Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Following Batman is the best idea Tim's ever had.

Tim's had plenty of good ideas, of course. He's ten, after all, so he's had plenty of time to come up with good ideas. The idea where he started to learn how to skateboard was a good idea, and the idea where he figured out how to add a pack of Zesti to the recurring deliveries of groceries was a good idea, and the idea where he tried microwaving a meal with a fork still on the plate so the fork would warm up too…

Well, maybe that one wasn't a great idea. The microwave did explode, after all. But Tim's next idea was to get it all cleaned up and have a new microwave ordered and put the new microwave in place a good three days before his parents got home, which was an excellent idea, because his parents didn't even notice and that meant he didn't get hit for breaking the microwave! Granted, he did get hit some that day for letting the cleaning crew break an artifact, but Tim knows he can't win them all.

So yes, Tim has had plenty of good ideas, but following Batman is definitely Tim's best idea ever. Tim gets to see so many cool things! And he gets to hear so many cool things! And he gets to find out the coolest things of all, like the identities of Batman and his sidekicks!

That one's a secret. To be fair, most of his ideas have to be secrets. Mom and Dad don't like it when Tim has ideas. The ideas tend to get him in trouble, even if they're really, really good ideas that could actually, totally help. That's usually because Tim is just a stupid kid and shouldn't poke his nose into grown-ups' business.

Even though Tim doesn't think he's stupid. He gets good grades even if they're not always as high as Mom and Dad want, and most of the time he remembers to take care of the chores he's supposed to take care of, and also he figured out Batman's identity from a flip Robin did! Just from that! So Tim thinks he's smart. He just can't tell Mom and Dad that, because he knows better by now than to be bad.

Well. Most of the time he knows better than to be bad. Last week…

Last week was a different story. Tim had known that a B wasn't a good enough grade, but he didn't get it up in time for report cards to be sent out, and he didn't take the report card out of the mail in time to edit and reprint, and so Mom and Dad saw it, and so Tim got slapped and put in time-out.

Tim pouts as he thinks about it now. Time-out is even worse than getting slapped in his opinion. Getting slapped at least is over pretty quick. Mom and Dad forgive and forget, and they all move on within a few minutes, even if Tim usually aches for a little bit afterward. Time-out, though? Time-out usually means an hour or more of fidgeting in the dark, waiting to be let out.

He doesn't even get to hear Mom and Dad talk during time-out anymore! Not since he offhandedly mentioned he could do that from his own closet, so now he gets put in the hall linen closet downstairs, far away from the vents that let him hear Mom and Dad whether they're in their bedroom or in the main office.

And yeah, okay, Tim gets it. He's not supposed to be enjoying time-out. Time-out is a natural consequence for his actions. So it makes sense he should be put in the darkness and the silence, and not get to hold onto the nice sounds of chatter and laughter.

It's just…

Tim only gets every other weekend with Mom and Dad. At least, that's what it's supposed to be. It's more like every third or fourth weekend, or less if he's not lucky, and Tim's rarely lucky. And Tim wants to be with them all the time when they're there, or at least be able to hear them talk and know he's not alone again.

Right now, Tim's not alone, either, Tim reminds himself, shaking off the thoughts as he shakes a bit of snow off of his shoulders and leans in closer to the edge of the rooftop. Well, he's not exactly alone, at least.

Right now, Tim's watching from between a roof air conditioning unit and the lipped edge of the roof, looking down in fascination as Batman sneaks down a fire escape toward a man standing in the alleyway.

The man is shouting at a girl, who's sitting on the curb and shivering. The man is wearing a coat and what looks like thick pants and also a hat. The girl isn't wearing a hat. She isn't wearing a coat, either, just normal long sleeves. She's got a skirt on instead of pants, and she's tucked her hands and feet under her, like she's trying to keep as warm as possible.

Tim would wonder why she doesn't just go inside if she wants to be warm, but Tim's been watching for a few moments, and the man has been yelling at the girl for the whole time. Tim knows better than to walk away when he's being yelled at, and he assumes the girl knows that too. It just makes adults more angry. And this man sounds really angry.

"-Absolutely no more backtalk, and you look at me when I'm talking to you," the man snarls, crouching down and grabbing the girl by the chin. He yanks her chin up so she has to look up at him.

The girl whimpers.

The whimper doesn't quite cover the sound of Batman jumping down off of the fire escape. Tim hears the crunch of the snow.

The girl hears it too, or maybe she just sees Batman over the man's shoulder, because her eyes go wide and her jaw drops.

"Don't make that stupid face at your father!" The man says, and he rears back and punches the girl in the face.

The girl's jaw slams shut as she reels back.

A moment later, Batman slams into the man, who reels back in turn.

The man doesn't even get a chance, Tim notes. Batman is efficient in taking the man down, but interestingly, not as brutal as he often is. Maybe whatever crime Batman has tracked this man down for isn't too bad?

Once the man is handcuffed to a streetlamp, Batman turns and kneels. He offers a gauntleted hand palm-up to the girl, who's curled on the ground and is staring at him.

The girl whimpers again.

"I'm sorry you saw that," Batman says, his hand still outstretched. "I'm sorry this happened. The police are on their way, and they'll try to make sure this won't happen again. I'm sorry you've been hurt."

The girl slowly uncurls. She reaches out a trembling hand.

Batman lets her connect with his own hand.

They sit there for a moment, then Batman asks, "Do you have another parent or guardian?"

"My grandma," the girl says quietly. "She couldn't get custody before, though. She doesn't have enough money."

"There are some resources for that," Batman says. He pulls what looks like a business card from his utility belt and holds it up.

