Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham Academy was just like any other highschool.

Despite the pretty gardens and neat dress code it still had the same hierarchy and stereotypes as anywhere else.

Just with a little more money thrown in.

There were the well known populars, jocks, floaters.

Then came the naturally talented bunch, the ones that are good at everything, fine arts and the crazy intelligent ones that actually have a future.

Then the rebellious druggies, goths and the rule breakers.

Along with the anime lovers and ethnic groups

Plus the bullies and gossipers.

Oh! Don’t forget the untouchables, the ones that belong wherever they want when they want because of their influence throughout the school.

And lastly there were the outcasts and loners, the scholarships, the losers. Also known as Peter’s label.

He didn’t know whether it was from the bag he had dug out from a local dumpster and washed thoroughly.(He was still almost ninety percent sure that the bag was used and ditched by drug runners.)

Or maybe it’s the obvious second hand shirt with the old abandoned logo of Gotham Academy over his heart that he got from his neighbour.

Or perhaps it was the knock off shoes that were five bucks from a Good Will in Crime Alley and against dress code, yet the too big pants cover them enough to not be visible enough to tell.

Or, most likely, it’s because of when Jessica Morris bumped into him before throwing her smoothie all over his clothes because he had ruined her designer bag with just his presence.

Peter wasn’t proud of what he said in that moment, but despite him saying, “Please tell me that is a famous bag that is supposed to show your wealth because if you brought that for its looks then I am generally worried about you.”

Even with the laughs and giggles that his words caused, it didn’t stop him from being slapped with her manicured nails and because she was in the group of ‘untouchables’ as mentioned before, Peter got a week of detention and she got a very heartfelt apology from him. Maybe that was the moment his role was cemented.

So he stopped trying, now he just constantly walked around with some ancient earphones and sat at the back of the school with a book until the bell rung.

Then Lucas came along, an athlete that did track and swimming, someone that was outside of Peter’s league and Peter felt himself finally open up a bit.

Peter was smart, he knew that and it was something that he took pride in. Even though he was keeping it low in an average class.

However, it was still a big punch to the gut that it took him six weeks to realise that he only wanted to befriend Peter so that he would do the runner’s science assignment.

He gave himself some slack considering he was basically isolated and desperate for at least one friend.

But, as Peter said before, he was smart, so he played the long game and ended up making that assignment absolutely perfect, highest marks in the grade, impressive beyond belief.

He couldn’t quite hide his humorous grin when their science teacher expressed her impressment in front of the whole class. His assignment was ‘legendary’ and ‘prodigious’ and ‘too complex’ even she struggled.

The glee from all the praise on his face disappeared when she told him that she had gotten a meeting with his parents and the school board so he could give a speech.

He didn’t speak to Peter again and Peter didn’t reach out. Instead Lucas just sat in Science class, talking loud and joking away, obviously avoiding Peter, so Peter didn’t say anything from then on. He now got small glares from the teacher and a desk that was away from everyone else so he ‘couldn’t cheat.’

His favourite part was how the man had to take his exam in a different room, away from everyone. The humiliation on Lucas’s face in that one moment was worth all the praise that Peter could have gotten for his own work.

It was also obvious that he never told the Science teacher who wrote his assignment and Peter never came forward either, so it was probably just assumed to be A.I generated with copying sources. Peter didn’t mind, he kept his grades in the middle of the whole grade ranking to avoid attention.

So, now Peter was just ignored usually, he had started to even encourage it. He did try to make conversation with a few people in his classes at first, but after the incident they either scoffed or raised an unimpressed brow.

He had become invisible and he preferred it that way.

He was fine with it. He preferred it that way, it was better then fake smiles and awkward conversations. Less risk.

He didn’t have to worry about others’ well-being, nor about what people thought about him.

He just didn’t exist and it was better that way.

—————

It was almost four months since he had started at Gotham Academy when it happened.

Peter didn’t snoop, if you said he did then you are wrong, he investigated.

Well, it depended on the person.

Mr Stark’s notes? A tiny peek.

MJ’s sketches? A small glance.

Ned’s lunch? Fulfilling curiosity. (His mum is a good cook, okay?)

Aunt May’s Yeah, he could bloody well try.

Either way, he was totally and very respectful of other people’s privacy. He understood the importance of secrets and the weight they carry.

