Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim wakes to the soft click of the front door locking behind his parents as they leave. They're leaving for a dig in Egypt. They didn't wake him before they left. Even though they promised they would this time.

Tim is ten years old. He's alone.

Again.

He pulls the covers over his head and tries not to cry. For the past year, Tim's parents have drummed into him how grown-up he is. He's too old for tears.

Just last week, on the ride home from a Martha Wayne Foundation gala, Mom told him he was more mature than the other children.

Tim thinks she might have been talking about Jason Todd, the newest member of the Wayne family, who spent most of the evening hiding from everyone. He'd made rude faces at anyone who tried to butter him up. “He even swore at poor old Mrs Lyle,” Mom tutted.

Tim privately thinks Mrs Lyle probably deserved it. She's the grouchiest woman he's ever met and had loudly announced that she was going to introduce herself to “Brucie’s little street rat” before she'd intercepted Jason at the dessert table.

Or else she was talking about Dick Grayson, even though he isn't really a child anymore. He kicked off his shoes for an impromptu handstand to distract a lost little girl while Mr Wayne found her parents.

Tim had thought that was a kind thing to do. Exactly the sort of thing he would expect from Robin (well, Nightwing now).

Mom thought it was “an undignified spectacle. Honestly, I know he was raised in a circus, but he's lived with Bruce Wayne for years now. It's time he grew up.”

As his parents planned their latest dig, Dad had ruffled his hair over breakfast. “You won't need a nanny this time, at least,” he'd said. “You’re big enough to be the man of the house while we're away.”

Then he'd smiled at Tim, who'd nodded and agreed even as his stomach twisted at the thought.

The thing is, Tim is old enough now to know that most parents don't leave their ten-year-old children alone for weeks at a time. He's aware that almost all of his classmates actually see their parents more during the summer break.

He even thinks skipping your kid’s birthday three years in a row might not be normal.

He's just not old enough to do anything about it.

So he lets his tears fall.

One good cry later, and Tim is ready to start his day. He finds his slippers (one under the bed, one on his desk for some reason) and heads downstairs.

Even his slipper-clad feet sound like thunder in the empty house. So the first thing he does when he gets to the kitchen is switch on the radio.

Well, he tries. The radio is on the windowsill over the sink. Tim isn't tall enough to reach the switch. He hoists himself up on the counter next to the sink, stretches across… 

Overbalances.

He topples. His hand plunges into the gross, cold water his dad left the dishes soaking in last night.

After he's dried his arm, Tim turns the TV on in the living room instead. He adjusts the volume until he can hear the Powerpuff Girls episode from the kitchen and gets back to breakfast.

He grabs his cereal before he climbs back onto the countertop to fetch himself a bowl from one of the cupboards. As he shuffles back down, he kicks the open cereal box, and Lucky Charms scatter across the floor.

…He'll sweep that up after breakfast.

There's just enough cereal left in the packet to fill his bowl. Mrs Mac is coming tomorrow afternoon with groceries. Hopefully, she'll bring more.

Tim grabs the milk from the fridge and carefully carries it to the counter. He has to use both hands. The milk is full and it's heavy.

It's too heavy for him to pour.

Tim drops the carton. It crashes into his bowl, sending milk and what was left of the cereal flying.

As Tim stares at the mess, all he can think is, “Well, there's no point crying over spilled milk.”

He starts laughing, only slightly hysterically. From the living room, the Narrator berates the Powerpuff Girls. “Always griping and moaning about something... sheesh, you give me a headache!”

By the time he's finished his sentence, Tim is sobbing into his hands for the second time this morning.

His second attempt at breakfast (after he's mopped up the milk and soggy cereal on the floor) goes much better. Tim makes himself toast, which is not what he wanted, but will stop his stomach grumbling.

The toaster is always too loud. At least with his parents gone, Mom isn't there to roll her eyes when he puts his hands over his ears. Dad isn't there to scoff and shake his head as Tim flinches at the pop.

Silver linings, he guesses.

Tim eats in the living room, careful not to get toast crumbs on the sofa. He spends the morning watching cartoons in his pajamas because there's nobody there to tell him he's being lazy or wasting time.

Being on his own feels like it should be freeing. He's living most kids’ dreams. Big empty house, no parents, making his own rules.

Mostly, it just feels lonely.

Tim decides to go into Gotham for lunch. He's not really feeling up to touching the stove after the disaster that was breakfast.

His first thought was to get something delivered. But when he dug through the kitchen junk drawer for menus, he realized that would mean calling someone. Tim hates speaking on the phone. He stutters and stumbles. Last time Dad made him call the restaurant himself, they hung up on him. They thought he was a prank call.

Easier to walk twenty minutes to the bus stop and ride into town.

Tim plugs his headphones into his Walkman and heads out the door. He has a Discman, but it skips on the bus, so he's started putting his favorite songs on cassettes. Right now, he's going through a skate-punk phase.

He's so caught up in his music that he doesn't notice that there are other people at the bus stop until they've already spotted him.

That's Dick Grayson waving and smiling at him, and Jason Todd sitting in the bus shelter, frowning at his feet with a full plastic bag swinging from one hand. Tim fumbles to pause his tape as he approaches.

“Timothy Drake, right?” Dick asks.

“Um, Tim, yeah.” Real cool, Tim.

Jason tries to hide his snort of laughter even as Dick smacks him on the arm.

“I don't know if you remember us,” Dick continues as Jason rubs his shoulder and goes back to frowning, “but I'm–”

“Dick Grayson,” Tim interrupts. He can't help himself. “You did a handstand at the gala last week.”

Dick grins.

“Don't encourage him.” Tim startles as Jason speaks for the first time since Tim arrived. “His ego’s already big enough to have its own gravitational pull.”

“Jason's just grumpy Mrs Lyle got between him and the dessert table,” Dick stage whispers. Tim giggles.

“There were tiny cupcakes, Dickie!” Jason is suddenly very animated. “They looked so good and then they were gone by the time the old hag finally fuuu– shoved off.”

Tim sits on the seat beside Jason. He can't believe he's sitting by Robin.

“And I'm not even mad because I didn't get cupcakes,” Jason adds. “I'm mad because she was mean and somehow I'm the one being punished for defending myself.”

Tim shuffles uncomfortably.

Dick sighs. “If you put your dollar in the swear jar, Alfred will drive you places again.”

“He wants me to put five dollars in,” Jason huffs.

Tim's eyes go wide. “What did you say to her?” He doesn't know any swears that bad.

“Well,” Jason begins, but Dick shoves a hand over his mouth.

“Nothing appropriate for young ears!” he cries. Then he yelps and wipes his hand on his jeans. “Did you just lick me?!”

“It was kind of funny when Mrs Lyle left,” Tim says quietly. Dick and Jason both turn to him. “She had her face all scrunched up like–” he squishes his face up in his best approximation of Mrs Lyle. “She looked like a pug.”

Jason laughs. Dick chuckles.

Tim wishes he could record this moment and play it over and over. The memory will fade eventually, but if he had it on VHS… He made Nightwing and Robin laugh!

Dick shrugs. “She is kind of a mean old witch.”

The bus pulls up, and all three of them get on. Jason makes Dick sit in the seat behind him and gestures to the seat next to him when Tim gets close. Tim tries his best not to freak out. Robin wants to sit next to Tim.

Dick leans over the seat and asks, “So, Tim, where are you headed?”

Oh. Here are the questions. Whenever grown-ups notice Tim on his own, he needs to be ready for the questions. Mom and Dad made it very clear they'd be very upset if they had to come home early because of a neighbor’s unwarranted concerns.

“Just to the library,” Tim says. He has a couple of CDs in his bag that he was planning to bring back after lunch, so it's not entirely a lie. He’s not even sure why the library seems like a better reason than lunch, but it doesn't seem like a good idea to even hint that he can't get food at home.

“Oh, hey! Us too!” says Jason. He nods to the bag at his feet. Tim can see now it's full of books. “We're going for milkshakes after. You should come!”

“Oh, uh…”

“Jason, Tim's parents will probably be expecting him home.” Thank you, Dick, for the convenient excuse.

“Yeah,” Tim says apologetically.

“Cool,” Jason shrugs. “Maybe next time, eh, Timbo?”

Tim hopes his face isn't as red as it feels. “Y-yeah. Th-that’d be, uh, yeah. That'd be great. Yeah. Thanks.”

It's the best bus journey Tim’s ever had. He even almost doesn't care about the noise as they get further into Gotham and more people get on.

Almost.

Dick and Jason spend much longer in the library than Tim, who switches his Green Day and Lit albums for Blink-182 and the Offspring within five minutes of arriving.

Jason passed his bag to Dick and immediately disappeared into the stacks. Dick has been chatting to the librarian at the desk, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner’s daughter, the whole time.

Tim says a brief goodbye and heads into the McDonald's on the corner before his growling stomach gives him away. He takes his food home on the bus rather than eating in the restaurant to make sure he doesn't end up on the same bus home as the Waynes. That would probably be suspicious after Tim said he was just going to the library.

He opens his Happy Meal at the kitchen table and smiles at the little Beanie Baby frog that came with his chicken nuggets.

This has been a great day.

It's three days before Tim sees the Waynes again. He moved his N64 downstairs the day before so he can use the bigger screen in the living room. Ocarina of Time looks so much better this way. He's been sitting on the couch for almost three hours when there's a knock at the door.

Tim pauses his game and goes to investigate. He nearly falls over when he looks through the peephole.

“Jason?” he asks as he opens the door.

“Hey, Timmy. We were going to go to the library and then get milkshakes again and wondered if you wanted to come with?”

Jason looks genuinely excited at the prospect of Tim joining them. Tim… doesn't really understand why, but he's not going to turn down the invite.

“Sure! Let me, uh, let me just write a… a note for Mrs Mac.” Tim grabs a notepad from the table by the door. Mrs Mac is supposed to be coming this afternoon. She never stays long, but she always chats with him for a few minutes.

Tim runs through to stick the note to the fridge, where she'll definitely see it, then grabs his bag and shoves his feet into his sneakers on his way back.

Jason's waiting patiently at the door when Tim comes back.

“C’mon!” he says. “Alfred's giving us a lift.”

“You put the five dollars in the jar?” Tim asks, curious.

Jason grins at him. “I caught Dick sneaking his girlfriend into his room. He gave me the money so I wouldn't tell.”

Tim tries to remember all the things his parents told him about being polite on the way to the library. But when he says, “Thank you for the lift, Mr Pennyworth,” Jason coughs and Dick smiles like he's said something funny.

“You're quite welcome, Master Timothy,” comes the reply from the driver's seat. “But please, call me Alfred. ‘Mr Pennyworth’ makes me feel old.” Then Mr Pen– Alfred winks at him in the rearview mirror.