The girl takes it and tucks it into her skirt pocket. She sniffles once.

"How's your eye?" Batman asks. "Do you need an ice pack?"

"It's kinda cold enough as it is," the girl says, shivering a little.

Batman wraps the girl close in his cape, and they talk quietly until the police arrive. Batman has the police take the girl and the man away in two separate cars, informing the police that the man is "guilty of child abuse." Then Batman stands and pulls out his grappling gun.

Tim is so stunned he barely even makes sure Batman isn't aiming the grappling gun right where Tim's standing. Did… Did Batman really get that man arrested for giving his daughter consequences?

Tim rewinds the conversation in his head as he carefully turns and starts to head away in the opposite direction from Batman. He knows the next stops on this patrol route really well; he'll find Batman again later, or maybe he'll check on Nightwing and Robin later.

At the moment, he's just confused. It really sounded like Batman just got a guy arrested for hitting his kid when she was bad. But that can't be right, can it? That's not what abuse means, not at all.

That's not-

Tim is thinking too hard.

Tim isn't watching where he's going.

Tim is slipping on the icy roof!

With a yelp, Tim tries to catch himself on the lipped edge of the rooftop. Instead, he smacks into the edge and falls over hard onto his back on the roof.

He stares up at the stars, groaning for what feels like forever.

But it can't be forever, Tim reassures himself faintly. If he was groaning at the stars forever, somebody would've noticed that.

Somebody like Batman, who is now kneeling over Tim with a frown.

Uh-oh.

Chapter Text

"Hi," Tim says like an idiot. He's talking to Batman! Actually talking to Batman!

Batman stares down at Tim, but his lips twist, almost like he's tempted to smile.

"Uh, I bet you're wondering what reason I have for being on this roof," Tim says. Tim is also wondering what reason he's going to give Batman for being on that roof. He thinks quickly and says, "Well, I live here!"

"You live on this roof," Batman says. It doesn't sound like a question, more like an unhappy observation.

"No!" Tim says, realizing the implications of that. Batman will think he's a homeless street kid and turn Tim in to the police, and the police will try to put Tim in a foster home. Tim doesn't need a foster home, he's got his own home! "I live in this building."

"You live in an abandoned building," Batman says.

Oops. Those implications might be worse. Tim fumbles over his words, stammering, "I mean, I used to live in this building, back when it wasn't abandoned, and I missed it, so-"

"You used to live in an office building that was abandoned long before you were born," Batman says.

Double oops. Tim tries again, "I mean… I mean…"

Batman is looking entirely unamused, and almost a little angry, and Tim is abruptly reminded of his dad when Tim's giving too many excuses, even if Tim only meant to explain and not give excuses or talk back.

But then that reminds Tim of his dad's consequences for talking back, which reminds Tim of the girl and her dad from before, which reminds Tim of his many questions for Batman-

And Tim blurts out, "Why did you call the police on that guy?"

Batman stares at Tim.

Gingerly, Tim sits up. Batman offers him a hand, but Tim can sit up on his own, thanks very much. He's not a baby, he doesn't need help.

"Why did you call the police on that guy?" Tim asks again.

"Do you mean the man in the alleyway?" Batman asks, sitting back on his heels.

"Yeah," Tim says. "What'd he do wrong?"

"How much of that encounter did you see?" Batman says.

Tim considers how to answer that and concludes that telling the truth is the most likely way to get a true answer back. "I watched from when you were sneaking up on them."

"Did you see me jump down, then?" Batman says.

"Yeah," Tim says. "And I saw you beat him up and talk to the girl."

"Then you saw him hit her," Batman says.

Tim nods. "Uh-huh. He said she'd been back-talking."

"And did you hear me tell the police why they needed to arrest him?" Batman says.

"You said he was 'guilty of child abuse,'" Tim said. "But how did you know that? Were you tracking him for a while or something?"

Batman is quiet for a moment. "What do you think child abuse is?"

"Hurting your kids when they don't deserve it," Tim says. It's the simplest way to put it. There are a lot of ways of hurting kids that they deserve, and listing those would take a while, so clarifying it as hurt that isn't deserved is the quickest way to say it.

"What would be a way of hurting a child that the child deserved?" Batman asks.

Tim droops. He had been hoping Batman wasn't going to ask that. Batman's probably looking for a way to suggest to Tim's parents consequences for Tim once Batman figures out how to get Tim home. "You know. Stuff like a slap on the cheek when you mess up, or belt smacks on the bottom because you were bad, or needing to learn to do better so you get put in the closet for time-out until you need to pee so bad it hurts. Stuff like that."

Batman nods, like that's what he was expecting to hear.

"But you don't need to do any of that to me," Tim says, suddenly realizing that might be an option and hurriedly trying to persuade Batman it wasn't necessary. "I'll tell my parents I was bad when I get home, you don't even need to come with, and they'll give me consequences, so you don't need to give me any consequences."

"And why would I give you consequences?" Batman asks.

Tim droops even more. He stares at his feet. "'Cause I was nosy and snoopy and watching you do stuff and making you come check on me when I'm supposed to be good and not be a bother to grown-ups."

Batman is quiet for a longer moment.

Tim is tempted to look at Batman's face, just a peek, just enough to try to see how mad he really is, but Tim knows better than that.

"Are there other ways grown-ups say you bother them?" Batman asks.

Tim wants to whimper, but he doesn't. It looks like he's in for a bigger punishment than he realized if Batman's asking about other ways Tim is bad, and whimpering and whining only makes grown-ups more mad. "Asking for more food when they work hard enough as it is to get me what they get me, or being noisy, or being stupid, or fussing when they get home a day late, or-"

"I see," Batman says, thankfully cutting Tim off before he has to list even more ways Tim's naughty sometimes. "And these are all methods of discipline and reasons for discipline that your parents use?"

