Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The runts were normally killed. 

The weakest link, the frailest bird pushed from the nest, the sickly cubs abandoned or eaten. 

That was just nature.

Survival of the fittest, not Charles Darwin, not at first at least, but Herbert Spencer. He read about him when he got the books from the library. 

But wolves, no, no wolves didn’t abandon their pups. They cared for them, the mothers, the fathers, the entire pack. They loved their pups, no matter how sickly or how weak. No matter how misshapen or broken. They’d nurse them to their fullest strength, they’d mourn the runts when they eventually died from their weaknesses. 

Wolves were social creatures, they thrived on packs, and the bigger the pack, the better they’d all thrive. They say the strongest form of love was from that of a dog, well a wolf in this case. They didn’t judge you, they loved you unconditionally, with boundless loyalty and affection. 

He read about that too. The library had a lot of good books when he cared to look for some instead of using the library computers to print the pictures he took with his camera.

He ignored the section on werewolf biology and physiology.

Maybe he was just a bad dog. A bad wolf. A bad pup. His father always said he was a runt, too small, sickly, and weak. It was why they couldn’t bring him with them, he’d be in the way, nothing but a burden that would upend their important work. 

He was broken, rotten like a dying limb of a tree, something had to be wrong with him.

But it was okay because after his sins were laid bare on his flesh and bones, his father would always pat him on the head and say, “But it’s not an issue for us, now is it, son? Because you know to be good and always will be good for us, won’t you?” Cleansing his sins with a single touch, like the light driving out the darkness. He would. Of course, he would. Because his father always smiled when he nodded and agreed, ruffling his hair and laughing at the enthusiasm he was so rarely encouraged to show. 

So, no. No, he wasn’t a bad dog. He wasn’t a bad wolf or a bad pup. Just too small, just too sickly, just too weak. Broken and rotten. But his parents were gracious, and merciful, and still loved him despite all his faults.

That was unconditional love, wasn’t it? Despite his flaws, he was loved.

It was okay because his mother smiled whenever he was there to greet them at the door upon their return from their dig sites, she would pat his cheek and sniff him over once his father left the room, and her wrists were always covered by pretty gloves or expensive bracelets that looked too tight on her, but he always swore he could smell her scent even through them. He never asked, she always covered it naturally with those strong perfumes of hers, but sometimes that hint of a natural scent would linger on the collar of his shirt where she’d run her hand down until she was able to cup his shoulder and ask him to bring in their bags.

He wouldn’t wash the shirt for a week until the scent finally faded.

Maybe his parents weren’t wolves. 

Well, he knew his father wasn’t. Jack didn’t have that kind of scent to him, human scents were always so diluted or tainted. Thick from either the perfumes and colognes they wore or from whatever else they used to make them smell “good.” He always thought it just made them smell overwhelming, who would want to smell so strongly of chemicals and fake flowers?

His mother, no, she had to be a wolf. A werewolf. Because he was one too, he had to get it from someone. But she smelled like a human too, those rare times when her wrist would brush the collar of his shirt, while the natural freshness of her scent would linger, so would her perfume. It was always so strong, always made his nose crinkle and sneeze. 

He remembered the day he was three. He asked his mother, “Mama, why do you wear that?” His nose had crinkled, and he sneezed when a spritz of the perfume hit him in the face. He heard the twinkle of bells as she laughed at his expression. 

“Timothy, call me mother,” she had admonished him first, the slight drop in tone had been enough to make him wish he’d never spoken at all, but she answered his question benevolently all the same. “It’s important to practice good hygiene, Timothy. You don’t want to smell like a wet dog, now do you? I’ll teach you where you need to wear cologne once you’re older, dear. For now, remember to wear that pretty necklace I bought for you.”

“Yes, Ma–Mother.”

“Good boy, dear.”

He hated the colognes and the perfumes. They smelled bad, too rich, and it was even stronger than his father’s. The expensive one he wore during galas that he always told Tim was a real “lady killer.”

He believed him, it was a miracle his mother could even kiss him when he wore the stuff.

The necklace, however, wasn’t as bad. He’d even been allowed to pick it out. It was a little tight and made his neck itch, but his mother always smiled whenever she would use her nails to gently pull down the collar of his shirt to make sure he wore the little black chocker with painted ducks beneath his clothes.

He decided it was worth the rash. 

Besides, what was a little itch when he was finally allowed to attend a regular public school as long as he remembered to wear it like a priest wore a cross? Well, private school, but it wasn’t a boarding school anymore, and he took that as a huge win. Of course, it had taken months of well-placed begging over the phone that was vaguely disguised as proper debating with the same charm he’d seen his mother use against business partners when she wanted something from them.

Jack was pleasantly entertained by well-written letters he’d mail them from boarding school quarterly, right along with his report card, informing them personally of his academic success, and his teacher’s letters of recommendation of his advancement of a few grade levels. All with the vaguely hidden pleas in between the lines and at the end, highly regarding Gotham Prep’s academic courses. He agreed once Tim had asked directly one night over dinner when they had finally returned from their four-month-long trip to Romania, where Tim proudly showed off the letter of recommendation from the principal. 

His mother also agreed, pleasantly satisfied by his accomplishments, and further encouraged by Jack’s boisterous boasting over the phone when an associate called to schedule their leave for their next dig site. Ever the businessman, Jack never missed an opportunity to advance his social standing. What better jewel to add to the golden frame of their family name than that at seven years old, Timothy Jackson Drake was recommended to advance from third grade to honor courses in sixth grade?

Tim spoke nothing of the silent dread that brewed in his stomach at the thought. He’d be eight in July, just before school started, an eight-year-old in class was better than a seven-year-old right? 

However, Janet easily called him out on the only halfway failed manipulation when Jack had left the dining room to boast, admonishing him with her delicately gloved hands, “Ducky, if you wish to speak with a silver tongue, do not paint your lips with bronze first.”

“Mother…?”

“If you want something, dear while making those you are looking towards believe it was their idea; a silver tongue is key, but you can’t be so obvious about it all with bronze lips, or you look simply childish. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

That summer, his parents even sent him a very nice and expensive camera to replace his old one as a birthday present and a reward for doing so well in school. His father even sent a handwritten letter with it, encouraging him to really practice his photography skills, and maybe one day they’d bring him on one of their digs so he could take pictures of all their finds for them.

Of course, there were a few other things that Tim would rather take pictures of.

Not every night. He still had to do well in school. If his grades slipped, he’d have to go back to boarding school, and sneaking out would be increasingly harder. But at least twice or three times a week, if he was feeling lucky, the tree right outside his bedroom window made for a perfect escape route without using a single door, and the lock on his window had been broken ever since he was a baby.

Besides, Mrs. Mac only came during the afternoon on Wednesdays and Sundays to clean and restock the pantry and fridge with groceries and easy-made meals. He had the nights all to himself.

He didn’t care what anyone else said, what the tabloids read, or what those news anchors always preached after each solved case. Gotham, in its cesspool of wickedness and inhospitable nature, was beautiful. 

It was beautiful in the way of a silent battlefield. The corpses were rotten, but they fed the earth, flowers bloomed from their bones, and the animals fed off the gore. It was gloomy, it was dark, it was cold, and it was alive. Unlike the historic and corpselike relics that littered Drake Manor worse than weeds littered the ground; Gotham breathed, she raged, and stormed like a furious mother. Vengeful but alive . 

There was such beauty in that kind of violence.

In the kind of violence he wrought.

He really hadn’t begun his hobby on the determination to stalk the caped crusaders of Gotham, but because he saw the beauty in the living hell that was the city itself, and wanted to keep some of it for himself. A silhouette of a bird against the moon, a perfect skylight photo, a rare but priceless picture of Robinson Park right at dusk. Those were what he originally went after, those were his prey, and he always came back with a successful hunt.

It’d been another night, another chance for a seven-year-old who should’ve long been in bed back in his dorm room to find some of the cold warmth in the beauty of violence, and boy had he seen it. He didn’t remember the exact crime, he didn’t remember who it had been, why, or what. All he remembered was them. A shadow across the ground before pained grunting and growls filled the air, a flash of color a moment after, and there he found the true beauty in violence.

The most he’d ever heard of Batman had come from urban legends and myths around his boarding school. Some of them thought he was a meta-human, others thought him a vampire, and others claimed he was a werewolf. 

Tim always hoped the last rumor was false. 

