Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim Drake didn't have a lot on his plate. And by that he means it's as being privileged.

He didn't have much, but he was used to making do.

Midterms were creeping closer, his only decent pen had died mid exam, and the prospect of a night’s rest felt like a pipe dream. 

Life wasn’t glamorous, but it was his. And for that, he was grudgingly grateful for what he had. Slash sarcastically.

His life is simple. Hilariously simple.

He wasn’t the luckiest person in Gotham. Hell, maybe not even on the planet but at least he had a roof over his head, a job that paid just enough, and the hope of a diploma that might someday lead to something better. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and no one could take that from him.

Not like before.

The devil can't touch him so they make his life miserable. 

He still remembered the sting of his sixteenth birthday, the day his parents vanished with every dime they owned, leaving him with nothing but a heap of unpaid bills that soon led to all of their other remaining assets to be seized.

He was twenty now, and the bitterness still lingered, sharp and bitter at the back of his throat.

He is twenty and he can still taste the salt in his mouth.

Sure he’d been angry once, furious even. 

But staying mad took energy, and Tim barely had enough of that to keep himself afloat. Anger didn’t pay the rent, didn’t put food on the table, and didn’t make the graveyard shifts any less soul-crushing.

Just now he is stuck in another graveyard shift with no one else. Just himself, his body and half of his conciusness. The pay is still shitty but hey, money is money. 

In addition, he didn't think anyone would come in this late with a storm brewing outside. Tonight’s shift seems to be shaping up to be another quiet one. 

The storm raging outside had scared off the regulars which left the shop eerily empty. Tim leaned on the counter, staring out at the rain streaking down the window, and sighed.

“What did I do to deserve this?”, Tim muttered, rubbing his face as he glanced at the clock. The dark circles under his eyes were so dark it was hard not to wonder if he’d slept at all in the past week.

The shop was empty, and for good reason; no one in their right mind would venture out at two in the morning in pouring rain just for a coffee and a donut.

Tim leaned against the counter, debating whether to just close up early and go home. The silence was tempting, lulling him toward the idea of curling up in bed for a few hours. 

It's not like anyone will come in this weather.

Ding!

The door chime broke the quiet, and Tim’s heart sank a little. So much for an early night.

Don't you like it when you accidentally jinx yourself?

His head snapped up, eyes darting toward the entrance. He was half expecting some rain soaked overtime worker, desperate for caffeine to push through another late night grind, or maybe someone who had misjudged the weather or just had a really terrible craving for donuts.

What he wasn’t expecting was… a kid.

“Uh…?”, Tim blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

The kid, obviously a boy, standing in the doorway looked no older than ten, maybe twelve if Tim was being generous with his guess. 

He was drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from the hem of a dark green coat that had clearly given up on keeping him dry. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and the moment he stepped inside, a visible shiver ran through him before his whole body seemed to sag in relief at the warmth of the shop.

He didn’t look too happy, pissed indeed but everyone else will react the same if they get caught in a storm.

The lightning struck once at the same time the door shut closed again. The impact of it causes the light to flicker a couple of times.

Tim swears he saw that green eyes glow in that spawn of a few seconds. He actively tries not to freak out and piss his pants there. Maybe not getting enough sleep finally messes up his eyes.

“Hello.", the boy greeted softly, his voice polite but carrying a note of exhaustion.

Tim froze for a moment, unsure how to react. He wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he just saw or what the fuck is that kid is but even he spineless self couldn’t ignore the fact that a kid soaked to the bone.

For a fleeting second, he considered what would’ve happened if he’d just closed the shop five minutes ago and gone home. He pushed the thought aside quickly. Guilt he didn't know he possessed prickling at him. Shaming himself for something; well something.

Instead, he pulled himself together, offering the boy a small, hesitant smile, “Uh, hey. Welcome to the shop.”

The boy nodded, stepping further inside, though his small frame remained tense. His sharp green eyes darted around the empty shop as if he were scanning for something; or someone. 

One hundred and one questions pop up in his head.

What was this kid doing here?

Shouldn’t he be at home?

And why was no one with him? Where are his parents? No kid this age should go out at this unholy hour alone, right?

Tim didn’t know the first thing about kids, but even he knew this wasn’t normal.

Whenever he sees children without parents around he always feels scared. He is always scared that they are like him too, abandoned to death by his own parents; his own flesh and blood.

“Hey, uh.", Tim started awkwardly, “You’re kind of, uh... wet. You wanna dry off a bit?”

The boy didn’t respond immediately, too busy pressing his hands against the warm display glass like it was his lifeline. Tim couldn’t exactly blame him; with the storm raging outside, it was probably the warmest spot in the shop. Still, he couldn’t just let the kid stand there dripping water all over the floor.

When the boy finally looked up, his green eyes startlingly sharp for someone his age. For a moment, Tim thought he might snap at him, but instead the boy seemed hesitant.

"We got a clean towel.", he quickly yanked a decorative towel that had been hanging at the back of the counter for ages and handed it to the boy. 

The manager had strictly told them that it was not for use but honestly Tim felt like even that fat man forgot that they own the said 'decoration'. It is not like he hangs around long enough to notice any difference. He never notices that they are severely understaffed because people keep quitting, or he is just too lazy to hire new people.

His small shoulders stiffened like he was weighing whether to accept the towel and after a beat he gave a small nod and muttered, “Thank you.”, as he took it.

Tim watched him warily as the boy dabbed at his hair and shrugged out of the soggy coat. He offered the boy to hang that coat at the rack beside the front door and the boy gladly hung it there.

“So… are you waiting for someone? Should I, like, call someone for you?”

The boy's face scrunched lightly. He opens his mouth but quickly closes it back. Tim was almost sure he was about to make a complaint but maybe because of the coldness and exhaustion he just sighed. 

Damn, he doesn't know that a ten year old can sigh like that. Like in another universe he was a ten year old that faced idiots for his entire life.

"No, I’m fine. I just need a place to sit… for a while.”

Tim frowned, unconvinced, but decided not to push. Instead, he gestured toward one of the booths.

“That table number 8. You can sit there, it's right under the heater.

Then Tim caught a slight smile bloom on his red, wet, face.

"Thank you.", the boy wasted no time making his way to the seat. It’s truly a shame more people can’t be as polite as him. Tim receives more thank you in his time with the kid than his entire work time and it’s not even a full hour.

"That's kinda cute.", he thought to himself now that the boy practically melted under the warm air.

After watching for a while Tim decided that he was going to cheer up his little customer a little.

He grabs a mug before carefully filling it with hot chocolate, topping it with an extra dollop of whipped cream and sprinkle a cocoa powder on top.

He didn’t have much to spare, but he figured he could afford to treat a kid who looked like he’d been through the wringer with some sweet treat. With the storm still raging outside, a warm drink felt like the least he could offer.

Carrying the mug over, Tim set it down on the table as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle him. “Here,” he said, his voice is softer now. He tries to push any uneasy feelings aside.

“On the house. Thought you might need it.”

