Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Only the old trains were used at nighttime. Maybe the train authorities thought the darkness would hide how rusty it was. If only it could hide the deafening sound of its rusted wheels too.

He wasn't listening to music like he usually did. He'd left the cave in a mad rush and forgotten to take his earbuds with him. So now, Tim had to suffer through the ride as the wheels grinded themselves into oblivion.

It had been a slow night, all he had was to do up the reports and besides, everyone had left for the night. He was alone in the cave and he'd wanted to be, even after Jason and Dick protested to stay and keep him company. But Tim liked to do reports alone, and Bruce didn't mind. There was something cathartic about his fingers on the keys, typing mindlessly or recounting an eventful night like he was back in school, writing essays in English class. If he wasn't writing reports, he'd clean his gear at the far corner of the cave with Jason, who cleaned his gun with such care that it became an inside joke between him and Dick, wondering if Jason would treat a significant other the same way. That always earned a noogie on the head. 

There weren't a lot of people in his cabin, he observed. He spotted two elderly women talking to each other — more like yelling, their voices were the only thing louder than the train itself. Then a man sitting opposite him had given him a wink, or maybe he had a tic. But then he smiled. Tim flicked his eyes towards the man's shoes instead. He tucked himself further into his seat, hands shoved deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

The nights in Gotham were always different. Each night presented something that he didn't see the night before. What the scenery looked at eight in the morning compared to midnight felt like he had stepped into another universe. This too, was the time when the night awoke and a new crowd emerged from the rebellion of not having a 9-5 job, or had diminished their chances to take the SATs. And also the entire rogue gallery because like him, they probably messed up their Circadian rhythms as well.

Tim no longer lived in the Drake Manor, having sold it to cover the mounting hospital bills when his father was in an eight-month long coma, and then the physical therapy twice a week. He'd begun living with his father in an apartment somewhere in Gotham Village. It was quiet and the crime was low, so Tim could focus on trying to recoup the losses that was Drake Industries.

He turned his wrist to look at the cheap Casio watch that he'd bought from the bodega near the apartment. 2.24 a.m. His left knee jerked, and the slightest hint of anxiety bloomed into his chest. One more stop before he finally reached the modest dump of his apartment.

The man who sat in front of him had woken up from his seat, only to seek refuge beside Tim. But the timing was perfect. The train's voiceover had mentioned his stop and he immediately stood up, walking over to the doors. The man looked a little disappointed, placing his hand on the now empty seat. The train finally halted and the doors opened. Tim stood a while longer before winking at the man and then exiting.

He walked towards the subway exit, climbing up the stairs two at a time because it was getting too late. The walk back to his apartment wasn't far, but it was deep, and to cut fifteen minutes of walking time, he walked through the alleyways where weird people slept and hustlers waited with their backs against the wall.

The lift took a while to reach the first floor even though the apartment complex was only six floors. Tim shuffled from one foot to the other as the lift doors finally opened, and he pressed the faded '4' button. He glanced at his watch again and it was two minutes past midnight. He felt the back of his neck starting to itch, and his hands were sweating as he fumbled for his keys in his jeans pocket.

Twisting the lock proved to be a challenge that Tim faced, no matter the time of the day. From the first time he'd arrived, he couldn't remember if he needed to turn the key to the left or the right.

All the main lights were off, except for the lamp near the window. He wiped his still sweaty hands on his jeans and waded deeper into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He was right to be anxious now that a figure was sitting on the loveseat, movements a little too expectant for this time of the night. 

Shit.

“You're late.” The voice was soft, and Tim almost didn't hear it. Tim stood next to the TV.

“I'm sorry, Dad.” he replied, matching his tone. No use speaking loudly; it would only make things worse. “I'd forgotten to look at the time, the meeting with Ms. Callahan finished late and I stayed back a little to prepare some proposals for tomorrow.”

Part of it was true. There was a meeting with Cherry Callahan, but it was done before noon. Not like his father knew anyway, or had taken awareness of Tim's efforts to keep DI running smoothly again. Then there was patrol, which might seem suspicious considering the time he'd return home. But if Tim's lips were sealed, then to his father and Dana, he was just a mere office worker who worked overtime almost every night.

But Tim kept it in his stride when his father yelled at him whilst on a drunken stupor some days, saying that he had no right to think he was better than his father. 

And he was. Being Red Robin and all, he knew he was a better person than his father was. Even Bruce said so, and Tim was glad. 

“I don't care. You promised me that you wouldn't be late.” His father stood up, walking towards him.