The most anyone even spoke of Robin though, was that Batman had kidnapped someone and made them his sidekick. Tim didn’t even need to know who or what they were talking about to know that was wrong. But in the end, he’d never believed any of them. 

A man dressed up as a bat? With a sidekick–a kid no less–dressing up every night to beat up thugs and drug dealers and rogues? No way. The other kids at his boarding school must’ve been drinking the tap water again.

However, only after a brief private viewing and a shitty and blurry photo that would soon be the patriarch of many others and an all-nighter of endless internet surfing did Tim finally have truth to the myth.

That truth became his life.

He started watching the news, following every online forum, reading every article, every blog, all of it. To say he was obsessed would’ve been an understatement, the hidden theory board and packaging box full of unprinted camera film and souvenirs of broken or left behind gadgets were a testament to that.

But just as his infatuation grew, it changed. 

It changed because he learned another truth.

A quadruple somersault. He’d seen one before, and just like that distant but gorgeously horrific memory, he marveled at it. The same way he marveled on that day, the day he met his favorite acrobat, when his father insisted Tim take a picture with the Flying Graysons boy, Richard Grayson, upon seeing the toddler's exuberant expression. The same way he marveled in horror as they fell, fell, fell and his mother had to cover his eyes so he wouldn’t stare any longer at the gore in the middle of the chaos of cacophony of screams.

But Robin didn’t fall, not like the Flying Graysons had, and Tim had marveled that night as his camera shuttered in his hands and after hours of mumbling and internet searching, he looked at what was likely the last picture Richard Grayson had ever taken with his parents, a picture that Tim had from a chance meeting, a rarity that he would treasure with his life, and a picture he now stored with the moonlit photo of Robin mid-quadruple somersault. Just as he would treasure the knowledge that Dick Grayson, was Robin, and therefore, Bruce Wayne was Batman.

It changed again when a new Robin flew and Nightwing soared.

At first, the idea of Jason Todd; not Dick Grayson, being Robin, seemed almost impossible. No one could replace Robin. Because Robin was only Robin because of Dick Grayson. With his family’s colors, and the acrobatic attire to match, everything was almost precisely identical to Tim’s most cherished memory of his first real hug. 

But then it changed again, in a way Tim hadn’t expected, in a way he almost missed. Jason Todd, unlike where Dick Grayson bore his anger into his nightlife, Jason Todd exuded his hope. From a background in the darkest parts of Gotham, he was the oxymoron, quick and witty and bright . He didn’t speak in puns as Dick did, he chattered with a thick accent that Tim found himself struggling at first to understand, teasing Batman with such a familiarity that Tim sometimes found himself muffling giggles as he listened from a rooftop or two over. But Jason— Robin smiled, he smiled in a way that a little boy, lost and alone and afraid, would see it and see magic. 

Dick Grayson was the first Robin, he was the boy who revealed the truth to Tim that he shouldn’t have known, he was his first hug, he was his first memory.

But Jason was his Robin. Tim's eyes followed him like a shining star in a cloudy sky, as did his camera. Batman’s growl felt like the comforting rumble of thunder whenever little ears heard it from across rooftops and Nightwing’s horrible puns reminded him of that distant warmth he clung to from his memories. Robin was his beacon, the shining light, the instinctual comfort that reassured even the most broken of souls that everything would be okay, that even in darkness there was light.

Tim found solace in such a presence. On the lonely nights when his space heater in his room did nothing to stave off the cold of Gotham’s winter from Drake Manor’s halls, the heating turned off because what a waste it was to use all that money to heat an entire estate for a single person when a space heater in a single room did just as good of a job for three times less the monthly bill. Even on those cold nights, even when his fingers were already stiff and aching, he felt no greater warmth than when he heard the heavy baritone in the Bat’s voice from a few rooftops away, and the chipper drawl of Robin’s cheeky demeanor, even for a moment able to pretend that the photos he captured so preciously were memories that truly belonged to him. 

Summer nights were no different, even with the lack of the biting chill, something in him, something broken and rotten and frozen, aching and biting with a cruel vengeance. Dying like the broken and rotting limp of a tree within his very chest, because why else would he feel this way? His parents loved him, they adored him truly. His mother’s gentle hands were a phantom memory whenever he saw his duckie choker in the mirror, his father’s proud boasting a constant thrum in the back of his head whenever he got a perfect grade on another assignment. Why would he feel such a way, if it were not him? If it were not the frozen rot within himself that made him such a way?

He really shouldn’t feel this way, he knew, he was so loved. He was so spoiled too, he heard all the other kids say it. Spoiled rotten they would say, and it was true, he was rotten. Rotten down to the very marrow of his bones. His parents obviously knew, they always knew, it was why they had to leave so often, heavens forbid Tim infect them with whatever was wrong with him, he’d be better off as just another skeleton for his parents to dig up then.  

It truly was a testament to the unconditional love of a parent that they still loved him. He was just a runt, weak, small, and wrong. But his parents still loved him so much, still cared about him, wasn’t he lucky?

Maybe it was because he was so broken that he craved that beautiful violence. To see the scenes of blood and flying fists, to be so close and yet so far to the edge of danger and death, and all for a few pictures. But he really couldn’t help it, the warmth of the spilled flood and heated fists thawed and warmed that frozen part of him, curing the rot if only for a moment, giving him a reprieve from that frigid ache within himself, and allowing him to sleep at night with dreams of soaring birds.

Maybe it was why he couldn’t stop himself from staring at every gala and event his parents took him to whenever they graced Gotham elite with their exotic presence. Why he couldn’t help but stare at that familiar smile he photographed so many times, the heavy baritone, only slightly less grave accompanying it with a certain type of fondness that Tim couldn’t name. 

Maybe it was why he always wondered what it was like, what it was like to be there, not just as an onlooker or a ghost unknown and unwarranted, but truly and irreversibly there. Maybe it was why he always let his mind wander to thoughts he shouldn’t think of, ideas and fantasies of meeting them face to face, meeting another werewolf like Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Jason Todd who were all so… proud . Brave and strong, who weren’t weak and wrong. Who displayed the truth without hesitation, again and again, always those fantasies and thoughts…dirty things his mother had long since scolded him time and time again for.

First when he was four.

“Timothy,” she’d admonished him, and the weight of the world suddenly fell on his shoulders, and he desperately wished to cry. “I never wish to even hear of you…behaving so vulgarly! Rubbing yourself against someone like that…it’s unsightly and unbecoming, do you understand me, Ducky?”

Again when he was five.

“A Drake does not walk around behaving like a feral beast, Timothy, imagine how humiliated you will be one day when someone comes along and bullies you for acting like some street dog? Do you understand me, Ducky?”

Six.

“Remember your pretty necklace, Timothy. I bought it just for you, don’t you like it? You don’t wish to smell like some wet dog now do you? I truly do hate it when I can’t trust you with something as simple as this, my dear. Do you understand, Ducky?”

Just recently too, right before they left after arranging for Tim’s upcoming school year in Gotham Prep, three grades ahead of his age. 

“Timothy,” her hand had cupped his cheek, hesitating at the front door where his father had already walked through after giving Tim his expectant encouragements, and Tim did all he could to ignore the pleading urge to try and find the grace of her scent past the rich perfumes that made his nose sting. “You know what I expect, don’t you?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Janet had smiled, a sight that made that frozen rot within him thaw and burn, his sins cleansed by the warmth he swore he saw in her eyes. “We won’t be back until mid-September, Timothy, I am entrusting you to be a Drake . Behave yourself and do not embarrass your father or myself. No one wants a wild dog, now do they, Ducky?”

“No Mother,” Tim wasn’t a wild dog. He never would be. His mother had always been too gracious to ever allow him to behave so disgustingly. “I will make you and Dad proud, I promise.”

Janet had hummed, gently using her nails to tug down the collar of his shirt, and Tim had unconsciously puffed up his chest with pride when he saw her lips quirk up just a hint more at the sight of his duckie choker snuggly fitted around his neck. She leaned down and kissed his forehead and Tim swore he could fly. “I know you will, my dear.” That feeling lasted even as they pulled out of the driveway, and Tim watched as they faded, faded, faded .

Yes, he was weak and wrong, but that wasn’t a hindrance to him. He knew what to do, he knew how to make his parents proud, he knew how to not get caught in his bird watching, and he knew where to draw the line. He knew where his fantasies and reality would collide and he knew how to avoid it.

