Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Freddy was six. Freddy was six, barely, but it still counted. It still counted for him to meet the age requirement for his summer camp. 

And his summer camp was gonna be awesome, because it was all about superheroes. 

Well. Technically it was just a regular summer camp, but they marketed it with superhero brands and stuff. It was handicap-friendly and did he mention it was about superheroes??

Freddy bounced in his seat, too excited for words, chewing his sweatshirt string. And then he stopped, because he didn't want other kids to think he was weird. And then he took the sweatshirt off completely so he wouldn't be tempted. It was Batman-themed, but Freddy had a wonder-woman themed shirt underneath, so he would be fine. 

He ran through conversation starters in his head. All of them revolved around superheroes. His favorite one was “who do you think Batman is” because there were lots of possible ways for that to go. 

But what if nobody else actually liked superheroes? What if their parents all just made them come and they weren’t actually excited and Freddy was the only one who cared?

“I need a conversation starter that doesn’t involve superheroes,” Freddy blurted out to Victor.

“Uh… would you rather have teeth for hair or hair for teeth?” Victor asked.

“Victor!” Freddy squealed, giggling. “That’s gross!”

“Little boys like gross things,” Victor said easily. “You know they’re made of snips and snails and puppydog tails.”

“No we’re not!” Freddy said, giggling harder. 

As they pulled in, Freddy reconsidered and pulled his Batman sweatshirt back on. He didn't care (at least, he really really didn't want to care) if people thought he was weird. He'd had enough lectures from Rosa to know that kids who didn't like you the way you were shouldn't be your friends, and he believed her. Or, he wanted to believe her. 

He hopped out of the car, his light-up (Superman-themed) shoes brightening with the impact. 

And then paused.

Because he didn't know anyone here.

(Freddy… wasn’t the best at making friends. Too loud, too annoying, too clingy, too quick to panic and too fast to talk. But Victor and Rosa and Mary and the nice feelings-doctor told him that that was okay, and someday he’d find people who liked him for who he was, and Freddy tried to believe them.)

"You'll be fine, bud," Victor promised, his hand gently guiding Freddy along. Victor was always gentle. And he was grounding. Freddy took a deep breath and pressed his head against Victor’s side. He could do this. Victor and Rosa thought he could do this, so he could (though it had taken them a while to decide. They had argued about it, but they always did their arguing in low voices away from Freddy and it was never scary).

There were dozens of kids in line for registration, their parents fussing over them, tucking in their hair, giving them reminders about wearing sunscreen, and generally being louder then Freddy would have liked. 

Except.

There was one boy who was all alone, arms full of luggage with no parents to carry it. And he had a Robin shirt on.

"Robin!" Freddy cried eagerly.

The boy whirled around, excited. " Where !?" 

"No, I meant on your shirt," Freddy said, giggling.

"Oh." The boy smiled a little. They sized each other up in their Batman and Robin swag and sensed kindred spirits.

"Where are your parents?" Freddy asked, almost giggling again because he sounded so old saying that. 

"They dropped me off," the boy replied quietly. 

"Oh," Freddy said. "But who will carry your luggage?" 

The boy blinked, looking confused. “I will.”

“Oh,” Freddy said again, and then panicked because he didn’t know what else to say next and now the kid was going to look at him weird and he’d forgotten all his conversation starters–

“I’m Tim,” the other boy said quietly. He seemed to do everything quietly.

Freddy exhaled with relief. He knew how to do this part. "I’m Freddy.”

Tim smiled at him shyly, and Freddy felt himself loosen up a little more. He seemed like he wanted to talk to Freddy. Unless he was just being polite. Either way, Freddy needed to say something cool to keep him talking.

"Did you know a flock of zebras is called a dazzle?" Freddy blurted out.

Tim blinked, startled.

“Who do you think Batman is?” Freddy asked desperately. He'd messed up. He hadn't meant to start with the zebra question, he'd meant to start with the Batman question, and now Tim was going to think he was weird–

Tim’s eyes lit up. 

By the time they got to the front of the line, Freddy had gotten Tim nice and chattery about conspiracy theories and Victor was holding both of their luggage. He signed them both in (since Tim's parents weren't there) and walked then down to their cabin (they shared the same one, which made Freddy buzz with energy. He could totally be this guy's friend).

"You ready for this?" Victor asked, helping Freddy unpack and fix up his bedding. 

Freddy nodded, smiling. " Super ready."

Victor chuckled. "If this becomes too much, let me know and I'll drop everything to come pick you up."

"It won't be too much," Freddy said confidently. Kind of confidently.  

They hugged, long and hard. Freddy waved as Victor left, then turned to Tim.

Tim was staring at Freddy like he’d never seen a hug before.

"Would your dad really do that?" Tim asked quietly.

"Do what?" Freddy said.

"Pick you up if you weren't comfortable."

"Uh, duh ," Freddy said. "You wanna be bunkmates?" 

"Hmm? Oh," Tim said, snapping out of it. "Sure. Yeah. That would– that would be great."

Freddy chewed on his hoodie string, trying to figure out if Tim actually wanted to be bunkmates or if he was just faking it. He was probably faking it, because–

Tim was staring at him, again. 

"What?" Freddy said, refusing to take the drawstring out of his mouth. 

"You can do that?" Tim asked, eyes wide.

Freddy blinked. "Chew on my hoodie? Well, yeah. It's my hoodie."

“But…” 

Freddy braced himself for something like that’s gross or it looks so weird.

“Are your parents okay with it?” Tim asked.

“Well. Yeah,” Freddy said. “I mean, Rosa thinks it’s a little germy. But she doesn’t try to stop me.”

"Oh," Tim said faintly. Then he shook his head and started to set up his sheets. 

They had camp orientation that night. Freddy stuck close to Tim the whole time, not wanting to be alone, hoping Tim wouldn't mind. 

Tim didn't seem to mind. He even waited, when Freddy was slower than everyone else, and smiled sweetly when Freddy caught up. Freddy beamed back. Nobody except his family, not even his almost-friends at school, ever waited for him. During the campfire, Freddy pressed against his side. Tim stiffened, then pressed right back. 

Freddy almost asked Tim's opinion on if Superman had a secret identity, but hesitated. Tim was really quiet. Maybe he didn't want Freddy to talk.

Tim wasn't participating in any of the games that the nice instructors were leading. Freddy wanted to be part of it, but if Tim wasn't, then maybe… maybe it wasn't something kids actually did. Maybe the other kids all thought it was weird and lame and everyone would think Freddy was an idiot if he did it.

"Are you going to play the games?" Freddy asked before he could chicken out.

Tim blinked, startled. "I… I don't– I'm not going to be any good at them."

"Me neither," Freddy said. He held out his hand. "Want to play anyway?"

(Tim didn't, not really. But this nice boy clearly did. And maybe if Tim played the games then he'd stop thinking about his parents and feel less like crying.)

"Okay," Tim said, taking his hand.

And for the rest of the week, they were inseparable. 

They worked well together. Tim adored Robin, Freddy loved Batman. Tim loved hugs, Freddy was clingy. And they both could talk for hours about superheroes, theorizing who they were, how they worked, who was the strongest, nicest, bravest (Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman, in that order) and everything else they could think of. By the end of day two, some counselors were jokingly calling them twins. Both of them pretended to not be totally thrilled by the idea.

By day, they did arts and crafts (which was mostly Tim whining " I'm too old for this" as Freddy dragged him from station to station), ate at the cafeteria (which was gross, but hey, trauma bonds people!), and sang camp songs (Tim also thought he was too old for this, but he sang along, mostly so that Freddy wouldn’t feel awkward doing it by himself). Tim liked to take pictures, and Freddy didn’t usually like pictures of himself but Tim made it fun, and Freddy didn’t like crowds of new people but with Tim he didn’t feel alone. 

And by night, Tim crawled into Freddy’s bed and they huddled under the blankets with a flashlight, talking for hours.

"Batman is my current favorite superhero, cuz he’s got anxiety like me," Freddy whispered the first night. 

“How do you know that?” Tim asked, fascinated.

“Oh.” Freddy paused, embarrassed. “Well, I dont actually know it. It’s a theory because he’s always got all the contingencies and stuff. Superman's also awesomeness."

"Robin," Tim said confidently. "He's the best. Hey, guess where I live." 

"Where?" Freddy said.

" Gotham," Tim whispered.

"Gotham!" Freddy repeated, enthralled. "You didn’t tell me that! Have you ever seen Batman?"

Tim opened his mouth shyly, then closed it, as if trying to decide on something. "Did you know– did you know I– let me show you."

Tim crept out of the bunk to his bag, and came back with his camera.

"Show me more pictures," Freddy begged the next night. "This is the coolest thing ever !"

"My parents just sent me here to get me out of their hair," Tim confided. "They– well, they wanted to spend their time at home relaxing, and I can be kind of loud and annoying."

Tim smile was fragile, like it was going to break at the slightest touch.

Tim? Loud and annoying? Tim was the quietest kid Freddy knew. Mary was way louder and annoyinger than Tim. Freddy was louder and annoyinger than Tim.

Tim’s smile wavered. “I–I thought I was gonna be at home with them, and I’d get to– to finally–but–they told me on Sunday that I was just. Gonna go here instead.”

“Camp started on Sunday,” Freddy whispered, confused. “They told you on the day of the camp?”

Tim nodded and swallowed. “I was–I was really hoping I could spend the week with them. But it’s fine! It makes sense. They’re really busy and–stuff–so they want to spend their free time relaxing, and I can–well, it’s just–you know. I can be really annoying sometimes.”

They’re trash, Freddy thought, but knew better than to say. You couldn't just say that sort of thing, especially after only knowing them for a few days. 

“Do you think Superman has an alter-ego?” Freddy whispered. 

“Definitely,” Tim said. “There’s no way he spends all his time at the fortress of solitude. I bet he’s secretly, like, Bruce Wayne or something.”

Freddy giggled. “I bet he’s just Some Guy from Texas or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim snorted.

“I have two sisters,” Freddy said. “Mary and Darla. Darla’s only almost three but she’s really bubbly and I’m gonna be the best big brother ever. And Mary’s awesome. One time there were these jerks at school who were picking on me, and she was like, “no way, Jose!” and she totally gave one of them a bloody nose.”

“A big sister sounds nice,” Tim said dreamily. “I’m an only child.”

“If– if you had to choose a sibling,” Freddy said, jostling the flashlight as he shifted, “big, little, or twin, brother or sister, which would you choose?”

“Hmm.” Tim thought long and hard, then said softly, “a little brother. I could make sure he was alright and hold him and stuff.”

“Little siblings are hard to take care of,” Freddy warned. “Darla takes a lot of time.”

“I’ll make it work,” Tim said determinidely. “It would be worth it.”

“I want a twin brother,” Freddy said firmly. “We could have so much fun together. Victor gives the best hugs, they're so warm."

Tim said nothing. 

"What are your parents’ hugs like?" Freddy asked.

Tim said something, too quiet to hear.

Freddy shifted closer. “What?”

"They don’t… they don’t really hug me,” Tim said louder, looking away. 

"What?" Freddy gasped, dropped the flashlight, and wrapped Tim in his arms.

"I'll give you all the hugs you want,” he promised. “If your parents don't hug you then they're trash."

"They're not," Tim protested softly. "I'm just clingy."

"There's nothing wrong with being clingy," Freddy whispered fiercely, because that was one of the first things he'd learned from the Vasquezes, and pretended he didn't feel Tim's tears seeping into his pajamas. "Nothing, nothing."

-

"Victor," Freddy said during his nightly phone call back home, on the first night, "would you rather be a brick wall or a bag of worms?"

"Brick wall, definitely," Victor replied confidently.

"Victor," Freddy said on the second day, "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

"It wouldn't be easy, but I would do it," Victor replied without hesitation. 

Freddy giggled.

"Victor," Freddy said on the third day, "I'm worried about Tim. I don't think his parents would still love him if he was a worm."

"Victor," Freddy said on day four, "He doesn't get hugged like he should."

"Freddy," Victor said on day five, "if he needs a place to stay, our home is always open. Just– make sure not to scare him away, okay? Be patient with him. You’ll be fine, bud."

Freddy called his parents and Mary and Darla every night, trading stories with Mary, telling jokes to Darla, and always chattering with them for the full fifteen minutes until their timer rang and he had to go. 

Tim tried to call his parents on the first night. Tim didn't try again.