Tim doesn't know what to say, but Jason and Dick laugh, so he figures it's alright if he does too.

Barbara greets them all at the desk as they enter.

“No way you're finished all those already, Jay,” she says as Jason approaches with an armful of books.

“Yes way,” Jason retorts. “I need to pick something longer this time.”

She smiles as she takes the books from him and glances at Tim. “Your CDs aren't due back for another week and a half, Tim.”

“I know, I just, uh…” Tim trails off. He's not really sure what to say.

“Music?” Jason asks. Tim nods. “Don't you take books out too?”

“Not usually,” Tim admits. He doesn't usually read for fun. He gets enough reading at school.

“Ok! New mission.” Jason wraps an arm around Tim and steers him to the children's section as Dick starts asking Barbara about how her dad's getting on.

“Forget longer books for me,” Jason says. “We are finding something you'll enjoy.”

Jason apparently takes his duty as book-recommender very seriously. 

“Okay,” he says. “Let's start basic. What was the last book you enjoyed?”

Tim just blinks at him. “Books I had to read for school don't count, right?”

Jason sighs. “It's worse than I thought.”

He turns to a random shelf, picks a book, and places it in Tim's hands.

“Goosebumps!” Jason declares. “Every kid likes these.”

Tim looks down at the book in his hand. Night of the Living Dummy. He reads the blurb and quickly hands it back to Jason.

“I don't think I want anything scary,” he says. Not while he's on his own anyway. Sometimes his big empty house feels creepy enough without thinking about ventriloquist dummies coming to life.

“They're not really scary,” Jason tries, but Tim shakes his head. Jason is Robin. Of course he isn't scared.

“Hmm…” Jason paces in front of the shelves before picking a second book.

This one looks like something Tim could get into. Animorphs. Except…

“Jason, this says it's book four in the series.”

“Yeah, but they're out of the first three,” Jason says, as if starting partway through makes any sense at all.

Tim places the book back on the shelf.

“Ok… not scary… not a series…” Jason mutters to himself.

Jason paces longer this time. Tim sits on one of the beanbags nearby.

Jason's oddly quiet when he hands Tim his next choice. Matilda.

“I know it looks like it's for little kids, but I think you'll like this one,” he says. “Smart kid gets herself into all sorts of trouble and gets the better of all the rotten grown-ups around her.”

Tim turns the book over and reads the back. He's so busy trying to take it in that he almost misses Jason's next quiet comment.

“My mom used to read it with me before she got sick.”

“It looks good,” Tim finds himself saying.

He feels like he needs to try it. For Jason.

The rest of the afternoon seems to fly by. Dick buys them all milkshakes bigger than Tim's head at a diner near the library. He won't let Tim pay for his own and decides for Tim that he's getting the biggest size when Tim hesitates, thinking about what the polite thing to do would be.

Eventually though, Alfred drops him off back at Drake Manor. Tim turns his cartoons back on for background noise and opens his book.

“It’s a funny thing about parents,” the book begins. “Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think they are wonderful.”

Tim pauses. He wonders if his parents think he's wonderful. They've never said much to suggest it…

Before he can get too distracted, he starts again.

“Some parents go further,” continues the book. “They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius.”

Well, maybe Tim's parents do think that. He did skip two grades. They're always bragging about it at galas.

It takes Tim several attempts to get through more than a paragraph, but by the time he gets to the description of Matilda (“Her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of parents”) and her parents (“so wrapped up in their own silly little lives that they failed to notice anything unusual about their daughter”) he's hooked.

And if he's thinking of the way his parents treat him, and the way the Wormwoods treat Matilda? (“I doubt they would have noticed had she crawled into the house with a broken leg.”) It doesn't mean anything.

It's just a book.

When Matilda starts punishing her parents, Tim starts thinking.

His mom doesn't dye her hair, and his dad doesn't wear a hat, but the parrot-ghost… He grins, but shakes his head. It's funny in the book, but it would probably be cruel to stick an actual bird in a chimney.

When Matilda meets Miss Honey, Tim's heart aches. He wishes he had a Miss Honey.

When Miss Trunchbull punishes the children in ridiculously over-the-top ways, he giggles even as he hates her. Secretly, he thinks that being punished by eating a whole giant chocolate cake wouldn't be too bad.

When Matilda gets her powers, Tim marks the page with his little McDonald's frog. It's too big for a bookmark, but he doesn't want to pause to search for one. He pours himself a glass of water and stares at it for longer than he'll ever admit, willing it to tip, before he picks the book back up again.

Matilda tells Miss Honey about her powers. Miss Honey has nothing, but she and Matilda care about each other. Tim finds himself crying and doesn’t really understand why.

He cheers out loud when Miss Trunchbull faints and disappears from Miss Honey’s house.

He's not even disappointed that Matilda’s powers fade. Her parents leave, and she gets to stay with Miss Honey. That's the best ending. Anything else would have made it unreal.

Tim's stomach growls. He looks up from the finished book to find it's dark outside.

He makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner.

Then he climbs into bed and starts the book again.

Chapter Text

Tim has been enjoying reading Jason's book recommendations. It's probably the most he's read in… well. Ever, really.

He just can't get into this latest one. Jason says it's getting really popular and he can't wait to discuss it all with him. Tim… just doesn't get it. He's got a couple of problems with this Harry Potter stuff.

“Why do they use owls, Jason?” 

“Because it's magic, Tim!” That's been Jason's answer to all of Tim's objections so far. 

They're in the back of the car on the way to the library. Dick isn't joining them today. He's back at his own apartment for a few weeks, but Jason says he'll be in Gotham again for a bit in August.

“But owls are pretty slow birds,” Tim explains. “You'd be just as fast sending your mail the muggle way.” 

Tim did the math. Speaking of which… “And I get that they're wizards, but why don't they have any regular classes? Surely even wizards need basic math and literacy skills, right?”

Jason scoffs. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Timmers. Whole magical world in those pages and I find the one kid who wonders where the fuuu–” he catches Alfred's eye in the mirror “–udging math is.”

Alfred looks away with a knowing smile.

“I wanted to like it,” Tim says. He doesn't want Jason to stop recommending him things. “Harry was pretty cool, I guess. And I liked it when Hagrid brought him the cake.”

Tim's eleventh birthday was on Monday. A giant knocking on his door to invite him to a wizarding school would have been awesome, math or no math.

Instead, Tim got a five-minute call with his parents, who explained that his present was in their closet. Then they exchanged “love you”s and Tim's dad hung up. Tim wanted to stay on the call longer, but time differences made it difficult. He’s not even sure what time zone they’re in anymore. The dig is still going on in Egypt, but they've had to visit a few other countries over the last couple of weeks for work meetings.

They got Tim a camera. He can't wait to try it out.

Tim's not really sure what to photograph at first. His new camera sits on the kitchen table. He's been staring at it for the last few minutes.

When he asked for a camera for his birthday, he'd been expecting something basic. Something he could use to take a couple of photos of himself and his parents when they're back. 

The only photos he has of them now were taken at galas, and Tim hates the reminders of spending nights stuffed into uncomfortable suits, trying his best to be someone those people would approve of.

The camera his parents have bought him is practically professional quality. There are so many switches and settings, and they even bought him a couple of lenses. It's kind of intimidating. He half-expects his parents to pop up behind him and tell him off for touching something so expensive.

Still, he'll never learn how to use it if he just sits here and stares.

Tim clips it to the strap around his neck and picks the camera up with both hands. It's actually pretty heavy, and he doesn't want it to get damaged on his first day of using it. He sets his little beanie frog on the table and takes a test shot. 

He pretends it's a photoshoot and asks the frog to smile.

Then Tim takes his camera into the garden. The sun made it through Gotham's clouds for once, so Tim should probably make the best of the natural light. He spends a couple of hours snapping shots of trees and flowers. He gets a few of a brave little squirrel that seemed pretty curious about him.

Before he knows it, Tim's filled that first roll of film. There's a photo shop next to the McDonald's by the library. He’ll drop the roll off when he returns his latest albums (NOFX and Bad Religion).

Hopefully, one or two turned out okay.

Tim brings his camera with him to his next library trip. The weight of it on the strap and in his hands is weirdly soothing. 

“Timmy, that thing’s almost as big as you are,” Jason says with a grin as Tim gets into the car. “Are your parents alright with you taking it out without them?” 

Tim shrugs. “It's my birthday present. They won't mind… as long as I know they won't replace it if I break it.”

For some reason, that makes Jason frown slightly. Tim replays his words in his head, trying to work out what he said wrong.  

“Wait. It was your birthday, and they're still away for work?”

Oh. Is that all?

“Yeah, but Mrs Mac is still looking after me.” Tim changes the subject quickly. “Anyway, I need to drop the film off and ask the shop about some of these settings. I figured it’d be easier if they could see the camera.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Jason still doesn't look sure, but thankfully, he moves on quickly.

“Hey, what’d you think of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

Tim groans. “Why is the lion Jesus, Jason?”

Jason laughs. Tim even spots Alfred chuckling in the driver's seat.

“Ok, fine,” Jason huffs exaggeratedly. “No more fantasy for Timbo.”

The photo shop staff are super helpful. It probably helps that Alfred is hovering protectively in the background. He usually just drops them at the library and leaves, but apparently, this task needed an adult. Having Alfred there makes the whole experience a little less overwhelming.

Tim leaves the library with a copy of Matilda in his backpack. Jason had some other recommendations, but Tim really wants to read it again. 

“How come you're okay with Matilda's powers, huh?” Jason asks curiously.

Tim thinks for a second. “Hers make sense.”

“More sense than Harry Potter?”

“Totally!” Tim isn't sure he can explain the difference, but he's going to try.

He takes the book back out of his bag to help him. “Matilda’s brain basically gets so bored and so full of feelings that it's like she can push that energy out of her eyes.” 

Tim taps on the cover thoughtfully as he talks. “It… um. It feels. It feels like…” Tim hesitates. “Pushing energy out of your eyes feels like a thing you could do. If… if you were bored enough. And had big enough feelings.”

Jason is looking at Tim with an expression Tim can't place. Sad, maybe? “Timmy…” he begins. Tim isn't prepared for the feelings talk that seems to be coming. 

So he adds, “Plus her powers seem less magic and more metahuman.”

Jason huffs, amused, as they cross the road back to the photo shop.

Tim paid extra to have his photos developed quickly, just in time before Alfred returns. A lot of them are blurred or out of focus. 

But there are a handful Tim’s actually pretty proud of.

One of his house from the end of the garden.

One of the squirrel, stepping closer as he lay on the ground, hand outstretched.

And the test shot of his frog.

Jason whistles. “Pretty neat, Tim. I like the squirrel.”

Tim grins at him. Jason doesn’t say things just to be nice. If he says it, he means it.

Tim spends the car ride home planning what he should photograph next.