Besides, he didn’t need a house that belonged to a family that wasn’t his own, not when his home, littered with the memories of the dead, was his mausoleum. Where the only proof of his existence had bled into the grout of the floorboards and where he’d soon join those corpses on display on its walls. 

Chapter Text

Normally, Jason would say that Gotham Prep wasn’t…bad. Sure, full of stingy rich kids who looked their noses down at him for being a street kid before Bruce had adopted him, definitely not helped by the fact he was a werewolf. Hell, some of the little rats here didn’t even like Bruce because he was a wolf!

Speciest little assholes. 

But it had a nice library, a big one at that, and a fairly nice book club he liked to attend once a week. The teachers were agreeable enough that he didn’t want to put thumbtacks on their chairs, and oddly enough, even in the strangeness that was Gotham , Gotham Prep was vaguely normal, aside from the frequent rich kid kidnapping. 

They even made a club about it–The Kidnapees Association. Jason didn’t want to step near that circle unless he was donned in the mask. 

So yeah, normal, rich, preppy school full of spoiled little shits that made Jason’s head hurt. But normal. The school year had even been going pretty damn well so far, people were leaving him alone, an upgrade to sneers and stares in his opinion, and they were finally reading Hamlet in his English class.

No, Ms. Ophelia, he would not stop reading ahead. Besides, he’d already read the whole thing last year. 

Hell, even Robin-ing had gotten easier. Dick was finally ceasing his pouty bitching whenever he came to visit. Jason was more than proud to snap a picture and send it to Dick each time he caught Bruce ‘hrrning’ in that weird not-laughing way of his whenever he quipped on patrol and soaking in the approval of Dick’s cackling over the phone whenever they called each other.

So, someone please, explain to him why when he thought he saw a fat squirrel shimming along a tree branch, he had to do a triple take to realize it was in fact not a squirrel, but a child ?!

Look, he was no saint, the amount of times Alfred had to soak mud out of his clothes spoke volumes, but why was a child the size of a toddler in a tree in the atrium of Gotham Prep?!

Not wanting to spook the child he’d just noticed, Jason tried to make sure the doors to the inner atrium didn’t shut loudly. He trusted his instincts and reflexes, but he didn’t think he’d be fast enough to catch the kid if he did fall. 

Looking up, he could properly see the kid now. Tiny. Too tiny to be at Gotham Prep, was it someone’s little brother? Maybe a teacher’s kid. He cleared his throat loudly, watching the kid when he jumped, and Jason about rushed forward to catch him just in case. But the kid didn’t fall, still stabilized on his branch that Jason thought looked too skinny, and Jason had to squint to make out the features of the kid’s face through the leaves. 

Was...Was he hanging upside down!?

Please don’t fall, please don’t fall… Jason muttered as his thoughts worked too fast for his head to process alone. He took another big step closer, debating whether to risk climbing the tree. Was the kid stuck? “Hey, kid,” Jason smiled, hoping to keep the kid calm so he wouldn’t fall. Gods, that fall would hurt, unless the kid knew how to flip around mid-air to land on his feet, a fall from a good eight feet up on his head would not be good, not to mention hitting every branch on the way down. “What’re you doin’ up there?”

He could see the boy staring back at him, and Jason felt the silence linger for a little longer than normal until a sense of awkwardness pooled in his gut. He debated whether he should just get someone. Surely they were around if it was someone’s little brother or kid, right? No one just lets a toddler run around unsupervised. Or they shouldn’t at least, but hell, this was still Gotham; he put nothing past anyone.

However, just as he was about to weigh the option of passing this on to someone else, the kid seemed to snap out of whatever trance he’d been in, and much to Jason’s distress, fell right out of the tree.

“ FUCK –!”

Look, Tim was smart, his report cards spoke for themselves, but he’d learned in his too-long eight years of life that sometimes, book smart only got you so far. Such as, apparently a fire escape was not always the safest option of getting off roofs when said fire escape was rusted to hell and back. Not that Tim had been able to tell that last night, hence why he had to lie to his English teacher about the pipe-sized bruise on his cheek.

Ah, skateboarding, the accident-prone disaster person’s excuse for everything!

It just meant he had to get better at this sort of thing! How else would he keep up with Batman and Robin? They were super fast and could jump like grasshoppers, or well–. Like werewolves, but Tim was just…Tim. He needed to learn how to keep up. Besides, it wasn’t any different than the workouts his dad always liked to do with him whenever he and his mother were back in town. 

Running five miles in the morning, learning how to weasel out of binds and knots like a true professional, just like a true spy–his dad would always say whenever he started the timer to test how much better Tim had gotten at it. Running again, this time from his dad—don’t let them catch you, never let them catch you. But his dad never hurt him like he said the bad people would, he only caught him and flipped him upside down and shook him a bit until he was dizzy and everything looked fuzzy.

Sure, sometimes they left him bruised and aching, but afterward, Tim would always be carried on his father’s back like a backpack. His dad would tell him how proud he was, that he wouldn’t be a runt for much longer, that if Tim just worked harder, he’d be so much better.

Adding this into that occasional regime, and maybe even doing that regime more often too, would work out in his favor! He could definitely do the running, and figure out how to tie himself up so he could learn how to escape from it, but this was his best idea to date!

Climbing trees! Just as nature intended truly. If they weren't meant to be climbed, why did they look so climbable? 

He always watched Batman and Robin scale up the side of skyscrapers like it was a rock wall with their grapple guns. While Tim wasn’t brave enough yet to try that without likely falling to his pancake-y death, he could definitely get better about climbing up fire escapes by practicing in trees first, and if he did fall, the grass was much better to land on than the drug-needled littered concrete. 

He could explain a bruised cheek, he could not, however, explain broken bones. Especially not if he had to go to the hospital for them, gods forbid his parents heard about it. They’d be so disappointed in him. 

But there weren’t many parks in Bristol; most were just walking paths through exuberant and expensive gardens with well-trimmed lawns and not a single petal out of place. Heaven forbid he’d be caught running amuck there; if someone who knew his parents saw and let them know, mocked them for it even; embarrassed them. Behaving like a wild dog, his mother would say, and his father would look so disappointed in him and tell him that he knew Tim could be better; because really, his parents believed in him so much.

How their hearts would break if they knew that Tim sometimes was just that, a wild dog?

So, he didn’t dare, but he also didn’t have the means to sneak back and forth easily from Bristol to the parks out in the city. The bus took forever, and he never felt in place when he walked alone on the streets. He could always feel something watching him, like an itch on the back of his neck that made his skin crawl.

It was why he preferred the rooftops. No one ever looked up unless someone was falling.

But it was just his luck that this new school had big courtyards and a big atrium, all with trees he could practice on! Of course, he wouldn’t dare do it in the main courtyard where a lot of kids ate lunch, but the inner atrium was always pretty empty, and as long as he didn’t make any noise if someone came through, no one would even know he was there.

He’d just gotten the hang of lifting his body weight and swinging his legs under himself to latch onto the tree branch so he could hang upside down when he heard someone clear their throat, he’d jumped, but thankfully his knees were locked in well enough that he didn’t fall when his hands let go. 

However, shock always could make someone do stupid things. That was why when he heard the familiar voice of Robin–wait, no, not Robin, but Jason Todd and looked upside down to see through the leaves of the tree, his idol standing like a bat on a grassy ceiling, looking up directly at him! He’d only been able to stare for what he realized was way too long before his body seemed to catch up with his mind, and in the brilliance that was Tim Drake, he instinctively went to reach out, only to feel his legs let go of the branch. 

Well, this was going to suck .

“ FUCK–! ”

He hit just about every branch he’d climbed up, the bruise on his cheek burning along with the rest of him as he closed his eyes and braced for impact. But instead of a face full of grass and dirty and no doubt an expensive hospital bill, he felt a rather painful collision with a body that wrapped around his own. The tumble they took still hurt, even if Jason had absorbed most of the shock, Tim clung to safety and only once Jason was on his back and Tim securely against his chest, safe from the fall, did it all seem to catch up. 

Jason groaned softly, he’d had much worse injuries than just a scrape on the elbow and a little bit of wind knocked out of him, but he wasn’t necessarily used to just…lying on the ground with someone he’d just saved. Most people were screaming and terrified and scrambling away from the perceived danger with only a meager “Thank you, Robin!” before self-preservation instincts kicked in and most people chose flight over fight.

