive, by the time I saw the danger crawling over to them I wasn't even asking them to love me anymore,” Tim said, his voice raw and uneven. “I just… wanted them to be. To be there. With me. So that... So that I wouldn't feel so dreadfully lonely.” He paused, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. His voice broke as he continued, “And you promised me that. You promised you’d never leave. And then you broke that promise.”

“I’m sorry, chum,” Bruce said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fuck you!” Tim spat, the venom in his words surprising even himself. His small fists clenched at his sides, shaking with emotion.

“Oh, the F-bomb,” Stephanie remarked, her tone light but her expression wary as she glanced between the boy and the towering man.

“Stephanie, please,” Bruce said, his voice laced with desperation. 

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed as she gave Bruce a long, calculating stare. Then, with a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and resignation, she shrugged. “Okay. All right,” she said, turning to grab Jason by the arm. “We’re leaving you to your fiasco of a family moment, Mr. Broody.” She jabbed her finger firmly against the Bat-symbol on his chest, punctuating her next words. “Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”

Bruce gave a solemn nod, his face unreadable but his posture tense, as if the weight of her warning had settled heavily on his shoulders.

With that, Stephanie tugged a muttering, clearly annoyed Jason toward the exit. Their voices faded, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind them left an uncomfortable silence hanging in the room.

Tim stood rigid, his chest heaving from the force of his emotions, his small frame barely keeping it all in. Bruce, looming yet tentative, stayed rooted in place, the distance between them a chasm of broken trust and unspoken pain.

“Chum…” Bruce wetted his lips, his hands twitching as if they longed to reach for Tim, to check for injuries, to bridge the gap. But he stayed rooted in place, his cautious tone betraying the guilt that weighed on him. “How… how are you?”

Tim’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Oh, I’m just great! Just had a fun time being strangled by Ivy’s vines. Did you know they give amazing cuddles? Then, to top it all off, I nearly got myself killed shutting down a murder-bot Batman that I thought was you. So yeah, I’m so peachy we could open a lemonade stand. Peach-flavored, of course.”

Bruce looked physically pained, but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to care. The fury burning in his veins wouldn’t let him.

“What? No comments?” Tim spat, his glare unwavering.

Bruce hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for words. When he finally spoke, it was another weak, tentative, “Chum—”

“Don’t chum me!” Tim snapped, cutting him off. “What’s with the stupid robot anyway? Who builds a murder machine that looks like themselves? Were you just bored while you were pretending to be dead?”

Bruce sighed heavily, his voice calm but weighted. “That robot was my failsafe.”

“Your what?” Tim asked, incredulous.

“Failsafe. A contingency plan. A way for Batman to ensure he never strays from the right path.”

“Your ideas of the ‘right path’ are certainly… controversial.”

“Tim. Chum. Please. Let me explain myself. I know that I have… upset you. But please.”

Tim looked away. He was burning inside. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to cry. He wanted to break all those fancy computers until there was only dust. He felt so angry that he barely felt the hurt.

Bruce sighed again. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

“You, you should have noticed my high regard to Alfred. When he was killed, I, I lost it. I wanted to make Joker pay. I was... I believed I couldn't stop myself to not do it. I felt weak. So, I engaged a contingency plan. Failsafe to stop me from becoming a murderer.”

“The program operated based on my ideas that I had when I was starting as Batman. It was supposed to be impeccable. Safe. So I let it free reign as I tried to wrangle my emotions. It was my mistake.”

“The program that was launched turned out not to be the program that I created in the past. The ways that thing worked… Those were not my ideals. I realised that I was composed. I realised that… too late.”

Bruce looked Tim in the eyes. “I was held imprisoned in my own home.”

Tim felt sick.

"You mean. Ever since the cave was occupied by that suit… It wasn’t you?" 

Bruce nodded. “I escaped shortly after you ran away.”

“Oh,” said Tim. He didn’t’ know whether to feel good that all that wasn’t Bruce or bad that Tim didn’t notice a person was switched to a machine.

“I believe that the Court has damaged the program in my Failsafe. I was chasing them, making plans to expose them. I tried to contact help outside of Gotham.” That must be really bad if Bruce was willing to ask for help. “Unfortunately, I have had no access to the League's systems, neither could I contact any of the members, including Superman. With their civilian personas disappeared, it all painted an ugly picture of the Court taking control beyond Gotham.”

Bruce took a step forward. This time Tim didn’t retreat, yet had such a guarded expression on his face, that Bruce stopped and his hands dropped in defeat once again.

“Ever since, I’ve been trying to contact the outside world,” Bruce continued, his voice strained, “but those drones... they kept getting in the way. They always alerted the Court if anything seemed out of place. So I had to be cautious. But I kept searching for you, Tim. I did. I just couldn’t find you. And I was terrified. Terrified that if I did, it would only be to bury another body of someone I cared about.”