"Of course," Tim says. "Why else would I know them?"

"And have you ever told someone else that your parents hurt you?" Batman asks.

Tim pauses. Something about that question seems… Off. Why would Batman want to know that? And why would he phrase it like that?

Gathering his courage, Tim peeks up at Batman.

Batman looks furious.

But why?

Oh. Oh no. Tim messed up. He said something wrong. Worse, he implied his parents did something wrong.

"My parents aren't abusive!" Tim says, and he hears his own voice crack with panic.

"I didn't say that," Batman says calmly.

"But you implied it," Tim says. "They're not abusive. They're not! They're the best!"

"I just wanted to get to know what situation I might be bringing you back to," Batman says.

"A good one!" Tim says hurriedly. "You can bring me back to a good situation!"

"And what would make it a bad situation?" Batman asks, his tone hard and sharp.

Tim flounders, because it sounds like Batman's already decided it's a bad situation that he'll be bringing Tim back to. "You know! Actual abuse!"

"And what makes your parents' treatment of you not 'actual abuse?'" Batman asks.

Tim panics. If Batman thinks Tim's parents are abusive, Tim will end up in a foster home, or worse, Tim's parents will just make sure nobody knows Batman thought that they're abusive and just get really, really mad at Tim, more mad than they've ever been before, and Tim will be lucky to make it out without any broken bones, and Tim is never lucky! At the end of his rope, Tim blurts out, "You can't turn my parents in to Child Protective Services! You can't, or, or, or I'll tell everybody your secret identity!"

Batman stares at Tim.

Tim stares at Batman.

Finally, Batman says, "And what makes you so sure I have a secret identity?"

"You do," Tim says, his voice wobbling despite his best efforts. "You have one, and I know it. Because I know who Nightwing is, and from there, it's not too hard to figure out Robin or even Batman."

Batman's lips twist a little, but not in a smiling way this time. "Tell me one thing that would give away who Nightwing is."

Tim looks around. There's nobody else but them on the rooftop, obviously. Tim leans in real close to Batman and whispers, "There's only one person in Gotham who could ever do a quadruple somersault, and that's a Flying Grayson."

For the longest moment yet, Batman doesn't move.

Tim doesn't move either. He just feels like he's dizzy from spinning really fast, that's all. And his chest is all tight too, and he might throw up if Batman doesn't do something soon.

At long last, Batman leans back from Tim.

"I'm sorry," Tim says on instinct at the tight line of Batman's lips, but he leans in further and whispers, "But you can't call Child Protective Services. I won't let you, Mr. Wayne."

"I see," Batman says. His voice is strangely even and calm. "Then would I be able to call Nightwing and Robin to join us?"

Tim pauses. On one hand, it would be the coolest thing ever to talk to Batman and Nightwing and Robin all at once. On the other hand, Batman must have some kind of plan that calls for calling in Nightwing and Robin. On the first hand, though… Tim's got the ultimate blackmail in the form of their secret identities, so they can't be too mean to him, and Batman doesn't kill, so even though he's got to be super mad, Batman still won't kill Tim to keep their identities safe, so Tim will be okay eventually.

And it really would be the coolest thing ever to meet up with Batman and Nightwing and Robin.

Tim nods. "They can join us."

Chapter Text

When Batman says they'll have to go a little way across the rooftops to get to the Batmobile and meet up with Robin and Nightwing, Tim nods eagerly. "Sure! Which way should I go?"

Batman pauses in the middle of taking out his grappling gun. "I meant we'll go together."

"Okay," Tim says agreeably. That's nice of Batman, but probably also a way of keeping an eye on Tim now that Batman knows Tim knows Batman's secret identity. Tim starts back toward the edge of the rooftop. "Which way should we go?"

When Tim glances back, Batman is mid-lurch toward him.

Startled, Tim takes a quick step to the side, even though he knows he can't outrun Batman.

Batman pauses.

Tim pauses too. What is Batman doing?

In a strangled voice, Batman asks, "Were you planning on jumping to the next rooftop on your own?"

"Yes," Tim says, refraining from adding the "duh" he kind of wants to add. "How else am I going to get going?"

"I was planning to carry you," Batman says.

Huh. Tim thinks about that. "I won't be a bother. You don't have to carry me. I can do it myself, I do it all the time."

"All the time" is a light exaggeration. Tim only jumps between rooftops if he has to, because a lot of them are really far up and it's a little scary, but sometimes he does jump from roof to roof.

"It's not a bother," Batman says, then he adds, "Actually, it would bother me if I let you jump between rooftops without any training."

Tim thinks about that too. He guesses it makes sense. Batman is a known worrier about kids' safety, after all. Plus, if Batman's offering… It would be really cool to swing between rooftops, being carried by Batman. "Okay. You can carry me."

Batman steps closer to Tim and picks him up, settling Tim against his hip. Then Batman aims his grappling gun, and they're off!

They zip through the air as Batman easily disengages and reengages the grappling gun. Tim's heart zooms up into his throat, then down into his toes, up and down, until he starts to feel the rhythm of it and it stops being nerve-wracking. Then his heart rattles around happily in his chest. He's swinging through the skies with Batman!

Tim's more than disappointed when Batman eventually sets him down next to the Batmobile. That was a lot of fun, and he's never going to get to do it again. He sighs dejectedly.

"Hey there," a voice says from behind him.

Tim whirls around in anticipation. He knows that voice!

Sure enough, there stands Robin.

"Everything okay, kid?" Robin asks, looking at Tim.