However, looking down his nose at the kid–which holy shit it was seriously just a kid–now on his chest, he couldn’t help but stare. Right, observe and take note of your surroundings and the situation at hand, Bruce and been trying to instill the instinct ever since he became Robin, telling him to apply it to even meager situations. But all he could note was one thing, tiny. Very tiny, why the fuck was a tiny as fuck kid in Gotham Prep and why was no one watching said, tiny child??

“Hey kid,” the kid wasn’t even heavy on top of him, how old was he? No doubt like…five, six at most. He sat up slowly, just in case the kid was actually hurt from hitting the branches on the way down, keeping a hand on the kid’s back and shifting them both so Jason could sit up and keep the kid on his lap. Little kids liked cuddling right? He knew he did when he was tiny. “You okay? Where are your parents? What’re you doing here?”

Tim, on the other hand, was about to have a damn heart attack.

Maybe if he just kept his head down and pretended he got knocked out then this would all go away. Jason would take him to the nurse's office, leave him there, and call it a day and Tim could go home later and wallow in his shame in solitude. 

Because of course, just of course this would be how he meets his hero face to face!! With Jason having to catch him like some falling cat out of a tree…could someone kill him now? As they say, he’d lived a good eight years already, not here for a long time, but for a fun time, right? Where was a rouge attack when you needed one?

He’d seen Jason around school and he was not above admitting he’d done a bit of light stalking. He and Jason took the same electives! Was it really stalking if Tim was put in those classes against his own free will? Who needed to learn the history of Mozart’s entire family? Not him! Of course, they didn’t talk, not that Tim talked to anyone else either, but he always found himself gravitating to the table or two across from Jason’s. Even out of Robin, Jason seemed so nice. He always listened to the teachers and asked questions, he just seemed…happy. 

It was infectious, and Tim always ended up looking forward to music theory or art class, even if he didn’t necessarily like the classes all that much. Though it was a bit of a kick in the teeth to learn that he didn’t take any core classes with Jason, he’d only moved up three grades, but Jason was in seventh grade, not sixth. It made Tim a little aggravated that he hadn’t strived to skip four grades instead of just three.

But out of all the times he’d seen Jason from the background, out of all the times he’d worked up the courage to try and say a simple “hello,” only to then run right back to his peaceful solitude like a scared dog with his tail between his legs, this was how he finally got to see him up close and personal!? By falling on him!?

It’s what he gets for acting like a wild dog, he knew, but the universe didn’t have to be this cruel did it!? Or was it just Tim? Maybe it just hated Tim.

Jason couldn’t help but chuckle a little, the kid was clearly awake, and Jason could still feel the jackrabbit-ting of his heart against his chest. Was the kid embarrassed? Or scared? He didn’t seem hurt, aside from the little scrapes on those baby cheeks of his and the bruise on his face. But the bruise looked old, too purpled in color to be from only a few seconds ago. Why was it so big? It looked like the bruise Jason had after Mad Hatter hit him with a drain pipe after getting caught trying to steal some trophy from a yacht club.

Yeah, he was going to ask about that.

“Alright, if you’re not going to get up,” Jason hummed, smirking a little as he swiftly lifted the kid up and easily stood up to hoist the kid onto his hip like a toddler. Which got the kid’s attention as he felt the boy immediately stiffen and cling to his shoulder. “Oh look, you're awake.”

Tim could only stare at the ground over Jason’s shoulder in pure mortification. He needed to add learning how to play dead to his list of skills to improve. But, he couldn’t in good conscience ignore Jason, not after he’d taken such a fall just to catch him, and didn’t even shove Tim off afterward. “Thanks…for catching me…” He knew he was still clinging, something he knew would likely mortify his parents if they ever saw, but Jason wasn’t really letting go either…so, it was fine. Probably. Hopefully. 

Jason smirked at how small the kid’s voice sounded, ah, just embarrassed then. He understood the feeling, the amount of time Bruce had to carry him back after a shitty patrol with Jason upset from embarrassment and pure frustration was enough that Alfred had implemented a swear jar. “Not a problem kid,” he pulled his head back a little, he wanted to see the boy’s face again, that bruise was concerning him. “Mind telling me your name?”

Tim ducked his head a little when he noticed Jason trying to take a look at him, he didn’t think he could handle having to look Robin in the eyes after all of this, but his mother’s lessons swiftly clicked into place in his head. He was being rude. Like, severely rude. Jason had just saved him from a pretty nasty fall and was still holding him like some baby! If Tim could be any more mortified, he would be, but even the universe seemed to have a limit on shame today.

He wiggled his way out of Jason’s arms, surprised to feel the older boy not immediately drop him with the relief of no longer having to carry his burden, he took a step back once his feet were on the ground, putting on the facade of a well-behaved and respectable kid his parents could be proud of, instead of the wild dog he was acting like. “I’m Timothy Drake, but you can just call me Tim. Thank you for catching me.”

Jason held back a snort at how formal the kid sounded, even with his back ramrod straight, the boy was short as hell. Honestly…with that severe expression, he looked like a mini Bruce. The laugh he let out this time was poorly muffled and he only felt a little bad for the confused look on the kid’s face as he said, “Not a problem, bud. Maybe next time climb on a lower branch though?” Taking a longer look, he snapped his fingers and connected the dots. “Drake…Oh! You’re our neighbor’s kid from down the road, yeah? I’m Jason by the way.”

Tim nodded stiffly, looking away from Jason. He tried to hide the flush on his face when he was recognized. Jason knew who he was. Well, that just made this ten times worse, what a way to ruin a first impression. “I know…I’ve seen you around the school sometimes.” And that just sounded creepy! What was wrong with him today?!

“Around the school?” Jason mumbled, he’d seen the Drakes at those damn galas Bruce dragged him along to, though he’d only ever caught a glimpse of their kid. Tim went to this school? No…No way, he looked like a little kid! Six at best! “Do you uh…does one of your parents work here?” No, that wasn’t right either! The Drakes were famous archeologists, right? And they owned a sizable company, why would either of them work at Gotham Prep?

Tim looked up at Jason then, a little confused by the question, but answering professionally to try and make up for this abysmal first impression. “No, I attend Gotham Prep as a student. I’m in sixth grade.” He tried to stand a little straighter, puffing out his chest just a little, just like how his dad did when he was proud of something, like whenever he bragged at events and galas about Tim’s academic achievements.

But he felt more like a posturing chicken than a proud businessman.

“What!?” Okay, he really shouldn’t shout at a little kid—because that’s what Tim had to be, there was no way in hell he was older than six!—but he seriously couldn’t help it. “Sorry…You’re in sixth grade? Uhm…Buddy, do you mean you’re six? Being six doesn’t mean you’re in sixth grade.”

EXCUSEZ-MOI?????

Tim squawked at Jason’s question. SIX???? He wasn’t six!! He didn’t look six either! His dad always told him he looked like a businessman!! Huffing offendedly, Tim tried to keep himself from looking like a fuming child, because he wasn’t one! He was mature for his age! That’s what Mrs. Mac and his mother always gushed about! It was why he was allowed to take care of himself, his parents wouldn’t leave some dumb immature child to be by themselves. They trusted Tim because of how grown-up he was!

“I’m not six!” Crossing his arms over his chest, Tim really hated the fact he had to look up at Jason. Should he start wealing stilts in his shoes? “I’m eight, and I am in sixth grade, we have music theory and 2D art together.”

Jason, for his part, tried not to laugh because this didn’t seem like the situation that called for it. But seriously? Could anyone blame him when he did?

Tim felt his ears burn when the older boy started laughing, not even a subtle chuckle that his dad’s colleagues did whenever Jack made an appropriate work joke to start a conversation, but genuine Joker-gas-type laughter. He couldn’t help but feel humiliated, it was already bad enough that Jason had literally caught him from a tree, but now he was laughing at him? He tried not to take it to heart, maybe Jason wasn’t laughing at him? But then what would he be laughing at? Tim must seem ridiculous to him.

Jason, for his part, was trying so hard to stop laughing. But the kid’s fuming and huffing and puffing had been so cute! He looked like a pouting puppy! All huffy and puffy and adorable. However, it did leave him with more than a few questions, how the hell was an eight-year-old in sixth grade? He’d heard of some kids skipping a grade in elementary school if the curriculum wasn’t challenging enough, but having an eight-year-old in middle school? It just reeked of disaster from a mile away.

Wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, Jason tried to wave his hand to keep the kid from getting upset at him. It would probably just make him laugh harder. But when he finally took another good look at Tim, he froze when he saw the boy looking down at the ground with a burning face and what were poorly suppressed tears in his eyes. 

Oh, he was an asshole.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Backtracking, Jason immediately crouched down and did the first thing that felt right. He hugged the kid. Which probably wasn’t the best choice after he’d nearly made the kid cry, but it’s what Robin always did for a crying kid! So, maybe it could work in this situation too? “I’m so sorry, bud! I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear! I just thought it was cool! You must be super smart right? That’s super impressive that you’re in sixth grade!”

He was squished, like seriously squished, Jason’s shoulder was cutting into his neck and he couldn’t breathe, his ducky necklace was cutting into him, and just–ow! But Robin was hugging him! Jason was hugging him!! Granted, it was a pity hug because Tim started acting like a baby and made Jason feel bad for no reason, but he was being hugged by Robin!!

“It’s okay…” Tim choked out, just about to try a reciprocate when Jason suddenly forced him away and he suddenly felt like crying again.

“Was I choking you? Jeez, I’m sorry, kid!”

Right, Jason was just trying to be nice. Gods he needed to get a hold of himself right now, why was he acting so emotional over this? It wasn’t like Jason had to hug him, he just felt guilty and was trying to make Tim feel better because that’s just how Jason was. Nice. 

“I’m fine.” Tim shrugged, this time being the one to pull away entirely, taking a step back as he dusted off the nonexistent dirt on his clothes. Hoping to look at least somewhat presentable. Even if his uniform was wrinkled to hell and back because of climbing in the tree.

Jason stood up once Tim stepped away from him, feeling the crushing weight of awkwardness practically squish him like a bug. Why was he fucking up so much here?! Robin didn’t fuck up this much! Normally kids liked getting hugged by Robin, but then again, those kids were most times in severe danger and so emotionally worked up that any form of physical comfort was like a welcome security blanket in the shit storm they had to be in for Batman and Robin to come and rescue them. 

But most kids also didn’t like getting hugged by a total stranger…especially if said stranger had just laughed at the kid to the point he nearly cried. Also, just from a single whiff of Tim, he could tell the boy wasn’t a werewolf. 

He reeked of that painfully bleak scent all humans had, it was musky, worse when it was an adult since BO was like a natural-made weapon. But it was so weak that perfumes, laundry detergents, and other false scents always clung to them like a second skin. Tim smelled like whatever laundry detergent his family used, along with whatever brand of shampoo and conditioner he used.

Humans weren’t as…physically communicative the same way wolves were. They didn’t always greet each other with some sort of physical touch, whether it be a handshake or even a hug, they didn’t come close enough to sniff each other. It always seemed so…cold, at least to Jason. Dick had said that humans needed time to become trusting enough even to stand shoulder to shoulder with someone and that societal norms dictated that greeting someone with a shoulder hug was normally seen as weird or rude. He’d seen Bruce adhere to those behaviors at galas and other events, but it just seemed so impersonal.

Desperate to steer as far away from the awkwardness as possible, Jason put on the classic Robin smile and prayed that this kid didn’t absolutely hate his guts already. “Your parents must be super proud of you, I mean that’s super impressive, being moved up three grades rights?” Kids liked being praised right? Jason always felt awesome whenever Bruce praised him after a good patrol.

Oh, Jason was still pitying him. He must think he actually hurt Tim when he hugged him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to deal with Tim almost crying again like a little kid. 

“They’re pleased,” he couldn’t help but start fiddling with his fingers, this was just painful at this point. He’d already ruined his first meeting with his literal hero, couldn’t the lunch bell just ring already? End his suffering? Wasn’t lunch normally only thirty minutes? Why was it suddenly thirty years? 

“Pleased?” Gods above this kid sounded like Bruce! But tiny and cute! It was weird and he felt like a jackass and he seriously wished Tim would just smile, or maybe just roll his eyes at him and walk away! Either one! But he was just standing there, twiddling his thumbs and looking like a cute, awkward little kid! “I mean, they must’ve been super ecstatic when your teachers told them, right? I bet they’ve been bragging about you nonstop huh? Did they take you out to eat when they were told? Did you guys do something?”

“My father told his colleagues at the Fall Fundraiser event before they left,” Tim mumbled, why wasn’t Jason walking away already? Most people by now would’ve just patted him on the shoulder or something and left him alone. “They sent me a new camera as a congratulations and for my birthday in July.”

Jason paused at that, the Fall Fundraiser? That had been in what? September? It was nearly November, they left after it? “Oh, that sounds cool, some of those cameras are super complicated, it would make my head spin with all those settings and buttons on it!” He chuckled a little, trying to ease the mood before asking, “Where did they go to?”

Tim chuckled at Jason’s comment, he couldn’t help it, Jason just had that infectious sort of personality. It was endlessly charming and it made Tim feel a little less bad for likely screwing up Jason’s lunch break. “Yeah, it took me a little bit to learn all of the settings. They went to a new dig site in Cambodia for three months, they’re going to Greece next though for the exhibition of their findings.”

Cambodia? That was at least a twenty-two-hour flight. Then from Cambodia to Greece was another nineteen-hour flight. Did Tim say months !? Who the hell was watching him!?!

“Wow, that’s pretty far, so who are you staying with?”

“Myself.”

“...Yourself?” No way. There was just no way in hell. Tim was fucking eight . He hadn’t been allowed to stay home alone at eight! Hell, Bruce hardly even let him stay home alone now! “You don’t have a nanny or someone else? Maybe an uncle or aunt who stays with you while your parents are out of town?”

“I don’t need a nanny.” Tim stated with pride, he puffed out his chest just a little, crossing his arms confidently over his chest as he said, “My parents say I’m mature enough to stay by myself, they trust me. Besides, they have Mrs. Mac come by every Wednesday and Saturday to clean and restock groceries, so I don’t even have to leave the house.”

Jason…did not like how pridefully Tim had said all of that. 

He tried to keep a smile on his face, really he did, but he felt like Bruce whenever he had to smile for those dumb socialite gatherings that he did for the publicity to keep up the “Brucie” facade. 

So, this kid’s parents just…dipped off for months at a time? To random places all over the world for some archeological dig sites? How often were they even home? Were they even home at all? Tim wasn’t even being taken care of by a nanny, just a housekeeper who only came by twice a week.

A cute little kid…all alone because of criminally negligent parents…

Jason flinched when the lunch bell suddenly rang and he saw Tim do the same, didn’t he have music theory next? Wait…didn’t they have music theory next? “You have music theory with me, right? That’s what you said earlier?”

Tim looked up at Jason a little curiously, nodding as he walked over to the tree and grabbed his backpack from where he’d hidden it behind the trunk of the oak. “Yeah, I do.” Slinging his backpack over his shoulders, he only yelped when Jason swiftly then grabbed him by the handle loop of it and started leading (read: semi-dragging) Tim out of the atrium. 

“Perfect! Let’s get to class then, let’s ask the teacher to move your seat too.” Ah well, he was starting to understand Bruce’s adoption addiction, even if Tim wasn’t technically an orphan, and Bruce didn’t know that he was a part of this. 

Either way, sucks to suck, Tim was going to be his now, and the Drakes and Bruce would have to deal with it.

Could a teenager adopt a kid? 

Chapter Text

Let the record show, Tim’s plans were normally better thought through.

Were they always great plans? No. But were they thought through? Yes.

But this, this was not a good plan, and he should’ve known that.

In his defense, he’d gotten so much better at climbing! Jason had even started to help him during their lunch period. Of course, Tim hadn’t really told him why he wanted to learn how to climb trees and fire escapes quickly; he just said he was into parkour. But he’d actually gotten better! He’d also started doing more of those workouts his dad and he did whenever his parents were back in town. 

Every afternoon after school, he’d go on a long run, about five miles altogether. He’d run for a minute and then walk for two until he could run for longer. He’d read that it was a good way to build up stamina, and he’d gotten a lot better about untying knots and breaking free from ducktape and zip ties, just like his dad taught him to do! He’d be super impressed once they came back and maybe Tim wouldn’t even be caught this time when he would have to run from his dad during the exercise. 