The boy blinked up at him, confused. His eyes darted between Tim and the steaming mug like he didn’t quite trust it, “Are you sure?”, he asked hesitantly, his voice still sounds so small.

Tim smiled, leaning a little on the back of the chair across from him, “Yeah, I’m sure. Go on, it’s yours.”

The boy hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly reached out, his small hands wrapping around the cheap porcelain like it was a treasure. He held the mug close, letting the warmth seep into his fingers, and for a moment, Tim thought he saw a flicker of relief pass across the boy’s face.

“Thanks.", the boy mumbled, so quietly Tim almost missed it.

“Don’t mention it.", Tim said, leaning back, “Everyone needs a good hot chocolate once in a while.”

The boy didn’t reply, just brought the mug to his lips and took a careful sip. Tim watched as his shoulders relaxed just a little, the tension melting away in the face of something warm and sweet. It was such a small thing, but in that quiet moment, it felt like everything.

Tim turned away to give the boy some space, busying himself with wiping down the counter. He glanced back a few times, though, unable to help but smile when he saw the kid cradling the mug like it was the best thing he’d ever been given.

At least he is not alone in the shop for his shift that night. Tim gets back to his spot behind the counter, laying his head back on the cold polished wood.

After laying head down watching the kid try to lick his hot chocolate like a kitten for awhile, his sleep deprivation finally caught him by his throat and in that moment Tim was knocked out dark like a fucking switch light.

He didn't know how long he had fallen asleep but when Tim woke up his face was sticking awkwardly to the counter. A quick glance at the clock told him it was dangerously close to the morning shift workers arriving.

“Shit.", he muttered, groggily wiping a drool stain at his cheek. His hair was sticking everywhere except their normal position but Tim didn't have time to fix them when the other worker could come in anytime soon. He will be cooked alive.

Actually, no fuck. Death sentences are nothing compared to getting fired without getting paid. He hadn’t done any of the closing prep. If the manager came in and saw the shop in its current state, Tim could practically hear the fired letter in red fonts. Or worse case scenario;

Public firing.

Bolting upright, he sprung into action, flying around the shop to clean up as much as he could. Chairs were straightened, counters were wiped, and the trash was dragged to the back in record time. He was halfway through rearranging the pastries in the display case when he spotted an empty mug sitting on one of the tables.

“Oh, right.", Tim said to himself, pausing to collect the said mug, “The kid.”

The memory of the boy from last night came rushing back. The soaking wet coat, the glowing green eyes, the way he’d melted under the heater like a stray cat finding warmth for the first time. Tim glanced toward the window, where the rain had finally stopped, leaving behind puddles and a faint sheen on the streets.

The kid must’ve left while Tim was passed out at the counter. He hadn’t even heard him go.

“Who the hell was that kid anyway?”, Tim muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed the mug and carried it to the sink.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it; there was still a shop to clean, and he couldn’t afford another strike from management. But as he scrubbed the mug clean, the boy with the green eyes lingered in his mind.

A little puzzle piece out of place on an otherwise ordinary, stormy night.

✦✧✦✧

A few hours later, Tim was dragging his feet on the way back to his shitty apartment. His brain still fried from back to back lectures and an exam that had felt more like a psychological assault than a test.

A tissue was pressed close to his bleeding nose. Right in the middle of the exam his nose was bleeding excessively but the exam was worth twenty percent of his mark so no way he will back down because of some freaky nosebleed. Pretty sure the stress from the exam is one of the reasons he had nosebleed in the first place.

Right now he was too tired to even think about how much he didn’t want to pull another shift tonight. But again, money is money and rent is due.

"Change clothes first. Eat something. Then head to work.”, all he could think other than work is what to make for lunch today. 

His stomach growled just at the mention of it, a humiliating reminder that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, all thanks to him oversleeping this morning and barely making it before the morning shift started; let be real, they probably saw him sneaking out using back door but everyone is too tired to mind other people business in this city okay.

Lunch, or whatever you’d call a meal at nearly 5:30 in the evening, was next on the agenda. He glanced at the time on his beat up flip phone and shrugged. 

When life is this shitty, you might as well make your own rules. If Tim said lunch was at five, then lunch was at five.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember if there was anything edible at home. Even though his pantry is technically empty it's still far from pay day so he can't go for a groceries trip yet. Another reminder of why he dedicated himself to the graveyard shift.

"Oh yeah.", he mumbled, a faint spark of relief breaking through the haze of exhaustion, “Still got those leftover cup noodles.”

Not the most glamorous or nutritious meal, but hey, it was food. If it can get him through another long night at the shop. And right now, that was good enough. He will make do with what he has until he gets his money.

Tim forced his tired legs up the stairs, his thoughts drifting aimlessly as he climbed. His mind wandered to everything and nothing; classes, work, that weird commercial about cars in tutu he had seen earlier. He was so lost in his head that he nearly missed the figure standing by his apartment door.

Fumbling with his bag, he paused the search for his keys as his eyes narrowed to focus on the small figure leaning casually against his door frame.

The neatly trimmed hair, the unnervingly green eyes, and that green coat; dry now but it was unmistakable. All the Features made his brain click almost instantly.

It was him. The boy from last night.

Tim blinked, half convinced his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. But no, the boy was very much real, standing right in front of his door. His apartment. The door with his number on it.

It's not a mistake.

“Kid?”, Tim called out in a mix of confusion and disbelief.

The boy turned, those green eyes locking onto him as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. The cold gaze he wore almost softened a little

“Hello, Drake.”, the boy said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing there.

Tim blinked, his brain grinding to a halt, “What… what? Huh?”

Had the sleep deprivation finally won? Three nights of no rest, too much caffeine, and shear stress. Maybe he was hallucinating. Yeah, that had to be it.

Before he could even form a coherent thought, the boy stepped closer, completely unfazed by Tim’s confused state.

“We met last night.”, the kid said impatiently, “You remember me?”

Tim stared. Of course, he remembered him; the only customer he had last night. Well, “customer” might have been a stretch since the kid didn’t actually buy anything. 

He’d just been soaking wet and looking miserable, so Tim gave him a free hot chocolate to warm up.

Before Tim could ask what the kid was doing here, he felt the wind knocked out of him. The kid tackled him straight in the stomach, latching onto his lower half like a determined leech.

“Hey! Hey! What the-! Let go!”, Tim yelled, stumbling backward as he tried to pry the boy off. He tugged at the kid’s arms, shook his legs, even tried lifting him by his collar.

Nothing worked.

The kid held on with the grip strength of a vice, and Tim could feel the judgmental stares of his neighbors burning holes into his back. One old lady even paused with her groceries, raising an eyebrow as though Tim were some delinquent trying to kidnap a child.

“Kid, I’m begging you! Let go!”, Tim hissed, his face burning with embarrassment.

The boy only tightened his grip even more.

“Fine!”, Tim snapped, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Come on, let’s go inside before my neighbors start calling the cops!”

The kid finally let go when they reached Tim’s tiny apartment, strolling in like he owned the place. Tim followed, slamming the door shut and leaning against it with an exhausted sigh.