In Tim's head, he knew he was being ridiculous. Tim had texted him, saying that he was going to be late, but he didn't reply anything and left him on read. Tim wasn't in the mood to argue. All he wanted was to take a shower, slip under the covers, and have the best sleep that six hours could offer.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have the same sentiments. In fact, his eyes were alert, no sign of lethargy. That all too familiar spark resided in his irises and Tim was far too scared to say something that could potentially come out wrong.

“Well, what do you gotta say for yourself?” His tone was firm, a large hand tilting Tim's head to face him. 

“I'm sorry,” Tim said again, eyes fully on him. “I'll try my best not to be late again.”

“I don't need your best. I want you to listen when I tell you what to do.” The spark quickly grew to a simmering rage. “Get on your knees and put your hands out.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” His father was adamant, and his voice was getting a little too loud. With these paper-thin walls, the neighbors were sure to have heard something.

Tim begrudgingly knelt on the floor, hesitant to put his hands on the wooden floor. He hung his head low and closed his eyes.

And there it was—his father used his heel and stomped on his hand, his fingers. It was hard, his heel coming down in a swift movement. Fear had caused Tim's fight and flight responses to malfunction, and he took the hit. The pain was great, and it took him almost everything not to scream or flinch— he'd learnt it the hard way when he flinched the first time. He brought his heel down a couple times more on both his hands till they went red and started throbbing.

When he was finally done, he had his hands on Tim's face, bringing it up to look at him, and he smiled.

“If I don't do this, you'll never learn.” With that, his father walked towards the bedroom and locked the door behind him, leaving Tim on the living room floor.

Chapter Text

“Tim, honey. Wake up.” A soft voice broken Tim out of his reverie. “ Come on, now. You're gonna be late.”

Tim opened his eyes. Dana was crouched by his side, rubbing his aching fingers gently. He moved away and got up into a sitting position. Dana's face fell. He look at his father's girlfriend properly for the first time in a few weeks ever since they'd made it official. He sighed.

A fading bruise under her left eye, the surrounding veins making it look worse that it was. He realized that the woman was skittish now, her head always hung low, as though she was trying to make herself disappear. The same woman that told Tim jokes whilst his father had his physical therapy sessions, the one who baked him cookies with a note to cheer him on, Tim wondered if she ever wanted to leave as bad as him.

She felt his gaze linger a little longer than usual, looking away towards the closed door of the bedroom. A bright smile appeared on her face that didn't really reach. “Let's get some food in you before he wakes. You're much too thin now.”

“We'll eat together.” Tim assured, returning a smile.

He was still in his clothes from last night, the shirt terribly wrinkled. The loveseat proved to be a less than ideal sleeping spot for him, but it was fine. He could catch a few in his office during lunch anyway. Tim trudged towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He lifted the top of the toilet seat and started pissing.

He had his hand on the shower curtain when there was a knock on the door. Then his father's voice called out. “Timothy, what are you doing?”

He pulled the shower curtain aside, keeping close to the door. “Taking a shower, sir.”

“No, get out.” It was same tone as the night before. “I won't let you use all the hot water like last time.”

“I won't,” He replied, far too tired to say anything else. “I'll be quick.”

“No!” His father's voice was boomed, hand pounding on the door. “Take a shower elsewhere.”

Okay, Tim thought. He'd stop by Jason's then, since he had a toothbrush there. He settled on washing the sleep from his face with a speed faster than the average speedster, then pulling the door open to his father's sneer.

“Get to work.” He growled at Tim.

“Yes sir,” He replied breathily as he walked into the bedroom where the tiny closet for his clothes were. Luckily, his Red Robin suit was at Jason's and he had a spare in the cave. He shoved a few shirts and pants, some boxers. Then headed back out to where Dana was in the kitchen.

“Dana, I'll be going now.” He whispered, pointed a thumb towards the bathroom. Then hugging her. “We'll have lunch soon, okay?”

“It's a date, sweets.” Dana's broken expression had twinged a part of Tim that he couldn't resist staying.

“Please, call me if anything.” Tim reminded her, he's been doing it every day before he left. “Anything at all. Come by to DI if you don't wanna be here.”

Dana nodded, then hurriedly placed the bread in the toaster as his father came out of the bathroom.

“Make good choices, son.” His father squeezed his shoulder hard when they crossed paths. “Eyes on the prize. Wouldn't want another downfall now, do we?”

“No, sir.” Releasing his shoulder from a death grip, he patted Tim on the back and walked to the loveseat, switching on the TV. Tim sent Dana another look, then walked out of the apartment.

As soon as he was in the elevator, he whipped out his phone, texting Jason.