Tim does not know what to say to that. Everything is more than okay, because Tim just got to swing with Batman, and now he's meeting Robin, and Nightwing shouldn't be too far behind! But everything is also not okay at all, because Batman thinks Tim's parents are abusing him.

In light of not knowing what to say, Tim says nothing. Instead, he stares at Robin, memorizing every detail he can see. He's never been this close to Robin before, not while Robin is being Robin!

Robin stares back at Tim for a moment, then he looks over at Batman. "What's happening, B? You said there was a situation."

"There is," Batman says, then he says nothing else.

"Soooo, do you want me to guess the situation or something?" Robin says wryly.

"I will explain once Nightwing arrives and we begin our return to the Cave," Batman says.

"Huh. Okay," Robin says. "And what's with the kid, then?"

"My name's Tim," Tim says helpfully when Batman says nothing again.

"Cool," Robin says, glancing at Tim, then he looks back at Batman. "And what's with the Tim, then?"

"He's coming with us," Batman says.

Robin's mouth forms a perfect "o" for a moment, then he grins. "I got it, I got it."

Tim does not get it. In fact, based on the way Robin is grinning almost wickedly, Tim is starting to wonder if he hasn't gotten anything so far.

In the next moment, Nightwing walks up out of the shadows, leaning an elbow on Robin's shoulder. "Did I hear that right?"

"Only if you heard B say we're taking the kid with us," Robin says as he swats Nightwing's elbow away.

"Wow," Nightwing says. "I did hear that right."

"Don't sound so surprised. I mean, your hearing shouldn't be going that bad, you're not that old yet," Robin teases.

"I'm not old at all!" Nightwing protests.

"I mean-" Robin begins.

"We're going now," Batman says, interrupting.

Robin and Nightwing smirk at each other.

"I call shotgun for the kid," Nightwing says.

"My name's Tim," Tim says again, feeling more than a little lost in the conversation.

"Sure thing," Nightwing says. "And you get shotgun, Tim."

Batman sighs, but he opens the front passenger door and beckons Tim over.

Stunned but incredibly excited, Tim hops into the front passenger seat of the literal, actual Batmobile. He tucks his hands into his lap, knowing better than to touch, looking around eagerly at all the buttons and dials and other contraptions that line every surface.

"Let's go, let's go," Robin crows from where he and Nightwing are settled in the backseat.

"We're going soon enough," Batman says, closing the front passenger door.

"Yeah, but we're not going immediately," Robin says below his breath.

Nightwing laughs. "And immediately is the only soon enough, right?"

"Right," Robin agrees.

Batman gets into the driver's seat, shutting his door behind him, and he starts up the engine. Then again, they're off.

Tim can't stop looking around. Most of the buttons and dials and such are labeled, but the labels aren't things Tim understands. They're abbreviations, probably, if not code, which is fascinating.

Nightwing and Robin keep up an easy chatter in the background as Tim peers at everything, tuning out the chatter for the most part. When Tim hears his name, though, he tunes back in.

"And as for you, Tim, what's your story?" Robin is asking.

"My story," Tim echoes.

"Yeah," Robin says. "What's getting Batman to bring you back with us? I'm guessing some kind of recent tragedy."

"Don't say it like that," Nightwing says in a scolding tone.

"How else am I supposed to say it?" Robin says. "I mean, clearly he's been orphaned and gone through some awful stuff, otherwise he wouldn't be coming home with us."

Nightwing hums thoughtfully.

"I'm not an orphan," Tim says.

"What," Robin says. It doesn't sound like a question.

"I'm not," Tim says. "And I haven't gone through some awful stuff."

"You're really breaking the mold on this one, huh?" Nightwing says toward Batman, which makes no sense at all to Tim.

"I just, I had a question and Batman's trying to answer it," Tim says.

"A question that Batman's trying to answer," Robin repeats. "And that question is…"

"Tim asked me why I called the police on a man who I witnessed abusing his daughter," Batman says when Tim doesn't know how to phrase it.

"But it wasn't abuse," Tim says. "I heard him. She wasn't behaving."

"And that made it okay for him to hit her?" Batman asks.

Batman's voice is even, but something about it makes Tim hesitate. Eventually, Tim says, "He was giving her consequences. Parents have to do that so their kids can learn."

"Wait, wait," Robin says. "The kid's saying he thinks parents are supposed to hit their kids?"

"Hit them, belt them, starve them, and neglect them, based on experience," Batman says.

"I wouldn't call it starving or neglecting," Tim says. "And, you know, they're consequences! They're how I'm supposed to learn!"

Robin mutters a couple of words under his breath that if Tim had said in front of his parents, he would've gotten smacked really good.

"Oh, okay," Nightwing says, his voice light and cheerful. "I see now."

Tim turns back in his seat to stare at Nightwing and Robin. "Don't tell me you think that's abuse too?"

"I don't think, I know," Nightwing says in the same light and cheerful tone.

"But I deserved it," Tim says, in case that wasn't obvious before. "I was bad, and I deserved it."

"No one deserves to be abused," Batman says heavily. He turns off the engine. "We're here."

Wait. He knows where they were headed, and if they're there… Turning around in his seat, Tim asks, "Does that mean-"

As Tim's jaw drops at what he can see through the windshield, Robin chuckles from behind him. "Welcome to the Batcave, kid."

Chapter Text

Ooooooh. The Batcave is AMAZING. His head whipping around from side to side to see as much of it as possible as he gets out of the Batmobile, Tim can hardly contain himself from running around all wild. The only thing keeping him remotely calm is reminding himself that he's here for a reason: make Batman realize his parents aren't abusive.