"Tim," Freddy whispered on day six, "do you want to live with my family?"

"What?" Tim said in surprise, twisting down in his top bunk to look at Freddy. "No! I have a family."

"A family that's never around," Freddy muttered.

"That's not– they still love me," Tim whispered. "They do. They're just busy."

"You know that crinimal neglect is a thing," Freddy said, using the fancy phrase that Mary had mentioned.

" No,"   Tim replied, more firmly then Freddy had ever heard him speak, "No. They're not criminals. I’m fine. They never did anything to me. I've seen abuse, Freddy. I live in Gotham. This. Isn't. Abuse."

"But–"

"I'm not having this conversation," Tim said, sounding close to tears. He twisted back around to curl under his sheets. "Goodnight, Freddy."

"I–"

"Good night."

-

Tim seemed back to normal the next morning, which was good. Really good. Freddy had spent all night worrying that Tim hated him now, and he didn't dare broach the subject again.

-

By the end of the week, Tim was chewing on his hoodie strings as well, laughing as loud as anyone and singing along to his heart's content during the campfire songs. And if anybody made fun of him or Freddy for chewing on their strings, Tim made sure they didn't do it again. 

There were some kids who were weird to Freddy. Like, mean weird. A few of them tried to take his crutch, once. 

Tim made sure they didn't do that again, too.

“I wasn’t expecting you to go feral on them,” Freddy had whispered to Tim as they waited in their conselor’s cabin. Tim was bruised and had a bloody nose from his fight. “I didn’t even know you could fight like that.”

"I'm from Gotham," Tim had whispered back matter-of-factly, as if that was explanation enough.

Freddy had smiled and chewed on his drawstrings and pretended that having someone willing to fight for him didn't feel so darn good.

And then day seven happened, and camp was over.

Rosa arrived on time. Tim's parents didn't. 

Freddy said he'd wait. Tim said he didn't want to be an inconvenience. Rosa assured him it was fine. (Freddy had clued her in during one of their phone calls.)

By thirty minutes, Freddy was squirming.

By an hour, Tim and Freddy both had their drawstrings in their mouths, chewing on them with anxiety (Freddy trying to figure out how to broach the topic of neglect gracefully, Tim silently begging his parents to come so that Freddy didn't think they were worse than they were.)

By an hour and five minutes, Tim's mom arrived.

Tim jumped up to meet her, and she barely nodded to him, her hand glued to the phone at her ear, chatting to someone named Susan about some dig or other.

Tim struggled to dump his bags in the back (his mom didn't get out of the front seat). Rosa and Freddy jumped up to help him.

"Bye, Tim," Freddy tried to say, but suddenly he couldn’t talk. This happened sometimes, where he got upset and suddenly couldn’t talk. It was perfectly normal for people with anxiety. 

But Freddy wanted to tell Tim, your parents don't care about you. I do. Come with us, or find someone else who does.

Tim tried to tell Freddy bye, but suddenly he couldn’t talk either. This happened sometimes when he was upset. It was really weird and annoying and it made him look like a freak and his parents didn’t like it.

But Tim wanted to tell Freddy, your standards are too high. And my parents are trying. They are.

"Tim," Janet called, tapping her manicured hand on the steering wheel. "I'm waiting."

Freddy and Tim hugged each other fiercely. And then Tim stepped into his car.

The last thing Freddy heard was his mom saying, “Tim, we’ve talked about this. Don’t chew on your drawstrings. It’s disgusting.”

Tim watched Freddy shrink into the distance, clinging close to Rosa’s side, Rosa curling her hands through his hair. 

And Tim felt something stir inside him. Jealousy? Yearning? 

Whatever it was– for the first time in his life, Tim wanted something better.

Chapter Text

4 years later

Eugene was Gotham-born. 

And here's the thing about Gotham kids– their parents sucked.  

Kids were almost always getting smacked around, sold, or used by their parents. Parents who tried were usually so busy making sure their kids had a home to make sure their lives were okay. In fact, the only adults who seemed to really take care of their kids were Bruce Wayne and Batman. 

Although, Eugene's only experience with adults was his dad's friends, so. Probably not a reasonable field of data.

It had gotten better. Gotham, that is. It was Batman’s doing and everyone knew it– he blew apart most of the human trafficking rings. He made people braver, gave them hope that these things could stop, so more people reported abuse to Batman or the commissioner or sometimes they stepped in themselves. Sure, parents sometimes hurt kids, but not as much, and no longer in public. It was bad, but better.

On good days, Eugene's dad let him sit beside him and showed him how to hack. (Because that was his dad's job, something with hacking and technology– Eugene didn't dare ask more.)

On bad days, Eugene stuck his earbuds in and played video games and pretended he couldn't hear his dad screaming at his coworkers, his neighbors, or (on the worst days) Eugene himself.

It was fine. His dad left him alone and let him play video games for the most part, and that's a lot more than most Gotham kids could say. 

Eugene learned how to scream himself, and shouted back at dad, back at all those punks in his games. His only real friends were the other kids in his server, who lived in happier places and shouted because they knew they wouldn't be hurt for it, not because shouting was all they knew. Eugene didn't complain.

(But sometimes Eugene dreamed of a house with parents who cared. Parents who were quiet. )

And then, one day, Eugene's dad went too far in. 

And got caught. 

By Batman.

And Eugene was only ten, but he knew that was bad. Police could be bribed. Batman, not so much.

Eugene's dad had been cuffed and stuffed in some old warehouse. Eugene knew this because he has been watching through the hacked cameras.

Eugene was alone at home, but he knew that wouldn't last. Not with Batman and Commissioner Gordon. One of the two would look into the criminals. He would know that Eugene's dad had a son. And he would make sure that son was okay.

So he wasn't surprised when the police came. In fact, he was ready, with his suitcase full of everything he needed (his gaming console, and spare underwear).

He started to get a little worried, though, when one of the policemen locked him in his office. 

He knew about child traffickers. 

And he’d heard enough from his dad to know that the police were usually in on it. 

Eugene did not want to be here.

So he opened the window and tried to decide whether climbing out was worth the risk. 

There was a knock on the door, and the doorknob rattled. Joke’s on them, Eugene thought snidely, because he had jammed it from the inside.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from the outside, husky and low. “Open the door. I got some friends for you to meet.”

Eugene snorted –because, how stupid did they think he was?– and looked out the window.

The wind blew his hair back as he looked down. He was twenty floors up.

“Kid,” said the policeman outside. The door rattled. It wouldn’t hold much longer. “Open up.”

Eugene craned his neck to look out, the wind blowing in his face. It was nighttime, someone had to be patrolling–

There. 

A shadow of black and blue jumping from one rooftop to another, flipping along the way. It was that new-ish guy from Bludhaven. Nightwing. 

“NIGHTWING!” Eugene screamed at the top of his lungs. 

A muffled curse on the other side. The door rattled harder. Nightwing reversed and made a beeline for the building.

There was a gunshot, and the lock broke through . Eugene had forgotten that policemen had guns. 

Eugene grabbed his suitcase and jumped.

“I got you!” Nightwing said, catching him securely in his arms halfway down. “I got you, don’t worry, you’re safe.”

Eugene clung to Nightwing hard enough to bruise as they swung gently to a rooftop, where Nightwing set him down.

“Kid, you okay?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Pretty sure the police were gonna sell me to some traffickers,” Eugene said shakily, because now that the adrenaline had worn off, now that he could stop and think about all the different ways it could have gone wrong, he was scared.

“Holy police rings,” Nightwing said. “I’ll look into that. Where are your parents?”

“Jail and dead,” Eugene replied as breezily as he could. “I was just trying to get to a foster home.”

“We can do that,” Nightwing said thoughtfully, and Eugene knew he could, this guy worked with Batman. "Let's get you out of here before Bruce Wayne decides to adopt you."

Eugene snorted. 

"Well, I guess if you have no particular attachment to your family, we'll get you set up in the foster system pretty quick. Any preferences about where you want to stay?"

"Anywhere but Gotham," Eugene answered quickly. "I have my suitcase packed and ready."

"I can hold it for you." Nightwing easily snatched it up. His eyebrows raised. "Kid, there's like, nothing in here. What did you pack?"

Nightwing opened it and took in the underwear and console and lack of anything else. 

And Nightwing tsked. "Don't you know video games are bad for your brain?"

"Don't you know there's an insane clown wondering around murdering people?" Eugene shot back. "why do you care?"

Nightwing raised his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm just saying, there are better ways to spend your time. A good book will do you better. Ever read Lord of the Rings? My brother loves it."

Eugene groaned. 

But, a few weeks later, when he was situated in the (calm, quiet) Vasquez house, he picked up Lord of the Rings.

(And quit like three pages in. But at least he tried.) 

Chapter Text

Two years later

Billy was fourteen, and he was old enough that he should’ve known. He should’ve known that his foster home in Gotham would be the worst so far. 

But, stupidly, he’d been hopeful. Gotham was infamous for neglecting their kids. Maybe Billy could run away easily.

But no. Rather than pay him no attention, his new foster dad paid him way, way too much attention, eyes roaming up and down Billy in a way that seemed almost predatory, watching him whenever he left his room to so much as get a drink of water.

And one night, when Billy tried to open his bedroom door, he found out it was locked.

From the outside.

That had freaked Billy out. He had tried the window. It was locked too.

Billy would be fine. He– he would be fine . He would just wait until his social worker asked him how he was doing. And he would tell the truth. 

And when his social worker visited, he did.

But this wasn’t his usual social worker, who was bubbly and naive but clearly cared.

It was some other guy, pudgy but big, a cigarette in his mouth. He smelled like ashes and looked like he hadn’t showered in days.

Billy waited for the part of the visit where the social worker took him to a separate room from his foster parent and asked him if he was being hurt. 

It never came.

Billy tried to tell him anyway. The guy wouldn’t hear it.

“You’re not hurt, are ya?” he said, gesturing to Billy’s unbruised skin. “No, ya ain’t. Lockin’ the door makes sense, kid, when you’ve run away so many times. It’s nothin’ to worry over.”

Billy felt sick to his stomach, because all of the sudden, it made sense. 

“You’re working together, aren’t you?” he demanded, looking between his foster dad and the other guy. “I know you are.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” the social worker said, flicking his cigarette stub away.  

“This isn’t fair,” Billy said, heated.

The worked didn’t seem to care. “I’ll be back in two months.”

“Two months?” Billy’s voice rose. “It’s supposed to be no more than six weeks!”

“This is Gotham, kid,” the social worker said with a snort. “You think we have enough social workers for that?”

And then he was gone. 

When Billy went to bed that night, he was limping badly, cradling his wrist, bleeding in at least two places. Turns out his foster dad was just waiting till after the visit to began wailing on him. 

His foster dad had made one thing very clear: Billy was not supposed to tell anyone about this, or he would get hurt more. His foster dad was pretty rich. His foster dad had connections. His foster dad could bribe away any social workers or policemen out there.

Billy curled up on his bed, wincing with each move, and tried not to cry too loudly.

If he could get Batman’s attention, he could get out. He knew that guy was a bleeding heart. But his foster dad was too careful for that– Billy’s door was locked at night, and oftentimes for most of the day too, and the one time Billy tried to leave the house, the guy beat him so bad he couldn’t stand. Billy didn’t try again.

He didn’t get it. What was the point of fostering him if he was just gonna be locked in his room all day? The money? This guy was already rich, it couldn’t be that.

And then Billy found out.

He had been just sitting in his room, doing absolutely nothing, when his foster dad came in, railed on him for about five minutes, and dragged him off. 

And Billy had been thrown into a car, bruised and banged up, and then dragged to an abandoned warehouse in Crime Alley and his dad just stood there, holding Billy up by the cuff of his shirt, and nothing made sense and what the hell Gotham was even more insane than the stories Billy had heard and–

Oh. 

This… was not an abandoned warehouse. 

Men started to emerge from the doors. Five, ten, fifteen… this was not good. 

“Here he is,” his foster dad said, tossing Billy forward. Billy fell to the ground with a groan. “Trust me, he’s prettier when he’s not so banged up, but I didn’t trust him to not run or fight back.”

“We could use some fighters,” one of the guys offered, approaching them. “I know guys who like to hear screams.”

Billy let his eyes slip closed and pretended to be unconscious and tried not to panic. They wanted a fight? He’d give them a fight. He was not letting them take him without a fight. 