So, after spending an entire period of math class staring out the window and bored out of his mind, when he saw the notebook that was left behind a few tables across his first thought was to just leave it be.

But as he slowly kept packing up his things and the rush of classmates finally dissipated, he kept glancing at the damn thing.

He was in math class, it was just an old math book. All he would find were basic notes, maybe a small drawing here and there is the margin.

Yet when he finally slipped his backpack on, he couldn’t help but notice how well loved the notebook clearly was.

The edges around the page were curling in and worn, the red colour on the front had faded and there was a large brown stain that Peter hoped was coffee.

It was the type of damage that only came from a book that was constantly in everyday harms way, always out and being used, written in.

Now, Peter was going to walk away...but he couldn’t just leave a well loved notebook behind. He should check for a name, maybe a sign to help figure out who it belonged to.

He started to rack his brain of who sat there to the point where people could probably hear the organ banging on the inside of his skull like a thundercloud. Was it someone from his class? It could have been from the class before?

Maybe if Peter spent more time paying attention to the class and less time racing raindrops on the window pane he would actually be able to know who was in his class in the first place.

But it was such a struggle when AP Calculus was so easy.

Before he could even dwell on his struggles any longer, he was right in front of it.

There was no name on the front, he flipped it around, looking for any ink only to find the initials, T.D on the side.

He glanced around the room. Maybe he should be responsible and give it to a teacher? Or just leave it where he found it, surely someone would come back for it.

But he could also just have a small peek.

As he went to flip the cover he paused. What if this was someone’s journal with their most trusted thoughts and feelings, maybe a confession to a murder that happened 12 years ago? Perhaps a recipe that had been passed down through generations.

Maybe that brown stain wasn’t coffee, it could be blood...or worse.

Now he was having second thoughts, he didn’t want to invade a stranger’s privacy but now he really wanted to open it, just to snoop investigate.

What if this was the evidence to a cold case? He could have groundbreaking information in his hands.

No...he should put it down, what would a teenager have to do with-

Holy shit, the mother load.

Peter didn’t mean to, he promises! But his fingers just slipped in between the pages and as he was removing them a sudden gust of unexplainable wind blew them open and all of a sudden he was staring at a masterpiece.

It was totally an accident.

But damn...now he was looking...what’s the point of not peeking a little bit more?

Peter bit his lip as he flips through the pages.

Weapons of all kind. Electric staffs with changing volts, retractable blades in boots, bo staffs with different variants and automatic size retracting mechanisms.

Along with gadgets and tools, like grapple hooks with reinforced wires, that worked like chains, loose for seconds before strong enough to shatter bullets and types of trackers with ranging distances And frequencies.

There were also devices to stop listening bugs, little robots and drones and Peter’s persona favourite, a little gadget that spits out little treats for animals.

They were all incredible, however Peter knew they could be better.

He could help this person compact these things better until they were almost non-exsistent. Help with better materials, swapping out iron and copper for other sources of metal.

Hell, Peter could even add his own ideas.

Mr Stark always said that a second pair of eyes will not only catch mistakes hidden but will also build on what you already have. It was why they worked so well together, tossing ideas between each other like a basketball. They use to do that until Peter got so excited that he accidentally smashed it through a wall.

It became a foam dodgeball after that.

Either way, Peter was already thinking about conversations with this faceless genius. The things they could come up with could change lives.

As he glances at the armour section there was one thing that caught his attention.

Goal: Resilient, flexible and bullet proof. Easy to remove, flexible, quiet, comfortable, no chafing.

Peter totally got the ‘no chafing.’ This almost felt like a real hero’s thought process. Funny how much this fan considers.

Some designs had a few things in the margin next to different materials.

Spandex? Flexible, No protection, weave Kevlar. Chafing. Slows movement, less volocity, heavy.

Alloy? Smoothed? Loud, thick or cracks, takes blunt force well. Maybe spandex underneath?

It seemed this guy was stuck.

Peter knew what it was like to be a hardcore fan. He also knew what happened when you hit a dead end.

Based on the faded ink in past pages and crazy chicken scratch scribbles it seemed this guy had been stuck on this one question for months, maybe years.

Peter knew what that felt like, the burning itch of being so close yet so far, constant frustration and annoyance. Then defeat, the stress and tears and that one thought of never being able to do it.