Between the advice from the photo shop employees and the tips Tim finds on forums online, he bets his next set of photos will be even better.

He does kind of wish that he had something more interesting to shoot. He's read a lot online about how to capture dynamic poses, but the plants in the garden don’t exactly leap into action.

He's in the middle of re-reading Matilda when it comes to him.

Matilda has just stuffed the parrot up the chimney, where it's making its spooky burglar ghost noises. Tim laughs as Matilda's mean parents and horrible brother get scared. He wonders if Jason likes this part too. He'll have to ask him next time he sees him.

Oh! Maybe he can ask Jason and Alfred if he can take their photos.

Or…

Tim hesitates even in his own head.

You don't get much more dynamic than Batman and Robin. Tim spent last summer finding all the recorded sightings he could to map their patrol pattern. He’s still updating it. It wouldn’t take long to figure out where he’s likely to see them.

Getting to know Jason as Jason has been great. But seeing him as Robin... That would be something else. 

The buses run all night, so getting into Gotham won't be a problem. He'll wear an old jacket and hide his camera in his bag on the way in and the way home. Having it too visible will make Tim a target for muggers.

Tim stops his planning suddenly.

Maybe… maybe this isn't a good idea. This could be dangerous. Actually, seriously dangerous.

He glances back at Matilda, and at the squirrel photo tucked between the pages. His favorite shot.

Matilda would do it, he thinks. She wouldn't be scared.

It's just a book, but Jason's been helping him understand that it's never just a book. Matilda is meant to encourage you to be brave and clever. It's meant to remind you how to be a kid.

Not a mini grown-up like his parents want.

Tim knows then that he's going to do it.

If his parents didn't want him to do dangerous things… they would be here to stop him.

Tim grins all the way home that night. Morning? He forgot his watch, so he's not entirely sure how long he's been out.

His jeans are torn, his palms are scraped raw and stinging, and he's covered in stinking garbage… It's harder than it looks to keep up with Gotham's dynamic duo, and it turns out some of the fire escapes downtown are not as sturdy as they look. Tim's lucky the trash was there, really. It made a surprisingly soft landing for two storeys of bad decisions.

Also, the smell is bad enough that it's keeping the few other passengers away from him on the bus. 

But that's not the main reason Tim is smiling.

He spent all that time hiding and snapping shots, and while he knows some will be out of focus, and a few will be nothing but dark (he forgot about the lens cap), he reckons he got some good ones.

He thinks he managed to catch Jason after he leapt from a rooftop, but before he fired his grapple. If it turned out the way Tim's hoping it'll look like Jason's flying.

He can't wait to see it.

Wait.

Tim's grin fades as he steps off the bus and starts up the hill to Drake Manor.

How is he going to see these photos? He can’t just drop this roll off with the garden shots. What if something in them gives away the Waynes?

Or worse! What if Jason sees the photos and he thinks Tim's some kind of creepy stalker?

Tim ponders this puzzle as he trudges along in the dark.

In the end, there's only one solution he can see. He's going to have to develop these himself.

His parents will be back in around a month for the next gala on their calendar.

That means Tim has a month to work out how to convince them to build him a darkroom.

Dick is in the car with Jason and Alfred the next time they pick Tim up. His leg is stretched out awkwardly across the backseat in a thick, white cast.

“What happened?” Tim asks, like he didn't see the Titans fight off the alien invasion in New York at the weekend. The news hasn’t shut up about it all week.

Dick sighs. “Fell down the stairs.”

Tim blinks. That's the lie they're going with?

“Dumbass thought he could carry popcorn, blankets, and a box of tapes upstairs at the same time,” Jason snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Turns out I could not.” Dick looks so dejected that if Tim hadn't seen Nightwing get thrown into the side of a skyscraper, he'd almost believe him.

“That's a dollar for the swear jar, Master Jason.”

“Shiiii–ugar. Sugar,” Jason mutters. Alfred raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Tim can't help but smile. Somehow, these library trips feel more like home than Drake Manor ever has.

Once in the library, Tim heads straight for the photography shelves. By the time Dick catches up to him, he's found himself a table to spread everything out on. He takes out the notepad he keeps in the side pocket of his backpack and starts jotting down what he'll need.

“Whoa, look at you,” Dick says, collapsing into the chair beside him. “Didn’t know you were so into photography.”

Tim just hmms, flipping through the pages.

Looks like this book was published nearly a decade ago. He’ll need to check online for more up-to-date info. Everything has to be accurate.

“How long have you been interested in this stuff?”

Tim thinks for a second. “Just over two weeks.”

Dick goes quiet. He's staring at Tim like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

Jason barrels into view, slightly out of breath.

“There you are, Timmers! Ran across half the dang library looking for you,” he huffs as he flops into the seat opposite Tim. “I started listing all the reasons you'd love Only You Can Save Mankind and then I turned around and you weren't even there!”

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles.

“What are you looking up anyway?” Jason asks, leaning over the table to look at Tim's notebook.

“I'm going to ask my parents for a darkroom.”

“A darkroom?” Jason repeats.

“Yep.”

“You’re going to develop your own photos?” Jason raises his eyebrows. He sounds stunned.

“That's the plan,” Tim mutters. He doesn't stop his scribbling.

“Isn't that kind of crazy for something you just started?” That would almost be hurtful if Jason didn't sound so impressed.

So Tim just looks up at him and grins. “Wanna help me convince my mom and dad?”

“Heck yeah!”

Dick just looks between the two of them, then throws his hands up. He grabs at Barbara’s arm as she walks by, returning a stack of books.

“Help me out here, Babs. I thought Tim was the quiet, polite neighbor kid. Turns out–”

“He's a mad little genius?”

Tim glances up in surprise as Babs nods. She smiles at him, and he flushes.

“I could have told you that, Dick. During the winter break, he spent almost every day in the computing section.”

She tilts her head to get a better look at the books. “Can't wait to see your photos, Tim.”

“Th-thanks.”

Every day since meeting Dick and Jason has been great, but this one might be the best so far.

It's Jason who finds Tim the hook he'll need to bring his parents fully onboard with his darkroom plan.

“Ta-da!” Tim looks up at Jason's declaration to a copy of the Gotham Gazette held less than an inch from his face.

They've been working on Tim's photography plan for just over a week. Jason dips in and out of helping – he still needs to pick up new books. Dick sits next to Tim every time. Sometimes he asks dumb questions about whether it's ok for an eleven-year-old to have access to the chemicals needed to develop photos.

Tim thinks that's rich for someone who started flipping through Gotham in his underwear when he was even younger.

He can't say that, since he's not supposed to know, so he just reassures Dick that this is all totally safe if you do it right. Which he will. Because he's researched.

Tim blinks and takes the paper from Jason's hands. It takes him a couple of seconds to process what it was that Jason wanted him to see, but he can't contain his excitement when he realizes.

“Jason! This is perfect!”

“I know. You're welcome!” Jason sing-songs.

“What's perfect?” Dick asks, looking over.

“The Gazette runs a Young Photographer competition every year,” Tim explains, even as he scans the pages. “Ok…?” Dick prods, still confused.

“Tim's parents are…” Jason glances at Tim, apparently trying to decide the right word. “Tim's parents are strict,” he settles on.

“They just want to know I have a plan,” Tim defends. He's not even sure why he's defending his mom and dad. What Jason said (what Jason probably wanted to say) isn't anything Tim hasn't thought before.

“If I tell them I'm planning on entering the competition, it'll help boost my argument for the darkroom. Even making it onto the Gazette's shortlist would look incredible on college applications!’ Tim runs his fingers over the picture of the Gotham skyline, which won last year. “Mom and Dad would have to agree.”

“Great!” says Jason. “Now that I've saved your insane photo project, you have to do me a favor.”

Tim lowers the paper, eyebrows raised, giving Jason his full attention.

“Ok?” He doesn't know what he's about to agree to, but Dick is shaking his head with a smile. 

“Tim.” Jason puts both hands down on the table and stares at Tim.

“Jason.” Tim has learned that it's more fun to meet Jason on his level when he gets like this.

“You have to come for a sleepover on my birthday.”

That… is more shocking than Tim was prepared for. Nobody invites him to birthdays. But Jason's still going.

“And you have to eat a ridiculous amount of cake. And stay up all night playing video games and watching films that are totally age appropriate, Dick.”

Dick just holds up his hands and bites his lips, clearly trying not to laugh.

“But,” Jason looks a tiny bit uncomfortable now, “B wants to speak to your parents about it first. Make sure they're ok with it.”

Tim thinks for a second. Then he passes Jason his notebook. “Write down your number. I can email it to them. They'll definitely phone that way.”

At least. Tim hopes.

He can't let Jason down.

Tim sends the email.

His parents call the next day.

It's the best thing they've ever done for him.

Chapter Text

Mrs Mac drops Tim off at Wayne Manor as she leaves for the afternoon. She helped Tim make sure he had everything he needed packed after she'd finished cleaning. Tim would have forgotten his toothbrush otherwise.

She gives Tim a kind wave from the bottom of the driveway as he rings the doorbell. Tim told her she didn't have to stay, but Mrs Mac insisted on making sure he got inside okay.

The cynical part of Tim can't help wondering if his parents said something to her to make her nervous. The rest is just happy someone is there.

“I've got it, Alfie!” Jason's voice comes through so clearly that Tim thinks he might have been waiting right by the door. The thought makes him smile.

“Tim!” Jason yells as he throws open the door.

“Happy birthday!” Tim hands over Jason's present. He spent forever in the bookshop looking for something that Jason might not already own.

Then he'd given up trying by himself and took everything he's learned about Jason's book opinions to the nice bookseller in the children's section. She had smiled at Tim and said he was a good friend.

He hopes her choice is good.

Tim turns and waves briefly to Mrs Mac as Jason takes his present, and Tim's arm, and yanks him inside.

Listen, Tim knows he’s luckier than most kids. His parents made that clear from the start: he’s better off than the majority of kids in Gotham. Drake Manor is huge and comfortable. All his physical needs are met. Exceeded, even.

It has nothing on Wayne Manor.

Jason must catch the look on Tim’s face, because he leans in and says in a hush, “I know, right? I got lost every time I left my room the first two months I lived here.”

But it's not the size of Wayne Manor that has Tim gobsmacked. Like he said, Drake Manor is huge. He just didn't know somewhere so big could feel so…

Lived in?

Drake Manor is big, but that just makes it feel emptier. Even when Tim's parents are home.

Wayne Manor has pictures on all the walls. Tim leaves his shoes on a shelf overflowing with boots and sneakers. A sweater (Dick’s, based on the size… and color) is draped over the bottom of the bannister.

Drake Manor is a house.

Wayne Manor is a home.

Jason leads Tim to his room, only pausing briefly to let Tim say hi to Alfred.