So when the closest man got too close, Billy headbutted him away and jumped to his feet. And then staggered and almost fell over because wow he had forgotten how injured he was. Still, he kicked and bucked and screamed, not because he had any hope that he could overpower even one of these guys, but because maybe, maybe Batman would hear him. 

But the men were too strong for Billy to fight back more than a few seconds, and soon they had hands all over him, pinning him to the ground, and Billy struggled and pushed and fought but everything hurt and someone was reaching under his shirt and he wasn’t thinking straight and there were too many of them–

And then. His foster dad’s head exploded.

Billy screamed in surprise and horror, and he wasn’t the only one. A few men booked it right then and there, running for the exits.

One was shot in the kneecap. The other was shot through the heart. The hands on Billy loosened and slipped away. Billy wanted to run while he had the chance but he didn’t trust himself to make it more than a few feet.

“Last I checked,” a voice echoed down from the rafters, “I said no rapists in Crime Alley.”

“Um, sir, technically we’re human traffickers, not rapists–” one man tried hesitantly. 

Blam. Dead. 

“Who are ya?” one of the braver men asked to the shadows. 

The man jumped out of the rafters, tall, muscular, a gun in each hand. 

“The name’s Red Hood,” he offered pleasantly. “I’m new here, so it’s understandable that you haven’t heard my rules.”

He shot three men as he spoke. 

“But one of the main ones,” Red Hood said, “is to not hurt kids.”

“We didn’t know…” a man tried, voice trembling.

“Well, you should have,” Red Hood said. “‘There is a moral law in this world which has its application both to individuals and organized bodies of men.’”

He cocked his gun.

“Rabindranath Tagore said that,” Hood told the quiet room. “You should pick up one of his books. If there are books in Hell.”

He cocked his gun. Billy curled up, covered his head, and closed his eyes, flinching against every gunshot noise.

When he opened them, all the men were dead, and Red Hood was crouching in front of him.

“Hey, kid,” Red Hood said, his voice mechanized but somehow soothing. “I won’t hurt’cha. What’s your name?”

Billy realized that he wasn’t really breathing. Name. He had been asked for a name.

“Billy,” he offered, pretending his voice didn’t crack. “Batson.”

“ Bat son?” Red Hood muttered to himself. He scanned Billy up and down, but not in the malicious way the other men had been doing it. More like he was… checking for injuries. “You’re not the new Robin, are you?”

“I… what?”

Red Hood looked him in the eye. Billy tried not to flinch.

“No, you’re not,” Red Hood said decisively. He took up Billy’s hand– it had a cut on it, Billy wasn’t sure where it was from. “So, what’s your story?”

“My foster dad– um, he was– he was trying to sell me, I think,” Billy said. “Or let me get r– raped.”

“That was very rude of him,” Red Hood said, taking out a roll of fabric from his belt. He was– he was going to bandage Billy’s hand.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, feeling himself relax a little. “I was gonna run away again, but he– he didn’t give me the chance.”

Red Hood let out a mechanized hum. “You run away often? How old are you, twelve?”

“I’m fourteen,” Billy said, offended.

“Hmm,” Red Hood said again. “And you’re planning to run away again?”

“Yes,” Billy said instantly. “I’m getting out of this hellhole as soon as possible.”

Red Hood laughed. “Fair enough. You want change for a bus ticket?”

Billy eyed him warily. “You’re offering to pay? Why?”

“Well, I think you deserve to get out of here,” Red Hood said reasonably. “And I don’t hurt kids. I help them.”

He twisted to look over his shoulder, then turned back to Billy, pulling out thirty bucks. “Here. Take this and go, alright? Sorry I can’t walk you to the bus stop. I’ve got… things to do.”

“I– okay,” Billy said, startled by the abrupt end to their conversation. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Red Hood said.

Billy limped out, injured, kind of terrified, mostly grateful. He was pretty sure Red Hood had saved his life that day. He wished he could pay him back.

But he was just a kid trying to find his mom before he died, and he didn’t really have much to offer.

That is, until a few weeks later, when he met the Vasquez family.

And everything changed.

Chapter Text

One month later

Bruce’s leg was broken, so he was resting (researching) in a relaxed area (the Batcave) like a normal person (he was a total weirdo). 

There was a newfound group of metas in Philedelphia. They called themselves the Marvels, and they extremely worried Bruce.

It wasn't because they were powerful (they were), it wasn't because they were far too reckless (they were), it was because they were so awfully bad at keeping their secret identities secret. It gave Bruce second-hand embarrassment just thinking about it. 

Really, after Clark had explained everything to him, and after a few visits of his own, it had been easy to figure them out. He had started by looking into Freddy Freeman, the boy who worked with Captain Marvel. 

“He’s sort of my guide,” Captain Marvel had explained, when Bruce hunted him down to ask. “We’re, um, not from earth. So he helps me understand earthen culture.”

That would explain why the Marvels all spoke in phrases and memes that made them sound like children– because they were being guided through earth through the lens of a fourteen-year-old. It was a good explanation.  Batman didn’t buy it for a second. 

He had sent Robin to spend a few hours with Captain Marvel, to see if his suspicions were correct (and because Tim was far, far too serious and quiet for a fourteen-year-old. Bruce was trying, but he was pretty serious and quiet himself. People as bright and cheerful as the Marvels would do him good). 

Robin had come back that evening with a slushie, heelies, and a shirt that said “on the bright side, I’m not addicted to cocaine.” 

“Oh, he’s definitely my age,” Tim confirmed, slurping the slushie. Bruce hid a smile. Mission success.

Shapeshifting children was not even close to unusual at this point. Freddy Freeman had five foster siblings, there were six Marvels, and for goodness’ sake, Freddy and his siblings looked like younger versions of the Marvels, which was a pretty poor choice on their part. 

And Blue (with the exception of Captain, the Marvels all called each other by the color of their suits, which Bruce supposed worked fine) never walked. He floated everywhere. Batman had only ever seen him use his right leg. And Freddy was disabled. It was all too much to be a coincidence. 

And for goodness sake, Bruce had put all this together and then found out they had transformed in view of security cameras. Twice. 

And normally Batman would be content to know a secret identity just in case and leave them alone otherwise, but these were children. He needed to make sure they were safe. 

Because kids were supposed to have adults looking after them (case in point: Tim).

Their foster parents checked out, not a single record against them. They probably didn’t know. 

They should know.

The garage opened, and the Batmobile roared in, Nightwing driving, Robin in shotgun. They were relaxed as they got out, Nightwing chattering about nothing important, so patrol must have been light tonight.

“what are you doing?” Tim asked, sitting into a spinny chair and pushing himself over.

Bruce pointed at the Batcomputer, where he had yearbook pictures of the six siblings. “The Marvels’ secret identities. Almost definitely.”

Dick draped an elbow over the back of Bruce’s seat, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute. I know Eugene. He used to live in Gotham.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s Freddy!” Tim almost squealed. 

“You know him?” Bruce asked, eyebrows raised. 

“We met at a camp once,” Tim confirmed, grinning. “He was the sweetest kid ever . Kept trying to convince me to let his parents adopt me.”

“Hn,” Bruce said.

“Are you thinking of asking them to join the League?” Dick asked.

“I approve,” Tim said firmly. Whoever this Freddy was, he’d apparently made quite the impression on Tim.

“I think I have to,” Bruce said. “They clearly don’t have adult supervision and definitely need help.”

Bad things happened when kids tried to go at it alone. Bruce let Dick become Robin for the specific reason that Dick would not be out there, fighting, alone. Jason–- he–-

Bad things happened when kids tried to go at it alone. Bruce did not intend to let bad things happen to these kids.

Chapter Text

Eugene was on his way back from the principal's office. He paused at the water fountain to refill his water bottle, considered buying something from the vending machine, and shrugged, deciding it wasn't worth it. He took a swig of his water bottle and walked past a crook under the stairs where Nightwing was crouching.

Then he paused. Doubled-back. 

"Nightwing?" he hissed, ducking under the stairs as well. "What are you doing here?" 

"Just checking on you," Nightwing says casually. "I was in the neighborhood on a case, so I figured I'd drop by."

"You remember me?" Eugene said. "We meet each other once . Two years ago."

"I remember everyone," Nightwing murmered, and Eugene could see why people called him the Batman of his generation.

"How did you know my school?" Eugene asked. "You keeping tabs on me?"

"I was reminded of you," Nightwing said vaguely. "You've heard of the Marvels, right? One of them looks like you." he paused meaningfully. "Seems to like video games like you, as well, if his references are anything to go by."

Eugene said nothing. Nightwing knew, and Eugene knew Nightwing knew, and Nightwing knew that Eugene knew that he knew. 

"I'm not going to try to stop you and your siblings, because I've been there," Nightwing promised, and Eugene breathed a sigh of relief. "But you kids shouldn't be doing this all alone. Why haven't you told your parents?"

"They'd make us stop," Eugene said honestly.

"You can't know that until you talk to them," Nightwing said. "Listen, you need an adult."

"Like you needed an adult," Eugene muttered. "I remember when you were Robin. I've heard you and Batman argue on the rooftops about how you can take care of yourself."

Nightwing winced. "I was wrong. I was wrong, and I see that now."

"Why?" Eugene asked. "What changed?"

Nightwing paused. "Lets just say there was a case of neglect that hit a bit too close to home." 

Eugene filed that information away for later. 

"I'll keep what you said in mind," he told Nightwing, lying through his teeth.

"Good," Nightwing said, his tone implying that he saw right through Eugene. "Gosh, this is karma. I need to go apologize to B. See you around, Eugene."

Eugene scrambled out of the staircase so Nightwing could get out, looking around to make sure nobody saw them. "How are you going to get out of here without anyone seeing you?"

When he looked back at the staircase, Nightwing was gone.

Chapter Text

2 weeks later

Cass did not like talking. Cass still had difficulties, sometimes, understanding talking. Epecially the Flash’s.

People were friendly with Cass. Alert-pleased-neutral. Most did not try to approach her. Her full-face cover and staring were good at that. This was how Cass wanted it.

Bruce thought she should make some friends. It was such a… normal parent thought and it made Cass feel happy things, because it made her feel like a normal child.

But talking was hard. Understanding, watching, waiting was easier.

The newest people –the Marvels– were fun to understand. 

Batman was teaching them many things. Secret-keeping, acting, and many, many contingencies. He was watching out for them, in the same way he watched out for the Teen Titans and Jason’s friend Roy and the other young people. Cass knew a lot of people did not like the watching-out for. She liked it. She knew what the others did not understand: Batman didn’t doubt her skill when he made these rules. He only wanted to prepare for the worst. Because he cared about her.

Fortunately, the Marvels did not seem to mind either. In training, they were determined-cheerful-excited-grateful-awkward with many other things flitting in between. Cass only had to watch for a few hours before she felt like she understood them well.

Blue and Purple were always all smiles, not like Bruce’s people-smile, more like the one he gave to his family only. Like real smiles. Genuine. 

Blue hummed with nervous buzzing energy. He had been wary-nervous-unsure around Cass for all of two seconds until he found out that Cass was a Bat. After that, he was cheerful-friendly-happy around Cass, not a hint of untrust to her. They did not talk, though. He talked almost as fast as the Flashes. She did not talk at all. 

Blue was all happy-excited-EXCITED around heroes. 

 Purple seemed to just be happy-excited-EXCITED in general.

Red was always cautious-thoughtful-commanding, reigning in the others, her body screaming don’t you dare when one of the others was about to do something unsafe or foolish. She was alert. She put herself in charge of all of their safety. Cass figured she was the oldest.

Which made it slightly odd that Captain Marvel (who did not go by his suit color) was the leader. 

Captain (Cap) was an odd mix of confident-uncertain– confident on the spur of the moment, shouting commands to his brothers and sisters, stance firm and protective, and then uncertain a few minutes later, shifting as if he wasn’t sure of his place. (The more Blue and Purple and the others laughed at his jokes and hugged him and smiled just to see him, Cass noticed, the less uncertain he became.) The only constant was his wariness. Or maybe it was weariness, Cass wasn’t sure which was correct.

They referred to each other as my brother and my sister and our siblings, but they were not biological siblings, Cass was certain of that. She would bet that they were foster siblings, if that was a thing in space (which they claimed they were from, but they were lying, but Cass would pretend). Not just for their wildly different faces and colors, but for the way that some of them (Blue, Red, Purple) seemed far more certain and comfortable than others (Gray, Green, Captain). Gray, Green, and Captain must have been the newest members of this family.