Now, climbing up fire escapes and even jumping down was a lot easier, he hadn’t even fallen on his face once! Not that it surprised him! Robin himself was teaching him! 

Which…maybe led to this in the first place. 

He really hadn’t been planning on going out tonight, he had a test in first period. But when he’d heard that Poison Ivy had broken out of Arkham from the news and was going after some corrupt oil company that did some shady business overseas, how could he not go check it out? He hadn’t been able to catch any pictures of her recently, especially not any of Robin on the scene!

He knew better than to get too close. Hell, he even wore a double-face mask just to protect himself from any stray pollen, along with his most comfortable hoodie and cargo pants, so none of the spores would touch him. 

He even found the perfect spot to watch the entire fight! Some of Ivy’s vines had ripped up an old power station so, Tim had been given the ideal cover to huddle up amongst the rubble, set up his camera, and get Hollywood-worthy photos of Ivy and Batman going at it! He planned to stay hidden until Batman won and the police were given the all-clear to come in and take away Ivy, blending into the crowd, and pretending to be just an unfortunate bystander and kid always worked in his favor. Especially if he was seen he could just put on a well-placed expression and sniffles and the officers would be quick to let him go without a question. 

That is until Robin joined the fight.

Tim had gotten one of his best photos yet and silently preened over it with the sound of Batman’s orders to Robin only being mere background noise. However, just as was his luck, the moment he’d taken to preening over the photo of Robin soaring down at Mach Fuck into a diving crossbody onto Ivy, said rogue apparently didn’t appreciate the fabulous move as much as Tim had, and her plants went wild. 

Tim for his part had closed his mouth in time not to scream when her vines ripped up the rest of the power station and he was sent skidding across the rubble-covered concrete. Thank the heavens for his multiple layers, or the rash he’d have would be disastrous. Unfortunately, it had still knocked some of the air out of him, and road rash was road rash, it hurt all the same.

But those feelings of discomfort paled in comparison to the absolute dread he felt, which hit him like a mallet when he saw Robin looking directly at him.

So, he did what he thought any regular bystander would do, he sprang up and ran like hell.

“Tim–! Kid!”

Robin…Robin just said his name! Oh shit! How the heck did Jason even recognize him!? 

Crap, crap, crap, crap!!!! It’s not me! I’m his twin brother, Dim!

For a moment of his stumbling attempts to run while Ivy’s vines still went nuts, he swore he heard footsteps thundering behind him, and if one could be possessed with whatever god there was that controlled running; Tim most certainly was in that moment as he shrieked shrillly and ran like a drunk man. 

His plan to blend into the crowd worked, as there were still some nightshift guards running wisely from the fight and he was able to make it a few blocks down where things calmed down. Only then did he stop at the bus station that had dropped him off earlier and checked himself over. Camera, check. Snacks and money are in the backpack, so check. All of his limbs, check. Robin possibly chasing him? Negative. 

Now, he just had to get home and survive school tomorrow. 

Newsflash, he did not survive school and would like to raise a petition to ban it as an institution altogether. 

His test in first period had been fine, aside from the fact he’d damn near fallen asleep during it and barely skimmed his answers before choosing them, it was about the American Revolution, if someone couldn’t learn the premise of a war that had been shoved down their throats by the American School System ever since the first grade, then it was best just to say it would never stick.

But then, as if to condemn him for maybe getting exposed last night–he was in denial, maybe Jason didn’t remember it was him, or thought it was just a fluke! A trick of the light–Jason wasn’t at school! Which maybe was for his benefit, his palms were scraped from where he’d hit the pavement last night and he didn’t think he was awake enough to look Jason in the eye and lie. 

Depressingly, he ate his lunch in the atrium all on his own, and he didn’t know anyone in music theory; sitting at the table with a bunch of older kids who just eyed him and his silence without Jason there to fill the void left him feeling awkward and antsy. 

So, he’d had full plans to crash the moment he got home. His homework was light tonight anyway and he had the whole weekend to get it done, but most of all, the appeal of his bed was becoming ever more enticing the moment he hopped off the city bus and made his journey back to Drake Manor. 

He’d gotten through the front door, unloaded his backpack, and changed into clothes that didn’t feel stifling, he even had a moment to grab himself a snack. But the moment, as if just a sick game by the universe to mock him, the barest moment his head touch his beloved pillows, the fucking doorbell rang. 

“Nooooo….!” Bemoaning into his pillows, he wished he was that kid from Home Alone who had rigged his whole house for intruders and that the doorbell was electrified so whoever was there would face the consequences of trying to visit at the ungodly hour of 4:00 pm.

Grumbling and muttering about how the universe must hate him, Tim shuffled his feet down the stairs, having half a mind to shout through the door for whoever it was to go away when they started ringing the doorbell again. 

As if he hadn’t already heard it!

He opened the door harder than he needed to, only slightly worried it might be someone associated with his parents, and the fact he was about to make a very sorry sight on their behalf. But when he was met with the bright and shining face of Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, he immediately felt like a jerk and his glare lessened to more of a pout. 

Shit….

Did Jason remember last night? Wait, of course, he remembered last night. Maybe he considered it wasn’t Tim! He didn’t seem angry and Robin hadn't chased him down last night to question him either, so maybe he’d gotten lucky? 

Jason, for his part, had done well to keep calm last night. Alfred would be proud of him, he didn’t even swear! Which was a miracle considering he knew damn well that the little photographer he spotted last night was not some vertically challenged reporter with a death wish. Oh no, he’d seen those eyes, those eerily baby blues that could look you through to your soul and make you fess up to your secrets one minute and then make you melt like a sap the next.

Not to mention Tim had brought his fucking school bag with him. It had his name printed on it for fuck’s sake and his school ID had been hanging from the lanyard around one of the sleeves!

But only Robin knew that, and Jason, unfortunately, couldn’t use the “Santa Trap” by telling Tim he knew Robin personally and that the kid had to behave himself or he would rat him out. 

So, he did the next best thing. He was going to be annoying as fuck. “Rough nap?” Jason’s laugh made the pout turn to more of a hesitant smile on Tim’s face, it was hard to be upset with him, even if Tim still despised his forsaken nap. 

“Something like that.”

Jason didn’t bother with asking for permission to enter, he already knew damn well the Drakes weren’t here, and the fact they wouldn’t be back until the middle of fucking December. So, sucks to suck, he was going to be a squatter then. 

The moment Jason saw the all-clear on Tim's face, he brought him into a tight hug. He did not even bother to ask permission anymore, as he kicked the front door shut behind him once Tim was in his arms, proudly feeling the kid just melt into it, even if he was carrying the kid like an unwilling cat in a toddler’s arms. 

Good, about damn time. He knew Tim would never admit it, but the words “touch starved” described the kid to a fucking fault, and human or no, Tim was his anyway and would just have to get used to a werewolf’s level of affection. 

“How was your day, Timbit? You do good on that test you had this morning?” Jason kicked off his shoes, remembering Alfred’s many lectures about that little habit alone, and the few times such shoes came flying right back at him if they dared to be muddy on Alfred’s pristine floors. Unfortunately, even if it was his first time in Drake Manor, he already could tell he didn’t much like it. Gods above, did the Drakes have to decorate every single wall white? He felt like he was in Arkham. 

“It was fine,” Tim mumbled, it felt weird to be carried like this, but he figured it was better than that fireman carry Jason had done to him the other day when he didn’t like that Tim’s legs were apparently too short to keep up with him while walking up the stairs. “It was easy, just boring.”

“Alright smarty pants, no need to brag,” Jason chuckled, looking around slowly and taking a sniff. It smelled of nothing but cleaning supplies and those dull old candles people always decorated their houses with but never burned. It reminded him of those house models Dick showed him once that realtors use to display something to buyers. 

So painfully…perfect. Clean. Unnatural. 

It was like no one even lived here. Even walking into the kitchen, Jason couldn’t help but judge the stainless and pristine Le Creuset cookware set hanging above the stove on a display rack, no doubt having not even been used once since they were bought at some ridiculous price.

Tim huffed when Jason set him down in the kitchen, on one of the stools at the kitchen island. He didn’t much note or care about the fact Jason had pretty much just invited himself into his house or started looking around like it was his house too. It actually felt…nice, to have another person in the house, and Jason was good company. “What are you doing over here?” 