“So…” Jason says, gesturing to a box of tapes and a towering pile of videogames. “Which definitely kid-friendly media are we consuming first?”

Tim can't help but grin as Jason pulls out a Mortal Kombat game. He's never played, but he's heard kids at school talking about how gory it is. It's kind of exciting.

“What the- Dick!” Jason shouts.

Tim leans over to look in the case. The game is missing.

Dick pushes open the door with his crutch. “Need something?”

“Where are my games?” Jason looks mad.

Dick just shrugs. “Why? Which one were you wanting to play?”

Jason glares.

Dick continues casually, “When I found games and movies in my little brother’s room that were completely inappropriate for a thirteen-year-old, I did the responsible thing and put them in the basement.”

Jason's jaw drops. “That's so unfair!”

“I'm just thinking of the children,” Dick says with a hand over his heart.

“You knew I wanted to play those with Tim!”

Jason slams his door in Dick's face.

Tim is a little shaken. “Is that… does that… is that normal?” he asks.

“Be grateful you're an only child,” Jason mutters darkly. Then he abruptly brightens up. “Wanna play Smash Bros instead?”

Tim feels like he has whiplash. But he nods anyway.

At first, he lets Jason win a couple of rounds of Smash. It's his birthday. Tim's supposed to be nice, right?

But Jason pauses the game, gives him a look and says, “Timmy, if you keep holding back on me, you're going on the other side of that door with Dickhead. Nobody is this bad at this game.”

Message received, Tim switches over to Kirby for the next match and completely annihilates Jason. 

After that, all bets are off. Jason grabs Tim's controller, so Tim stands in front of the screen. It's chaos.

By the time Alfred calls them down for dinner, they're both laughing so hard they're crying.

Tim's not really sure why he didn't expect Bruce Wayne to be sitting at the table with them. It's his son's birthday. Most parents make the effort to be there.

It's still weird to be sitting at the table with Batman.

Barbara Gordon has joined them as well. She hands Jason a present that looks like it might also be a book.

Tim hopes it's not the same one he bought.

“I'm so glad I finally get to meet you, Tim,” Mr Wayne says.

“Th-thank you, Mr Br- Mr Wayne.” Tim is an expert at first impressions. Not.

“Just Bruce is fine, Tim. I'm not old enough for Mr Wayne yet.” Bruce smiles, and it's so similar to the way Alfred introduced himself that Tim can't help but giggle.

The food is incredible. Tim is going to hate going back to toast and PB&J. And then…

And then there's the cake.

Alfred brings through an enormous chocolate cake while they all sing Happy Birthday. It looks exactly like the cake Tim imagines Bruce Bogtrotter had to eat in Matilda.

Jason blows out the candles, but when Bruce stands to help him cut the cake, he shakes his head.

“Not yet!” Then Jason's dashing into the kitchen. Alfred follows.

Tim shares a baffled look with Dick, Barbara, and Bruce. What is Jason doing?

But before they've had too long to wait, Jason comes back with a chocolate cupcake and a solitary candle. And he starts singing and pointing to Tim.

Tim sits, stunned, as the Wayne family sings Happy Birthday for the second time that evening. When they get to Tim's name, it's kind of a mess, because Barbara and Bruce sing “Tim”, Alfred sings “Timothy”, Dick sings “Timmy”, and Jason sings “Timbo” loudly and out of tune.

Tim blows the candle out, confused. “But… it's not… it's not my– Jason, my birthday was last month.”

“Yeah,” Jason shrugs, “but you didn't do anything for it, and that sucks. So now you get to share my birthday.”

Embarrassingly, that makes Tim burst into tears. He braces for the sighs and the teasing that usually follow when he cries in front of people.

Instead, Jason hugs him. Dick rubs his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Tim whispers.

“You're welcome,” Jason whispers back.

It feels like everything Tim didn't know he could ever have.

After cake, Jason starts opening his gifts.

He opens the book from Babs first. Guards! Guards!

“I know you liked the Johnny Maxwell trilogy,” Babs says. “I think you'll really enjoy Discworld.”

Tim's just relieved it's not the same as his choice.

Jason opens a couple of presents from Bruce (clothes, a new backpack, a MiniDisc player – Tim is so jealous) and one from Dick (Spyro the Dragon). Then he picks up Tim's present.

Tim has never been more nervous in his life than he is watching Jason tear off the paper.

“Silverwing,” Jason reads off the front, before turning the book over to read the blurb.

“The, uh, the bookseller… she said… the bookseller said it was pretty good. Um. Yeah.”

And as soon as he saw it was about bats, Tim had to buy it.

“It looks great, Timmers!”

Tim lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Now he can relax for the rest of the night.

When they've brushed their teeth and put on their pyjamas, Jason startles as he pulls back the covers to climb in.

“What the…?”

He picks up a CD case that's been placed under his covers.

“What's that?” Tim asks.

Jason grins and holds it up. On the front of the case is a post-it note with a little doodle of a cake and a scribbled Happy birthday! Love from Your Favorite Big Brother.

Jason takes out the disc that was inside.

Mortal Kombat.

Tim gasps. They scramble for the PlayStation, practically tripping over each other to get it started.

After twenty minutes, though, they give up. It's gory and kind of fun, but there's none of the mayhem that comes with Smash Bros.

Tim looks at Jason.

Jason looks at Tim.

He switches the PlayStation off and boots up the N64.

They don't stop playing until 2am, when Dick opens the door, throws his pillow at Jason, mumbles “‘night, Timmy” and leaves.

Jason grins as he climbs into bed. “Guess we were a little loud.”

Tim settles under the covers on the mattress on the floor.

“I've never had a sleepover before,” Jason says, quiet in the dark, “but I'm pretty sure this would still be the best one even if I had.”

Tim doesn't say anything. He just smiles and presses his face into his pillow.

One week later, Tim's parents are finally home.

Tim gives them both a brief hug and helps them unpack. Then he gives them some space for the night.

He’s not going to blow all the work he’s put in by catching them while they’re still tired from traveling.

They both seem in a great mood at breakfast, so Tim takes his shot before he misses his chance.

“Thank you again for my camera,” he begins, “I love it.”

He does, but that's not why he says it. Reminding them how grateful he is for what they’ve already done is the best way to get them on board for what he wants next.

Tim has this down to a science.

“You're welcome, Timothy,” Mom replies. She smiles at him over her cup of tea.

Tim's pretty sure she knows what he's doing. He's pretty sure she approves.

“If you have time after breakfast, I'd really like to get your opinions on a project I'm considering.”

Don't insist. They're busy people. Ask them to make space. Make it sound like you'll take no for an answer.

“Sure thing, champ,” Dad says from behind his paper.

Tim doesn't know if his dad knows what he's doing. Doesn't know if he recognizes his own business tactics turned against him.

After breakfast, Tim gathers his parents in the study his dad uses for business calls. Setting is important for influencing your outcome. He hands them both a copy of his research.

“A darkroom?” his dad asks as he sits down.

“Yes.” Tim turns to the first page of his copy of the notes. “As you can see, I've outlined a couple of options.

“The first is the simplest,” Tim says. It involves blackout curtains in a guest room's walk-in closet. “It’s also the cheapest. I’d be happy to start there.”

But not happy to stick with it, he doesn't say.

“Option two is pricier, but cleaner. It keeps all the chemicals contained in the basement. We can section off a room, and there’s already plumbing.” 

Dad had planned to build a “man-cave” down there. He got as far as plumbing for a bathroom. Then they left for another dig, and the project was abandoned.

Mom is nodding along to his pitch. “This is very well researched, Timothy. I think the basement would be workable. But it is quite a big ask so soon after the camera…”

This is why Tim needed the hook.

“Well…” he says, softening his voice. “I’ve been taking some photos…”

He hands them some of his better shots, careful to keep his face neutral.

“And one of my friends suggested I enter the Gotham Gazette's young photographer competition.”

As Dad looks through the photos, Tim passes a competition flyer to his mom.

“Even being shortlisted would look excellent on college applications and reflect well on the family.”

Dad is nodding more now. Tim's got him with the prestige angle. He knows he's going to need an extra push for Mom.

“The youngest winner was thirteen. If I win this year, it’ll set a new record. That's a lot of positive press. But I’ll need as much practice shooting and developing as I can get.”

Tim takes a deep breath and looks Mom in the eye as he finishes, “I already have an incredible camera and the practice time needed. All I need is the darkroom to match.”

Mom smiles and says, “We'll start the work after the gala.”

Tim grins and only just holds back from throwing himself at her.

Instead, he just says, “Thank you.”

Then he retreats to his room before they can change their mind.

Tim doesn't even know what this gala is for. Just that it's important enough that his parents turned down another week in Egypt to be back for it.

Still, he’s not complaining. They’re home, and the darkroom’s a go. The workmen arrive tomorrow, and it’ll be done by the end of the week.

But if he has to hear Mrs Lyle make one more comment about “young people these days,” Tim's going to… He's going to…

Well, stand there with his “gala smile” and snark at her internally, probably. Tim doesn't have the guts to cuss her out the way Jason did. Especially not with his darkroom on the line.

“Really, Timothy,” Mrs Lyle says, “you're a good boy, but why are you hiding by the desserts? Where are your parents?”

Tim isn't hiding. He'd only been here for thirty seconds before Mrs Lyle arrived to start berating him. 

His dad asked him to grab something sweet from the buffet table. Tim had been debating whether he’d prefer the mini eclairs or the tiny meringues before Mrs Lyle barged in to tell him how rude he is.

“Tim!” 

Mrs Lyle does her pug-face at the sound of Jason's voice and quickly leaves. She doesn't even say goodbye.

Who's the rude one now?

“No camera tonight, Timmers?” Jason jokes as he approaches, snagging one of the meringues from the table.

Tim's been bringing it everywhere lately, even to a library hangout his dad actually dropped him off at. He needs to prove to his parents that he's serious about this, and part of that is taking as many photos as he can. 

“Nah, figured there are usually too many photographers at these things as is.” Tim’s spotted at least three in the last hour. 

Jason grins and throws an arm around Tim's shoulder. “But none of them are as pint-sized and pocket-friendly as you!”

“Hey!” Tim shoves Jason's arm off him with a laugh.

Then he freezes. This isn’t the kind of behavior his parents expect from him at events like this… He was supposed to be back a few minutes ago with his dad's food. What are they going to think about–

But when Tim scans the room, he spots his mom and dad talking to Bruce. Mom gives him an encouraging smile, and Dad waves at him from across the room.

Tim takes that as permission to carry on and spends the rest of the evening with Jason.

It's the best gala Tim's ever been to. He feels like nothing could ruin his mood.

“Well done, Tim,” Dad says as they climb into the car to go home.

Tim's happy for the praise, but he's not sure what he's done to deserve it. Thankfully, Dad elaborates.