Gray seemed like a pretty ordinary kid (because while the Marvel’s faces said adult their body languages screamed child ), albeit often distracted. He clearly enjoyed fighting and being part of the ever-expanding Justice League, though probably not as much as Blue.

Green was interesting. 

Because Green was… quiet. 

Not quiet with nerves or uncertainty, like... others, but just quiet, like he didn’t care much for talking. Like people were exhausting. Like talking was exhausting. 

Like Cass. 

He answered questions and laughed at what his siblings said, but he never seemed to feel the need to make himself heard.

If Batman wanted her to make friends… Green would do nicely. 

So the next time Cass was at the watchtower, she scanned the room for Green. 

While the other Marvels were all chatting with others or racing around the room or whatever, he was just sitting on the couch, watching everyone, alone. His body didn’t say lonely, though. Green was perfectly content to not be talking to anyone else.

Cass perched on the couch next to him.

Green flinched a little in surprise at seeing her (surprised-scared), and stayed tense for a while (nervous-unsure). Once it was clear Cass wasn’t planning on making small talk, he relaxed a little and went back to watching everyone (unsure-neutral). Cass watched too. 

Gray and Nightwing were doing things with a little box, a… what was it? A Switch, a sort of virtual reality training except it was for entertainment, not training. They both said intense-competitive- fun.  

Red and Purple were caught in a conversation with Diana, all pleased-excited.

Blue and Captain were arguing about something, not in an angry way, in a… fun way, at least to them. They were arguing about… if they had organs? Perhaps Cass had misunderstood. 

Cass and Green both snorted in unison when Captain asked Superman, completely genuine, “excuse me, do I have organs?”  

“Specifically a prefrontal cortex,” Blue added, and Captain nudged him. 

Green smiled, and Cass smiled too.

And the next time they were both in the watchtower, she sat next to him again. He offered her a bit of the orange he was eating. She accepted it, pulling down her mouth-covering to eat it and quickly pulling it back up. 

And she just kept sitting next to him, until he was completely relaxed to see her, until he started sitting next to her first, until his body language went from wary to neutral to pleased at the sight of her. While Gray played his little video games with Nightwing and Impulse, and Blue and Purple made friends with everyone they met, and all the Marvels began learning how to act with their words and actions and how to fight with or without powers, Cass and Green stuck together. 

It was nice. They hadn’t said two words to each other, but Cass was pretty sure Green counted as a friend. 

Chapter Text

Two months later

“I cannot believe this,” Billy muttered, looking down at his suit. “This is the last time we ever help you Bats fight Condiment King.”

“Speak for yourself,” replied Darla, who was swirling around the mustard on her suit and painting little smiley faces in it. “I think conmidents add pizzazz.”

“Condiments,” Nightwing corrected absently.

“Tastes like ketchup,” Freddy said, sticking a fingerful in his mouth. 

“It is ketchup,” Billy said.

“It might be spoiled, though,” Darla added thoughtfully, “since it’s not kept in a fridge.”

“You put your ketchup in a fridge?” Nightwing said, shocked.

Darla looked equally surprised. “You don’t?”

“I’m quitting the League,” Billy announced to nobody. “I refuse to fight your rogues ever again. You Bats aren’t worth fighting Condiment King.”

(Which was a joke, of course. Batman and his kids had been so helpful these last few months, helping them out with their secret identities and training them in basic self-defense. And Billy was 95% sure that Batman knew their secret identities, but, whatever.)

Robin emerged from the bathroom (because of course the Batplane had a fully equipped bathroom) in an oversized Robin hoodie, mask still on, his soiled suit draped over his arm. “Bathroom’s open if anyone else wants to change.”

“Dibs!” Nightwing flipped over, and Robin flopped onto the couch.

“Thanks for your help,” Robin told the three Marvels. “Condiment King doesn’t usually leave Gotham. Batman wanted to make sure that if there was something bigger going on, we wouldn’t be alone.” He rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s sweet of him,” Freddy offered. 

Nightwing emerged from the bathroom in a t-shirt and jeans. “Who’s changing next?”

The Marvels looked at each other. 

“So, here’s the thing,” Billy said, lacing his hands together. “The suits… don’t come off.”

“You refuse to take them off?” Nightwing said.

“No, they can’t come off,” Billy said. 

Robin huffed a laugh– “I’m not even gonna ask,” –and started chewing thoughtfully on his hoodie string.

Freddy’s brain short-circuited.

Because.

He. He knew a Gothamite who chewed on his drawstrings. 

A Gothamite who was obnoxiously smart and obsessed with Robin.

A Gothamite who’s parents were around so little that they wouldn’t even notice if he was gone most of the night. 

This made way too much sense to be a coincidence. 

And with Robin lazing back in a Robin hoodie, chewing on his drawstrings, black hair flopping back–

Freddy recognized him.

And, judging by the smirk on Robin’s face, that was exactly what Robin had in mind.

Freddy stood abruptly and said, “can I talk to you?” and hauled Robin into the bathroom.

“This isn’t soundproof,” Robin said amusedly as Freddy closed the door. “If you want to talk in private, you should go to the operator’s room.”

Freddy opened the door and dragged Robin out, ignoring the amused, confused, or giggly looks from their partners, and went to the operator’s room.

Once the doors were closed, he wheeled around and said, “Tim?”

Tim grinned. “I was wondering when you would figure this out.”

“Oh my gosh.” Freddy started laughing, and swept Tim into a hug. “Dude! It’s so great to see you again!”

“Good to see you too, Freddy,” Tim said, hugging him back tightly.

“Dude!” Freddy pulled away. “How long have you known I was–?”

“The whole time.”

“The whole time!” Freddy laughed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you guys were all shit at keeping secrets back then,” Tim said, grinning. 

Freddy realized he was levitating in excitement and dropped down a few inches. “Valid.”

“You’re better now, though, so Batman said I could tell you.”

“Batman trusts me!” Freddy placed a hand over his heart. “It’s an honor. Wait, can you tell me who Batman is? Or Nightwing? Or– wait! Is Batman your new dad!?”

“No,” Tim snapped, crossing his arms. “I still have parents. We just work together.”

“But Nightwing’s your brother,” Freddy confirmed.

“No!” Tim said, laughing. “Why is my family life always what you jump too?”

“This is crazy,” Freddy said, running his hands through his hair. “This is insane. Oh my gosh. How did you become Robin? How– how long have you been Robin? What does Batman smell like? Have you seen his face? Is it true that he’s a vampire? What–”

“Slow down,” Tim said with an easy grin, and Freddy realized he was levitating again.

He dropped to the floor with effort. He felt too excited to not float. “Sorry. It’s just– this is a lot . But I won’t tell anyone, I promise, not even my siblings.”

“That would be great,” Tim said.

Freddy couldn’t help laughing, just for the joy of it. “Man, I’m so glad to see you again.”

“I’m glad to see you too,” Tim said warmly.

And from then on, Blue always greeted Robin with a hug.

Chapter Text

1 week later

Freddy: who’s batman

Tim: guess

Tim: this is encoded btw so you can actually guess without worrying about someone finding out

Freddy: hmmm

Freddy: Dick Grayson

Tim: batman’s been around for way longer than that 

Freddy: a vampire

Tim:  fact check! That’s just a common misconception

Freddy: Obama

Tim: you’re not even trying now

Freddy: three kids in a trench coat

Tim: think there was a TV show about that but nope

Freddy: three trench coats in a kid

Tim: freddy what

Freddy: a bunch of people who just change out sometimes

Tim: finally, a valid theory! 

Freddy: a zombie

Tim: ???

Freddy: the kardashian lady. What’s her name

Freddy: kim

Tim: bruh

Freddy: i take that as a yes?

Tim: you suck at this

Freddy: you know what let me ask for help

Ferdy: who’s Batman

Deathmurder1000: your mom

Ferdy: OHHH

Billiam: OHHHH

Eldest Daughter TM: Eugene, you need to stop that. It’s crude

Deathmurder1000: sorry Mary. my language was wholly inappropriate and I will rectify it.

Deathmurder1000: *your mother

Ferdy: OHHH

Billiam: OHHHH

Eldest Daughter TM: much better.

Eldest Daughter TM: anyway Freddy if anyone knew Batman’s identity it would be you, you’re apparently Robin’s BFF

Billiam: and still won’t tell us his identity smh

StrawberryButterfly: I wantto be Robin’s BFF!

Ferdy: can we get back to the question? Who’s Batman? Any ideas?

StrawberryButterfly: Robin!

Eldest Daughter TM: Batman can’t be Robin, Darla.

Deathmurder1000: well I actally have some thoughts on this

Ferdy: you’re not allowed to speak on this subject

Billiam : wait why not?

Ferdy: Eugene unironically thinks Bruce Wayne is Batman

Billiam: WHAT

Billiam: WHY??

Deathmurder1000: it makes sense and I will stand by this 

Ferdy: why, because tbm?

Deathmurder1000: no, not because tbm. 

Deathmurder1000: for starters, Bruce Wayne is the only person with enough money to build the Batmobile.

Billiam: well we all know Bruce Wayne is Batman’s sugar daddy but he can’t actually *be* Batman

StrawberryButterfly: what does ‘tbm’ mean?

Ferdy: when youre older, Darla.

StrawberryButterfly: :(

Billiam: Eugene look ur usually kinda smart but there’s no way

Billiam: bruce wayne tripped over his own shoelaces. Five times

Ferdy: he lost his pants at a gala. And was wearing superman boxers underneath

Eldest Child TM: he gets ransomed like, three times a week

Billiam: and dude twoface literally threw him out a 6th-floor window and broke his leg and he was literally five feet from the ground before Nightwing caught him. Do u think bruce would have let that happen if he was batman?

Ferdy: i’m all for memes, and ‘bruce wayne is batman’ is the funniest thing to grace the internet, but like in reality it’s just not possible bc my man bruce wayne is too dumb and clumsy

Deathmurder1000: okay. Get This Into Your Thick Skulls: 

Deathmurder1000: that is what Bruce Wayne WANTS you to think

Billiam: Is this what it’s like to talk to a flat-earther?

Deathmurder1000: LISTEN. IF Bruce Wayne was HYPOTHETICALLY Batman, this would be EXACTLY WHAT HE WANTS EVERYONE TO THINK

Deathmurder1000: it’s called ACTING and I know none of you know how to do that, but some people are really good at it. And Batman, who as Freddy has said multiple times has BILLIONS of contingency plans, would ABSOLUTELY fake all this “Bruce Wayne is an idiot” stuff for the sake of keeping his secret identity

Muscle man: they’ve literally been in the same room together eugene

Deathmurder1000: BATMAN IS FRIENDS WITH SHAPESHIFTERS HE CAN HIRE SOMEONE

Ferdy: well then why not discount all evidence? Maybe there are hundreds of shapeshifting batmen

Deathmurder1000: Okay hold on, more evidence: Richard Grayson

Billiam: oh great, now you’re going to try to convince me he’s Robin or something

Deathmurder1000: HE IS THEY LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE

Ferdy: RICHARD”S LIKE 5’6 AND ROBIN”S BARELY 5 FEET

Deathmurder1000: THERE ARE MULTIPLE ROBINS

Billiam: YOU BELIEVE THAT TOO!???

Deathmurder1000: what, you think there’s just one Robin who’s hair and size changes every few years?

Billiam: well. Yes. That’s how shapeshifters work.

StrawberryButterfly: guys I can hear Eugene screaming from two rooms over!

Deathmurder1000: ROBIN IS NOT A SHAPESHIFTER BATMAN DOES NOT ALLOW METAS IN GOTHAM

Billiam: he doesn’t allow metas in gotham bc he doesn’t want them to mess with Robin!

Deathmurder1000: Listen. Are you all listening?

Billiam: oh wow he’s pulling out the punctuation now lol

Deathmurder1000: Bruce Wayne has adopted two kids. BOTH TIMES, a few months after he adopted the new kid, there was a new Robin. And the middle Robin disappeared at the SAME TIME Jason Todd died

Billiam: dude, leave Jason Todd out of this. Show some respect

Ferdy: fr man

Deathmurder1000: fine. But my point still stands. I’M the one born in Gotham and I’M the smart one

Billiam: sure thing, Deathmurder1000.