At Tim’s question, Jason closed the fridge, fixing the judgy scowl he knew he bore into a smile as he turned back at the eight-year-old and crowed, “Oh you know, Timberlina, I just missed my favorite little bud!”

“You got mad at Mr. Wayne again, didn’t you?”

“...Quit bein’ a smartass, pipsqueak.”

“What was it this time?” Tim asked regardless, a little smug at Jason’s pouting as the older boy sighed and draped himself across the kitchen island like one of those singers on a piano, he even did the leg kick. “Is it why you weren’t at school?”

Jason huffed and puffed a little, he’d hoped to keep his mind off of Bruce right now. He loved his adoptive father, truly, he did. But sometimes he thought it would just be funny if someone kicked him super hard in the shin as some sort of repentance from the universe. 

“Nothing major, Timtam, had to stay home today for a doctor’s appointment,” absolute bullshit, Tim knew that Jason didn’t need any sort of physical exam done until the beginning of the new year. Regardless, he’d let the coverup be just that, a coverup. “I just needed space from him today is all.” 

Which was an understatement in his opinion. He needed a good week of space from Bruce and his lectures, but in his defense, he couldn’t necessarily tell Bruce that he’d seen Tim last night and rightfully so lost his shit with worry when the kid ran off, after looking him in the eyes, just like a little gremlin. So, Jason may have gone a wee bit harder on Ivy’s mind-controlled drones than he probably should have.

But it really wasn’t his fault! He swore he saw one of them going to chase after the crowd he’d seen Tim disappear into, and what if one of them had caught him!? And it wasn’t like he broke anything, he just knocked them out, it wasn’t like they weren’t already going to have a headache from Ivy’s pollen the next day anyway.

He couldn’t get Bruce on board with the surprise adoption for Tim yet, Bruce always overcomplicated things when all they really needed to do was get Tim on board for being Jason’s new baby brother, and then take him to the manor and never let him go back. Easy peasy. 

“Mm,” Tim hummed like he understood. Which…he didn’t. While he’d never be brave enough to go up to Bruce Wayne in either civilian or dark knight form, he couldn’t much understand the desire to be away from no doubt the most interesting man in all of Gotham. Let alone one’s parents. 

Whenever his parents were home, even if he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but cling to them. His father more so than his mother. Jack would good naturedly tease him, calling him a leech and such, but so as long as Tim presented him with his stellar academic reports and picture-perfect demeanor for events and galas they had to attend, his father never had a voice of complaint. A cruel kindness, since Tim knew that he should’ve long since grown out of that habit, but perhaps his father missed him as much as Tim missed them.

His mother, however, was far more mercifully blunt and honest to him. She’d allow Tim’s clinginess for as long as he deserved and as was appropriate before instructing him as he should already know. It was unsightly for him to cling to them so lecherously, especially in public, it wouldn’t do Tim any favors to be seen as weak or defenseless because he had to be glued to his parents' hips. 

Maybe it was different for Jason? Still, it didn’t make that much sense.

Jason couldn’t help but zero in on the frown Tim sported, that look in his eye…weirdly enough, it reminded him of Bruce. That far-off look whenever his adoptive father got engrossed in a case and wouldn’t think of a single thing else until he had the answers he desired. 

It looked…uneasy on Tim’s face. A face so young and innocent. It didn’t sit naturally as it did with Bruce, it looked too harsh, the lines on his face too deep for someone lacking the years to have it.

“So, Timbit, what were you up to last night?” The shock on Tim’s face was poorly masked, but Jason preferred whatever little lie the kid would try to cook up in that head of his compared to that too-grown look. “Anything fun going on?”

Crap! Jason totally knows! Wait, no…maybe this is the interrogation! Detectives don’t claim a criminal before interrogating them or getting concrete evidence! Tim put on the best gala face he had, smiling in the way his mother taught him, and using his businessman voice that his father always smiled at. “I went out yesterday to get some pictures of a flock of white-throated sparrows that have been spotted migrating further east near Port Adams.”

Okay, if Jason didn’t know any better, he would have fucking believed that. 

Since when could Tim lie so well? The worst part about it all; there wasn’t a bit of misinformation in the lie either! Ivy’s attack had been on some fake “Go for Green” company who’d been using the charity money they’d collected for their conservation effort to actually invest more into some oil field in Angola, which had been close to Port Adams, and white-throated sparrows commonly migrated throughout the northeast region during the winter months after breeding in Canada, especially at night.

It was unnerving, he didn’t like that smile. It was worse than Tim’s too-grown-up thinking face. The smile looked so…doll-like. Like a plastered-on piece of clay. There wasn’t a single crack and if Jason hadn’t been trained by Batman himself, he almost would’ve missed how fake it was. Not to mention the voice; it was controlled in a way that a child’s voice shouldn’t be. It reminded him of those socialites who’d flock to Bruce during charity events to try and get into his wallet.

Robin knows you don’t. Robin knows you don’t. Jason reminded himself quickly before he could properly call Tim out for blatantly lying so expertly to his face. He expected Tim to lie, all little kids lie when they get caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, and Jason had been fully prepared to take the civilian route and slowly chip away at Tim’s attempts to gaslight him until the kid fessed up, in which he would act shocked at the truth, and jump right into a “frantic” lecture of how Tim should be more careful and that he better promise to never ever do it again. 

“Right, birds…” Jason nodded, watching for any crack or slip to exploit just so he could call Tim out without having the kid question him in return. But there wasn’t a damn thing…and fuck, if it didn’t creep him out. “That’s cool, Timmers, just maybe don’t be so far from home by yourself, okay? Gets darker out sooner than normal, y’know? Or just call me? I’ll come pick you up with Alfred, okay?”

“I will,” Jason totally bought it! He was smiling and everything! And Tim couldn’t help but feel warm at Jason’s offer to come pick him up if he was out after dark. Of course, he couldn’t risk actually ever calling in that favor, he’d already nearly bit the bullet this once, he didn’t want to rock any more waves anytime soon and accidentally throw a certain Bat-clad vigilante on his trail instead. “I didn’t realize it was so late last night, my parents got me a new camera, and I’d just been excited.”

Jason nodded sagely, trying to ignore the ever-present pit in his stomach at the thought of Tim being “excited” to stalk a literal villain and take pictures of a fight that he could’ve been killed in if he had been any closer. Gods, he hoped and prayed this was just a one-time occurrence and last night’s scare actually scared the enjoyment out of him. Squirming too much for his own comfort, he finally had enough and said, “Let’s go hang out, yeah? What do you wanna do?”

Well, he knew what they couldn’t do. His parents would have dual heart attacks if they broke anything in the house. Or they might ship Tim back to a boarding school, either way, not good. Tim hadn’t had the time yet to put up all of the pictures he’d taken over the last week, and he was pretty sure Jason would know he’d been lying about what kind of bird-watching he’d been doing last night if he saw any of those. 

“Oh, I have a soccer ball, we could play with that?”

Jason didn’t comment on how it was pretty chilly outside, seeing as it was November, but werewolves ran hot, so he’d be fine. But Tim looked like he could turn into an icicle if he stayed out too long. “And here I thought you’d be such a little gamer.”

“My parents don’t allow me to have video games, they say it will rot your brain.”

Fuck the laws, a teenager could adopt a kid because he said so, fuck Janet and Jack Drake, Tim was his now and they could stay far, far away. “Go put your coat on.”

Surprisingly, despite what he looked like, Tim had a pretty good kick to him. He couldn’t aim for shit though. “Hit it with the side of your foot, not your toe, it’ll help you aim better,” Jason instructed as he had to run to the opposite end of the backyard again because Tim could not kick in a straight line to save his life.

Whining in the back of his throat, Tim huffed as Jason kicked the ball back over to him and he caught it with his hands. Okay, so he’d never actually played with a soccer ball before, sue him. His dad had bought it for him over a year ago, they had planned to go play at the park, but they’d had to leave early that time, and it’d been forgotten in the back of the closet.

Steadying the ball so he wouldn’t eat dirt like a Charlie Brown again, he tried to kick with the side of his foot, but all he did was send the ball flying instead of rolling and it landed in one of his mother’s flower bushes.

Wincing when he heard the crunch of stems, Jason looked between the dejected Tim and the flowers that were for sure dead by now if the frost the other night hadn’t already killed them. “That wasn’t too bad, Timbers,” he followed the kid when he trudged after the ball, trying to be a little comforting.

“I kick like Charlie Brown.”