So Tim stays still and grips his hands together in front of him, inwardly chanting to tell himself: don't get in trouble, don't get in trouble, don't get in trouble.

"This way," Batman says, tilting his cowled head toward a desk with a set of large computer monitors.

Tim follows, with Nightwing and Robin close behind.

Batman seats himself in the chair in front of the desk, then he turns back toward Tim. "I suppose…"

"You suppose…" Nightwing repeats curiously.

Batman sighs and takes off his cowl.

"As if we didn't already know we're keeping him," Robin says under his breath, and Nightwing laughs a little.

Tim blinks at them, confused, then at Batman. Or, well, at Bruce Wayne? Now Tim's more confused. "You suppose what, Mr. Wayne?"

"Wait, he isn't shocked? You already told him?" Robin asks.

"I didn't have to tell him," Mr. Wayne says heavily. "He figured it out."

Robin's mouth drops open. "No way. Nuh-uh. No."

"Yes," Mr. Wayne says. He sounds tired, but to be fair, it is pretty late at night, Tim thinks, stifling a yawn.

"How?" Robin asks, more like demands.

Mr. Wayne points at Nightwing.

Nightwing's mask goes up at the top, like he's raising his eyebrows. "Me? Why, what about me?"

"Apparently, if a vigilante does an acrobatics move such as a quadruple somersault, something that only a Flying Grayson could do, it makes it apparent enough to a child that said vigilante is a Flying Grayson," Mr. Wayne says dryly.

Robin doubles over with wheezing laughter. "Holy-"

"Hey!" Nightwing says. "When I was little, a quadruple somersault was the best way to get up speed and force to punch bad guys at my size."

"And now that you're old?" Robin manages to get out through wheezes of laughter. "And now-"

"I'm not-" Nightwing begins indignantly.

"Boys," Mr. Wayne says, trying to cut them both off. Then, when Nightwing and Robin both continue, he says louder, "Boys! This is not the point!"

"What, Dickie's always-gotta-be-performing spirit giving away our identities to a baby is somehow not the point?" Robin asks.

"I'm not a baby," Tim protests. "I'm ten."

"Oh good, the baby's ten," Robin says. "If that's not the point-"

"Oh yeah, the point is that the baby is a child abuse case," Nightwing says as if suddenly remembering something.

"I'm not a baby!" Tim says again. "And I'm not a child abuse case either!"

Mr. Wayne turns back to the computer and types something in rapidly. Then he swivels in his chair and points up at the biggest of the monitors. "Read that out loud."

Tim does so dutifully. "'To inflict physical or emotional mistreatment or injury on (as one's child) purposely or through negligence or neglect and often on a regular basis.'"

"The dictionary. You went to the actual literal dictionary for this," Robin says in disbelief.

"Do you have a better idea?" Mr. Wayne says.

Robin thinks for a moment.

Before Robin can say anything, Tim says, "That doesn't prove anything."

"Does it mention whether or not the child needs to have 'deserved' it?" Mr. Wayne asks.

"No, but, but that doesn't prove anything," Tim says hotly.

Mr. Wayne scrolls down slightly and now he reads out loud. "'The infliction of physical or emotional injury, also: the crime of inflicting such injury.' Child abuse is a crime."

"I'm not arguing against that," Tim says. "I know hurting kids is bad."

"But only if they don't deserve it," Nightwing says in a questioning tone.

"I mean…" Tim says, unsure of how else to put it. "Yeah? My parents aren't criminals. They aren't bad people. They love me, and I love them. They wouldn't abuse me. I know they wouldn't."

"Even if they love you and you love them, they've still mistreated you," Mr. Wayne says. "By your own admission, they've slapped you-"

"But not that hard!" Tim interjects.

"Hit you with a belt-" Mr. Wayne continues.

"But just a couple of times!" Tim says.

"Locked you up for lengthy periods-" Mr. Wayne says.

"But only when I deserved it!" Tim says desperately. "They wouldn't, they don't, and besides, they aren't around all that much! So it doesn't happen often! They're supposed to be home every other weekend, but it's mostly much less than that, so it's not a big deal!"

Mr. Wayne leans forward on the desk and puts his fingers to his temples.

"So they're not home to hurt you too much?" Nightwing asks.

Tim nods eagerly. "Exactly! And Mrs. Mac is mostly nice when she's around, and even she's not always there."

"So you're saying we can add criminal neglect and possibly child abandonment to the charges?" Nightwing asks.

Tim… Tim was not saying that! "No!"

"Okay, okay, stop," Robin says. "Just quit it, okay?"

Tim breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe Robin's on his side?

Robin steps toward Tim and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Listen. Abuse is not okay. Hurting a kid is not okay. And kids do not deserve to be hurt. Never."

Oh. Never mind then. Tim's lower lip trembles despite him doing his best not to let it. "But, but how else are consequences supposed to work? How else can parents be parents, and how else are kids supposed to learn?"

Mr. Wayne looks up from glaring at his desk like he was Superman instead of Batman and trying to glare a hole right into it. "Actually, I know how. And I think you should know too."

Tim frowns. "What?"

"Your parents aren't in Gotham much, correct?" Mr. Wayne asks.

"Correct," Tim says slowly, not knowing where this is going.

"But we are," Mr. Wayne says.

Robin gasps with what sounds like delight and offers Nightwing a high-five, which Nightwing immediately accepts.

Tim tries to ignore them. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like you to stay with us for a while, just while your parents are gone," Mr. Wayne says. "I'd like you to see how consequences are supposed to work, how a family can work without kids needing to be hurt. Would you be willing to stay with us?"