The boy took a slow, deliberate look around the room. His nose wrinkled slightly at the cluttered furniture and the lingering smell of instant coffee, “This is your house?”, his tone flat but laced with... pity?

Tim flopped onto the couch with a groan. His hand waved weakly toward the boy, a silent answer to the question.

He needs a few moments of peace.

“How-”, Tim grumbled as he sat up, pointing a finger at the kid, “-do you know where I live?”

The boy froze. He glanced away with a guilty twitch of his lips.

“Come on, kid.”, Tim said, narrowing his eyes,“And while we’re at it, how the hell do you know my name?”

“I don’t know your name.”, the boy said quickly, too quickly.

Tim stared at him, deadpan, “You called me Drake.”

“That’s not your name.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Dang it.”

Tim ran a hand down his face, “Okay, you’re either stalking me, or you’re really bad at lying. Which is it?”

The boy crossed his arms and finally sighed, his earlier confidence replaced by mild irritation, “I have my ways. It’s not important.”

“It’s definitely important.”, Tim shot back, “Start talking, or-”

“My name is Damian.”, the boy interrupted, cutting him off. “I was bored, I liked the hot chocolate, and you seem tolerable. That’s all you need to know.”

Tim blinked at him, completely thrown, “That’s the worst explanation I’ve ever heard.”

Damian shrugged, already helping himself to the chair by the window, “You didn’t ask for a good one.”

Tim stared at him, completely at a loss. How can this boy, he mean Damian, How can this Damian boy be such a brat!

“It's not important! What is more important is why I am here!”

“You. Tim Drake. I demand you to play with me!”

What just happened. Oh fuck, what the fuck is this? What the fuck is happening right now?

Tim blinked, his brain struggling to process the audacity of the demand.

“What?”, he is hoping he misheard things.

“You heard me,”, Damian repeated, as if it were the most normal thing to ask for, “You. Tim Drake. I demand you to play with me!”

For a long moment, Tim just stared, his sleep-deprived brain trying to catch up. Was this real? Or had he finally cracked under the pressure of school, rent, and pulling double shifts at the coffee shop?

“Oh, fuck,”, Tim muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Oh no no. You don't want me. Don't you see my life is shit enough? Now I’ve got ten year olds making demands?”

“Twelve actually, you excused,”, Damian corrected sharply. “And yes, you heard correctly. I require entertainment, and you are the only one worthy of such a task.”

Tim groaned and slumped back onto the couch, staring at the cracked ceiling like it might hold some answers. “Why me? Why me? You’re rich, right? Okay, I’m just judging but with that coat you should be rich.”, because Tim is rich once and he clearly knows what brand of jacket Damian's is wearing. He can't be coming from a middle income family to afford that, and the coat is too expensive. That specific brand he wore was worth probably an annual income of a normal office worker.

“Go hire someone to juggle or whatever it is you brat do for fun.”

Damian scowled, “My brother-”, he stopped, visibly catching himself, before continuing with forced calm, “Let’s just say I am currently displeased with my usual company.”

“That’s not my problem.”, Tim said, closing his eyes, “I’ve got classes, rent, and, oh yeah, my life falling apart. I don’t have time to babysit.”

“I am not a child.”, Damian snapped, his voice cold, “And I wasn’t asking. I chose you, Drake. Accept it.”

Tim opened one eye and glared at him, “You demand me to play with you, and now you’re acting like this is an honor?!”

“Yes.”, Damian replied without hesitation, his tone dead serious.

Utterly incredulous. “You’re insane.”

“Insanity is relative.”, Damian shot back, already pulling a chair closer to the couch, “Now, what are we playing first?”

Tim groaned, his head falling into his hands. “I hate my life.”

✦✧✦✧

“Let me get this straight.”, Tim said, watching in disbelief. 

“You stalk me, tackle me, invade my crappy apartment... so you can sit here and draw?”

Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, unpacking what looked like a ridiculously expensive sketchbook and pencils from a sleek leather satchel.

“Yes. And talk.”

“You say you want to play?”

“This is my usual playtime activity.”, pulling out a pencil, he began to sketch.

Tim just let him do as he did. The Truth is he is too sleep deprived. The lack of sleep makes his head hurt.

But he can't exactly go to sleep when he suddenly becomes a babysitter to a ten- twelve year old that decides to invade his house.

God knows what he would do if he was left alone.

“What’chu draw?”, the sentence came out a little slurred.

Damian pursed his lips in concentration, “A cat... on a motorcycle.”

Now that gets his attention,“A... cat? On a motorbike?”

“Yes,”, Damian nodded, “I saw a man on a motorbike earlier. He had a leather jacket, and it looked cool. But I thought it would look better if it were a cat instead.”

He leaned forward a little, his head lolled from the arm rest, “You’re serious?”

“Completely. Cats are agile and fearless. It fits. He also has a Catwoman sticker on his bike.”

Tim chuckled, “Alright, sure. This is basically Catwoman on a motorcycle but why not?”

Damian paused, glancing up at Tim, “Do you like cats, Drake?”

Tim shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. They’re cool. Not as needy as dogs.”

Damian tilted his head, “Hmm. Dogs are loyal. I respect that.”

After that Damian didn’t respond to any of Tim’s questions, his tongue sticking out slightly as he focused on coloring in the cat’s leather jacket.

He proudly showed Tim his finished art later.

“Cool, kid. See anything else today?”

Damian’s face lit up in a way that caught Tim off guard, “I saw a man juggling on the street corner. He had five flaming pins, and he didn’t drop a single one.”

“Impressive,”

“And there was a woman walking three dogs at once,” Damian continued, switching to a red marker for the motorcycle. “One of them tried to chase a pigeon, but she pulled it back just in time.”

“That sounds like Mrs Jill and her hoard of Cerberus.” “You’ve been paying attention, huh?”

“Of course. The city is full of fascinating things if you bother to look.”

Tim couldn’t help but smile, “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

Damian glanced up, a hint of a smirk on his face, “So I’ve been told.”

As the boy went back to his drawing, Tim leaned back on the couch, watching him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. For all the kid’s quirks, there was something strangely endearing about him.

They keep talking like that. Tim and his half asleep attempt to answer all Damian's questions and Damian slowly drains the page in his sketchbook with drawing.

There is one picture of him too.

Despite being so sleepy, Tim makes an attempt to hang it on his rusty fridge.

“You are a good kid, brat.”, he picked up Damian by his armpits and the boy didn't even struggle. Just let Tim put him on the coach.

“Want to talk about why you are here?”

Once again, Damian tries to look away with guilt. His hand praying at the blanket Tim used to snuggle on the coach.

After sometime like that, he begin speaking.

"The reason is childish."

"Well, how should I know if it is childish? Why don't you tell me and let me judge it myself."

"My siblings suck. They all are busy, while I understand they have commitment since they are grown up, still it just sucks when they rarely play with me now.

He fidget with the blanket in his hand, plucking up some loose strings and rolling them up into a small pom pom.

"My brother is supposed to take me to the art museum. I was so excited and told everyone about it. I thought we would spend all day together but then he walked back on his promise because something important came up. He left me in the middle of our outing and told me to call someone for a lift.", he air quoted his fingers in a mocking way.