Ferdy: yeah bro if that were true then Bruce Wayne would have adopted a new kid along with the new robin emerging. Like he’s gotham’s #1 adopter why wouldnt he adopt the new robin

Deathmurder1000: well for the record I'm pretty sure that's because he has issues with neglect and won’t let Bruce adopt him

Ferdy: WAIT

Ferdy: EJWHATKLABGFRDK

Ferdy: TIHS ACCTUALLY MAKES SENSE

Billiam: freddy tf?? Where’d that come from

Ferdy: i need to text someone Right Away

Muscle Man: i am enjoying this immensely

Freddy: IT’S BRUCE WAYNE

Tim: ?

Freddy: BRUCE WAYNE IS BATMAN. THE CONSPIRICISTS WERE RIGHT. EUGENE WAS RIGHT AND I DOUBTED HIM THE WHOLE TIME OH EUGENE OH YOU POOR CHILD

Tim: oh

Tim: you figured it out

Tim: don’t tell anyone lol

Freddy: WHY ARENT YOU MORE WORRIED? I”M KINDA FREAKING OUT WHAT IF I ACCIDETNALLY DO TELL SOMEONE

Tim: I wouldn’t worry about it.

Tim: there’s a reason Bruce makes accounts posting theories on reddit and tumblr about how tbm. He wants anyone who actually does believe Bruce Wayne is Batman be mocked to hell and back for the idea.

Freddy: Bruce makes what now

Tim: the point is– even if you did tell someone, nobody would ever believe you.

Tim: people believe what they want to believe

Freddy: oh. That actually makes so much sense

Freddy: oh but Billy’s on the bunk above me and he definitely knows

“Freddy?”

“Yeah, Billy?”

“We can never tell Eugene that he was right.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

1 week later

“Flash, keep working on watching your partner,” Batman grunted. “Captain almost got shot because you slipped.”

“He would’ve been fine,” Flash said, waving a hand.

“But what if it was the other way around?” Batman asked him. Behind his back, Robin mouthed along to his lecture word-for-word, hand flapping in sloppy imitation of Batman’s mouth. “What if it was Cyborg instead? You can't assume your partner is bulletproof. Robin, stop imitating me or you’re off patrol tonight.”

Robin dropped his hand and pouted, and Billy covered his smile. Tim– Robin, Billy needed to think of him as Robin when he was in the suit– Robin had been getting more and more comfortable with Br– Batman, lately. It was good to see.

“Superman, remember that you’re part of a team. Don’t go into labs alone, it’s dangerous. Even if you think you’re invincible, you don’t know how prepared they can be for you. You should know this.”

Superman grunted but nodded, knowing it was a fair point.

Batman turned to Billy and nodded. “Good job keeping the civilians safe. You did well today.”

Billy almost choked and started coughing. Batman ignored him and moved to Darla.

“I noticed you comforting that little girl–that was well-done. I’m proud of you. Just remember to keep the bigger picture in mind, okay?”

Green Arrow’s mouth fell open at the blatant compliment and gentle criticism. Even Wonder Woman looked surprised. 

As Batman turned to Freddy, Billy noticed Robin’s shoulders were shaking, just slightly. 

Billy pulled out his phone– not his actual one, but his untrackable, encrypted Captain Marvel one, courtesy of Wayne Foundations, that he used for superheroing. 

Captain: you’re laughing. Batman’s giving us the hoedown and you’re laughing

Robin: in my defense this is really funny

Robin: look at him his dad-senses are tingling.

Billy glanced up and had to quickly look back down at his phone to keep from laughing, because yes, now that he saw Batman seriously telling Freddy that he did well (and Freddy trying to hide his beaming grin) was absolutely Batman being a dad.

Captain: he just can't help himself

There was some low-rate knockoff villain in Philidelphia. Now, usually this sort of thing wasn’t a problem.

But usually, they didn’t have truth serum.

Batman had given them plenty of advice on how to combat truth serum. Say as little as possible, misdirect, be vague, things like that. They’d practiced a few times at the tower. Captain wasn’t worried.

Okay, he was a little worried. Whatever this gas they’d breathed in was, it wasn't like what they'd practiced. You couldn't talk under it unless you were asked a question, and if you were asked a question, you had to answer immediately. It ironically reminded Billy of being a very small child.

It was Batgirl, Robin, Captain, and Green. Both the batpeople were zip-tied, shackled, and duct-taped, while the two Marvels had some sort of electromagnetic handcuffs that they hadn’t yet figured out how to break through. 

Robin and Batgirl seemed to be communicating to each other in small jerks of the head and twitches of the hand, Captain and Green were just watching the small group that had captured them. While obviously a threat if they had managed to apprehend all four of them, these guys didn’t seem to be super experienced yet—they just had really good tech.

They couldn’t call for Superman—couldn’t call for anyone—while under this serum, but both Batgirl and Robin were here. Batman wouldn’t be far behind.

But this gang was starting to ask questions now. Billy closed his eyes and mentally ran through the answers they had practiced.

“I’ll start simple,” said one of them, probably the leader, who Captain immediately named Potato-face because of his lack of hair and large amount of chub. “You. Captain Marvel. What’s your name?”

“Captain Marvel,” Captain said, straight-faced. This, at least, he had an answer for.

Potato-face twitched. “Your civilian name.”

Captain shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What the hell,” whispered one of the gang members.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” the leader said.

“I mean I don’t know,” Captain repeated, because it was true—Freddy had pointed out the other day that Billy was short for William, and Billy had realized that he didn’t actually know which one he was born as. They had meant to ask Victor to check his birth certificate, but—thank goodness—they never actually got around to it.

“Alright then,” said Potato-face. He turned and pointed to Robin. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Captain said (because technically, technically, he wasn’t sure if Tim was short for Timothy, or if it was just Tim.)

Potato-face pointed to Batgirls. “Hers?”

“No idea,” Captain said. (That was completely true.)

Potato-face growled at him—actually growled— and turned to Batgirl. “You. Batgirl. Who is Superman?”

Batgirl said nothing, just tilting her head slightly.

“I said,” Potato-face told her, “who is Superman?”

No response. Batgirl’s completely-masked face betrayed nothing.

Potato glanced at Robin. “Why won’t she answer me?”

Robin shrugged. “She does what she wants.”

“This is truth serum !” Potato sputtered.

In an eerie imitation of Batgirl, Robin tilted his head, saying nothing.

“Fine!” Potato face turned to Robin and pressed his gun to Robin’s head. “Who is Green Lantern?”

“Barack Obama,” Robin said.

Captain raised his eyebrows.

How was Robin doing that? Green Lantern wasn’t the president.

…Was he?

“What the hell,” whispered another gang member, louder.

“Why isn’t this working?” Potato yelled.

“I don’t know,” said Captain.

“Not sure,” said Green.

“Puberty,” offered Robin.

Batgirl said nothing. 

“You!” Potato turned to Green, his gun waving wildly. “Who is Batman?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Green said, and though he looked as normal as anyone Captain could tell he was panicking inside, because—

This was not good.

Now Batman’s secret identity was revealed and they were all going to—

“I’m serious,” growled the villain. “What is Batman’s secret identity?”

“...Bruce Wayne,” Green repeated. 

The guy whacked Green in the face with his gun, denting his gun in the process and not hurting Green at all but not seeming to notice. “SHUT UP! I’m not interested in stupid jokes. What is Batman’s actual name?”

They—

They didn’t believe Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Captain struggled to keep a straight face. Green was literally under truth serum and they didn’t believe Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Green said with a shrug, doing his best to act casual. “Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“SHUT UP!” roared the leader, pistol-whipping him again, then cursing as the handle of his gun broke clean off. “YOU!” he turned to Captain. “What is Batman’s secret identity?”

Captain had the presence of mind to play along, and smirked. “Bruce Wayne.”

“STOP IT!” the leader threw the remnants of his pistol to the ground. “I don’t know how you all are bypassing my truth serum, but I will drag the truth out of you if I have to—”

The wall broke down.

Enter Batman and Nightwing.

“Finally,” Robin muttered. 

“Are you alright?” Batman asked, slamming their leader to the ground with one hand as Nightwing took out the two other men.

“Fine,” Robin said, letting Batman undo his tying, then hitting a button on the wall that broke down Captain and Green’s electromagnetic handcuffs. “Just the usual truth serum.”

“Did they figure anything out?” Nightwing asked, now untying Batgirl.

Captain snickered as they entered the Batplane. “Nothing. They’re all idiots.”

“Antidote,” Batman grunted, tossing one each to Captain, Green, and Batgirl. 

Billy and Pedro transformed to administer it, and Billy asked, “how did you two avoid giving anything away?”

“Batgirl's just mute,” Robin said, shaking his head to the offered antidote. He smirked at Captain. “And I grew up in Gotham. I’m immune.”

Chapter Text

2 weeks later

Tim: hey since your the og Batman fanatic I need your advice

Freddy: hey since you're the og Robin fanatic I'll gladly offer it

Tim: Batman invited me to stay at the manor for the week. 

Freddy: COOL

Tim: not cool!! 

Tim: I need advice on how to politely say no?? 

Freddy: only you would think staying at wayne manor would be lame.  Well, why'd he invite you over?

Tim: i got injured on patrol and he doesn't trust me to take care of myself.

Tim is Typing

Tim: I don't know if I'll ever get him to trust me

Freddy: bruh

Freddy: it's not about trust

Freddy: it's about LOVE ❤️❤️💗💖💞❣️🫃✨🤌🔥🔥🔥

Tim: you are one messed-up little creature

Freddy: ME???

Freddy: i'm not the one turning down a week-long stay in a billionares house because of *checks notes* trust issues

Tim is Typing

Freddy: look, Tim, Batman really cares about you. From an outsider POV it's so very clear. It's not because he doesn't trust u, it's bc he wants u to be safe and cared for 

Tim: I am safe, and I can take care of myself.

Freddy: 💀

Tim: I don't want to burden him.

Freddy: man's a billionaire with a mansion it's literally not a big deal.

Tim: it is a big deal.

Freddy: why are you so stubborn about this??

Freddy: just like. Take him up on his offer. Ur literally hurting yourself for no reason

Tim: I don't want to encroach. 

Freddy: HE INVITED YOU

Tim: it was a courtesy

Tim: bc I'm robin

Tim: i don't expect you to understand

Freddy: and i didn't expect you to be so dense, but here we are. What, do you think Richard only lived with Bruce bc he was Robin?

Tim:  Dick's his son. 

Freddy: AND YOU'RE NOT??

Tim: NO

Tim: wtf is wrong with you 💀

Tim: I *have parents* 

Freddy: really? Where?

Tim: very funny.

Tim: Even if that wasn't true, I don't want to replace Jason. 

Freddy: it's not a replacement. People can have more then two kids smh

Tim is typing

Tim is typing

Tim: maybe

1 day later

Freddy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5KqTwoyK-c this made me think of u

Tim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ   this made me think of you

Freddy: I am betrayed

1 week later

Tim: okay so I heard a joke but I’m not sure if it’s ableist so I don’t want to laugh at it

Freddy: ooh I wanna hear it

Tim: “To the man in the wheelchair that stole my camouflage jacket: you can hide but you can’t run”

Freddy: ha

Freddy: i like that 

Freddy: you have the disabled stamp of approval ⭐

1 month later

Tim: you should stay over at the manor sometime

Freddy is typing

Freddy is typing

Freddy is typing

Freddy is typing

Freddy is typing

Freddy: that would be cool

Tim: wtf was that

Tim: it took you three minutes to write “that would be cool”

Freddy: I got excited okay

Freddy: don’t bully me that’s so abliest of you

Freddy: also, are you staying at the manor now? :DD

Tim: only sometimes

Tim: like if patrol goes late

Tim: bruce said I could stay here when my parents are out of town

Tim: don’t think I will though

Freddy: why not?

Tim:  I don’t really need to, you know? There’s no reason for it

Freddy: you should. 

Gnawing on his hoodie, Freddy tried to think of a way to convince Tim to stay at the manor (because he would get his friend adopted if it killed him, alright)? 

Freddy thought for a little, and smiled.

Freddy: I bet it would make Bruce feel better. to not be alone

Tim: maybe you’re right

1 week later

Freddy: *slides you 5 dollars* get adopted by Batman

Tim: my parents are millionaires, you know.