“Brucie Wayne was quite happy to talk about a potential deal between Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprises tonight.” Dad ruffles Tim's hair. “Couldn't have gotten there without your in.”

His… in?

“Yes, Timothy,” Mom says as she checks her makeup in a pocket mirror. “No matter my opinions on them, the Waynes are influential people. You did well getting the Todd boy in your pocket.”

Oh.

Oh.

Tim's stomach sinks. Of course. That's why his parents called back about the sleepover. Not because he was excited. Not because he wanted to spend time with his friend.

Because the Waynes were useful. Jason was useful. His parents are proud of him. He should be ecstatic. He’s not. He just feels… hollow.

He's quiet the whole drive home. His parents don't even notice.

Chapter Text

Tim wakes to the soft click of the front door locking behind his parents as they leave. He didn't pay attention to where they were going this time. It's not like it matters.

They promised to wake him before they left. Again.

After last time, Tim figured he could spare himself the disappointment by not believing them in the first place.

He's not sure this bitter feeling is much of an improvement on crying under his covers, but it's a change at least.

It's the first day of school. Tim's alone. Again.

He gets up, has dry cereal for breakfast, and puts his school uniform on in a daze. Nothing has felt right since the gala. Tim hasn't even had a chance to use his new darkroom yet, and it's been done for days.

He let himself hope that his parents saw him. But they only saw what he could give them.

Then they left him.

Tim leaves early. He's got a twenty-minute walk and a bus to catch. As numb as he feels, he doesn't want to make trouble by being late on the first day back.

Tim locks the door behind him and turns around.

Blinks.

Stares at the end of his driveway.

That's the Waynes’ car. That's Jason waving at him out of the window.

“Hey, Timbo! Time to leeeeaaaarn!” Jason hollers.

Tim laughs.

Maybe it's not so bad with his parents gone.

He climbs into the back of the car.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he says. “How'd you guys know I'd need a lift?”

“Your parents mentioned their upcoming trip to Morocco to Master Bruce at the recent gala,” Alfred explains.

“Master Jason suggested we pick you up and save you a bus journey.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “We're both going the same way. We can take you home too! Right, Alfie?”

Alfred smiles in the mirror. “Quite so.”

“Besides,” Jason mutters, “it'll be nice to have someone to talk to at school who isn't an aaaaasshole like the rest of the kids.”

Alfred isn't quite laughing as he raises an eyebrow at Jason.

“I know, Alfie,” Jason groans, before Alfred can scold him. “I'll put a dollar in the jar after school. I just couldn't think of another word and that one fits so well!”

Tim laughs again.

He can do that around the Waynes. It's nice.

The competition deadline is the end of October. Tim only has two months to submit an incredible photo. So after school, he apologetically declines Jason's invitation to come round for dinner and heads to his darkroom.

It's time to learn.

It takes almost a week for Tim to fully get the hang of things, which is longer than he would have liked. The first few attempts to load the film end in overlapping frames and blank spots.

He practices loading the reels in the light until he's sure he can do it, then does it again in the dark.

The next dozen photos turn out either under- or overexposed.

He checks the instructions for his film again and times himself more carefully.

Eventually, his photos come out consistently good. It's time to do what he got the darkroom for… 

Tomorrow. Well. Today. It's 1 am on Friday morning. Tim needs to get some sleep before Jason and Alfred pick him up for school.

Tim almost gets detention on Friday for falling asleep in English. His teacher gives him an essay to complete over the weekend instead. He’ll have to convince Mrs Mac to start buying coffee if these late nights keep up.

At lunch, Jason steers Tim to the library after he's eaten. The two of them have been spending more time together at school. Tim doesn't have many friends because he's two years younger than everyone else. Jason doesn't have many friends because most of his classmates can't get over his old zip code.

“Fucking assholes,” Jason calls them. “One of them found out my mom was an addict, and none of them will shut up about it.”

Tim clenches his fists. “That’s awful, Jason.” He hesitates, thinking. “You should tell Bruce…”

Jason just smiles – small and tight – and shrugs. “No point making trouble. I don't really care what they think.”

He wraps an arm around Tim's neck and tries to give him a noogie. “I only listen to people who matter!” he laughs, as Tim squirms and pushes him away.

The librarian clears her throat and gives them a look like she's sucking lemons. They mumble apologies before she can throw them out.

“You should come round to ours after school,” Jason says. “Dick's visiting and Alfred promised to make mac and cheese.”

Tim really wants to develop his Bat photos, but…

“I can help you with that essay Mrs Watt gave you instead of detention!”

Tim nods. English isn’t his strong subject, and one night away from his photos won’t hurt.

After an amazing dinner and a game of Monopoly, Tim heads home. The game ended when he realized Dick was using his position as the banker to give himself extra money (“I'm just keeping the game true to life, guys!”).

He sits down at the computer in the study and checks his email before he does anything else, more out of habit than hope. 

There's one from Mom and Dad. They're extending their trip again. They won't be back until January. Tim didn't really expect anything else, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Except, there's a line near the end. His mom mentions the Gazette's Young Photographer awards ceremony in December.

His parents will come back for it. If he wins.

Tim can't afford any more breaks. The stakes are too high now. For once, he can make his parents put him first.

To get himself in the right frame of mind—ugh, lame, he's been spending too much time around Dick. Tim heads to his room and wriggles under his bed. He lifts the loose floorboard and pulls out the small lockbox where he hides what matters most.

The beanie frog sits just inside like it's been waiting to greet him.

Last year, when Dad came back after Tim's birthday, he told him ten was too old for a boy to have so many plushies. He threw all of Tim's out. Then Mom told him off for crying about it.

The lockbox is the safest place for his frog.

Tim digs around the various bits and pieces he's collected over the years until his fingers close around what he's looking for.

The film roll from his night in Gotham. It's finally time to see his Bat photos.

Like he thought, most of the developed photos are blurred, or the dynamic duo are too far away to clearly see. And there are four that are just black (he can't believe he forgot about the lens cap).

The one with Jason “flying” has turned out really well, though. He's almost unrecognisable as Robin, completely carefree, caught mid-air between two buildings. His cape is a slash of sunshine against the night sky.

Tim doesn't have the words to describe what this photo means to him, but he knows he wants more.

Tim goes back into Gotham the next night. And the next.

…And the next.

He doesn't just take photos of Batman and Robin. He takes plenty of the rest of the city, too. That way, Tim can keep pretending this is still about the competition.

That is, until the next Friday. Tim's feeling pretty proud of himself. He's been keeping up with the caped crusaders, taking pictures and staying hidden. But then he loses sight of his heroes.

They must have been diverted from their usual patrol.

Tim takes a moment to catch his breath on the rooftop before he heads home. He rests on the ledge, panting, the grin splitting his face.

There's a soft thud on the roof behind him. Tim freezes. He's done so well. Nobody's spotted him. He thought he'd avoided danger–

“Awful late for kiddies to be out in Gotham,” says Jason. 

No. 

Says Robin.

Tim can't describe it, but there's something different about Jason's voice tonight. A kind of lightness he doesn't have during the day.

Tim turns around as he replies. “You're out.”

Robin only pauses momentarily, but Tim knows he's been recognized. He can't let Jason know he knows.

“Fair point…” Robin trails off, waiting for Tim to introduce himself.

“Alvin.”

Tim can't see behind the lenses of the mask, but he can feel the disbelieving stare Jason’s giving him.

“Like the chipmunk?” Robin asks, incredulously.

Tim shrugs. “Sure.”

“You got a last name, Alvin?”

“Draper.”

Robin takes a step closer. “Well, Alvin, what brings you to Gotham’s rooftops tonight?”

Tim just raises his camera at him. The best lies are based on truth. And the less he says, the less likely he is to give something away.

“You're kidding. You're in the middle of one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods to take photos?” Robin’s laugh is a little too high-pitched to sound amused.

“Pretty much all of Gotham is bad neighborhoods,” Tim points out. “And I'm entering the Gazette's photo competition. They want something that ‘captures the spirit of Gotham’.”

Tim hates how vague that prompt is, actually. Surely anything in Gotham could be argued to be part of its spirit.

Robin sits next to him on the ledge. “And you think this is it?” He gestures to the garbage and broken streetlights in the alley below them.

“I don't know,” Tim admits, more truthful than he planned. “I just know I'm going to keep taking photos until I find it.”

“Why?” A little bit of Jason makes its way into Robin's voice. “What makes a competition worth all this?”

“I need to win.” It's easier to explain this to Robin. Jason would point out how unhealthy his relationship with his parents is. He can't do that if Tim only told Robin.

“My parents are away all the time,” Tim says quietly. “They're going to come back for the awards ceremony...”

“But only if you win.” Robin finishes.

Tim nods.

They sit together in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Robin stands and offers a hand to Tim. Tim takes it, and Robin pulls him to his feet.

“If I walk you to the library around the corner, you think you can make it home from there, Al?” Robin asks, like he doesn't know.

“Yeah, I can get a bus no problem,” Tim replies, like Jason doesn't know.

At the library, Robin hesitates. “Hey, Alvin?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you won't come into Gotham at night anymore?”

Tim wants to tell him “no”. Being out here at night is the most alive he's ever felt.

But that wasn't Robin. That was Jason. And he sounds so worried about Tim.

“I promise, Robin.”

The bus turns the corner and approaches the stop.

Robin gives Tim a quick two-fingered salute, then fires his grapple and disappears into the dark.

Tim knows he's quiet around Jason after Robin finds him on the roof. He's finding it much harder than usual to keep Jason from knowing that he knows. He's having to keep track of what he's told Jason and what he's told Robin. It's exhausting.

It doesn't help that school is boring as always. Tim’s struggling through homework just to keep his grades up. And all of his “free” time is spent taking or developing photos for the competition he wishes he'd never decided to enter.

He could have developed his Bat photos in the guest room closet. Stupid.

Tim is still beating himself up when Jason just sits down across from him at lunch.

Just. Sits.

He doesn't crash, or flop, or throw himself onto the seat. 

And then he carefully places his lunch tray in front of him. Something's up.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks.

Jason snorts. “Am I okay? Timmy, I should be asking you that. You look like you haven't slept in days.”

Tim shrugs and goes back to picking at his lunch. “Just been busy. Working on my–”

“Your photos. I know.” Jason looks down, quiet for a moment. “I miss seeing you at the library. It's not the same with just Dickface.”

“I'm sorry, Jason.” Tim really is. He scuffs his feet under his chair. “It's just that I really need to do well, otherwise my parents–”

Jason huffs. “Tim, your parents are never going to be happy.”

Tim freezes. “What?”

“That came out wrong.” Jason frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tim, you… you know parents are supposed to care about you unconditionally, right?”

No. Jason can't go there. Tim can't deal with this right now.