"And how did you end up in our shop?"

"..."

"You didn't call anyone didn't you?"

Damian nods. His head hung down low, "I'm so mad I don't call anyone. Judging by how no one is looking for me, my brother probably didn't come home last night too and others probably assume that I was with him."

As words keep spilling out from Damian’s voice his tone gets sadder and sadder. Damian didn’t cry, but he looked like he wanted to cry. Like a hug right now is enough to make him burst into tears.

“No one notices when I return too… Alfred those though. Both Alfred the human and the cat.”

He let out a quiet sigh, crouching down so he was at eye level with him, “Hey.”, Tim said softly, trying to catch Damian’s gaze, “That’s pretty crappy, what your brother did. You didn’t deserve that.”

Damian didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, his fingers still pulling at the threads of the blanket.

On one hand, he had a job to do and money to grind but on the other, there was a sad child sitting in his living room. Once again he will say; he isn't a good person. But you don't need to fully be a good person to do good stuff.

Tim hesitated for a beat before making up his mind.

“You know what? Screw your brother. You deserve to have a real outing. What do you say we are going somewhere today? Just you and me?”, declared him.

Damian’s head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise, “What?”

Tim stood up, stretching out his arms, “You heard me. Let me make it up to you. We’ll go wherever you want. The art museum, the zoo, the park. Whatever sounds good.”

“But…”, Damian trailed off, clearly skeptical, “You’ve been working all night. Aren’t you tired? Don't you have another shift in an hour?”

“Always,” Tim said with a lopsided grin, “But I’ve powered through worse. Besides, seeing you sulk like this is depressing. So, what do you say?”

Damian blinked a few times, as if trying to gauge whether Tim was serious. Slowly, his expression shifted from uncertainty to something hopeful, “You really mean it?”

“Yep,”, Tim replied, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis, “I’m already regretting my life choices, so you better make it worth it.”

For the first time, Damian smiled; a small, hesitant thing, but it was there, “Alright. Let’s go to the art museum. I still want to see the new exhibit.”

“Art museum it is.”,Tim said, grabbing his jacket, “Give me ten minutes to caffeinate, and we’re good to go.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but the way he perked up, bouncing slightly on his toes, spoke volumes. As Tim made a quick cup of instant coffee, he couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction creeping in.

Their outing to the museum had been nothing short of chaotic, but somehow, it had turned into one of the better days Tim had had in a long time.

When they arrived, Damian practically dragged Tim through the entrance, his energy levels suddenly through the roof as he rattled off facts about the new art exhibit. Tim could barely keep up, half-listening as Damian launched into a passionate explanation about impressionist techniques and their impact on modern art.

“Do you know how much garbage is labeled as art these days?”, Damian said, nose scrunched as he gestured to a nearby abstract piece, “This is a travesty to the medium.”

“Wanna put random stuff on an empty display and see how many peoples stop to take a picture of it?”

“Hell, yeah. Let's do that, Tim!”

The more Tim spends time with Damian, the more he learns something new about him. The kid was a walking encyclopedia, diving into explanations of brushstrokes, color theory, and historical context for nearly every piece they passed. He wondered how someone could just leave this boy and told him to handle his own way home.

It reminds him of his parents. Leaving in the middle of ‘family dinner'. Sometimes Tim will sit in the restaurant until it was time for closing, hoping that they will remember him, that they will come and pick him.

Of course it never happens because he always walks back home alone.

…

Time escalated so fast and now it's time to head home.

The bundle of energy that was once Damian now had turned into a wasted sleepy boy.

“You are heavy.”

“Hussh….just hold me, Tim.”, Damian, who hadn’t spoken in a while, let out a sleepy sigh and nuzzled into Tim’s neck, his voice muffled.

After the museum visit, where Damian had been almost overly enthusiastic about every single exhibit, they’d gone for ice cream next. Damian had devoured his cone like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, then insisted they feed the ducks at the park, where he’d tried to convince Tim to toss them the ice cream cone wrappers instead of the crumbs. That was followed by another round of ice cream because the ducks were unhappy and stole their cone.

All that sugar than get burned at the playground where at one point Damian make him play too and Tim got stuck in one of the tube slide.

“You are a demon. Make me do all the dirty jobs. A demon brat.”

As they made their way back to the street, they kept on bickering. Tim finally put him down because he had become too heavy for his lanky noodle arms to hold.

That’s when they ran into a man.

The man, dressed in a tailored suit, quickly took a step back, raising his hands in apology, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry!”, he apologized. He was tall, his features sharp in the dimming light.

Tim was about to brush it off, thinking the man had just gotten too close when he heard the man’s next words.

“Damian?”

Damian froze beside Tim. He looked up slowly, his green eyes narrowing as he studied the man, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.

“Father.”,

Tim blinked. The man had to be Damian’s father, though the resemblance wasn’t immediately obvious but give him just a few seconds then it hits him that both of them are.

The man’s face softened at the sound of his son’s voice, “I was just finishing up with a business dinner nearby,” 

He turned his full attention on Damian,“I see you've got a new friend here.”

Tim cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure what to say. He felt a bit like he was intruding on a private moment.

“I can walk on my own, Father.”, he snapped, though his words lacked the usual force.

But the man was already bending down, effortlessly picking Damian up as though he weighed nothing.

Damian immediately tensed, his small hands pushing against his father’s chest, “I do not need your help,”, he grumbled. He seems more like he tries to impress his father by staying up.

Yes, but you're exhausted. No need to force yourself, Dami.”

“Tt…”

The man’s gaze shifted to Tim, and he gave a polite nod, “Thank you for looking after him.”, he said with genuine appreciation, “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Oh no, he is terrible. A nightmare. One out of five stars. I didn't recommend him.”

His words get the man to laugh meanwhile Damian is kicking his father to make the laugh stop.

“Nice to meet you then. I sense we will meet a lot more in the future. I am Bruce.”

“Tim.”

“Father! Stop bothering, Tim!

✦✧✦✧

Tim blinked groggily from his sleep. He scrunched his face, groaned and blinked again. He just got a bank notification from his email.

$2000 has been added to his account with a note: “Thanks for babysitting Damian. -Bruce-”

How did Bruce know what his account bank is? He swore to god, that rich bastard.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Tim to realize that letting Damian into his life was like opening the door to a hurricane. Two weeks, to be exact.

From then on, Damian became a near constant presence. If he wasn’t dropping by Tim’s apartment unannounced, he was trailing him to his workplace, quietly waiting in a corner until Bruce showed up to take him home; or sometime taking over the cashier while Tim catching some of his precious sleep.

There is also the time where Bruce personally calls him in the ungodly hours in the night, and asks if he can drop Damian at him. Every time with a different excuse; an interesting choice of excuse. 

Each excuse was more ridiculous than the last, but somehow, Tim always found himself agreeing.

"I have a last minute business trip and no one is available to look after him. I don't trust nannies."