Tim gapes at Batman. That's… Tim gets to hang out with the Waynes while proving to them his parents don't need to go to jail? That's the PERFECT idea. "Oh, yeah, please! I mean, I mean yes, that works."

Chapter Text

"What do you think, Tim?" Dick asks, holding up two different video games.

Tim doesn't know what to think. Dick and Jason are being so nice, letting Tim spend time near them, even if that's probably only so Tim can see "how families are supposed to work" and therefore they're doing it as part of their casework and not because they want Tim near them. And now it almost looks like… "Are you asking me to pick which video game you play?"

"Which video game we play," Jason says, and it sounds like a correction for some reason, but Tim can't tell why.

So Tim just nods. "What video game you two play."

Dick and Jason exchange looks.

"He meant 'we' as in the three of us," Dick says.

"Oh. …When is Mr. Wayne joining you?" Tim asks, rolling around in his head the concept that Mr. Wayne will be playing video games with his two sons. That's amazing. Mr. Wayne must be a really involved parent.

Jason mutters something that sounds like "you gotta be kidding me," but with an additional word that Tim doesn't think Tim's allowed to think, much less say like Jason is doing.

"He meant 'we' as in the two of us and you, Tim," Dick says.

Tim blinks. On one hand, that kind of makes sense, because even an amazing parent like Mr. Wayne probably doesn't spend that much time with their children. On the other hand, that makes almost no sense. "You want me to play video games with you?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "Although I kinda thought that'd be obvious by saying we were going to play video games and asking you if you want to come with us."

Oh. Whoops. Tim cringes. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Dick says easily. "You just have to pick a video game."

Tim nods in determination and looks down at the two cases Dick is still holding out.

"This one's a racing game, so it's competitive," Dick says, wiggling the case in his left hand. Then he wiggles the case in his right hand. "And this one's more of a cooperative one, where you're trying to work together to fight off enemies."

Tim examines the two cases carefully. He's heard of both games' titles, but he's never played either of them. He doesn't know what the correct choice is, so he looks up. "Do either of you have one you want to play?"

"We like both of them, so you can pick whichever sounds good to you," Dick says, while Jason nods.

Huh. That doesn't help. Quickly, Tim thinks through what he knows about Dick and Jason. They're vigilantes, so they probably like fighting games, and they're family members on the same team, so they probably like cooperative games. Tentatively, Tim points at the cooperative game.

"Cool," Dick says, heading over toward the TV.

Jason seats himself on the couch beside Tim and plucks up a controller, saying loudly, "I call player one!"

"Too late," Dick calls back just as loudly. "I already called player one."

"When?" Jason challenges.

"Before you did," Dick says.

"When exactly?" Jason challenges again.

"When I arrived here as a kid years before you," Dick says.

Jason snorts. "Nah, that doesn't count!"

"Sure does," Dick says.

"No way," Jason says.

As the two of them continue to argue, Tim stares at his toes and does his best to shrink into the couch. Dick and Jason are being pretty loud. If Mr. Wayne hears them…

Tim looks up at a shriek from Jason, alarmed.

Jason is balled up face-down on the floor, and Dick is… Sitting on Jason's back?

"Give it to me!" Dick demands, reaching down and around Jason's torso.

"No!" Jason shrieks again, fending off Dick's arms with one hand, the other hand clutching the controller close to his chest.

Tim stares at them, jaw slack. They look like they're fighting! And they're being really loud while they're doing it!

But…

In between shrieks, Jason is laughing.

And Dick is on Jason's back, but Jason isn't collapsing, and Dick is letting Jason swat at him one-handed, even though Tim's pretty sure Dick could beat Jason in a fight. Or, well, Nightwing could beat Robin. But does that apply right now?

Apparently it does, because eventually, Dick pulls the controller from Jason's hand and crows, "Victory!"

Jason pouts, but he gets up and plops back down on the couch again good-naturedly. "I'll be player two, then."

"And Timmy's player three," Dick says, picking up another controller to hold out to Tim.

Tim accepts the controller silently, hoping he looks much calmer than he feels.

Apparently not, though, because Dick scrutinizes him for a moment and asks, "You all good?"

Jason turns to look at Tim.

"All good," Tim says, and his voice doesn't even waver, which he's proud of. The "fight" is over, Dick and Jason both seem fine, and Mr. Wayne didn't even come punish anybody. That's all good by Tim.

Tim pauses right before he sits down at the supper table. "Jason?"

Jason grunts but doesn't move from his spot with his face smushed into the table.

"You look…" Tim says before his voice trails off. "Angry" isn't quite the right word, and neither is "sad." "Upset?"

"Because I am," Jason says, his words barely discernible with his face still smushed against the table.

"Oh," Tim says. He considers that for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Sometimes, when people get upset, they want to be alone, and Tim gets consequences when he tries to help. But other times, upset people want to be able to yell it out, and that helps Tim not get as many consequences. Tim's never seen Jason upset like this before. He doesn't know what to do. He sits down and leans in close to Jason. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jason gives a long groan. "Not really."

"Oh," Tim says again. He falls silent.

They sit there quietly for a moment, then Mr. Wayne (no wait, Bruce, he keeps telling Tim to call him Bruce, even if Tim doesn't have the courage yet to call him that to his face) enters the room. His eyes go to Jason right away.

"Jason?" Bruce asks. "What is it?"

Jason just groans again.

"Jason," Bruce says calmly.

Slowly lifting his head from the table, Jason picks something up out of his lap and places it on the table: a piece of paper, or really, a couple of papers stapled together into a packet. Then Jason leans forward and smushes his face into the table again.

Bruce picks up the paper packet. "Ah. I see."

Tim wriggles in his seat for a moment, unsure if he's allowed to ask.