It always comes to a point where it becomes less like a fun puzzle and more like a constant thought, an obsession.

And this guy clearly didn’t have a Mr. Stark to take pity on him and give him hints in the right direction.

He couldn’t let this random person live with the strain. What’s the harm anyway? It’s not like it will go anywhere.

After that thought Peter was tucking it in his backpack. He would add his thoughts and return it tomorrow. As the second bell went, letting him know he was late for theatre he was already running out the door.

As he raced down the hallway he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, a spark that was close to igniting a fire of inventing.

—————

He swung the door to his old apartment building open with a bang, an excited grin plastered on his face.

Mrs Dorothy, a kind and frail lady was waddling up the stairs with her arms full of groceries when she spun at the sound, a gasp flying through her sticky lipgloss lips.

She was also the woman that had given Peter the Gotham Academy clothes, they had belonged to her granddaughter before she ‘left the nest’ to study in Australia.

She had been siting on Peter ever since and Peter has secretly been protecting her along with fixing up things in her apartment and using his “magical touch” to make the TV work.

“Peter.” She smiled, her whisky grey hair curled around her wrinkly face. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, Mrs Dorothy.” Peter muttered shyly to the woman.

“You need to be careful with slamming doors around here, young man.” She lightly chided. “The building is on its last legs.”

“Is the elevator broken again?” Peter asked as he took a couple of grocery bags of the lady’s aching arms.

“When is it not? You know how the landlord is.” She sighed, “I can’t keep going up and down these stairs, I’m almost eighty-seven.”

“You don’t look a day over fifty.” Peter grinned as they passed the second floor. “I could try talking to the landlord again?”

However, Mrs Dorothy shook her head. “No need to fret for the likes of me, dear. You know how he is and I can take care of myself.”

Peter did know, he wasn’t a bad person. Just a complete airhead that had no idea what he was doing.

“I know you can, Mrs Dorothy. That still doesn’t stop me from worrying about the people I care about.”

It was true, Mrs Dorothy was the only person in this world that Peter even considered a friend. Even if her granddaughter did come up a little too much when she asked about Peter’s dating life.

“I worry about you too, Peter. It scares me how you walk around Crime Ally alone.” She then let’s put a deep breath as they make it to their floor.

“Anyway, what are you up too? I saw your smile when you first entered the building.”

Peter felt his face break into happiness at the thought of how he is spending the rest of the day.

“Just some drawings to look through.”

Mrs Dorothy nods, “Let me know how it goes.”

As they reach the doors, Peter patiently waits as Mrs Dorothy lets him in before putting everything on in the bags away.

“I might bake some cookies tomorrow if I’m feeling alright. Do you have any suggestions?” Mrs Dorothy asked as she sat in her recliner.

Peter sat across from her. “You know anything you make is incredible Mrs Dorothy.”

The woman smiled knowingly at Peter’s bouncing leg as he glanced around nervously.

“What are you doing here, dear?” She teased. “Don’t you have some drawings to get to?”

Peter whipped to look at her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, just give me a hand to get the telly on, please, dear.” She said as she put her thin wired frames on and picked up the TV guide to see the channels.

Peter turned it all the way up to seventy-four, despite it being loud enough to hear from the street below everyone knew Mrs Dorothy and her kind soul, so they dealt with it.

After all, it was the perfect volume for Mrs Dorothy.

“Channel eleven, looks good Peter, it’s almost time for The Bold and the Beautiful.”

Peter nodded, after that he made Mrs Dorothy a tea and left the woman to her show.

As he entered his own apartment he felt a wave of relief. He loved Mrs Dorothy, it as much as he could with that brick wall in the way, but he didn’t know how much longer he could have gone without having that notebook on his makeshift desk.

The second he pulled the thing out he was opening it like a rabid dog, almost like a starving man dribbling over a piece of meat.

He wrote in a led pencil so that the owner could erase his work if needed. He didn’t want to just ruin the guy’s notebook if he didn’t want the help.

Maybe this was Peter being selfish, or passing on his own knowledge and ideas. Or maybe he just wanted someone to talk with...sort of.

He started by scribbling things out, changing ideas and more.

He made the rebreathers filter air better, added ways to create voice memos that told the combinations of toxic gases being filtered.