Fair enough. Some nannies only do the bare minimum. As long as they meet the cut they deemed they had done enough. He’d had enough of them growing up to know.

"Someone let his pet spider escape and we can't let him know before we found it. Can you try and distract him for us?"

Easy peasy, Damian love Tim. He is ready to follow Tim to the boring lecture hall if he ask nicely. He bet Damian will not even realize he was getting distracted. Tim was confident he could keep the kid entertained long enough for the spider hunt.

"One of his brothers accidentally dropped an anthrax vile and the house is under quarantine now. What do you think about a sleepover?"

Sure, Bruce, why not? That's so cool, Bruce. He would love to spend more time with Damian. Who wouldn’t want a slumber party with the demon brat while the quarantine team dealt with their biological disaster?

At first, Tim was too stunned to question it. But as the calls kept coming, he started keeping track, creating a bingo sheet of Bruce’s increasingly outlandish excuses.

He only needed “the house is on fire” to hit bingo. And honestly, at this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if that one came up next.

Plus, Tim often found himself with more cash than his graveyard barista shift could possibly earn him, all thanks to Bruce. All because Bruce had a guilty streak about making Tim watch over Damian so he kept slipping him extra money as compensation for his time. Tim wasn’t sure how he ended up as the kid’s unofficial babysitter, but he’d stopped questioning it.

If the job pays well you don't ask where the money comes from. You keep your mouth shut and take the money.

"Broccoli?", somehow, their day had brought them to the grocery store with the kid perched in the shopping cart like some pint sized emperor. It was a little earlier for his usual grocery trip but thanks to Bruce's compensation, he figured why not.

"Yeah, figure I might need it. You keep telling me to eat more green and your dad pays me too much again.", seeing Damian holding a massive piece of broccoli like it was some kind of trophy wasn’t something Tim expected, but here they were.

"Tt. Just about time."

"What does that even mean?"

"Try again. You know what I mean."

"Brat.", Tim muttered before reaching over to ruffle Damian's head, messing with the boy's neatly styled hair. Resulting in the younger one squeaking before hurling the broccoli straight at Tim’s face. This little piece of shit.

When he looks down to strangle Damian, that kid already jumps out of the shopping cart and makes an escape from his wrath. 

"Get back here, you demon brat!"

"Your wish!"

Now who teaches that kid what a middle finger is.

✦✧✦✧

Last night Tim remembered correctly he had passed out on his study table. The rare night he doesn't have a night shift he will spend trying to finish any assignments with a looming deadline.

How many times had he accidentally knocked out his own self on a flat surface this past week? 

Sticky texture quickly greeted him when he gained more of his consciousness. At first, he tried to wipe it away thinking that it was just the usual drool stain but then it hit him.

The smell of the metallic scene hit his nostril at full force. In the darkness of his room he cursed.

"Fuck, another nosebleed.", It is not funny at all. In his attempt to look for his flip phone he manages to knock over some stationary from his table.

"Fuck it. Fuck my life.", the time showed is a little over three in the morning. Which he is glad that he still has more time to catch a decent amount of sleep.

Where is the brat? Oh yeah, that's right, Bruce came to pick him after dinner. For some reason the day tired Damian enough he literally went out for good halfway through 'the secret life of pets'. His dad is thrilled to find his younger son didn't fuss over the bedtime like usual.

Knowing that he is alone in his home Tim didn't bother to turn on the light, not like he will turn it on either if Damian sleeps over, which he soon going to regret when he keeps bumping into stuff.

He groaned as he stubbed his toe.

Having Damian over at his place this couple of weeks not only made a change in his routine and diet but also the layout of his house. The boy is very proactive. Tim's cramped apartment used to be so empty but now it's filled with toys on the ground, pictures hung on the fridge, Damian's favorite product and so many more.

"Where are the damn tissues.", he walked into his kitchen looking for a kitchen roll, or whatever he could find to clean the mess on his face.

Tim was too busy looking for a kitchen roll in his kitchen to notice two shadows watching him from behind the darkness.

Suddenly, His back prickled, a growing unease settling over him. He froze in his place, heart thudding. 

A creak. Barely audible, but enough to set his nerves alight. His head snapped toward the sound, eyes darting to the dim outline of the door. It was closed. Maybe it was just the old floorboards. Maybe.

He turned back toward his desk, reaching blindly for a box of tissues, when he felt it—a presence behind him, oppressive and cold. Time slowed, his mind screaming at him to run, to fight, to do something. But before he could react, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his skull, blinding and white-hot.

His legs buckled as his vision blurred, stars dancing in the encroaching darkness. He crumpled to the floor, barely catching the sight of two figures towering over him, their faces obscured by shadows.

“Got him.”, one of them murmured, their voice low and rough.

Tim tried to move, to speak, but the world tilted violently, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

…

Waking up sore wasn’t a pleasure to awake to. Waking up because someone tried to waterboard you? That's just plain rude.

Tim gasped as the freezing water poured onto him, jolting him awake. Coughed through a gag, not the fucking gag, when some of the water got into his nose.

In an instant, the headache burned his head without mercy. Every throb at the back of his skull felt like someone had taken a crowbar to it—and they probably had, judging by the dull, metallic taste in his mouth or he just had bit onto himself somehow through this gag.

His hands instinctively went to rub at his face, only to discover they were tied behind his back. 

His breaths came in short, panicked bursts. He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. He couldn't see.

He was tied up in someone's basement and about to be killed. This is how it ends, he thought, the terror blooming fully in his chest.

Beaten in some godforsaken place by people he didn't even know and his shroud will be the ragged Gotham’s knight hoodie he wore to sleep.

Tim’s scream was muffled by the gag, the sound dying in his throat as the pain exploded in his gut again. Can they fucking stop!

Tim tried to focus, but all he could think about was how pathetic he must sound, like a dying puppy. Honestly, even a dying puppy would be getting better treatment than this.

He curled instinctively this time, or at least tried to, but the bindings around his wrists and ankles kept him immobilized. He coughed, gasping for air, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue.

“Finally awake, huh?”, a voice drawled, rough and dripping with disdain. Tim couldn’t see the speaker, but he felt their presence looming over him.

Another voice chimed in, more irritated than malicious, “Was that really necessary. He’s already tied up.”

“He wasn’t answering my questions.”, the one that just kicked him replied, his tone defensive, “Besides, look at him. He’s tougher than he looks. Probably trained to resist pain or something.”

He wants to curse at them because first, He Is Gagged. How thick are you? Or is it the kidnapper stuff? That sarcastic stuff Tim sometimes seen in that cheesy mafia telenovela.

“Just kill him then.”, 

That threat didn't feel empty as the pressure around his throat suddenly tightened. Something is wrapped around his throat; a big callouses pair of hands.

At the moment Tim knows that the situation is real. He will die for sure. Die.

They are crushing his windpipe. Pressing very hard at one point on his throat that slowly blocked his airway.

Will he die from the lack of air first or will he die because his neck was snapped.

Either way is a shit way to die. He tried to struggle, to put up a fight, but the hand slamming him down didn't want him to do so.