“Now that’s just mean,” Jason couldn’t help but laugh, snorting a little. It was a good one-liner, Dick would’ve been proud. “Charlie Brown can’t kick at all, give yourself some credit.”

He tried to help move aside some of the flowers as Tim reached for his ball, however, leaning above the kid so he wouldn’t be in his way left him with a pretty good view. Most notably, the coat that was at least two sizes too big for him. He didn’t know if the Drakes were just the type of parents who bought their kids oversized crap so they would grow into it and save some money, or if they were just that negligent they didn’t even know their own son’s size, but Jason did know that despite Tim’s hair being a little longer than Jason would ever keep his own, what he saw wasn’t the collar of his shirt.

He stared, long and hard, trying with all of his might to remember what the back of Tim’s shirt looked like. But Tim had been wearing some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt, and it’d been green, but what he was looking at…it was black and with little yellow ducks on its design.

He felt his breath chill and not from the cold, however, before he could have the proper freak out any sane person would, Tim had moved unexpectedly, and apparently Jason had been resting a considerable amount of weight on him, because the moment the kid moved from being his little prop, he fell face first into the flower bush. 

“Jason!” Tim shrieked, tossing the ball aside as he immediately grabbed for the older boy’s shoulder, before second-guessing that decision and trying to move the crumbled remains of the flower bush so they wouldn’t scratch up the older boy’s face. “Are you okay?”

Jason grunted as he pushed himself out of the flower bush, or whatever remained of it, hardly even batting an eye at it. If what he saw was right, then the Drakes earned every demolished flower bush they got. His nose stung and he was pretty sure there was a branch lodged up in there somewhere, but he only held his hand to it as he mumbled, “Yeah, yeah, Tim I’m fine. Let’s just go inside for a minute, yeah?”

“Yeah…Okay.” Probably faster than Flash himself, Tim rushed to open the door for Jason the moment he was standing again, carrying little to none for the discarded soccer ball or game they’d been playing. And once Jason was sure he didn’t have a branch lodged in his brain–no matter how he swore he could still feel it–Tim had led them to sit down in the living room, and all the more, Jason couldn’t help but glare at how Tim had immediately sat down on a beanbag instead of the leather couches behind him.

He wanted so badly to rip apart those fucking leather couches, leave deep and irreparable gashes in the rich leather and tear out all the innards all over the room right along with every dead piece of history they kept like trophies in their home. 

Forgetting they had a living boy within the very walls they used to immortalize the dead.

Jason sat down right next to him, the beanbag was big enough, and Tim needed to get used to werewolf levels of affection. Not to mention he knew if he touched the couches and felt that god-awful starchiness to them that all brand new leather couches had, despite the dust on them telling the story of just how old they really were, he’d actually rip them up.

The air was tense for a minute, due to his own silence he knew, but he needed a moment to compose himself. "Think straight Jaylad, you have to keep calm to find the final answer." That’s what Bruce always told him, and most times, it was enough to calm him down and keep his head on his shoulders. But not this. No, not this.

“Jason?” Tim couldn’t help but curl up a little when he talked. Jason looked…mad. He looked upset, he had that same expression on his face whenever his mother would get an unsavory call from someone she particularly disliked. The disdain was always so contained that one couldn’t properly call it out, but it was felt all the same. “I’m sorry…do you want to go home? I can call Mr. Pennyworth for you, I’ll tell him that my parents don’t want me having anyone over right now.”

That snapped him right out of it, and Jason quickly grabbed Tim’s arm, a little tighter than he meant to, but he couldn’t let the kid walk away from him right now. “No!” Cringing at himself, because he was seriously acting like a lunatic, Jason eased his grip and his tone as he clarified, “I mean…No, no, everything is just fine, Timmy. I was just…thinking of something bad for a minute, sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to shout at ya.”

Tim jolted a little, pausing at how…sincerely Jason had answered. As if his question was an important one. He only nodded a little, leaning into Jason just a little. He was already holding onto his arm…it probably meant that it was okay then, and Jason looked like he could use it. “What were you thinking about?”

“About ripping up couches.”

Okay, odd, but sure, why not?

“...Are you going to?”

Jason snorted a little, letting go of Tim’s arm to instead wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull the kid closer to him. “No, not yet at least…” Inhaling deeply just to let it out again, he let his eyes wander, smiling a little at how Tim had his head so hesitantly pressed against his shoulder, as if scared to overstep the nonexistent boundaries Jason had. 

But once again, and even more so now without the oversized coat in the way, Jason saw it. 

The fucking collar. 

It was a fucking scent collar. 

He knew. He’d seen the damn things all over the streets back then. He knew because he’d had to wear one once; when he couldn’t risk someone recognizing his scent or pinpointing it back to their apartment where his mama had been so sick. When he stole tires and anything else he could get his paws on, anything to keep them running just a little longer, anything to keep his mama smiling at him.

They weren’t necessarily illegal, he knew that. Adults could buy them. Just like contraceptives and high-dosage medicine, but kids couldn’t. Because just like all of those things, kids shouldn’t be fucking using them. Hell, adults shouldn’t use them all that much. They had consequences and Jason knew those consequences on a personal level.

Jason didn’t even know why they existed, they were just a more withstanding and dangerous version of scent patches. Hell, Bruce even refused to use a scent collar for patrol. Scent patches only, and even then, the process of checking all boxes of health after wearing them was long and tedious. 

They could cause someone’s scent glands to become so shriveled up and misused that their hormones would become so out of whack that during the different phases of the month, it could be almost impossible to pinpoint how they would react to a pin dropping. They caused irritability, anxiety, insomnia, and several physical effects that Jason didn’t want to start thinking about. 

The inability to thrive came to mind.

“Hey Timmy,” he wanted to rip it off. Scent collars weren’t meant for kids, they weren’t designed for them. Jason didn’t know a sane werewolf who would use them willingly often, if at all. Yet Tim’s was perfectly snug, digging into all of the spots on his neck that it should, it didn’t hang loose like the ones Jason had stolen used to, and it had fucking yellow little duckies on it. 

Like a baby blanket. So sweet and innocent looking, but Jason could only think of how it would choke him in his sleep.

It was perfectly designed for a kid, for Tim.

“That collar you’re wearing…where did you get it?” 

“Collar?” Tim looked up at Jason at his question, brows furrowed in confusion at the term, but when he saw Jason practically staring through him at his duckie necklace, he only grunted as his voice grew just a bit softer, fonder, as he said, “Oh, my necklace. My mother got it for me, she calls it my duckie necklace.”

Jason felt his stomach sink. It was one thing that the collar was so perfectly designed to fit Tim, but the fact that he spoke about it so casually, so openly, as if most wolves wouldn’t growl and snap their jaws in humiliation if they were caught with one on. But to think his own mother had gotten it for him, designed it to look innocent and sweet, even giving it a name for Tim to call so fondly.

His jaw ached and he knew that he shouldn’t clench his teeth so hard, Alfred would tell him that grinding gears was only for machines, not teeth. But only werewolves could buy scent collars. It was a reasonably new law, not even a federal one, only a handful of states had enforced it, but it was designed to limit the ease at which trafficking could occur within the werewolf population.

And while he knew that if the Drakes could get a custom-made child scent collar, they could rightfully so buy one from someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass if they were wolves or a unicorn. But he just couldn’t bring himself to play with the idea of another werewolf, a parent, willfully collaring their own child, and even going as far as to play it off as a sweet gift.

Even Willis hadn’t gone so far. His own son’s skin as an ashtray, sure, but collaring? Even he hadn’t been so cruel.

“Tim….” He felt his breath wheezing despite himself, did Tim even know? Did Tim even know what this was? Did he even know what he was? Could Jason tell him? Should he? Was this illegal? Could the Drakes claim some faulty medical necessity bullshit? What was he supposed to do?

“Yeah?” Tim hummed, blissfully ignorant to the storm overhead, to the lighting crackling within Jason’s skin, and the rumble of the storm in his heart. Calm as if swayed by a gentle breeze, blind to the approaching storm behind him. 

“Let’s go back to my house, okay?” The white walls mocked him, and the memorialized dead laughed at him, crowing and cawing like ravens. He felt the walls shrinking, the memories blending in with the white and threatening to take it all away again. “Let’s have a sleepover, you’re parents aren’t back for a while, yeah? Let’s make it a long sleepover.”