Then it went to weapons, adding formulas, changing steels to become lighter.

Eventually he swapped to writing Karen’s programming...or what it once was. Describing adjustments and how to personalise and connect to different networks.

He made sure to even write websites for different homemade treats that were safe for all animals.(It was a soft spot.)

However, finally after enough writing to leave his hand hurting he finally went to the armour.

He started adding on to what the stranger already had, writing his own thoughts in brackets.

Spandex? Flexible, No protection, weave Kevlar. Chafing. Slows movement, less volocity, heavy.

(Use Kevlar as a thin base, then spandex, then Kevlar above, try steel plates above organs? Make into strips like chain. Less flexible but quicker movement and less bulk.)

Alloy? Smoothed? Loud, thick or cracks, takes blunt force well. Maybe spandex underneath?

(NO SPANDEX, Not under alloy. Use cloth. Spandex just overheats, little airflow. Unless you have a system to cool and heat. I can write one down here

That’s how it went, all the way down the page, Peter adding things here and there, little tips and tricks under the colourful ink of the owner until eventually he got to the end.

He decided to write about nanotech.

(Nanotech: Nanoparticles, elements include...)

Before Peter knew it he had written seven pages and a half on Nanotech, from how it works to theories and materials, along with designs, sizes and programming.

All of a sudden his morning alarm rang.

Peter sighed as he wiped his eyes, it was going to be a long day.

After he finished getting ready, just as he was packing he notebook away he had a moment of hesitation. Maybe he shouldn’t return the book with his added notes...maybe he should rub it all out, especially since nanotech didn’t even exists in this universe.

With shaky hands he opened the book and ripped the pages out, only leaving the first page with his explanations and the small definition Nanotech.

When Math finally came around he passed it over to Mr Burns.

The man glances at the initials along the side. “Ahh.” He said. “I know who this belongs too. I’ll pass it along. Thanks Peter.”

That was that.

Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake.

The person who colour coded his work with highlighters and symbols in ways only he understood.

The person who has a system in place for his coffee from the flavours to the size of the grains.

The person who is so unbelievably organised that he rivalled Alfred, Is currently going through the five stages of grief.

Why? Because he had just lost his notebook.

In Steph’s words at least.

DENIAL

Tim had just misplaced it. There was no way he would lose something so valuable.

He had probably just left it at the manor on his desk. Yet, as he told himself these comforting words all he felt was that twist in his gut that whispered he was lying.

He remembered packing it, he pulled it during morning break to start creating a new animal feeder for Damian, maybe he did that yesterday? But, the smudged ink on his fingers told him otherwise.

Steph probably took it just to mess with him. He can’t help but frown at the thought. She knew how much that notebook meant to him and he knew she wasn’t that cruel.

Would she take it? He wouldn’t think so, but now he couldn’t tell.

It could have been Duke? But, Duke never pulled jokes or pranks. He told them, always saying the classic ‘imagine if I (blank), right now.’ However, he wasn’t one to go through with it, just voice them.

The only time he would was if Jason or Steph dragged him into it, that was the only peer pressure that Jason likes, stuffing glitter bombs into suits and stealing Tim’s notebook by the looks of it.

But that didn’t add up, Tim hadn’t seen Jason in two weeks.

Unless maybe it was all three of them.

ANGER

Oh my god. What if it was all three of them?

He was pissed.

“Stephanie Fucking Brown!”

The girl in question was licking crumbs from the corner of her mouth as she devoured one of Alfred’s chocolate-chip cookies.

“That’s no way to speak to a lady, hotshot.” She said as she took another bite.

“You took my notebook!”

She pauses and looks at him like a deer in headlights.

The face of someone guilty.

Then she scoffed with a blank expression.

“Which one? The one for coffee experimentation? Colour coordination? How to end humanity? Fan boy? Creepy stalki-”

“No my one about Batman inventions and hardware for the community!” Tim snapped.

Stephanie leaned on her hand for a moment, thinking, “Oh. You lost ‘BITCH’?”

Tim scrunched his eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

Stephanie shrugged. “‘BITCH’, Bad Inventions That Can’t Happen.”

Tim was completely flabbergasted. “Firstly, what the hell, secondly, yes they can, thirdly, who came up with that?” He asked, completely defensive.

“Jason.”

Makes sense.