The tension in the room was suffocating. More than he is suffocating. Just when he thought that this the worse it can be, the universe never really likes Tim so they always give him the worst scenario ever.

“Jason!”, Tim could hear Jason's heavy breathing and the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against leather. This motherfucker pulled out a knife.

Tim's pulse raced as Jason grabbed him by the collar, the knife hovering dangerously close to his throat. His muffled attempts to plead went unheard. Panic clawed at him, his mind spinning with every worst-case scenario.

"Jason, stop!" Dick stepped forward, but the tension between them made it clear neither was backing down.

This is it.

This is his end.

This is the end of Tim Drake.

Just as the blade pressed against Tim's skin, the door slammed open with a resounding bang.

"Jason!”

The voice was sharp and commanding, and everyone froze. Tim's heart skipped a beat as a small figure strode into the room. Even with his head pounding, he recognized the voice. Damian.

"Put that knife down," Damian ordered, his green eyes blazing with fury.

Jason hesitated, clearly caught off guard. "Damian-"

"Now," Damian snapped, his tone brooking no argument. "What the hell are you doing?"

Then another fight broke.

Tim laid still on the floor , the adrenaline leaving him shaking. He'd never been more relieved to hear anyone's voice in his life.

Everything hurts. He feels shitty. Everything is too noisy. Everything is too much.

They keep fighting. Shouting. Someone punched someone. 

Just make it stop.

Make it stop.

There is something cold around his wrists. Fuck you don't touch him. Don't touch him. Get lost.

As soon as the ropes fell away, Tim threw himself into a coughing fit as he finally pulled the gag from his mouth.

His whole body is shaking, he is sobbing; hyperventilating.

“Sorry, Tim. I’m so sorry….”, Damian's voice. That Damian voice. His small arms pull Tim into a hug. A tight hug.

And from his hiding space behind Damian's shoulder he could see the scene for the first time.

Someone with a leather jacket sprawled on the floor with a horrid bruise on his face, promptly knocked out.

The others look too stressed. Trying to play the peacemakers but fail miserably.

And Bruce is standing at what seem like the entrance with a disappointed look; not at him nor Damian.

The blindfold had been removed, but his vision was still hazy with tears 

He hate this.

✦✧✦✧

Comedy might as well be a new genre for Tim because his life feels like a cheap comedy sitcom double topped on a bad comedy talk right now, or if he was just the unfortunate punchline to someone else’s joke.

Either way, he is tired to the core; Exhausted beyond repair.

Sitting to his right on the table is Damian on his extra chair padding. The boy is going full of ranting but all his words didn't sound that audible when they fell into his ear.

From time to time he might have some idea of what is happening but quickly it will change into a whole new different argument and he loses it again.

Most of the conversation resolve around him had started to blur into background noise.

To make things worse, everyone else at the table seemed to be yelling too. Or maybe “arguing” was a better word. Tim was tuning most of it out, until a particular exchange snapped him back to reality.

“I can’t believe you beat Tim up because you were jealous!”, someone accused me. That's probably Damian. Who else can it be anyway.

“What? It wasn’t jealousy!”, that was probably Dick. Tim only knows him for a great time they spend in the basement but this man is oblivious with his feelings. He is rather defensive too.

“It's called… being cautious.”, Tim can sense that Dick probably to admit that he is jealous, “You don't go to a stranger and go ‘Oh yeah, he can be my new brother.’ ”

“So you are jealous.”, Damian retorted back smugly.

“It's. Not. Jealousy.”

“Really? Well you also don't go into someone's house, kidnap them, beat them black and blue just because they hang out with your brother!”

“Jason is the one that tried to kill him! I will try to stop him!”

“We both know you can stop Jason if you really put an effort to it!”

From being held as hostage in the basement, somehow he ended up on the table for dinner with the family. Somehow.

Tim stared at his plate, wondering if it was too late to file a restraining order. The steak on his plate had long since gone cold but he couldn't force himself to eat. Anxiety makes your stomach shit like that.

Plus, he could sense eyes watching him. While Damian and Dick is fighting, he could sense the other in the same room is all watching him 

Hunters with prey on their eyes. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

And when the prey is right under their claws; in their jaw, then it's time to feast.

Maybe it was just Tim but he was sure of it, it's not just paranoia. The atmosphere in the room was unbearable, stretched thin like a taut wire ready to snap. 

It reminded him of a droplet of water teetering on the edge of a coin; growing heavier and more fragile with each second. One wrong move, one wrong word, and it would all come crashing down.

And someone break that tension

“Tim.”

The sudden voice cut through the suffocating silence like a knife.

“Gasp—!”, Tim choked, his breath hitching violently. He hadn’t even realized he was holding it. His body jerked forward as he coughed, his elbows hitting the edge of the table. His plate tilted dangerously, and the sound of silverware clattering to the floor shattered the moment.

All eyes were on him now, the room unbearably still. The tension hadn’t broken; it had only shifted. Now it was all focused on him, sharp and suffocating like a blade pressed to his throat.

Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.

Someone please make it stop. He doesn't want to be here.

His hands trembled on the table, clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.

It hurts. It hurts.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

“Tim? Buddy?”

Someone called his name again; this time pierced through his spiraling thoughts like a pin popping a balloon. Tim flinched, his head jerking up, his wide, glassy eyes meeting Bruce’s steady gaze.

“Tim, are you alright?”, Bruce’s voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his concern as they scanned Tim’s pale, sweat-drenched face. Tim blinked rapidly, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, erratic and wild.

“Yeah.”, Tim stammered, his voice shaky and unconvincing, “I’m alright…I’m alright ... Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be good? I’m—I’m totally fine.” ,the words tumbled out in a frantic rush, slurred and uneven, but then it happened. His voice breaking with barely contained sobs.

“Tim…”,Bruce started, but Tim was already unraveling, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the table like a lifeline.

“Breathe.”, Bruce said gently, standing from his seat, “Tim, just breathe. You’re okay.”

Tim shook his head, tears spilling over despite his desperate attempts to hold them back. His chest heaved as the walls seemed to close in around him. He was going to drown in a room full of criminals. They are going to kill him and no one will notice that Tim Drake is missing. His case is going to be a cold case that only has been cracked ten years later by a sixteen year old proclaimed detective.

Bruce glanced at Damian, who had been unusually quiet, observing Tim with an uncharacteristic frown. There is anger somewhere in those green eyes and Bruce knows his younger brother is upset knowing Tim’s condition is probably due to his brother's reckless action.

“Take him upstairs,” Bruce said softly.

Damian nodded, sliding off his chair without hesitation, “Come on, Tim.”, his voice was firm but not unkind as he gently tugged Tim’s arm, guiding him away from the suffocating tension of the dining room.

✦✧✦✧

Later, in the quiet sanctuary of Damian’s room, Tim laid on the edge of the bed. His hands still trembled as he buried his face in them, curling deeper into his own body.

Damian stood awkwardly nearby, arms crossed, frowning as deeply as the twelve years old could manage.

“You’re still shaking.”, Damian muttered after a moment, glancing sideways at Tim.