“My dad… my– My birth dad, before Bruce? He was a real piece of shit.” 

Jason sighs. “He only left me and Mom alone as long as we were doing what he wanted.”

Tim mentally begs Jason to stop, but his throat feels tight, and the words don't quite make it out of his mouth.

“When someone actually… actually loves you,” Jason continues, pushing his fork around in his mashed potatoes, “they don't mind if you win or lose. Like with Bruce, or my Mom–”

“Yeah, because your Mom was such a great parent.” It's out before Tim can catch it. 

It's just. How dare Jason judge Tim's family like this? His parents aren't the best, sure, but they're the only ones he has. Tim loves them. They… they love him. They just don't say it much. Or show it. But they do. They must. 

It just looks different from most parents. That's all.

“What did you say?” Jason's voice is quiet. Too quiet. It's the kind of calm that comes before a storm.

But Tim's mad. His hands clench. He doesn't know if he wants to punch Jason or cry. He's mad at Jason. Mad at himself. Mad at his parents.

“Your Mom left you, too, Jason! She–”

Jason's face goes red. “What the fuck, Tim? You know it's not the sa–”

“How is it not the same? Tell me.” Tim spits the words at Jason.

“My mom was sick! She fucking died! Your parents are just assholes!”

“At least my parents can come back!”

Tim knows he's crossed a line. Jason’s face goes cold. Tim didn't mean it, but he said it, and he can't ever unsay it.

For a moment, neither says anything. The only noise is the dull clatter of trays and murmur of other students eating and chatting, as if this is still a normal lunch.

Jason’s eyes are watering, but his voice is sharp as ever. “Low blow, Drake. Thought you were better than the rest of the rich pricks here.”

“Jason, I–” Tim's voice cracks.

Before he can say anything else, Jason stands up, flips his tray with a loud crash, and storms off, shoulders trembling.

Tim doesn't go after him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up. Just sits amongst the whispers around him and stares at his knees until the bell rings.

Tim leaves school through a side exit that afternoon.

He doesn't know what would be worse. Going through the front door and seeing the Waynes’ car waiting.

Or not seeing it.

This way, he doesn't have to find out.

Tim spends the afternoon in a park not far from school. He takes a couple of photos of squirrels, one of the rainbows made by a water feature.

He even takes a self-portrait of his reflection surrounded by koi in one of the large ponds.

None of it feels right.

Tim buys himself McDonald's on his way home. He eats quickly, alone, and catches the bus back.

Batman and Robin will be out on Gotham's rooftops tonight, but Tim won't be joining them. 

He spends the evening developing shots he’s taken and sorting through ones he hasn’t touched in days.

He picks up a photo from before the gala. From the library trip his dad actually took him to.

Jason is laughing, head tipped back, not a care in the world. Tim can’t even remember the joke, just the joy. It feels like it happened in another lifetime.

It's a good photo. Jason was a good friend. Tim doesn't think he'll ever have another like him. 

Tim calls in sick to school the next day. Doesn’t leave his bed. Just cries into his pillow until he’s too tired to keep going.

Tim makes it a week on his own. He used to do this all the time. Be alone. But now the absence of the Waynes feels like a missing limb.

He goes out at night again. He brings his camera with him, but he's not taking photos of Batman or Robin. Just the views from various rooftops.

His heart isn't in it, and it's pouring with rain. He should go home.

He doesn't.

Around 11 pm, Robin lands on the rooftop behind him.

“Thought you told me you were going to stay at home from now on, Alvin.” It's not the friendly Robin voice from last time. It's closer to the venom-fueled Jason voice from their last lunch.

“Robin?” Tim asks. “What would you do if… if you said something unforgivable to someone you really cared about?”

Robin goes so quiet, Tim has to turn around to check he hasn't gone anywhere.

“I mean…” Tim's voice gets quieter. “Something really awful. Just full on–” he mimes a bomb dropping and exploding “–nuked a friendship?”

He hiccups as the tears start. Robin doesn't move or say anything.

“And you didn't even mean it, you were just angry?” He laughs through his tears, but it's a dry, bitter thing. “And not even really at them!”

Tim rubs his eyes. “All he did was tell me the truth. He didn't deserve that.”

Robin turns around and heads for the edge of the roof.

“Go home, Alvin.”

Then he's gone.

Tim flips through the photos from that night and finds one he barely remembers taking.

A gargoyle on the edge of a church, with old Gotham under it, and the Batsignal against the clouds above. The way the rain runs down the gargoyle’s face makes it look like it's crying.

Tim develops it in black and white.

This is it. His competition entry. The “spirit of Gotham”.

It doesn't mean much without someone to share it with.

Chapter Text

Tim stares at the form on the table. He places his beanie frog on the edge of the paper for moral support. And so he can talk out loud without feeling entirely crazy.

“Okay,” he says to the frog. Then “Okay,” more confidently.

First name. Easy. Tim carefully fills in “TIMOTHY”. All capitals because his teachers are always telling him his writing is illegible and he can't mess up here.

Surname. “DRAKE”.

Date of birth. “07-19-1988”.

“So far, so good!”

Tim doesn't think the frog is convinced by his tone. Which is concerning, given it’s a beanie baby that only ever smiles encouragingly.

It might have something to do with Tim's own doubts. He thought taking the photo would be the hardest part of entering the Gazette's Young Photographer competition. The entry form is much more intimidating than running across Gotham's rooftops had been.

The basic information is no problem.

Unfortunately the questions soon veer into harder territory.

“‘What made you want to be a photographer?’” Tim reads aloud. He doesn't think writing that he wanted proof that he actually had parents is going to score him any points with the judges.

He skips that question for now.

“‘Describe your artistic process.’” Tim glances at his frog. “That one’s not even a question.”

He tries to imagine the reaction he would get if he wrote “I took over a hundred photos and picked one I didn't hate”. Probably not what they're looking for.

He skips that one too.

“‘Why does your photo capture the spirit of Gotham?’ What do you think I should write?”

The frog, unsurprisingly, does not answer.

Not for the first time, Tim wishes he could go to Jason for help. But he burned that bridge and then pushed his side into the chasm.

He's on his own.

In the end, Tim asks Mrs Mac for help with the form.

“I don't need you to tell me what to write or anything,” he explains, swinging his feet. He's sitting at the kitchen table watching her put the groceries away. She bought pizza rolls this time. Nice.

“I just… um. I just don't really understand what it wants me to write.”

Mrs Mac closes the freezer and turns to look at his form.

“Ah,” she says, with a knowing smile.

“Ah?”

Mrs Mac gives him a warm look. “It's like a job application. It's not so much what you say, but how you say it that matters.”

Tim ponders this as she picks up the next bag. Looks like the crazy amount of fruit that she always buys and he always intends to eat… 

She throws out last week’s fruit, then cleans out the bowl before setting out the new batch.

“How do I do that?” Tim hopes his questions aren't annoying. Mom and Dad sometimes get snappy when they feel like he's asking the same thing too much.

It's just, sometimes things don't click in his brain right away. Once he understands he's fine. He just doesn't always get it the first time.

“Hmm…” Mrs Mac thinks for a second then asks, “What am I doing right now, Tim?”

Tim frowns. How will this help?

“No wrong answers,” Mrs Mac adds. “Just humor me.”

“You're, uh, putting away the groceries?”

“I sure am!” Mrs Mac opens one of the cupboards to put away the SpaghettiOs Tim asked for.

“But, if I was writing it on a job application I might say I was…” She taps her finger to her chin for a few seconds. “Managing and organizing the household inventory.”

Tim blinks. It clicks.

“So, not lying...” he checks, “but rephrasing? To make it sound better?”

Mrs Mac smiles again and nods. “Exactly.”

Okay! Tim can do this. He's an expert at not-quite-lying.

“Thanks, Mrs Mac!”

“Anytime, Tim.”

What made you want to be a photographer?

At first, I wanted to take pictures of the people who are most important to me. I wanted something to hold onto from the fun times we’ve shared. Photography felt like the perfect way to do that.

When I started taking photos I found that looking through the lens gives you a new perspective. It feels freeing, like seeing the world differently. That’s what makes me want to keep going.

Describe your artistic process.

A lot of trial and error! I’ve made a lot of mistakes taking my photos. I even left the lens cap on more than once.

But every mistake taught me something, and my photos kept getting better.

My favorite part is reviewing everything I shot and picking out what worked. If something doesn’t come out how I wanted, that just means I get to try again next time.

Why does your photo capture the spirit of Gotham?

I think in a city like Gotham, where lots of bad things happen, it's easy to feel scared. It's easy to feel like you're on your own.

But in my photo, the gargoyle and the Batsignal remind us that someone is watching over us, even if we can’t always see them.

In Gotham, we might feel lonely, but we're not alone.

Tim squeezes the beanie frog in his pocket as he stares up at the looming Gotham Gazette building.

He was going to mail in his entry but then he started worrying. What if it got lost somewhere in the post? What if it took too long? (Quicker than owl post is still not necessarily quick.)

So yeah. He decided to hand it in in person.

Dad always says that it's better to hand in job applications face to face. Put a face to your name. And Mrs Mac said the entry form was like a job application.

All Tim has to do is gather enough courage to go inside.

He waits outside for ten minutes.

Takes a walk around the block.

Buys himself churros from a food cart and tries his best not to get powdered sugar all over his clothes.

Then he heads back and finally walks into the Gazette's office building.

There's a woman at the front desk whose bubbly demeanor reminds Tim a little of Dick. The thought makes it easier for him to approach her once she's finished chatting to the man in front of him.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a smile.

“Um, y-yes please,” Tim manages to stammer. “I'd like to hand in, uh… I'd like to hand in my photo– my entry. For the Young Photographer comp… competition.”

He pulls his entry form and his photo out of his backpack with trembling hands. All this work. Once he's handed it in that's it. His chance to bring his parents back is no longer in his hands.

The receptionist gently accepts his photo. “Wow,” she breathes, “this is stunning!”

The man who was in front of Tim earlier walks past again, carrying a large camera. He leans over to take a look.

“You got talent, kid,” he says. 

Tim’s cheeks heat.

“He'll have your job if you don't get going, James,” the receptionist laughs.

“Ten years and he'll have it anyway,” James laughs, winking at Tim.

“Th-thank you,” Tim says. 

And then “Thank you,” to the receptionist.

“You're welcome, sweetie,” she replies. “Good luck! I'm rooting for you.”

She might just be saying it to be nice, but her smile is so kind Tim doesn't mind.

When Tim gets home after school in the second week of November, there's a letter waiting for him in the hall.

The return address is the Gotham Gazette's building.

It takes twenty minutes of pacing with his little frog before Tim can make himself open it.

Hi Timothy!

Thank you so much for entering the 1999 Gotham Gazette Young Photographer Competition — we loved seeing the world through your eyes!