“Either way, I didn’t take your BITCH.”

Fuck.

BARGAINING

“I’m not telling you where your BITCH is.”

“Jason, please!”

“No.”

Tim stared at his older brother in a mix of dread and desperation.

“Jason…when have I ever asked you for anything?”

Jason lifted his head from where he was cleaning the side of his gun compartment. Despite the Red Helmet covering his eyes, Tim could basically see the annoyance.

“You have three seconds to take that back.”

“You don’t!”

“3..”

“Don’t be an as-”

“2…”

“Jason.”

“1…”

“You don’t!”

It’s silent then Jason shrugs. “You ask me for shit all the time. I just don’t do it.”

“For fuck sake.”

“Well…except that one time.”

“Jason!” Tim said as he stomped his foot like a toddler. “Please! Where is it?”

“You scratched my bike on a roundabout.” Jason crossed his arms. “A roundabout, Tim. You go around.”

“I know what a roundabout is!”

“Then why did you scratch my bike going straight?”

“Jason I’ll give you anything.” Tim begs.

“Get me two burgers, a milkshake, three large fries, nuggets and also-.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tim sat across from Jason watching as he pigged out.

“So my notebook?”

Jason takes a large sip through his straw. He twirled the red and white swirl around before he gasped happily at the flavour. “Oh yeah.”

Then he dipped a fry in his ice-cream. “I don’t know where your BITCH is.”

“Jason!”

DEPRESSION

“Duke!” Tim sobbed. “Why?”

“Tim.” Duke said as he pat Tim on the shoulder. “It will turn up.”

Tim had been almost sobbing to Duke as a movie played on the screen in front of them. It was a horror, Duke loved them.

Tim usually did too, but right now as tears fell from his eyes, he couldn’t even see the jump-scares, it was just colourful blobs.

“Are you sure you didn’t take it?” Tim asked again, at this point he was hoping Duke had it.

“I’m sure.”

Tim sobbed harder.

Duke passed over the bowl. “Would you like some popcorn?”

Tim sniffed as he reached in. Then his sobs grew louder. “It’s just kernels.”

“Yeah.” Duke said before popping a kernel in his mouth and chewing it loudly. Tim heard it crack against his teeth as it split open.

“This is the worst day of my life.”

“Tim, you literally watched your dad die in front of you.”

Tim sobbed more.

ACCEPTANCE

Tim was going to fucking kill whoever took it-

“Tim.” Miss Amanda called out before he left the science room. “Here.”

In her hands was his baby.

His beautiful notebook, he could have done backflips then and there.

Until he realised what was inside. Oh my god, did she open it?

Tim was praying to gods that his scientific brain didn’t even believe in, it’s not like he could ask, that would be so suspicious.

He just had to play it cool.

“My notebook! Thank you.” He grinned as he dashed forward. “I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”

Miss Amanda smiled, the woman was always gleeful, doing science experiments instead of theory whenever she could.

“Mr Burns gave this to me during recess. Said it was yours.”

That made sense in a way, Tim didn’t have Mr Burns today, and yesterday he had it second period meaning the notebook was probably handed to him after that.

Why would he have kept it otherwise?

He grabs it with a gracious smile. “I’ll give him my thanks the next time I see him.”

With that Tim left the classroom and quickly headed towards the library for study period. Usually he would just spend time with Duke, however desperate times called for desperate measures.

He sat far in the corner and immediately snapped the notebook open.

He wasn’t expecting much, but when he saw that led pencil his first thought was, ‘who does this guy think he is?’ Then it shifted to ‘omg, someone looked inside.’ Then it finally settled on ‘Mr Burns is a genius.’

He knew he should be feeling the overwhelming panic that someone had seen some of his designs and had potentially put himself and his family at risk, but looking at Mr Burns work?

His mind had other priorities.

He flipped through the pages, seeing notes, equations, new ideas.

Then he came across a small gap of pages that were ripped out, they were rough and jagged.

He counted them before glancing at the back of the first page, there was a basic equation there along with some symbols and notes, it almost looked like a different language. However half was scrubbed out.

Tim couldn’t tell why, it looked as if it was done quickly, in distress or panic.

He purses his lips and started to read.

Nanotech.

The formula was basic, not enough to work with, but enough to get an idea.

Tim tapped his pen against his desk in thought.