Tim tried to hold himself together around Damian, desperate not to seem pathetic, but his body wasn’t cooperating. 

The lingering adrenaline from earlier, mixed with the crushing weight of his panic attack, left him feeling sick and shaky, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

Pulling his arm tighter around himself he replied, “Can’t really help it.”, his voice is barely above a whisper.

Damian huffed but didn’t respond immediately. It's clear that the kid is upset, but not toward Tim. Never toward Tim.

Damian shifted closer, climbing into the bed without a word. His small frame radiated a surprising warmth as he settled beside Tim, pulling the blanket higher over both of them.

“You’re safe here.”,Damian murmured, his voice soft.

No, I’m not.

“Grayson and Todd are idiots.”, Damian continued,“Cain is emotionally useless, as always.”

They tried to kill me.

“Father will punish them.”

Strangle me. Slit my throat.

He grounded you once, and you still managed to sneak out. How’s that supposed to stop them?

Tim let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally loosening as the tension began to ebb away.

“Thanks.”, he whispered. But the word felt hollow. A lie. You don’t mean it.

“Tt.”, Damian scoffed, but when he glanced at Tim, his gaze softened. The faint moonlight outlined Tim’s pale face, his drawn features. 

A little finger trace over his face. Over his chapped lips, over his heavy eye bags, over the dried blood that stuck under his nose.

“If they ever really try to keep you away from me… I won’t let it happen.”

Tim turned his head slightly, letting out a weak, humorless laugh, “Really? What can you even do?”

“I’ll take you with me and run away.”, Damian replied without hesitation. There is something unsettling with the way h reply so stoically.

Tim laughed again, rough but real this time. The crushing weight in his chest eased, just for a moment, as he let himself lean into Damian’s unwavering confidence.

“Run away…?”, the word rolled through Tim’s mind like a distant echo. Run away. From all of this…

“I mean it.”, Damian said suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable, “You’re more of a brother to me than any of them. When… When Father finally received full custody of me, they all promised they’d be the best siblings I could ever ask for. And for a while, it was great. Everything was great. But then…”, the little voice slowly faltered, “They started pulling away. Putting distance between us. I don’t know what I did wrong, but it all fell apart.”

“Shitty.”,Tim offered simply a simple word to describe it.

“Yeah.”, Damian said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “For so long, it was just me, Alfred, and the pets. Sometimes Father. But he’s always busy.”

Damian’s hands fidgeted with the blanket, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Then you came along. And I don’t want it to end.”

“You are like a brother to me, Tim.”

No, Damian. Tim’s thoughts burned. You’re the one who dragged me into this. 

“Aww, don't say that. I will cry.”

You’re the one who pulled me into this rabbit hole. 

Into this hell.

“Then you better cry, because it's true.”

The room fell silent after that. 

Damian’s breathing softened, slowing into the gentle rhythm of sleep. The boy is curled peacefully by Tim’s side. 

Tim lay there, staring at the ceiling, unmoving as his thoughts churned. He had made up his mind.

When the house was finally still, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Damian. He stood there for a moment, staring down at the boy who’d offered him everything, his heart twisting painfully.

But he couldn’t stay.

Quietly, he left the room. Left the house.

Left behind the boy who loved him.

Left behind the city that consumed him.

And with that, Tim Drake disappeared.

After all he have nothing more to lose.

✦✧✦✧

Outside, the storm raged, the wind howling like it mourned for the young man who had just disappeared into the night. It was a storm much like the one that had sealed his fate, and now, on the night he tried to break free, it seemed to weep for him once more; though not for his escape, but for the bloodied path he’d choose without his knowledge.

The manor would be in ruckus as they discover a rope swaying outside the open window.

It was all that remained of their attempts to keep him locked away. Ironically, the very thing meant to confine him had become his means of escape.

By the time they make a move, the person they are looking for will be miles away from them. He’d be long gone, hidden beneath the storm's shroud.

His track will be covered up by the storm, no camera could have captured any trail in such weather.

Almost like he had been wiped from the city. He was no one to begin. No background he could call his own, nor no one to mourn for him. He is a man that has nothing to lose.

Come morning, the news of his disappearance would reach the youngest, and God only knew how he’d take it. 

But one thing was certain; his reaction would be anyt

hing but calm.

Everyone knows it will not be pretty.

Chapter Text

“Where to?”, the driver asked, his tone bored.

Tim handed over a few crumpled bills and how far the bus could go from Gotham; far enough that even the Wayne influence wouldn’t reach.

But could he truly escape them?

The driver nodded, tearing off a ticket, “End of the line.” he muttered, handing it over.

Light filtered through the window of the bus.

Tim huddled in his seat at the back of the Gotham bus terminal, keeping his head low and his hoodie pulled tight over his face. The station was dingy, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. A crowd of weary travelers shuffled around him, each preoccupied with their own problems.

He checked the schedule again, his fingers trembling slightly. The midnight bus would leave in less than ten minutes. No passport required, just a ticket, cash in hand he stole from randos, and a willingness to disappear. He had done this once. He could do it again.

He is soaking wet from running under the rain, but so are most of the passengers. 

When the bus finally departed, he watched as the colorful light from the city began to disappear. Swallowed by the rain and the distance the bus takes him.

✦✧✦✧

Gotham City was never the same after he disappeared. Not a hero, not a villain; just a barista, a student, a regular civilian.

Tim Drake’s vanishing act had sent shockwaves through the city’s underworld, sparking chaos in places no one expected.

The Waynes, rulers of Gotham's shadowy empire for decades, were shaken. Their iron grip on the city didn’t falter outright, but the cracks were visible, spreading deeper with each passing day.

Damian Wayne, the youngest, didn’t take it lightly. For weeks, he tore through Gotham’s streets, interrogating anyone who might know something. 

His fury was as sharp as the blade he often carried, and people whispered that his temper had grown even worse in the years since. 

Everyone fear the wrath. Especially when wrath come from a twelve years old.

Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, the eldest brothers, wore their guilt like armor, throwing themselves into the search. They retraced every step they’d taken in those days leading up to Tim’s disappearance, haunted by the mistakes they couldn’t undo.

It was their fault for neglecting their brother needs and feeling so they are more then willing to do everything to mend the relationship they had burn between their little brother; even if that means bringing back the man their brother replace them with.

As for the rest of the family? They stayed quiet. Silent whenever the subject of Tim came up, deflecting questions with tight-lipped indifference that fooled no one.

At first, people thought the drama would fade quickly. A missing civilian wasn’t exactly Gotham’s most pressing issue. But weeks turned into months, and months stretched into years.

The whispers persisted. The reward grew.

The Waynes didn’t just look for Tim in Gotham. They scoured Metropolis, Star City, even the depths of Atlantis. Rumor had it that Bruce himself had quietly funded expeditions across the globe, refusing to leave a single stone unturned.

The bounty, a king’s ransom for anyone who could bring Tim Drake back alive and unharmed, became an obsession for bounty hunters, mercenaries, and desperate civilians alike. Even after three years, it loomed over Gotham like a shadow, growing larger with every failed attempt.

And Tim?

Tim knew. He always knew.