Tim: R u home

It took a minute for Jason to answer.

Jay: Does it look like I have a day job?

Tim: U cld b at the grocery store 4 all I kno

Jay: Wait how do you know where I am

Man it's taking me so long to translate your texts

Tim: Lucky guess since ur alws there

N ur takin 2 long to rspnd

Old man

Btw Im brkin into ur hse

Gna use hot water

Jay: What's wrong with yours

Tim: I live in a 1 bed 1 bath

Wut do u xpect

Jay: Aren't you like rich

Tim: Naw poor now rmbr Dad in coma??

Jay: Man your dad sucks

Tim: So does urs

Jay: Touche Just enter through the front door

Roy already gave you access to enter

Tim: Ok thx

Tim took a bus to Jason's place, a twenty minute ride. He wasn't worried of being late. His secretary Irina always told him that he was a rather punctual employer, and that he could always bring his work home.

He knew that he couldn't do any work at home, now that Drake Industries was in a partnership with Wayne Enterprises but was kept under the radar. Bruce had made it so that even if his father decided to do a deep dive into DI's financial records, or any records for that matter, he wouldn't find anything related to WE. Only Irina, Troy from R&D, Bruce and Lucius knew about it.

DI wasn't as large as it used to be, after his mom died and his father ended up in that coma. The company came crumbling down till it almost operated out of Gotham General's cafeteria. Bruce was kind enough to offer buying DI, until Tim begged him not to, knowing his father's persistent hatred towards the Waynes. Now, DI was a modest eight-storey building with enough revenue to support a 100-strong company. With the scrimping and saving Tim had to do, he could only afford the dumpy apartment and ensure that the rest of the employees could stay on with slightly lesser salaries than they were used to.

Tim had a tablet on his lap as he scrolled through the minutes from last month, before Jason's apartment building came into view. Exiting the bus, he made his way up the stairs to the apartment.

...

Jason had an unlimited supply of hot water it seemed. Tim had used a decent amount of the soap that had Lighting McQueen on the bottle. It smelled kiddy, but he didn't care. He was clean and his hair was at neat as it could be and it didn't look like a birds nest. Jason would be proud of how well Tim managed to clean up.

He left the collar unbuttoned as he put on his blazer. Looking around Jason's apartment, he wished that he could live here. He missed spending Saturday nights with Dick and Damian and Jason and Roy, playing Monopoly, watching dumb films made by high school students, Jason's cooking and all the times Roy asked for his opinion for an invention he'd been tinkering with.

But his father needed him, even if he didn't say it. The accident left him with a small but permanent limp that couldn't be fixed even with physical therapy. It wasn't so obvious unless someone was looking properly. Tim still had to pay the bills and groceries. Dana had been reduced, at his father's behest, to a part time physical therapist. And that didn't pay so much, making Tim the sole provider for the three of them.

At times, Tim wanted to cry because he had to do it all on his own. Thing is, Bruce always offered to help, and Tim kept him at arm's length because it would seem that he was weak, that he couldn't balance being Red Robin or even keep a company afloat. Maybe he'll take Bruce's offer, one day. When he couldn't take it anymore. But now, he couldn't leave them, or leave Dana.

Chapter Text

Patrol times for Red Robin had been cut short, at Tim's request. He'd told Bruce that he needed to tend to his father when he suffers from pains at nights and Dana isn't strong enough to walk him to the bedroom on her own.

Bruce seemed skeptical at first, keeping his arms crossed as Tim explained. But his brows furrowed slightly, and what looked like worry was etched on his face. He nodded at Tim's words, as though the boy didn't fake an uncle all those months ago so that he wasn't a burden to him.

“I hope this is okay, Bruce.” Tim looked away, towards the Batcomputer. “If you wanna take away Red Robin from me too, I'm okay with that too. Totally get it.”

“Tim,” Bruce held the young boy's chin up as he examined his features. The boy had deep, dark circles under his eyes that didn't seem like it could disappear with a few nights sleep. A scar from a rogue attack near his lower lash on the right from when he'd started out as Robin. The shiny scar about 3 inches long on his neck from the Titans Tower attack. Bruce sighed at his protege that he'd grown attached to, one that he had grown to love when he was in his darkest time. “This is not about me taking Red Robin away, I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything. At all.”

Bruce could spot a lie from a mile away, and Tim was doing it right in front of him. He shook his head, saying that he didn't want to trouble the gang, afraid that he might not be able to help at his full capacity if he had to truncate his patrol time. Bruce had always known when his children was lying and came to a conclusion that maybe they had a reason to hide whatever they needed to, because they'd always come to him and spill the beans anyway if it got too much for them to handle. He could wait, till Tim was comfortable enough to tell.