Either Mr Burns knew something incredible or this was a basic attempt at something.

He decides to wait until tomorrow to ask.

——————————

Tim was early to Mr Burns class, early enough that the man wasn’t even in there yet.

He sat where he usually did, tapping the cover of his notebook in nervousness as he basically wiggled in his seat.

He could barely keep the excitement contained. It was on the brink of overspilling.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Mr Burns shows up to class.

His eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline when he saw Tim already sitting.

His reaction wasn’t surprising considering Tim usually looked as if he just woke up, those large tumbler cups that were bigger then his face were constantly filled with coffee was always glued to his hand. Clothes a mess, persistently being told to tuck his shirt back in, but right now?

Tim looked like a model student.

He places his coffee down on the table, there was a permanent stained ring where he kept his cup. “Tim. You’re here early.” He smiles, yet he is obviously confused. “There is still...” He checks his watch, “Ten minutes left of morning break.”

Tim knows, it’s totally not enough time, but whatever, he would take what he could get.

“Have you eaten?” Mr Burns asks, concerned.

No.

“Yeah, had an apple...anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”

Mr Burns took a seat. “Sure, Tim. Is this about the test next week?”

“Uhh...no.” Tim said as he basically bounced out of his seat like a overthrown bouncy ball.

He was in front of Mr Burns’s desk in a flash, Notebook in front of him. “It’s about this.” He taps the cover. His heart was pounding, so close to geeking out.

“Ahh,” Mr Burns smiles, “I’m glad you got your notebook back.”

Playing casual, Tim could work with this. Very good when talking about secrets. That was a big, green, check.

Then again, he was talking to a genius, the designs say it all.

Tim nods, “Yep, I just want to say thank you, your comments and insight was very...helpful.” More like life changing, but Tim couldn’t let admiration get in the way, can’t embarrass himself in front of his new idol.

Mr Burns raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Good acting. Perfect.

“Just the tips and stuff, different pathways and ideas. Also the concepts were incredible.”

“They wrote in your notebook?” Mr Burns suddenly questions, surprise evident in his face. “I’m sorry Tim, I’ll talk to them about it.”

Wait...pause. Full on Record Scratch.

“It wasn’t you?” Tim asks, mortified. Please, Tim silently begs, please just let this be Mr Burns acting.

However, to Tim’s demise the man disagreed with a shake of his head. “No, anyway I’m sorry, I’ll get it replaced.”

“No!” Tim gasps. “Don’t talk to them about it.” He didn’t want them to be scared away into hiding. Imagine if they ran away! Tim would never be able to feel joy again! “Actually what’s their name? I want to thank them properly, in person.”

Mr Burns smiled politely. “I’ll pass on your thanks.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tim doubled down, completely stubborn. “I can do it.”

Mr Burns looks at Tim, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Tim. As good as your intentions are, I can’t give out information about another student.”

No, this can’t be happening. He is so close to salvation.

“Please?” Tim practically begs. “I’ll pay you!”

Jesus Christ. He can’t believe he just said that.

Mr Burns’s face turns from apologetic to serious. “Detention at lunch, Tim.”

And as Mr Burns’s wrote down his detention slip, he realised that the teacher’s handwriting and that of the stranger’s inside the notebook couldn’t be more different.

Fuck.

Detective his ass.

——————————

“Looks like you found your baby.” Steph said from where she sat on one of the rolling desks in the cave. Her feet were up on the desk, toenails drying as she started painted her fingernails blue.

“Sure did.” Tim agreed as he sat in another chair with his notebook beside him, it was in an evidence bag, zipped up tight.

He started to bring up the school records on the bat computer.

“No apology?” Drawled Steph as she blew on her nails.

Tim’s fingers twitched before he opened another folder.

“What for?”

“Oh...I don’t know?” Steph muttered as she twisted the nail polish top shut. “The digging through my bag, silent treatment, blackmail threat.”

Tim shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”

Steph grabbed the purple glitter from beside her, then poured a decent amount in her hand.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Steph hummed, then she blew into the glitter, making the flickering dust glue itself all over the side of Tim. It stuck to his face, hair, clothes and even up his nose.

“What the hell, Steph!” He gasped as he scooted away to see the damage on his clothes. “You know how glitter is! It gets everywhere”

“Yeah.” Steph nods as she brushed it off her hands before closing the lid. “Gonna have a fun time scrubbing.”