Freddy: *slides u 5 dollars more* how about now?

Tim: I swear you’re like on a personal mission to get me adopted bro and I’d be weirded out if it wasn;t so funny.

Freddy: I can’t help it. You’re just a sad child who needs hugs

Freddy has changed Tim’s name to “Sad Child who Needs Hugs”

Sad Child who Needs Hugs: I don’t need hugs

Freddy has changed Sad Child who Needs Hugs’s name to “Sad Child”

Sad Child: also stop calling me a child

Freddy has changed Sad Child’s name to “Sad”

Sad: yeah that fits

Sad has changed Freddy’s name to “Anxious”

Sad: now we’re Inside Out characters

Anxious: :D 

And they just kept texting. And calling, and talking, and going on missions together. Tim invited Billy and Freddy to a teen night at Titans Tower where they built the most massive pillow fort ever. Freddy had Tim over one night, telling Victor and Rosa that Tim had reached out to reconnect (which was true enough). Eugene found out that Nightwing was Richard Grayson and connected everything else pretty quickly and lorded it over the others mercilessly. 

It was good. It was really, really good. Tim already had a best friend (Kon) and Freddy already had a best friend (Billy) and they both had their respective groups, but that didn't mean there wasn't room for Tim and Freddy to also be really good friends. Freddy was a firm believer in the idea that there was no such thing as too many good people in your life. 

"This is the best day of my life," Freddy said, head tilted up to take in the massively high ceiling, voice echoing I'm the cavern. "It's been an honor to be part of your journey, I want to thank everyone who's gotten me this far–"

"Calm down, buckaroo," Tim said, walking ahead of him. "It's just the batcave."

" Just the batcave?" Freddy repeated wetly. "Are you insane? This is the most amazing place ever!"

"Are you crying?" Tim said, looking at him in surprise and a bit of concern. 

"Not all tears are evil," Freddy quoted at him, wiping his eyes. Tim's face softened at the words. "Is that a dinosaur?"

Freddy limped over to the giant dinosaur (no using super form in Gotham), eyes wide with joy.

"The batasaur," he whispered in awe.

"It was Dick's," Tim said, as if that was any sort of explanation. 

"Amazing," Freddy said, already moving on to the next thing. "Hey, what's this?"

A clear case stood to the side, an old Robin suit inside it.

"That was the last Robin's suit," Tim whispered, and by the reverence in his time, Freddy could tell he loved this guy. "Jason Todd."

Freddy looked from Tim to the case. There was a story here. He'd followed the news on Batman religiously, he'd seen Batman almost fall apart after the second Robin disappeared, urged Batman to keep going, and breathed a sigh of relief when a new Robin came onto the scene. He'd always wondered what happened. He'd never had the courage to ask.

"It was the joker," Tim said. "Crowbar. Bomb."

Freddy winced. "Yeesh."

"He was my Robin," Tim added quietly. Freddy had known that for a while, but Tim had never said it out loud. "He's… I wish he was here. I just want to make him proud."

"You would," said Freddy, who sucked at emotions. "Will. Are. Whatever. Hey, is that the batcomputer?"

Tim blinked at the subject change, then nodded and led Freddy over. Freddy couldn't help grinning. This was the best birthday present ever.

Chapter Text

3 weeks later

“Hi! This is Freddy Freeman. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. If you’re like, a bad guy looking for a ransom or something, you should probably call my dad instead. Not that I’m worth ransoming or anything, but like, just in case, you know? You can never be too careful. I’ll shut up now. Please leave your message at the tone.”

“Freddy? This is Bruce. Wayne. Tim… isn’t doing very well. Something happened, and he doesn’t want to talk to me or Dick or anyone else about it. Everyone’s giving him space, but I think he could really use company, and… I don’t know if he wants to see me. So if you could give him a call, I think he’d appreciate it.”

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Tim Drake, please leave a message after the tone.”

“Dude, you sounded so posh in that. You had like… a little rich-kid accent. If that’s a thing. Anyway, just wanted to check on you. Call me back when you get this.”

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Tim Drake, please leave a message after the tone.”

“It's your boy Fred. Freddy-at-the-Ready, as the children say. Bread Fred. call me back when you get this. You better not be avoiding me.”

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Tim Drake, please leave a message after the tone.”

“Tim, you know that one of my greatest attributes is being clingy. You might as well just answer the phone now, because I’m gonna keep calling until you do.”

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Tim Drake, please leave a message after the tone.”

“According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is–!”

Tim snatched up the phone. “Alright, alright! You can shut up now!”

“Tim!” Freddy cheered, sitting up in his bed, pleasantly surprised that that had worked. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tim rasped, voice crackly and small. Freddy snorted, but couldn’t bring himself to fully laugh.

“You sound awful, man,” Freddy said, because it was true. Tim’s voice was all wheezy and it sounded like he’d been choked or something and it was frankly painful to listen to.

“Thanks,” Tim muttered.

“So, what’s up with you, how you been?” Freddy asked, aiming for casualness. 

“Did Bruce put you up to this?” Tim whispered. His voice was getting softer and smaller with each sentence.

“What? Pfft, no,” Freddy said. “Well, maybe a little –and it was an honor to be called by Bruce Wayne– but really, I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do things just because he says so,” Tim muttered, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Did you miss the part where I said I wanted to check on you?” Freddy said, more than a little concerned now. “You’re my friend. I’m doing this for you, not Bruce.”

“Look, I don’t– want to talk right now,” Tim said, as if he’d said it a twelve times already (which, considering the amount of family members and friends he had, was likely). “My throat hurts.”

“Gotcha,” Freddy said, grabbing his crutch and standing. “I’ll fly over to Gotham, then, and we can communicate in person. I assume you know ASL? I’ll be at your door in a jiffy!”

Freddy was on his way before Tim could reply.

Alfred let him in and pointed him in the direction of Tim’s room. It was two stories up, and Freddy thanked God these people were rich enough to have an elevator. 

He limped over to Tim’s room and knocked. “Yello?”

“Go away,” Tim rasped quietly from inside.

“Come in, you said?” Freddy replied, opening the door. 

(Normally he wouldn’t be very comfortable barging in on people like this. Actually, that wasn’t true– Freddy had always been comfortable doing this, it was just he had come to realize, after Eugene threw a game controller on his head last year, that some people didn’t like it. But Tim was different. Tim thought he was a burden on everyone. If Freddy didn’t let himself in, he wasn’t sure if he would get to talk to Tim at all.)

“Oh my gosh,” Freddy said upon entering.

Because if Tim sounded horrible, he looked way worse.

Underneath the blanket he could see that Tim’s left leg was in a cast. He was wearing a shirt, but Freddy could see bandages peeking out from under it. His right arm was in a splint, it looked like all his right fingers were broken, and even his neck was wrapped up securely. He had a broken nose and a black eye and bruises everywhere, half his face was shredded like it had been scraped along the floor, and he was staunchly avoiding eye contact.

“Tim…” Freddy limped closer. “What happened?”

Tim shook his head, still looking away, and even the slight movement seemed to hurt him. Freddy could see the tears glistening in his eyes and the bruise blooming along his cheek.

He sat down on the edge of Tim’s bed, careful not to jostle him. 

This was bad. Tim could get past physical injuries. He’d done it before.

But the way he looked, like he was a piece of paper about to be blown away in the wind– that wasn’t physical. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Freddy offered. He'd had a little obsession when he was thirteen. And then later, Batman had made his whole family learn it for the field. “We can sign. I mean, I'm not great at it, but...”

Tim raised an eyebrow and slightly raised his right hand, the one in the splint.

“You can sign with one hand,” Freddy said. “I’ll figure it out. What happened?”

Tim hesitated. Then, raising his trembling left hand, he signed, attack at Tower.

“Titans Tower?” Freddy double-checked.

Yes, Tim signed. Red Hood.

“Red Hood?” Freddy repeated in disbelief. He'd heard of the mob boss. Red Hood has only been around for six months, but both Freddy and Billy had thought he was one of the better “bad guys.” In fact, Billy thought he was downright good. “I thought he doesn’t hurt kids.”

Tim pointed to himself and signed, exception.

Tim was actually starting to cry now. Freddy was beginning to seriously regret pushing.

Hood’s secret identity, Tim continued, he hesitated, and began to fingerspell, J-A.

And paused. His hand was shaking too hard to continue.

Freddy took the hand gently. “Hey, man, you don’t have to continue. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Tim shook his head and finally looked Freddy in the eyes.

“Jason,” he rasped, face crumpling. 

“What?” Freddy said, confused. What did the second Robin have to do with this?

“Red Hood’s Jason , Freddy, and he tried–” Tim’s hand went to his throat. “He– almost– almost killed me.” 

Freddy went pale. 

Because—no way.  

Jason had been Tim’s hero. Jason had been Tim’s reason for fighting. Jason couldn’t– he couldn’t be that cruel. The world couldn’t be that cruel to Tim.

“Slit my throat,” Tim said. “Broke–my wrist. And nose. Shot my leg–and shoulder–he said–he said–”

Tim broke down crying again, and instinctively, Freddy hugged him, pulling his head up and supporting him as he sobbed. 

“He called me a replacement ,” Tim cried. “He–he said he hated me–I was a horrible Robin–not good enough–and I’m not –he beat me so easily– ”

Tim started coughing, and Freddy rubbed his back, helpless to do anything more, ready to cry himself, because it wasn’t fair. Tim was trying so hard to help people, and he was getting torn apart for his troubles. 

“He’s so angry, Freddy,” Tim whispered into his shoulder. “And he’s right. I should’ve just stayed away from all this. I just made everything worse.”

“Hey, no. That’s bull.” Freddy pulled back, resting Tim’s head back on the pillow. Freddy wanted to ask are you sure it was Jason, but this was Robin– of course he’d be sure. 

“If it weren’t for me,” Tim whispered, “he wouldn’t be so angry with my family. Maybe he’d come home.”

“If it weren’t for you,” Freddy retorted, “Bruce would probably be dead by now. You saw it. We all saw it. You didn’t make everything worse, Tim. You kept Batman alive.”

Tim shook his head. “Maybe I did, once. But he’s better now. I should’ve just– just left when I wasn't needed–”

Freddy scoffed, because anyone with eyes could see that Bruce adored Tim. “you’re not a some sort of tool, Tim, you’re not supposed to be just—used and then discarded. You’re a person. And Bruce does want you.”

“He doesn’t act like it,” Tim muttered.

“Yes he does!” Freddy exploded, launching to his feet and almost falling over. “Hello!? He’s always bragging about you. He’s always doing his almost-smile thing at you, which is a lot coming from Batman. He trusts you, or you wouldn’t be in the field. He loves you, or he wouldn’t constantly invite you to the manor. He cares about you, or he wouldn’t have called me to check on you. He looks at you like you’re the freaking light of his life. What more proof do you need? I don’t get why you’re still going back to your abandoned home when Bruce is right here!”

“Stop it,” Tim said, raising his voice. “He let me– work in the field because I made him. I’m here because he feels bad about what happened at the tower. He cares, but not like with–it’s just–pity, and because he's nice, and–”

“Hey, I'm an expert on people being nice to you because of pity,” Freddy spat, waving his crutch for emphasis. “That’s not what this is. How do you not get it? Bruce loves you! He would literally adopt you in like three seconds if you asked, and the only reason he hasn’t asked is because you barely even sleep in the manor!”

“Would you shut up about the adoption thing?” Tim snapped. “I’m not– I’m not good enough. Jason was– cruel, but not– not really wrong, I'm not good at this, I was never–"

“So first of all, there’s this thing called unconditional love, and it’s a thing most parents are supposed to have–” Freddy replied.

“And even if Bruce did want to adopt me,” Tim rasped, “I have parents .”

“But they–”

“And even if that wasn’t true,” Tim choked out, eyes burning with tears, “I can’t be adopted. Not now. Not if there’s a chance that Jason might come home .”

Freddy paused.

“I can’t get in the way of that,” Tim whispered, sounding broken. 

Freddy gave up. He wasn't helping things by pushing this idea right now, and he honestly didn’t know how to reply to that.

How could Tim be so kind and forgiving and understanding to every single person on earth except himself?

“Look,” Freddy said softly, sitting down again, “I’m sorry for yelling. I come on too hard sometimes.”

Tim shook his head, mouth tightening. “It’s fine.”