Tim's face was growing increasing pinched, like he was about to cry. And Bruce was helpless. The boy was carrying the world on his shoulders and decided not to tell anyone what was going on. Like a bucket, taking in everything and would only overflow if it couldn't contain any more. The older man then enveloped the boy into a tight hug, rubbing his back.

“I love you, Tim.” Bruce's voice rumbled in Tim's ear, comforting and steady and strong. “I hope you always know that. Take care of your father, he's important too.

"But if it gets too much, come to me. I'm always here. ”

Tim was startled at first, then melted into the hug like it was molded just for him. It was strong, yet gentle. Striking him that someone else cares, beyond Dana, or Irina, or Jason.

“We'd better get going,” Tim released himself from the hug. “Babs has got new intel about the something happening in the North and South.”

Bruce watched as the young boy headed for his motorcycle. Shaking his head as he donned the cowl, he called out to Tim.

“Tim,” The boy turned, fingers still clasping his helmet on. “Remember, you can always talk to me, okay?”

The boy looked at him for a long moment, then smiled as the engine revved and rode off.

...

“Evening, guys.” Barbara's voice came over the comms. “I received new information from my contacts over on the South, there's a meeting happening tonight at the Bowery. A shipment of an unspecified item is rumored to be scheduled some time next week, so till then, you guys should do a keep a lookout during the meeting.”

“And Hood, keep the explosives to yourself tonight. We don't need any delay because of your tendancies to do arson.”

“Come on, don't hate the player, hate the game.” Jason laughed on the other end, only to stop when Bruce sent a sharp glare beneath his white lenses.

“Thank you for the update, Oracle.” Bruce hummed over the comms. “Robin, you're with me. Red Robin and Red Hood, head over to the Bowery. Inform me if there are any changes or if you sense something is going on.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Jason muttered underneath his helmet. Tim snickered from behind him. “It's just you, me and the grimy streets of Gotham, I guess.”

“Could be worse,” Tim replied. “Besides, shouldn't you feel right at home?”

"Hardy har." Jason deadpanned. “Just because I live near doesn't mean I like it.”

After a short ride on their bikes, parked in an alley, the boys were crouched on the rooftop of an abandoned building on the outskirts of the Bowery. Red Hood had his rifle scope trained on one of the windows of the functioning buildings, where the only nightclub managed by the Falcones were.

“It's Falcone, again.” Jason sighed, humbling under his breath. “Could you read his lips?”

Tim had his own binoculars aimed at the very window where Falcone and a group of men in suits were having an intent discussion.

“Something, something, coming from the train yard,” He squinted. “Saturday night, near Robbinsville. Weekly shipments.”

“What kinda shipments?” Jason asked.

“Didn't specify, but knowing him, it's probably drugs.” Tim nodded. “Last time it was Blue Eyes, before B threw him back into Blackgate.”

“Jeez, and you think that'll keep a man from doing it all over again.” Jason groaned, looking away from his scope. “Why can't we have normal people in Gotham. Everyone's so fucking weird.”

“That's what makes this city so interesting,” Tim grinned, tapping once on his binoculars to take a picture.

“Of course you would think this city is interesting,” The older boy scoffed. “From the moment you started stalking us with that camera, you became one of the weird ones.”

“Hey,” Tim fake gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “Like sending a duffel bag full of heads wasn't weird? I think I'm pretty tame.”

“You know what? That's not fair, I was still fresh from being dunked in forbidden Mountain Dew.” Jason rolled his eyes. “And plenty of unresolved daddy issues, not to mention.”

“Yeah, then you wore a helmet and called yourself a name that had nothing to do with that specific article of clothing to prove a point.” Tim shot back, but there was no heat. “Like that doesn't scream midlife crisis?”

If Jason wasn't wearing that helmet, his glare would probably melt Tim's brains right out of his ears. But he knew not to take it seriously, since they had a similar sense of humor.

“You're lucky I like you, kid.” Jason muttered. “Cos, that fucking mouth is gonna get you in trouble some day.”

“And I'll have you to thank, since I learnt it from you.”

“Oh ho, you're such a pain in the ass,”

“Only to you, Hood.” The boy's grin was sweet, yet so full of mischief.

...

Once all the pictures and recordings were given to Oracle to sift through, the boys rode along the streets of Crime Alley, stopping muggers — more Tim than Jason, who was sitting on the rooftop inhaling three cheeseburgers that he'd bought as they passed by — saving a cat whose tail was stuck under the wheel of a truck and saying hello to Ivy who was gardening in her tiny patio.