"Jason, a B isn't actually bad-" Bruce begins.

"It is too!" Jason says, pulling his head up and glaring at Bruce.

"-But I know you wanted an A on this project," Bruce continues.

"I worked really hard on it," Jason says in a whine.

Tim winces. He knows better than to whine. That only makes his consequences for bad grades worse. But wait. Did Bruce just say a B isn't actually bad?

"And I thought it was good enough for an A," Jason continues to whine. "It fit the A category on the rubric on just about everything! It didn't deserve a B!"

Tim winces again. Even if Bruce isn't as strict about grades, here come the consequences for whining at the very least.

"I'm sorry, Jaylad," Bruce says. "I know you're disappointed."

"More like ticked off," Jason mutters, crossing his arms. "How come teachers get to decide what we're worth?"

"They decide what your work is graded," Bruce says. "They don't get to decide what you're worth."

Jason heaves a long sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It just feels like that sometimes. Anyway. At least it was in Ancient History, right? That helps."

"Why does that help?" Bruce asks, looking amused, like he already knows what Jason is going to say.

"Because I can treat it like ancient history," Jason declares, snatching the paper packet back from Bruce and tossing it over his shoulder.

Bruce chuckles. "As long as you don't forget to use it to study for finals."

"Oh wait, yeah," Jason says, and he scrambles out of his chair to grab the paper packet again.

Dick comes swooping into the room with his arms swung out in front of him, beelining right for Tim.

Tim freezes. What did he do wrong? Dick hasn't even been here all week, Dick can't know that Tim did something wrong! Why is Dick about to-

Hug him?

Oh. Dick is hugging him. Huh.

"Hey, hey," Dick says, his arms wrapped around Tim's shoulders. "Long week, no see!"

Tim's own arms hang limply at his sides. Carefully, Tim raises his arms and wraps them around Dick in return.

"How's life?" Dick asks.

"Okay," Tim says quietly.

"Life is okay, good to hear," Dick says, releasing Tim from the hug but not without a quick ruffling of Tim's hair.

"Not that it's exactly bad to hear from you in turn," Jason says from somewhere behind Tim. "But I didn't think you were coming around this weekend. I thought you had to wait until next weekend."

"Jay!" Dick says as Tim turns to see Jason. "Long week, no see!"

"You'd think you'd get used to that," Jason quips, leaning against the hall doorframe.

"Never!" Dick says dramatically. "Now where are my hugs?"

"They've gone missing," Jason says in a deadpan. "They're being held for ransom. If you ever want to see your hugs again-"

With another ruffle of Tim's hair, Dick bounds along with his arms held up toward Jason, who's already holding his arms up in turn.

Tim turns toward a nearby mirror to fix his hair and finds himself smiling.

"Wow, I'm hungry. Is Bruce coming to join us soon?" Jason asks, fiddling with his fork.

"Oh, he's in a bad mood," Dick says casually.

Mid-fiddling with his own fork, Tim freezes. Uh-oh.

Jason makes a rude noise. "Of course he is. It's that McLeary case he's angry about again, I'd bet."

"I'm not taking that bet, you'd win," Dick says.

"Bet you we get a maximum of three words in a row out of him over supper," Jason says.

"Yeah, I'm not taking that bet either," Dick says, then he cocks his head. "I think I hear him coming."

"What, the thunderclouds entering the room ahead of him didn't give it away?" Jason asks with a snarky smile.

Jason and Dick both laugh at that.

Tim… Doesn't get it. Why are they being so un-serious about this? Their father is in a bad mood, so they need to be really good to make up for it.

Speaking of their father, in comes Bruce, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes.

"Hey, B," Jason says comfortably. "Feeling all right?"

Bruce grunts in response.

"That's what I thought," Jason says. "Be that way, then."

Eyes wide, Tim watches Jason and Dick banter across the table like absolutely nothing is wrong. It's bizarre.

But far more bizarre is the fact that Bruce doesn't take his anger out on them, not in general and not for anything specific either, not for their laughter or their chatter or when Dick gestures widely and drops his fork with a clatter. In fact, the laughter and the chatter almost seem to make Bruce less angry? By the end of supper, Bruce's eyebrows are relaxed and high on his forehead once more.

"Tim?" Bruce says, breaking Tim out of his thoughts.

That's when Tim realizes he's been staring at Bruce for most of the meal. Feeling his face flush, Tim ducks his head.

"What's up?" Bruce asks.

"Nothing," Tim says to his empty plate. "I think."

"Well, if you think otherwise, let us know," Dick says.

And Bruce nods, like he'd actually want to know.

Jason had seemed so excited at the beginning of the evening for "movie night." Now, however, every time Tim sneaks a glance at him, Jason's eyes are drooping further and further.

The movie seems to be wrapping up, and Dick is already asleep, head thrown back at an odd angle against the couch. Even Bruce looks drowsy.

Tim doesn't quite get it. They'd wanted to watch a movie, right? So why aren't they focused on the movie?

When the movie ends, Tim's admittedly tired too. He watches through eyes closed almost to slits as Bruce stands and stretches, his joints cracking and popping over the sound of the credits rolling.

Then Bruce turns toward the couch that Dick and Jason are on. Dick's still sleeping, and now Jason seems to be too, his breathing coming in gentle waves and occasional snores.

Bruce approaches the couch, and Tim holds his breath.

Carefully, Bruce puts a hand up against Dick's head, cradling Dick's head, gently moving Dick so his neck straightens out to a better angle. Dick mumbles something in his sleep, and Bruce's lips quirk.