We’re excited to tell you that your photo, "Not Alone", has been shortlisted by our judges! Out of hundreds of entries from kids across Gotham, your picture really stood out for its creativity and imagination.

That means your photo is in the running to win one of our great prizes — including the chance to be featured in the Gotham Gazette!

We’ll be announcing the winners on December 1st 1999, so keep an eye out for a letter or phone call from us soon.

You should be really proud of yourself — well done and keep snapping!

Tim nearly drops the letter. Instead, he crushes it to his chest with his frog and spins for a few seconds, dizzy with relief.

He needs to share this with someone!

He boots up the computer and sends an email to his parents.

Mom replies the next morning asking him to email again if he wins. Then they can book flights.

Tim deflates. He reads the email a second time.

A third.

There's not even a quick “congratulations”. Dad isn't mentioned at all.

“They're busy,” he tells the frog quietly. “They'll come back for the awards ceremony.”

Tim doesn't know who he's trying to convince. He tucks the letter into his lockbox with the Bat photos. Maybe later, he can look at it without wanting to tear it to pieces.

If his parents don't come home, then he gave everything else up for nothing.

November passes in a flash and it's still too slow.

Mrs Mac has time off over Thanksgiving to see her family. But before she left, she made Tim a little single-portion meal he can heat up in the microwave. She said she can't wait until she comes back to hear how the competition went for him.

Tim eats his food in the living room. He sticks on The Princess Bride because everything on TV today is all about family and friends. And being thankful. If Tim watches any of it he'll cry.

He cries anyway when the grandson asks his grandfather to read him the story again tomorrow.

“As you wish.”

The jealousy that hits Tim is unreal. The kid in the film is a brat! Why does he get a grandpa who’ll drop everything just to be with him? Tim is good! He does everything his parents ask. He's polite and he tries! He tries so hard that sometimes it feels like it's burning him up inside.

Why doesn't he get someone to be there for him? 

Tim curls up in his empty house and sobs until he falls asleep on the sofa.

Dear Timothy,

Thank you again for entering the 1999 Gotham Gazette Young Photographer Competition!

We are delighted to inform you that your photo, “Not Alone,” has been awarded second place by our judges.

We would therefore like to invite you and your family to an award ceremony on Saturday, December 18th…

Tim emails his parents. Mom doesn't reply within a day this time.

Or two days.

Or a week.

“They're not coming,” Tim whispers to his frog. He imagines its smile is comforting. That it's capable of saying something to him that makes this alright. “I couldn't do it. They're not coming!”

The frog smiles its empty beanie smile.

Tim throws it at the wall and collapses on the floor.

He's far too old to be having a tantrum like this, but Tim feels like he can't help it. He sobs for what feels like hours. Just Tim wailing on the floor of his big empty echoey house. He lets all of his stupid, overdramatic feelings boil up and flood out.

It's not at all like Matilda with her energy behind her eyes. It's just mess and snot and tears and pain. It's just an undignified spectacle. But that's okay.

It's not like there's anyone here to see it anyway.

On the morning of the 18th, Tim is woken by the doorbell. He pulls the covers over his head and ignores it.

It rings again. Shrill and metallic, like whoever’s outside has their finger glued to the button.

Tim groans and hauls himself out of bed. He shuffles downstairs in his Teen Titans pajamas, barefoot, with his hands clamped over his ears.

He doesn't even look through the peephole before he throws open the door.

For a moment, he's sure he's still dreaming. There's no way Dick and Jason are on his doorstep. Jason hasn't spoken to him in months. Tim doesn't blame him.

Jason is scowling at his feet, arms crossed. He clearly doesn't want to be here. Dick has a tight grasp on Jason's arm and an almost manic smile that doesn't meet his eyes. His gaze is like steel. Tim flinches under the weight of it.

“Nice pajamas, Timmy. Mind if we come in?” Dick asks, but he's dragging Jason past Tim before the words are fully out of his mouth.

Tim stands in the doorway for a second, stunned. Then he closes the door and follows Dick into his own living room.

“Sit.” Dick points to the sofa. Tim and Jason both sit reluctantly.

“You two,” Dick gestures between Tim and Jason, “seriously need to talk. I cannot listen to any more whining about your friendship breakup.”

Tim glances at Jason. Jason's face is bright red and he's not looking at Tim or Dick.

Did Jason miss Tim too?

“Obviously, I don't know the whole story of what went down between the two of you, since I wasn't there,” Dick continues, “but here's my best guess.”

He looks straight at the two of them. “You’ve both been through some shit and because you're both kids instead of fucking, I don't know, talking about it, you exploded at each other. Said crap you didn't mean?”

“That's at least three dollars for the swear jar, Dickhead,” Jason mutters.

Tim can't help it. He snorts.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Apologize. Or don't. I'm going to go get us all water and when I come back things are going to be better, okay?”

He turns to leave. Then turns back suddenly.

“And Tim?” Tim looks up at him.

Dick's expression is enough to have Tim shrinking in his seat. “I'm only doing this because I think you're a good kid. I think you're better than this. But if you hurt my little brother like that again…”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't need to. Tim would be terrified even if he didn't know Dick was Nightwing.

Dick leaves.

Jason and Tim sit in silence for what feels like ages.

Then Jason mumbles, “He said that to me too, y’know?”

Tim doesn't understand. “W-what?” he stutters.

“All that ‘don’t mess with my brother’ crap.”

Tim is stunned. That doesn't make any sense. Tim isn't…

“But. I'm just… I mean. I'm not… I'm not your brother?” Tim misses when he could talk to Jason without stammering.

“Hate to break it to you, Timmers,” Jason huffs, “but you pretty much are.”

Then, quieter, “It wouldn't have hurt so much otherwise.”

“Oh.” 

There's more silence while Tim wrestles with that. He taps out a pattern on his leg and thinks back to Jason slamming the door in Dick's face on Jason's birthday. Siblings fight. But… but they make up. He takes a deep breath.

“I'm really sorry, Jason.” Tim can't even look to see if Jason's listening. “I… what I said was,” he gulps, “it was cruel and untrue. And… and I knew it would hurt and I said it anyway.”

Tim waves his hands as he talks. It helps get the words out. Jason's leg is bouncing in the corner of his vision as Tim says, “I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I still want to be your friend,” Jason tells him and it feels better than finding out his photo came second. “And I'm sorry, too. I didn't really think about what I was saying or whatever. Whether it was something you would want to hear. So, yeah. I'm sorry.” 

Jason's words are casual but his tone is more serious than usual, and the tips of his ears are red. Tim doesn't think everything is fixed, but he thinks it might be getting there. He just needs to break the weird tension between them.

“Well, you were kind of mean about it,” Tim says, “but you were right. My parents are assholes.”

Jason chuckles, surprised, and Tim smiles.

“I think that's the first time I've ever heard you cuss, Timbo!”

“It's because you're such a terrible influence on your little brother,” Tim giggles.

“You little shit!” Jason laughs and immediately starts trying to prod Tim in the side.

The door creaks open and Dick strides in, balancing three glasses of water.

“Dick!” Jason yells through his laughter. Tim swats at his hands. “Tim swore! Make him put a dollar in the jar!”

Dick arches an eyebrow, feigning shock as he places the glasses on the table. “Little Timmy? He would never.” 

Tim smiles sweetly, “Yeah, Jason, you fucking liar!”

All three of them burst into renewed laughter. The ensuing tickle fight continues until Tim rolls off the sofa and knocks over all three waters.

It's the lightest Tim's felt in months.

Once they’ve all calmed down and cleaned up the water, Dick asks Tim what his plan is for tonight.

“What do you mean?” Tim asks. 

Jason looks at him incredulously. “The ceremony for the competition you’ve been working your butt off on for months? That little thing?”

Oh. That’s today. Tim's shoulders slump. “I’m not going,” he mutters.

Dick and Jason stare at him.

“Why not?” Jason asks.

“Because it didn’t work,” Tim replies. “I thought… my parents. I was just being dumb.”

“Tim, thinking you’re dumb is dumb!” Jason says, but Dick pushes him aside so he can sit next to Tim.

“Can I ask you some things, Tim?”

“Sure.”

Dick checks his questions off on his fingers. “Did you spend months working on your photography to enter this competition?”

Tim nods.

“And did your entry make it to the top five?”

Tim nods more slowly. What is Dick getting at?

“So you’re invited to the award ceremony?”

“Yes,” Tim says, “But-”

Jason blurts out, “Tim thinks because his parents aren’t here, he’s going to have to go on his own.”

Dick just blinks.

“Y-yeah?” Tim stutters. “Who else would go with me?”

Jason shakes his head sadly. “I take it back. Maybe you are dumb…”

“Hey!”

Dick interrupts before Tim can defend himself properly. “We’re coming with you!”

“...What?”

Dick grins. “Timberella, you shall go to the ball!”

Jason snorts. “You’re stuck with us now. Winners and family get to go. We just went over how we’re brothers.”

Tim flushes. Brothers. It’s going to take him a while to get used to that.

“Even if we’d come here and you told me to get fucked we still would have come with you,” Jason adds. “You worked hard. You deserve your prize.”

Tim is so happy, he doesn’t even point out that Jason owes the swear jar another dollar.

Chapter Text

It's unlike any party preparation Tim has ever undertaken before.

The letter says there's no dress code, so Tim flounders.

“I mean, it's a ceremony , right?” he asks Dick and Jason. “So I'm probably supposed to wear a suit .”

Dick and Jason exchange a look.

“Tim, do you want to wear a suit?” Jason asks, with an expression that says he'll think Tim is crazy if he says yes.

“Well, no, but…”

“Okay!” Dick leaps in. “No suit!”

Tim blinks. “But I'm supposed to… I need to look my best for…” He flaps his hands instead of trying to finish the sentence.

“You already got a prize!” Jason says. “You could show up in a bikini and they can’t take it away from you!”

Tim laughs. Truth be told, it isn't the judges he's thinking of. Pictures of tonight will end up in the Gazette. His parents will expect him to present himself respectably.

But they're not here, so…

Tim pulls out his comfiest pair of jeans. They're the baggy ones Mom hates. The knees are torn from his first night out on the rooftops. Then he grabs an oversized Green Day tee to go with it.

“Yes!” cries Jason when he sees. He gives Tim an enthusiastic high-five.

“Teenie punk photographer Timmy Drake,” Dick grins. “Everyone is going to love you.”

Tim feels like he's in one of Jason's books when he climbs into the back of the Waynes’ car later that day. He's sitting in a car with Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and Alfred (who is as much a hero as the rest of them, if you ask Tim). 

And they're insisting that he's family .

Tim has his camera in its bag on his lap and the beanie frog in the back pocket of his jeans. Little reminders that this is real .

They pull up to the venue, and immediately, cameras start flashing. Apparently, that happens when you go places with Bruce Wayne.