Tim sighed and shook his jacket before he went back to the screen.

“What are you looking at?” Steph asks as she holds her nails in different angles of light.

Tim continues to type, “I’m checking class schedules. There are only two classes it can be.”

“What for?” Steph questions as she rolls beside him to check the screen.

Tim just shoves the notebook towards her. Yet as soon as her fingers touch the evidence bag, he slaps them away. “Put some gloves on first, have you learnt nothing in crime fighting?”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows in judgement, she didn’t even try to hide it, then she rolled her eyes so far that Tim worried for her skull. “Are you dumb?” She asks as she holds up her freshly painted nails.

Tim sighs before he just tugs the book out. The fingerprints were a bust anyway. “I know it’s difficult, but just looking, no touchies.”

“Don’t worry.”

He is delighted to hear the gasp she lets out when he opens it towards her. “Woah.” She mutters.

“I know, right?” Tim gushes as he makes a spreadsheet of all the students possible.

Steph’s quiet and Tim glances at her curiously only to see concern on her face.

“Tim...” She starts. “I know someone wrote inside your child...”

“Wait-“

“And you must be heartbroken.”

“No-“

“But you can’t get revenge on whoever did it.”

Tim blinked, then shook his head. “No, what you are looking at is a gold mine! I don’t want revenge, I want their brain”

Steph thins her lips. “That might be worse.” Then she gestures for him to turn the page (which he gladly does.) “I don’t even know what this means...awe a picture of a doggy in the corner!”

“That’s what catches your attention?”

“Yeah.”

Tim ignores her and goes back to the computer. It’s between grade 11 (class C) and grade 11 (Class ATAR).

Tim purses his lips. Both a year below him, but class C is the lowest academic level with ATAR being the highest.

He cuts it down to just the students in class ATAR and keeps class C on the back burner.

24 students, time to dig deeper.

Moments later Bruce comes up behind the two and glances at Tim.

“Is that glitter?” He asked as he stared at his son with a straight face.

“Yeah.” Tim replies distractedly.

Bruce did his signature grunt, the one that lets you know he heard you, then he turns away.

“Tim, you’re benched from patrol.”

Tim froze before he turned around rapidly, “Wait, what? Why? I’m full heath and my grades are up and I even slept!”

Bruce just hums from where he starts checking over his tool belt. “You know how glitter is, it gets everywhere.”

All that can be heard was Steph’s laughter as she started to apply the vanish to her glittery nails.

————

Next Monday, Tim shows up almost an hour before the bell.

Tim tucked his collar. He noticed that Mr Burns unintentionally favoured kids who had their collar tucked, he wasn’t sure if the teacher was even aware of it.

As expected, Mr Burns is where Tim predicted he would be.

Mr Burns had always been early, he liked to get his car in the perfect spot, a tree large enough that his car stayed in the shade all season, yet no birds hung on it due to the thick leaves.

He had always been mathematical, thinking things in equations and solutions.

Mr Burns was already drinking his black coffee and gathering papers when Tim knocked. He nodded at Tim. “Good morning, Tim, I hope you learnt your lesson, yes?”

Tim felt guilty for barely a second before it was pushed aside. He had more important things to discuss, the future CEO was shining through. “Yes. Speaking of which…”

He held his notebook out for the man. “Could you please give this back to the student who found it? I would like to see more of their work.”

Mr Burns took the book, humour in his old gaze. “Why is that?”

Tim was prepared for this. “For future references, I believe I can support this student and provide opportunities. This person could really thrive in Wayne Enterprises.”

Mr Burns was obviously surprised at this sudden speech. Yet, one thing Tim could use to his advantage was the passions he had in wanting his students to succeed.

It doesn’t matter that it was a lie. (Tim wanted this person for more then Wayne Enterprises.)

“You really aren’t letting this go.” He finally said as he sat behind his desk and wiped his glasses.

“Mr Burns…I’ve been your student for three years. You know me well enough to know I don’t back down.” Tim said with a grin, dropping the charm for just a moment.

Mr Burns finally nodded. “Okay, however I am still not going to share personal details.”

“Completely understandable, Mr Burns.”

Tim would figure it out anyway. He was a nosey detective after all.