By the time Tim had arrived on the rooftop that Jason was on, he found the older boy digging into his fries like he didn't just polish off his own.

“Slow night?” Jason smirked, hands still caught in Tim's long-awaited fries.

“Man, get your own!” Tim snatched his fries away, immediately biting on a warm, soggy fry. “Oh, yeah.”

“Should've gotten more,” Jason swiped another fry. “I forgot how good these are.”

Tim handed Jason the remainder of his fries as he started on his own cheeseburger. He enjoyed nights like these, the cool air breezing through that wasn't harsh on his arms and face, the near quiet streets after a night of doing his best at helping people, good food and good company. Tim glanced his his watch.

“I gotta go soon,” Tim said, dusting off the salt on his suit.

“What's up?” Jason's eyes were closed, his head tilted towards the sky as though he too was embracing the wind on his face.

“I told B that I gotta cut my patrols short.” Tim shrugged. “Don't wanna trouble Dana with carrying my dad to bed each night. Best for me to do it myself.”

“You don't wanna get a part-time nurse, or something?” Jason was now looking at Tim, scrutinizing every move he was making. “I know a few, if you're looking.”

“That's okay, my dad doesn't really trust strangers.” Tim answered. “After what happened, I guess it was just a matter of time.”

Jason was silent for a while, letting the sound of the stray leaves rustling around the roof fill in the slightly heavy atmosphere. Tim crumpled the wrapper, placing it into the paper bag.

“Red,” Jason called out. “How's everything at home?”

Tim stiffened a little, rolling his shoulders and turning slightly to face Jason. “It's fine, just normal.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at the boy, his head tilted to the side. “You sure? 'Cause you look like you've been pulling extra shifts at BatBurger. And no offense, they look much better then you do right now.”

Tim glared at the older boy, then sighed. “Nothing I can't handle. You should know me by now.”

Jason didn't attempt to pry out any further, but his voice softened. “I know what it's like. To have to care for a parent who couldn't do it themselves.

“I get it. Feeling like you gotta hold onto all this weight, needing to fix everything like it's your job to keep it all together.”

Tim pulled a leg up to his chest, keeping his Bo steady by his side. He heard the rustling of Jason's jacket as the older boy shifted slightly.

“I used to think that I could take in everything so that my mom wouldn't have to. That if I tried hard enough, I could fix my mom's addiction, worked harder so that our lives might actually get better eventually. Took a while to figure it out, with watching her die and then dying myself to realise that life doesn't really work like that.”

Tim dropped his gaze to his gloves, fiddling on a loose thread. He couldn't seem to find a reply for Jason, knowing how rare it was for the older boy to talk about his past or be vulnerable enough to share something that seemed so personal. He thought about his father.

Jack Drake wasn't a bad person, right? He was bounded by grief, and Tim had seen first hand what grief would do to a person, that person being Bruce. But Bruce got better, he became more aware of the people that cared for him, his emotions more attuned to comforting his loved ones when they needed someone in their corner. The difference between Bruce and his father was somehow vast. Bruce was loving and compassionate, overbearing at times, and he'd passed that on to Dick and Jason.

Tim though? He wasn't raised by Bruce. He was raised by the gentle hand of Janet Drake, who looked at him with kind eyes and kinder words, yet he was also raised by Jack Drake, who was brash and calculating. But he'd stuck around with Tim now anyway, knowing that the word father is more than just a word. It was a patriarchal stance to show Tim that he'd always have control. Dana was there too, because she loved Jack Drake for his charisma, his generosity. But it was a little challenging to tell these days, with his father's recent bouts of heavy words and heavier hands.

With all the things he'd done to make sure his father was safe right where he could see him, keeping DI running as best as it could even if it wasn't what it used to be and hoping that Dana would stick around to tolerate him and his father, was he enough? Had he given enough to keep everyone afloat?

“What's cookin' up there?” Jason broke Tim from his thoughts, a finger pointed towards his head.

“Just thinking about stuff, nothing you need to worry about.” Tim waved a hand back, sending his predecessor a small smile.

Jason turned to face him fully, clamping a hand on his shoulder. It should've been painful and he should've been scared, but the touch was comforting. “You're doing your best, kiddo. Don't forget that.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

“No problem, I'm always down for a good chat with my lil' bro.” Jason stood up, pulling Tim to his feet as well. “Call me if you wanna talk, or hang. I'm there.”

Tim prepared his grapple, aiming for the opposite building. He felt a little lighter, relief coursing through his veins, knowing that there were people that cared. And that they were always there if he needed them.