Splash!

Rain poured down in sheets as Tim ducked into an alley, his breath fogging the cold night air.

“Over there, Dickhead!”, a sharp voice cut through the downpour, followed by hurried footsteps.

Tim smiled, his pulse steady despite the chase. Three years, and they were still at it. The game never seemed to end and Tim was starting to enjoy it.

At the beginning, he was never planning for his escape to be turn into a game of cat and mouse. First half of months he spend living low profile, hiding from anyone that show slight interest toward the Wayne; Better safe then sorry.

News unfortunately spread fast. People start keeping an eyes on anyone with dark hair, blue eyes and look like they haven't sleep for days.

At one point in his run, he give himself a buzz cut and dye his hair bright red. That keep the bounty hunter away for a while 

“TIM!”

Tim glanced over his shoulder. They were gaining ground, their determination evident even through the blur of rain and neon reflections.

A sly smirk curved on his face. With heart beating at a steady rhythm, he dive head first into the crowd.

Still too slow.

Slipping into the throng of people, Tim let the chaos of Gotham swallow him. Yes, Gotham. He decided to take the risk and gamble himself this time. Returning to the city he was born.

Umbrellas jostled and bumped, shielding him from view as he darted through the crowd to blend with them. His damp shoes splashed through puddles, the sound muffled by the rain.

He turned sharply into a side street lined with market stalls. 

Spice, perfume, sewer, rain. All those scent mixed in the air as the crowd is getting more and more crowded with vendor and stale. Even though it's raining outside Gotham citizens had face worse then that.

Tim grabbed a vendor’s abandoned hat from a stand, shoving it on his head and pulling it low to cover his face.

Behind him, he could hear Jason cursing and Dick barking orders to spread out. Their bulky figures making it harder for the to thread through the ocean of people.

The crowd shifted like a living organism, moving Tim along as he blended seamlessly. He let the noise and movement obscure him, slipping between an older couple and a man with a towering stack of shopping bags.

When he reached the edge of the market, he slowed his pace, slipping into a quieter street lined with dimly lit shops. He glanced back, feeling rather satisfied when he saw no sign of his pursuers.

“Better luck next time, boys.”, he muttered under his breath before disappearing; this time into the alley.

Once again he slipped from their grasp.

✦✧✦✧

The warm scent of roasted coffee and freshly baked pastries greeted him first when he stepped into the coffee shop.

Tim stood in line, glancing up at the menu board, the soft hum of a jazzy tune in the background. Rain dripped from his jacket, forming a small puddle at his feet, but he paid it no mind.

The hat he had stole now thrown into the nearby trash bin, along side a couple more disguise he forced to borrow on his way to reach this coffee shop.

He rocked back on his heels, humming the latest trending song under his breath before slowly making a beeline to a table; Table number 8.

Without looking at the person in front of him, he spoke casually.

“Would you like a hot chocolate? My treat.”

The figure didn’t reply, but Tim continued, his smile barely hidden, “The idiots almost caught me this time, but I got away.”, he said, shaking his head with a faint laugh as he slip into the cubicle chair, “I bet their asses feel sore after running all over the city looking for me.”

The beg on his back now placed by his side. His eyes now focus on the menu book that was waiting for him to choose from on the table since earlier , “Honestly, you should’ve seen their faces. They were so close, I could practically hear Dick fucking Grayson yelling and Mr Jason Todd probably smack him in the back of his head again.”

Finally, he raised his head after what felt like a long time of choosing what to order. A grin plastered wide on his face as he met the sharp green eyes staring back at him.

Damian.

The boy, no, the teen, now stood with his usual confidence. The rain dampened his dark hair and added a faint sheen to his coat.

He hadn’t lost the piercing gaze that always seemed to see straight through Tim, nor the subtle smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips even after all this year. The only things that he loses is his baby fat and probably some of his innocence.

He is still a baby though.

After his first escape, Damian is the one that show significant effort in finding him. As best as a ten years old son to a mafia can get him. Back then Tim is lacking of skill of hiding his track, he survived just fine on the street thanks to his past, and Damian found him quickly.

Unlike his brothers who keep choosing and intimedating route like hiring a merchant and putting his head on bounty stack, Damian choose a more civil way. The trick is to treat Tim like a missing cat, not a fucking criminal escape.

He make a contact with the street rats. Trading resources for information. Leaving message on any homeless shelter he send a charity too. Here and there he make his present know, he make sure Tim know what Damian's up to.

And for the result, whenever there is new information about Tim, it's goes to his ears first. It didn't take long until he finally break where is Tim’s location is. Every single time no matter where he go.

“Tt. You’re late,”, Damian said simply with his arm crossed to his chest.

Tim shrugged, putting the menu down, “Blame your brothers. They’ve been keeping me on my toes.”

“Cutting it close tonight, aren’t we?” 

“Had to keep up appearances.”

Damian groaned though there was no real bite to it, “You’re lucky I’m patient.”, he made a pinching motion, “Barely. Just this much.”

“And yet, here you are. Waiting for me instead of attending that Gala. Want that hot chocolate or not?”

Damian gave a faint nod, his posture relaxed yet alert, as always. The waitress came and took their order. Tim makes sure to request the hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and cocoa powder.

“You’ve grown.”, Tim remarked, leaning against the counter while they waited, “Not just taller. You look so much less cute too. I miss that sweet little boy.”, he wiped away the non-existent tears.

“You’re almost intimidating now.”

“Almost?”, Damian raised an eyebrow.

Tim smirked, “You’ll get there.”

After a while their order arrived. Two cups, one black coffee and one hot chocolate. Both of them stared at the order for a while before busting into a fit of giggles because it seemed like the waitress tried to judge which drink belonged to who and accidentally gave both of them each other's order. 

They switch their drinks and continue their chatters. There is nothing worth a price behind their talk, only an exchange about how their life so far.

Most of the time it was Damian telling Tim about all the stuff he had achieved in Tim’s absence and Tim can't help but smile when Damian right now reminds me of the sulky twelve years old that comes to him because his brothers are meanie heads.

At one point, Damian seemed skittish. More fidgeted and more frustrate.

A squish on the boy's hand is enough to make him spill what has been bothering his mind, “How long before you vanish again?” 

Tim stirred his coffee, his gaze averted to the window where rain continued to fall lightly, “Who knows? Few more days. In a week. Depends if your brother's want to be an asshole or not.”

Then he takes a long sip from his cup.

“But for now, you’ve got me.”

Relief painted on Damian's face in an instant, “Good.”

In the secret moments they shared, away from the prying eyes of their family, there was an unspoken understanding between them. 

No questions about the past, no promises for the future. 

Just this, hot chocolate, rain soaked nights, table number 8 and a fleeting sense of normalcy in a world that offered them none.

And one day, when he is ready, maybe Damian can take him to the stupid Gala he despises so much. He will attend it in Wayne's signature black and Damian can show off his favorite brother to everyone.

Maybe one day. Maybe when Tim Drake is ready.

For now this is good enough.

His not so average Barista’s shift.

Yeah, he likes that.