“I–” Freddy’s breath caught, and he tried to force himself to keep talking. “Tim, you’re such a good person. You deserve a good family. Even if you never did anything particularly important in your life, you deserve it. I’m sure your parents didn’t teach you that.” he squeezed Tim’s hand, and Tim squeezed back like a lifeline. “But I really hope, someday, you’ll learn it.”

Freddy sat against the headboard, next to Tim, and let Tim lean on him. Tim just melted into the touch, and it broke Freddy’s heart. 

Tim eventually cried himself to sleep, and Freddy didn’t dare leave until Kon came in, looking as unsure and awkward as Superboy could get, and took his place. 

“Tim said he doesn’t want to talk to me,” Kon said softly, carding his hands through Tim’s hair, “but I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

Freddy was pretty sure everyone who knew Tim felt that way, but he was currently having trouble getting words out of his stupid mouth. He just offered a trembling half-smile and left.

Mr. Wayne: Freddy, I am not nosy, but it seems like Tim opened up to you. 

Mr. Wayne: if there's anything you can share that would help him, I would appreciate it.

Freddy: yes Mr. Batman I'll tell you all his secrets

Freddy is typing

Freddy: so yeah I talked to Tim.

Freddy: He thinks you only keep him around bc he's robin or smth??

Freddy: which I told him is shit

Freddy: but I think he needs to here it from you.

Freddy: Also, he needs lots of hugs

Freddy: and maybe like a jacuzzi or smth idk how rich people work

Mr. Wayne: Thank you, Freddy. 

Mr. Wayne is typing

Mr. Wayne: He said he wanted to be alone, but I wasn’t sure if that was true. I appreciate your help.

Freddy: np 👍 he’s got a strange little head but 95% of the time I’m pretty sure he just wants hugs and “i love u”s

Mr. Wayne: “np?” What, exactly, does that mean?

Freddy: u don’t know?

Freddy: how do u not know acronyms ur a detective 

Mr. Wayne: Oh, is that what that is? An acronym? It’s “slang”?

Freddy: yeah ok so it means “no problem”

Freddy: how do you not know that

Mr. Wayne: Ah.

Mr. Wayne: Of course.

Chapter Text

4 months later

There was a new superhero in the tower. ‘Least, Darla was pretty sure she was new. She had a purple suit, purple face mask, and purple hood, and she was in the kitchen, making a sandwich.

“Hi!” Darla said breathlessly, suddenly at her side.

The superhero flinched in surprise. “Dude! I could have dropped my croissant!”

“Sorry,” Darla laughed. “I like your suit.”

“Aw, thanks!” the girl said. “I like yours too– purple is my favorite color.”

“Mine too!” Darla beamed. “What’s your name? Superhero, not legal.”

“Spoiler,” she said, going back to making her sandwich. 

“I’m Purple,” Darla replied. 

“Nice name,” Spoiler said, and Darla was pretty sure she was smiling under her mask.

“Thanks!” Darla said. “So, what’s your story? Your powers?”

“My only powers are killing it on the dance floor,” Spoiler said.

Darla giggled. “So you’re not a meta? Are you a bat?”

“Yeah, basically.” Spoiler paused and pointed her butterknife at Darla. “But Batman’s not my dad.”

“Ah,” Darla said knowingly. “Just like he’s “not” Red Hood or Robin’s dad.”

“No, that’s different, he’s totally their dad,” Spoiler said. “It’s complicated. You know what we should do? Make purple waffles.”

“YES!” Darla cried, clapping her hands. “I’ll get the edible glitter.”

“Do you… actually know how to make waffles?” Darla said, examining all their ingredients –edible glitter, purple dye, chocolate chips, butter, flour, eggs, and peanut butter. 

“I was hoping you did,” Spoiler replied. “...Let’s ask Batman for help.”

“Spoiler.” Batman looked so very pained. “I am the last person to ask for help with cooking.”

“Adult supervision is important, B,” Spoiler said sternly. 

“You stole the batcomputer to forge an illegal ID.”

“See, that’s exactly my point!” said Spoiler. “Look at the things that we kids get up to when you’re not around! We go out with illegal IDs to get drinks and shit!” 

“You went out with an illegal ID to buy a cat,” Batman replied. 

“You have a cat?” Darla said, eyes wide. “Do you have pictures?”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Batman said.

They made the waffles anyway. They were… really burned. And weirdly misshaped. But they were glittery, and purple.

“I think we did great,” Batman deadpanned, covered in glitter.

Darla giggled, licking the batter from her fingers. “I think we did, too.”

“I’ll get Agent A to make us actual ones,” Spoiler said with a firm nod.

A few days later, at school, Darla opened her lunchbox.

And slammed it closed.

And opened it again, just to make sure it was still there…

It was.

A plate of beautiful, purple, bat-shaped, glittery waffles.

“My mom made them,” she told her jealous friends, firmly fixated on the idea of not letting any secret identities leak. (She’d be concerned about the fact that the Bats apparently knew her secret identity, but, honestly, she’d figured they knew it since the beginning.)

She liked Spoiler. She thought they could be good friends. 

Chapter Text

1 week later

For the record, Billy was not running away. 

Why would he run away? Ohana means family, and all that. Billy was in too deep to leave now. He wasn’t running. He was just… retreating. Strategically. 

Everything’s strategic with the Wisdom of Solomon, Billy thought fleetingly. It was hard to form concrete thoughts when you were flying faster than the blink of an eye. Dumb Wisdom. His shazamed head was making plans and thinking ahead in ways that Billy didn’t like to do. 

He was flying aimlessly and blind. He needed a plan. He needed somewhere to go, to think, alone. Outside Philadelphia. Somewhere where nobody would blink twice to see a kid on his own in the dark.

So, Gotham.

Billy made the trip in seconds, and sank down to a warehouse roof, breathing heavily. He wasn't winded, he just… couldn't breathe right. He was panicking. Too many thoughts. Dumb Wisdom.

"Shazam," Billy whispered.

He changed back, and his head cleared.

Billy went to the edge of the warehouse and sat, his legs dangling down. He tilted his head back and breathed in the smoggy air. He could hear a few gunshots down the street, some yelling here and there, the blare of traffic.

No, Billy was not planning to run away. The Wisdom of Solomon had made him jump ahead, made him think too fast, made him decide they won’t want me here and I can’t live with them before he could stop to think. 

He wasn’t running. He was just thinking. 

“Rough day?”

Billy snorted. "You could say that."

A guy settled down next to him, legs dangling out over the rooftop. Steel-toes boots and a leather jacket and a red helmet…

"Red Hood," Billy greeted, with a surge of fondness. 

Red Hood got a closer look at him. "Billy Batson. Last I checked, you had a nice little family in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?"

Billy tilted his head. "You keeping tabs on me?" 

"I made sure the place you were going was better then the place you were leaving," Red Hood acknowledged. "But you didn't answer my question."

Billy sighed. "I was running away."

"Again?" Red Hood probably raised his eyebrows. "What happened? I thought the Vasquezes looked pretty good."

"They are," Billy said quickly. "And I’m not… I just…"

Billy pulled his legs up and crossed them.

"I killed someone today," he said quietly.

"Cool," Red Hood responded.

"Not cool," Billy snapped. "It wasn’t accidental, and it wasn’t in the heat of the moment. I wanted him dead, and I killed him. He was defenseless and weaponless and I killed him."

“Were there witnesses?”

“Wha—no, but—my gosh, Red Hood, that is so not the point.”

“Well, if nobody saw it, what does it matter?” Red Hood said. “Just keep it to yourself.”

“Again, not the point,” Billy muttered. “It doesn’t matter if they saw it. It was atrocious. And—and I wouldn’t want a murderer around them, anyway…”

“Why did you kill him?” Red Hood asked.

“He was a rapist,” Billy bit out. “And he was in with the cops. I didn’t think… didn’t think he’d stay in jail.”

“Sounds like fantastic reasoning to me.” Red Hood twirled his gun. “There are worse things in the world than killing bad people, kid. Trust me, I know. In fact, I’d say he deserved it.”

“Again, not the point,” Billy muttered. “I don’t… don’t want to be like that. I don’t want them to know that’s what I’m like…”

“Some people are way too caught up in their thoughts,” Red Hood said with a long-suffering sigh. He paused. “What are you doing in Gotham, anyway?” 

“Your mom,” Billy snapped.

“Low blow, kid. My mom’s dead.”

“My mom dumped me with the police when I was three and never looked back.”

“This isn’t a competition,” Red Hood muttered. “But if it was, I’d win. My mom lured me into a warehouse where the Joker beat me bloody and blew me up.”

“Alright, yeah, you win.” Billy  looked away, drumming his fingers. “What about your dad?”

“Dead, probably. Hopefully.”

Billy gave him a strange look. “Isn’t Batman your dad?”

“Batman isn’t my dad!” Red Hood snapped.

Billy laughed, and his phone buzzed. 

“Shut up,” Red Hood commanded. “Look, kid, if you’ve got a good family, you can’t waste it. Trust me, I… I've done enough to know. If they’re good parents, they’ll love ya anyway. If they don’t love you anyway, they’re trash and you can crash in one of my safehouses till you figure something out.”

“I know.” Billy sighed, dangling his feet again. “I wasn’t really going to leave. Just wanted space.”

“I get it.”

Billy’s phone kept buzzing.

"What's this?" Hood said, sliding out Billy’s phone and somehow bypassing his password.

Ferdy: blilly <3

Ferdy: bruh where r u?????

Ferdy: bruh

Ferdy: bro

Ferdy: broski

Ferdy: brontosauras rex

Ferdy: u never came back from patrol

Ferdy: if ur dead I’ll kill yuo <3

Ferdy: your not running away r u??????????????????????????????

Ferdy: ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? 

Ferdy: ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? 

Ferdy: :(

Ferdy: :(((((((((

Ferdy: hehe that frowny face has a lot of double chins

"Give me that!" Billy hissed, snatching his phone back. 

Billiam: I'm fine. Just wondering around for a little. Don't worry about it.

"That'll just make him worry more," Hood pointed out.

Ferdy: ????? This late? Where r u

Billiam: Gotham

Ferdy is typing

Ferdy is typing 

Ferdy is typing 

Ferdy is typing 

Billy groaned.

Ferdy: YOU WENT TO GOTHAM WITHTOUT ME

Ferdy: BETRAYAL

Ferdy: jail for billy! Jail for a thousand years!

Hood snorted.

Ferdy: did you meet anyone cool????????????????????????????????

Billiam: image.png

Ferdy: ohhhhh red hood

Ferdy: hey I wanna talk to him about something

Billiam: well I'm heading home now so good luck

Ferdy: ok good actually

Ferdy: seriously don't go to Gotham alone man. Or anywhere alone. Not cool

Ferdy: love you <3333 next time you do something dumb bring me

Billiam: love you too idiot

Billy pocketed his phone.

"He's right, you know," Hood said. "You shouldn't be wondering around Gotham alone."

Billy snorted. That was ironic coming from a Robin. "Pretty sure you were doing a lot worse at my age."

"I didn't have a family that cared," Hood answered.

"You lived with Batman,” Billy said tiredly. “Which one of us are you trying to gaslight by saying that?” 

"This isn’t about me,” Red Hood repeated. “Look, you're—clearly not alone. Don't act like you are. You will regret it." 

Billy didn't have a response, so he didn't respond. He looked around. They were on a roof.

Well, this was the home of Batman. It would be fitting to do something obnoxiously dramatic.

Billy stood and stretched. "Well, nice chat. Guess I'll be heading home now."

"Yeah? Good." Red Hood said, clearly relieved. His brow furrowed as Billy took a few steps towards the edge. "Wait, what are you–"

Billy dove off the side of the roof, hissed, "Shazam!" and flew off as fast as he could.

Back on the roof, Jason tried to recover from his near-heart attack. He couldn't find the kid anywhere.

And that night, Billy curled up in Freddy's bed (Freddy had insisted and Billy was too tired to protest and secretly he loved it), hand running through Freddy's curls, and scrolled through his texts.

There was a new contact, labeled Red Hood. 

Billy Batson: hello there??

Red Hood: General Kenobi

Red Hood: just in case you actually are kicked out. Call me.

Chapter Text

2 days later

Billy Batson: yo Hood. I need you’re help

Red Hood: *your

Billy Batson: wtf

Red Hood: what's up? Need a place to crash?