Bruce’s eyes were earnest, his voice full of desperation. “I promise you, I didn’t leave you. Not willingly. I didn’t forget you.”

Tim bit his lip, still wary. Despite the explanations, despite the apologies, something inside him remained untrusting. But at least it was reassuring to know that Bruce hadn’t abandoned him completely—that Tim hadn’t been the only one searching for answers about the Court.

Bruce continued, his tone softer now. “There is some good news, though. I may have broken one promise, but not the other.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite himself.

“I found Richard Grayson,” said Bruce.

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. “He’s alive?!” he exclaimed, stepping forward, his little hands instinctively gripping the dark cape. “You found him? Where is he?”

But Bruce’s silence hung between them like a heavy fog, and the hope in Tim’s chest began to flicker and fade. “He isn’t, is he?” Tim whispered, suddenly feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. “I should have known…”

Bruce sighed, a deep, exhausted sound. “It’s… complicated.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean, ‘complicated’?”

Bruce hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the floor before meeting Tim’s. “What do you know about the Court’s Talons… the ones made from kidnapped children?”

“They are turned into weapons,” Tim said, his voice cold and flat.

Bruce nodded gravely. “Yes. They die and are brainwashed, molded into assassins known as Talons. When the Court tried to get rid of me after I escaped…” He paused, his voice faltering. “They almost succeeded.”

Tim’s breath hitched, but he didn’t speak, waiting for Bruce to continue.

“They sent one of their Talons after me. I was injured, Tim. Badly. I could’ve died if not for…” Bruce hesitated, then slowly, gingerly, placed his hands over Tim’s small ones. His touch was tentative, as if afraid Tim might pull away. “If not for the Talon they sent after me. That child. He didn’t kill me.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “He refused the order?”

Bruce nodded, his expression pained. “Yes. He looked… confused. Torn. But he didn’t follow through. I was left injured, but alive. And when the Court assumed I’d died, I realized the boy hadn’t told them the truth. They acted as if I was gone for good.”

Tim frowned. “So, you stayed hidden… because of him?”

“Yes,” Bruce admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “I didn’t plan to fake my death, Tim. My death was declared for me. But I couldn’t risk revealing myself—not if it meant the boy would suffer for sparing me.”

Bruce’s grip on Tim’s hands tightened, his gaze searching. “Later, when I recovered enough to investigate, I found evidence. Enough to make me believe that the Talon I encountered—this child who defied the Court’s orders—was Richard Grayson.”

Tim’s breath caught. “Dick?” His voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and hope. “You’re sure it was him?”

“I can’t be entirely certain,” Bruce admitted. “But I believe it. The timing, the descriptions… it matches what we know about him.”

Tim’s heart twisted, a strange mix of joy and devastation swelling inside him. He felt a flicker of hope—a fragile, trembling thing—but hope nonetheless. All his work, all the pain he’d endured, hadn’t been in vain. Somewhere out there was the boy who had given Tim his first hug.

And maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to save him.

“Can we help him?” Tim’s voice cracked, and he hated how small and desperate he sounded.  Like he was begging.

Because that’s exactly what he was willing to do—to beg, to fight, to do anything it took to free Dick Grayson from the Court’s grasp.

“Of course, chum,” Bruce said, his voice warm and steady.

The man crouched down to Tim’s level, removing his cowl, exposing a face etched with weariness and regret. “I will do everything I can,” Bruce said firmly.

Then, hesitating for a moment, Bruce lifted a hand and gently cupped Tim’s cheek. The touch was light, uncertain, as though Bruce feared he’d scare Tim away.

Tim swallowed hard, his throat tight. His voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, “Okay.”

Bruce opened his mouth, ready to ask Tim to let him examine the boy’s injuries, when a voice interrupted from behind the door.

“Ehm. B?” Spoiler’s muffled voice called.

Bruce closed his eyes, drawing in a long, suffering sigh.

“B!” Spoiler yelled again, louder this time, as the door swung open.

“What,” Bruce growled, drawing out the word with measured irritation.

“There are vines breaking through the roof,” Spoiler announced, as if delivering the day’s weather report.

Bruce shot to his feet, his body instantly tense, alert. “Are we under attack?”

“More like the whole city is,” Jason said as he trotted in after Stephanie, his expression grim.

“What’s the status?” Bruce demanded, already moving to the nearest computer terminal.

Stephanie walked closer to the stained-glass window, squinting as she tried to make sense of the chaos outside. “Ivy’s vines are everywhere. Also…” Her voice trailed off, her tone shifting to one of confusion.

“What?” Bruce barked, spinning to face her.

“All the drones just… fell out of the sky,” she said, her bafflement clear.

Oh. So this was the present Ivy promised the false Batman?

The roof groaned.