Next, Bruce tugs carefully on Jason's shoulder, which is wedged awkwardly between two couch cushions. Bruce lays Jason down fully on the couch. Jason snores, and Bruce's lips quirk again.

So maybe it wasn't so much about the movie. Maybe Tim gets it now. Maybe it was more about… Each other?

Then Bruce turns toward the recliner Tim is sitting in under a blanket.

Tim quickly closes his eyes all the way, feigning sleep. He's not quite sure what his goal is, but-

But Bruce surpasses it anyway.

Tim feels a gentle hand adjusting Tim's own arms and legs. Then the blanket smooths out over Tim, tucking in around him. Finally, something brushes over Tim's forehead tenderly.

Tim peeks out through tight eyelids just in time to see Bruce's lips quirk, just in that same way he'd smiled at Dick and Jason, before Bruce turns and walks away into the dark.

Chapter Text

The conclusion is dizzying.

Based on his time with the Waynes, Tim's been starting to suspect, just a little tiny bit, that maybe, just maybe his parents aren't the greatest. But that can't be right, it sure doesn't feel right, so Tim does exactly what Tim does when something doesn't seem right: he does research.

He sneaks into Bruce's office to use the desk computer there, fairly confident that even that won't cause painful consequences, even if it still makes him kinda nervous. He boots up the computer and researches, and every article, every website, every page he scrolls through supports one single conclusion, the same conclusion that Bruce had come to in the first place when he'd found Tim on the rooftop.

And as that conclusion hits, it makes Tim feel dizzy.

"My parents are abusive," Tim says softly, hoping that saying the conclusion out loud will make the dizziness caused by it go away.

It doesn't. If anything, it makes the dizziness worse.

Tim feels like he's swaying in the computer chair, or maybe like the whole office is spinning around him. He grabs onto the arms of the computer chair tightly, trying not to fall out as the dizziness swells. He hears himself whimper, quiet and desperate, unable to stop himself.

And, just as the dizziness is starting to go down a little, that's how Bruce finds him: clinging to the computer chair, whimpering under his breath, staring at the screen in front of him.

"Tim?" Bruce says, sounding confused as he walks up to the desk. "Is everything okay?"

Tim doesn't want to answer that. No, everything is not okay. Everything will never be okay again. How is he supposed to go back to abusive parents now that he's just gotten a taste of what a good family is like?

"Tim," Bruce says gently, now kneeling next to the computer chair. "What's wrong?"

Tim still doesn't want to answer. So he just pries a hand off of the computer chair's arm and points to the screen.

Bruce turns slightly, his eyes flickering over the article Tim has pulled up about surviving and recovering from child abuse. His lips twist, and not into a smile. "Ah."

"My parents," Tim says. He tries to say it firmly, but it comes out in a whisper. "They're… They're not good parents, are they?"

"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "I know this has to be hard."

"Yeah," Tim says. "And I, I don't know how to handle it."

"Well, recovery is a long process, usually, and you don't have to handle it all right now," Bruce begins.

"I'm not talking about recovery," Tim says, cutting Bruce off in a way he'd never dare cut his parents off. "I'm talking about surviving. And I do have to handle that right now, pretty much."

Bruce frowns, looking confused.

"My parents are coming back tomorrow morning," Tim says. "I have just under twenty-four hours to come up with a plan on how to keep surviving."

Bruce looks dumbstruck, like he hadn't realized that, even though Tim just looked at some of Bruce's search history and found that Bruce has been tracking Tim's parents' trip. "Tim…"

"I don't know how to handle it," Tim says miserably. "Am I supposed to act like nothing's changed, even though everything has changed, but also nothing really has changed?"

"Do you want things to change?" Bruce asks.

Guilt surges through Tim, tears itching at his eyes, but he answers honestly and passionately, "Yes! If I don't have to get hit, I don't want to get hit. If I don't have to be locked in a closet for an hour, I don't want to be locked in a closet for an hour. If I don't have to be alone, I don't want to be alone!"

"You won't be alone," Bruce says just as passionately, with a level of certainty that makes his voice sound a little like his Batman voice.

Tim peers at him through teary eyes. "How can you say that?"

"We won't let you be alone," Bruce says. He slowly reaches out and settles a hand on Tim's knee. "I won't let you be alone. You are not going back to your parents."

Bruce could've slapped him across the face and it would've surprised him far less than that statement. Tim stares. "What?"

"In all your research about the reality of child abuse, did you read about what happens when someone reports it?" Bruce asks.

Tim nods slowly. "The parents don't get to keep hurting the kid. They usually don't even get to keep the kid."

"Tim, from the first night I found out your parents were abusive, I started forming a report. I've already submitted much of it," Bruce says. "Your parents will not get to keep hurting you."

Tim stares at him, jaw hanging slightly open. He manages to pull himself together enough to stammer, "I don't… You're sure? I won't have to handle it anymore?"

"I'm very sure," Bruce says. "You don't have to 'handle it.' I'll handle everything and make sure you're okay. It's not a child's responsibility to keep themself safe, it's the responsibility of their parent."

Wait. Wait a minute. If it's a parent's responsibility to make sure their kid's safe and okay… And if Bruce is saying he's going to make sure Tim's safe and okay…

"Are you offering to be my parent?" Tim breathes, gripping the arms of the chair again, but this time in giddy anticipation.

"If you'll accept me," Bruce says, looking absurdly nervous. "Think about it?"

Tim doesn't need to think about it. "Yes! I accept! Yes, yes!"

"Well then, that'll be that," Bruce says, relief and happiness filling his tone.

Tim is full of relief and happiness too, more than he could ever think he could be. Letting go of the chair's arms, Tim flings himself out of the chair and right at Bruce.

And Bruce catches him.