Billy Batson: nah. I'm reading pride and prejudice for English and need to write an essay. Rosa's not great w english tho and I don't wanna bother Victor rn so can you proofread it?

Red Hood: oh

Red Hood: sure

Red Hood: hmu

Billy Batson: here u go

Billy Batson: [thebennetcontrast.doc]

Red Hood is typing

Red Hood is typing

Red Hood is typing

Red Hood: okay so first of all, your first quote on page 2 is from Lydia, not Mrs. Bennet. And please, for all that is good and holy, stop using passive verbs; it reads like a toddler wrote it. You talk a lot about how Mrs. Bennet has flaws, but maybe touch on how Mr. Bennet does too– he likes to f with his wife and if he didn't do that then maybe their marriage would end better. He's given up on finding happiness with his wife (chap 19) and drivea entertainment from annoying her.

Red Hood: *derives, not drivea

Billy Batson: sweet mother of superman

Red Hood: hold on, I gotta go blow some stuff up. I'll read the rest soon 

Billy Batson: man singlehandedly saved my grade thank you sm

Red Hood: no problem, I enjoy it

Billy Batson: nerd

Red Hood: hormonal teenager who calls others names to disguise his own insecurity

Billy Batson: you didn't have to go for the throat like that 

Red Hood: By the way, I know you're part of the superhero community– not sure who you are, don't really care, but I'm sure you're in contact with the bats to some extent if they've been spouting shit about me enjoying English.

Billy Batson: what makes you say that, Jason?

Red Hood: I don’t even care that you know my name, I’m legally dead. Anyway, tell Batman to leave me alone.

Billy Batson: man's terrifying, I'm not telling him anything

Red Hood: I commented the rest of my thoughts on the doc

Billy Batson: thank you sm 

Billy Batson: I would kill for you

Red Hood: that’s the spirit. 

Red Hood: how’s your LOTR essay coming along?

Billy Batson: how tf do you know about that

Red Hood: I’ll never tell

Red Hood: but what do you think of lotr so far?

Billy Batson: to many trees

Red Hood: FUCK YOU the trees are the best part; Tolkien was a soldier in one of the most brutal wars in history and he wrote a story that talks about death and destruction, but also light and hope and people trying to find peace after all the horrors they went through. He’s allowed to write about as many damn trees as he wants.

Red Hood: also, *too 

Billy Batson: nerd

Billy Batson: okay but why was pippin even in the story?? Like hes totally pointless to the plot

Red Hood: BILLIAM BATSON

Red Hood: what kind of literature teacher do you have?? Is she even teaching the book? Why does she not explain this stuff?

Red Hood: also, *he’s

Red Hood: LOTR is all about ordinary people doing extraordinary things and Pippin, just as much as Frodo, is an example of that

Red Hood: call me. We need to talk about this.

Billy Batson: Sam’s the real hero 

Red Hood: NO

Red Hood: BAD

Red Hood: INCORRECT

Red Hood: How stupid are you?

Billy Batson: like 50% stupid

Billy Batson changed his name to Batson 

Batson changed Red Hood's name to Bat Son

Batson: now we match :)

Bat Son: I'M NOT BATMAN'S SON 

Chapter Text

2 days later

Billy couldn’t help his grin as he finished reading the Fellowship. Despite everything, he was actually… kind of enjoying his English class now. He hadn’t thought that there were people under fifty who actually liked this stuff. 

“Watcha doing?” Freddy asked, entering the room and looking around for something.

“Just reading,” Billy said, putting his book away. Freddy sounded tired. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Freddy said, opening the closest. “It’s Tim’s birthday. Gonna drop a gift off.”

Billy rolled out of his top bunk and onto the floor, then plopped down on Freddy’s bed. 

“Ableist,” Freddy said.

“Narcissistic personality disorder,” Billy diagnosed back. “What’s up with Tim these days? Is he feeling better?”

Freddy had given him the cliffnotes version of Tim’s story—old friend, trash parents, lots of issues. 

“He was feeling better,” Freddy muttered. “I think I was starting to get it through his thick skull that Bruce cared about him.”

Billy frowned, sensing a but. “Then what happened?” 

“Red Hood happened,” Freddy said, finally finding what he was looking for and tossing it on his desk.

“Jason? What’d he do?”

“You didn’t hear?” Freddy limped over and sat next to Billy on the bed. “Red Hood—Jason—attacked Robin at Titans tower. ‘Bout three months ago.”

Billy stilled. “He what?”

“Yeah.” Freddy tilted his head back to stare at the sticky notes and glowing stars stuck to the top of his bunk. “It was bad, man. Jason broke, like, ten bones and shit. I visited Tim after, and it was—he could barely talk. He’s still…” Freddy trailed off, looking at his hands. “Not the same.”

Billy said nothing, disturbed. He hadn’t known any of this.

“Jason was his hero, you know,” Freddy offered, absently fixing one of the stars that was falling off his bunk. “His Robin. And so Jason attacking him like that was– he took it really hard.”

“I– was it unprovoked?” Billy asked. “Did Jason have a reason? Was he mind-controlled?”

“Eh,” Freddy shrugged. “Jason took a dunk in a Lazuras Pit– basically, it makes you really mad, sort of? And so he got really angry at Tim and that’s part of why…”

“So it was mind control.”

“Not mind control.” Freddy sat up. “Jason was still in charge of his head. More like—anger issues.”

“But it’s not, you know, regular anger issues,” Billy pushed. “Jason wouldn’t do something like that….”

“Yeah, Tim thought that too,” Freddy muttered, “right up until Jason shot him in the kneecap.”

“That can’t be right,” Billy said, because he knew Jason, Jason was a friend, Jason cared about strangers. “Jason only hurts people who deserve it.”

“And clearly he thought Robin did,” Freddy said impatiently. “Why are you so upset about this?”

“Because that's not how Jason really is," Billy said. “Look, I knew him, okay? He—practically saved my life, once. You know all his rules about—helping kids, killing rapists—so if he’s got anger issues twisting his mind, that’s not him, it’s—”

"Oh, that’s bull," Freddy said angrily. “My dad had anger issues. Do you think that him?”

"That's different, that can be controlled.”

“And Lazuras Pit can’t?”

“I don’t know!” Billy threw his hands in the air. “I just don’t think Batman’s son would do something like that!”

“He does stuff like this all the time, Billy,” Freddy said. “He’s just a villain who happened to get some stuff right.”

“He’s a hero who’s gotten a few things wrong,” Billy shot back, standing up. “He doesn’t have the same methods as Batman and maybe he shouldn’t be so brutal to people but at least they’re usually bad people!”

“Usually bad people?” Freddy repeated, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Billy, he painted his name in Tim’s blood!”

“He’s got murder juice flowing through his veins!” Billy said. “You’re holding him to an impossible standard!”

“And you’re not holding him to a standard at all!” Freddy yelled back. “Jeez, Billy. How can you say that someone who attacks Robin is a hero?” Freddy snatched up his crutch and stalked out of the room. “I’m going to visit Tim, because someone needs to watch out for him. I’ll see you later.”

Freddy slammed the door, and despite himself, Billy flinched.

(Then Freddy stalked back in, snatched his bag off the table– “forgot this,” –and stalked out again.)

Chapter Text

10 minutes later

Freddy knocked cautiously on the Drake manor door. After waiting three minutes without an answer, calling Tim, and hearing nothing, he opened the door and hobbled in. There was startlingly little security in this place for a Robin.

“Tim?” Freddy called. “You home?”

He should be home. It was his birthday. It was his birthday, and his parents were going to eat dinner with him, as he had told Freddy twice, as if to say, see? They do care.

It would take more than one birthday dinner to convince Freddy that Tim’s parents cared. But it was a good start, right? 

Freddy had meant to drop by later tonight, after his parents left, but after the argument with Billy… he needed to clear his head.

He was just going to drop a gift off (a shirt that read “I’m not saying I’m Batman, I’m just saying no one has ever seen me and Batman in the same room,” because no matter what Pedro thought that was freaking hilarious) and be on his way. 

In fact, if Tim’s parents were home, he should probably just drop it off at the front door and leave before they called the police or something.

But if Tims’ parents were home, then why was it so… quiet? All Freddy could hear was the soft creaking of something, further in the house.

If I was in a horror movie, I’d be gone in seconds, Freddy thought, following the noise through the large, empty manor. 

He finally located the noise in the kitchen. It was, of course, Tim.

Tim was, of course, alone. 

Tim was putting away a set of plates, half-turned away from Freddy, but Freddy caught a glimpse of his face—he was flushed and his eyes were turned down, and he was breathing in heavy spurts, looking on the verge of tears.

“Tim,” Freddy said, and Tim turned, startled. “Where are you parents?”

Tim looked at Freddy for half a second, took a breath, and began to cry. 

“Ah, shoot,” muttered Freddy. He limped over to his friend and began tugging him to the room next door. “Don’t cry, Tim… come on, come sit on this disgustingly square couch in this room devoid of all color… gosh, your parents have no taste…”

Tim gasped a breathy laugh, which Freddy took as a win. 

He set his friend down on the couch. “They didn’t come?”

Tim shook his head.

“They cancelled?”

Tim nodded.

“Bitches.”

“It’s just a—” Tim wiped at his eyes. His voice was strained and tight. “Just a—stupid—birthday.”

“It’s not a stupid birthday, it’s your stupid birthday,” Freddy said. “I’d be upset if my parents forgot.” Freddy’s wise words didn’t seem to console Tim. Freddy (stupidly) went on. “But I bet, if you asked him, Bruce would—”

“STOP IT ABOUT BRUCE!” Tim screamed, and Freddy blinked in surprise. 

Tim launched to his feet, pacing and running his hands through his hair. “You don’t get it, you just—you don’t get it, Freddy, not everyone gets a happy ending like you—not everyone’s like your parents—not everyone’s wanted—”

“Well, maybe not everyone, but you are,” Freddy said, watching him.

“I’m not, I’m not—” Tim pressed his hands to his eyes. “It’s not, it’s not like that, it’s not… I’m just—different—you don’t understand, I’m not like you—it’s—”

“Okay, okay, sit back down,” Freddy said, patting the couch beside him. 

Tim collapsed, slumping over, his head still in his hands. 

Gosh. How was Freddy supposed to convince this guy that the parent he wanted, the love he needed, was already right next door?

When in doubt, ask an adult, Freddy thought, and pulled out his phone.

Freddy: hey so random but would you adopt Tim if he asked? Just curious lol

“Look what I just sent Bruce,” Freddy said, pleased with himself. 

Tim glanced at the text, and his eyes went wide with horror. He snatched the phone away lightning-fast, saying, “Freddy, WHY!?”

“Because now you can know the answer without having to worry about Bruce rejecting you to your face! Which, for the record, he won’t.”

Tim looked like he wanted to argue, but his eyes were glued to the screen, which showed the three dots that meant Bruce was typing. Tim bit his finger, nearly writhing with nerves. Bruce was typing…

And typing…

And typing…

Bruce: Of course I would. Doesn’t he know that? But he said he wanted to stay with his parents.

Tim choked.

Bruce: why do you ask? Is Tim alright? Did something happen?

Freddy: no just curious lol

Freddy muted and pocketed his phone before Bruce could reply again. “See? Bruce knows what’s up… what is it?”

“It—doesn’t—matter,” Tim said, as if the words physically hurt. “Even if Bruce wants to adopt me. I can’t accept.”

“Why not?” Freddy said, pulling away a bit.

“Because,” Tim started, tears pooling in his eyes. “Because Jason—”

He didn’t finish. Freddy could guess.

Because Jason wouldn’t come home if home was where Tim was. Because Tim still wanted Jason to come home, even after everything. 

“I can’t let myself be the reason he doesn’t return,” Tim said softly. “I can’t, I can’t. I’d rather stay here by myself than have Jason be out there by himself.”

“Jason’s not your responsibility,” Freddy tried, “and who says that you’re the only thing keeping him away? He’s got other disagreements with Bruce, doesn’t he? Like… the murder thing?”

Tim shook his head. “They’ll get over that. But until they get over this– I can’t. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Freddy soothed. They’d made a lot of progress today, but Freddy was pretty sure Tim wasn’t getting over this idea anytime soon.

But operation get-Tim-into-a-nice-home had been in Freddy’s head for almost ten years.

If he couldn’t convince Tim, he would just have to convince Jason.