“Promise me you'll never be part of the paparazzi,” Jason mutters.

Tim thinks of his Robin photos and briefly feels guilty, but then Dick's pulling him out of the car and into the building.

The evening passes in a blur of noise.

Instead of the usual tiny gala food Tim expects at things like these, the Gazette got Pizza Hut to cater the event. Judging by Jason's face, he's not the only one relieved.

After everyone's eaten, it's time to reveal the prizes.

The winners all stand by the stage, fidgeting and shuffling. It's an eclectic group.

An older girl in a silver dress and heels stands a little apart from the rest. Two boys in their mid-teens, the first in a suit, who can't stop pacing. The second dressed similarly to Tim, who is projecting a nonchalance that Tim can only dream of achieving. And a girl, maybe a year older than Tim, wearing denim overalls and a flannel shirt on top. She scowls at anyone who so much as glances in her direction.

They announce the prizes in reverse order. Each child goes to stand on the stage in front of a large copy of their photo, and the Gazette's Head of Photography presents a certificate with a handshake, while the families in the audience clap politely.

The boy with the suit goes first. His picture is of an old man and a little girl playing chess in the park where Tim took his koi self-portrait. The little girl is winning, and the old man is not happy about it. Everyone grins as the judges reveal it. The boy in the suit is visibly sweating as he accepts his certificate.

Next is the second boy. His photo is a group of friends skateboarding on what looks like a rooftop near Crime Alley. The grit and fun of Gotham captured in stark black and white. Maybe Tim should get into skateboarding next… Match his hobbies to his music taste…

The girl in the overalls stands confidently in front of a picture of Robinson Park. It's clearly right after an Ivy attack, because all the plants are in full bloom. In the center of the shot, a homeless man is sleeping on a pile of vines. Tim knows there are cruel anti-homeless spikes hidden beneath. The colors are breathtaking.

Then it's Tim's turn.

He takes a deep breath and steps onto the stage.

Through the polite clapping, he hears Jason holler, “Way to go, Timbo!”

“That your brother?” the Head of Photography asks, amused, as she shakes Tim's hand and passes him his certificate and an envelope full of Sam Goody vouchers.

“Yeah,” Tim replies proudly, “he is.”

After the certificates have all been handed out, the winners get called in for a group photo in front of the winning photograph.

Tim learns that the girl in the silver dress is 17. The grocery store on her street was targeted by one of the mob families. Her photo shows the store, broken windows boarded up, crime scene tape torn and fluttering across the doorway.

In front of the store, a little girl in pink rainboots is splashing happily, not a care in the world.

Tim isn't surprised his photo didn't win when he sees it. He doesn't know if there’s anything that fits the city’s spirit more than people flourishing, bright and stubborn, even in the shadow of terrible things. 

“Knew you'd do well, kid,” says the photographer from the Gazette as everyone begins to disperse. Tim recognizes that voice. It's the man he saw when he handed in his entry. James.

“Thank you. Um,” Tim hesitates, “would it b-be okay for you to take a picture of me and… and my brothers?” He holds up his own camera.

James smiles at him. “No problem.” He takes the camera and adjusts the strap and the settings.

Tim calls the others over. Jason jumps on Dick’s back and makes him give him a piggyback. Dick dumps Jason onto Tim’s feet, sending Jason shrieking and flailing. All three of them collapse in a laughing heap. Eventually, they all get up, and James takes a few shots of them together.

“Can't wait to see them, Timmy!” Dick says.

“They'll be nothing on yours,” Jason tells him. 

James snorts. Jason shrugs. “I'm allowed to be biased.”

“Come on, boys,” Bruce calls over warmly from where he's waiting by the door. “It's time to head home.”

They only stop off at Drake Manor long enough for Tim to pack a few days' worth of clothes. When Tim admitted that his parents wouldn't be back until after the New Year… There was a hint of Batman in Bruce's voice when he told Tim he could stay with them until his parents were back.

“It's really not a problem, Mr Wa- Bruce,” Tim says as he climbs back into the car with his bag packed. “I don't want to be a bother.”

“Tim,” Bruce replies, “it would bother me far more to know you were spending Christmas on your own in the house next door.”

Tim blinks back tears. 

From the seat next to him, Jason adds, “Besides, you know Alfie is going to make so much food that we're going to need someone to help us with it.”

He pokes Tim's belly, and Tim squeaks as he tries to wiggle away. “You'll be doing us all a favor and getting the best freaking Christmas dinner ever .”

Tim smiles. A Christmas with family. He's looking forward to it.

On the 20th, the Gazette publish their article on the photography competition. Bruce buys a copy of the paper for himself and one for Tim to keep. Later, Tim overhears Dick on the phone with Barbara, asking if she saw the article. Jason tells Bruce, “You'd better keep that paper.

“I want to make a scrapbook,” he says. “So the next time Tim starts saying dumb stuff about not being family, I can shove his face in it.”

The entire day feels like it's bathed in a warm glow. The excitement of the competition hasn't even begun to fade. Tim knows it's a moment he's going to look back on fondly for years .

On the 21st, he gets an email from his parents.

“Be at home tomorrow. We need to talk.”

That warm glow is instantly extinguished. A cold, hard stone settles in his stomach. Whatever his parents want to say, Tim doubts it will be good.

Dick and Jason come to Drake Manor with Tim on the 22nd for emotional support. 

There's a Christmas card addressed to Tim from Mrs Mac. Inside, she's written, “Congratulations on your photo, Tim! Enjoy Christmas with the Waynes.”

Beneath it, in smaller writing: “I'm handing in my notice when your parents are back, and wanted you to be the first to know.”

Tim's devastated. He's happy for Mrs Mac, of course he is. He's seen his parents’ records. They don't even pay her enough for the duties on her contract, never mind the extra things she does.

The extra things she does… for Tim. She does so much for Tim. She's not hired to do groceries or drive Tim to sleepovers or help him with application forms. She does it because his parents don't.

After he's cried on Dick's shoulder for twenty minutes, Tim makes a decision.

He finds the envelope with his Sam Goody vouchers and writes Mrs Mac’s name on it. He knows she has a son between Jason and Dick’s age, so maybe she can get him an extra Christmas present. It's the least Tim can do for her and her family.

He sticks the envelope to the fridge, where she'll definitely see it when she comes in tomorrow.

They play Smash Bros while they wait, but Tim can't really get into it. Even Dick is beating him, and he's just button-mashing.

At 11:30, the phone rings. Tim jumps from the sofa and runs to the phone in the hall. Can't keep his parents waiting. His hand hovers over the handset, fingertips barely brushing the smooth plastic, before Jason and Dick appear in the doorway of the living room.

Jason nods at him. Dick smiles softly. Tim's not alone anymore.

He picks up the phone.

“H-hello? Drake household.”

“Timothy.” It's Mom. All she's said is his name, and Tim is already shrinking into himself. “Why have I had to spend the last two days replying to concerned emails about you staying with the Waynes ?”

“It's really eating into our schedule, champ.” There's Dad. Of course it's a three-way call. “At this rate, we're going to have to push our flights back.”

Tim's instinct is to apologize. To start defending himself and telling his parents how he's going to fix things. But this time he's not alone .

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he says. There's a feeling of calm detachment that's settled over him. His voice only trembles slightly as he adds, “Maybe next time your son places second in a renowned photography competition, you might consider showing up.”

Jason gasps from across the hall. There's silence on the other end of the line. Tim can't believe he just said that… no. Really. He can't believe he just said that .

Maybe he should apologize and take it back.

But Dick is suddenly standing next to him with a hand on his shoulder. Jason has disappeared, but that's ok. He'll be back. Tim's still not alone.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, you apologize this instant –” Dad recovers his composure quickly. 

“No.” Tim's done. He knows what it's like to have people who care now. He won't settle for being talked down to and ignored anymore. “No, I won't apologize.”

“Tim–” Dad tries again.

“ Listen to me, Dad!” There's a lump building in Tim's throat. “I just wanted to feel like I was a priority for once, and you couldn't even email me to let me know you weren't coming !”

He sobs. Dick rubs his back.

“Are you quite finished your tantrum, Timothy?” Mom doesn't even sound rattled.

“Not a tantrum,” Tim mumbles, stubborn even through tears.

“Really, Timothy, after everything we've done for you–” Mom's tone makes Tim's chest tighten.

“I'm sorry looking after your child is such an inconvenience.”

“Don't you speak to your mother like that, Tim!”

“Don't speak to me like that, Dad!”

This is escalating. Dick's hand on his back is Tim's anchor, but he still feels like he's going to float away if this call goes on for much longer.

Then someone taps his other shoulder and takes the phone from his hand.

“Mr and Mrs Drake?” Bruce says, smiling gently at Tim. “I think we have a few things we need to discuss.”

Jason enters the hall again. He takes Tim's hand, and together, he and Dick guide Tim back through to the living room.

The three boys sit in silence on the sofa. Dick and Jason have their arms wrapped around Tim.

From here, Tim can't hear much of Bruce's conversation, but the tone is enough. Low, sharp, controlled. He’s not happy.

Oh, shit. Batman is mad at his parents.

It's only when Jason stiffens next to him that Tim realizes that thought wasn't as internal as he meant it to be.

“We're going to have to talk about that later,” Dick says, “but more importantly – that's another dollar for the swear jar, Timmy. I can't believe I ever thought you were innocent.”

Jason snorts, and even Tim manages a weak chuckle.

Maybe things can still be okay.

Maybe it's okay for him to hope.

Dick heads off to grab drinks, and with the door half-open, Bruce’s voice carries a little louder.

“...put that boy through hell , Ja–”

And then the door swings closed again.

“I hope it's ok that I got Bruce,” Jason whispers. “I didn't know what else to do.”

“You got him?” That doesn’t make sense. There wasn’t nearly enough time for Jason to run to Wayne Manor and back.

“Yeah,” Jason nods. “He was waiting in the car. We were gonna surprise you with milkshakes after your phone call.”

Tim can’t help smiling, warmed clear through. Jason shrugs like it’s nothing and adds, “Figured you might need a pick-me-up after.”

“Thank you.”

“You knew I was Robin.” It's not a question.

“I did.” No point pretending otherwise now.

“Before we met on the roof?” Jason asks after a beat.

Tim just nods.

Jason studies him for a long moment. “You… you weren't just taking competition photos, were you, Timmers?”

Tim grins. “Wanna see?”

They’re sprawled on Tim’s bed with a pile of Bat photos between them when Bruce finishes his call. Jason is speechless for longer than Tim has ever seen. The photo of Robin flying between buildings balances on Jason’s knee, and he keeps picking it up, like he can’t quite believe it’s him .

Bruce pauses in the doorway when he sees what they’re looking at. Only for a heartbeat, but Tim notices.

“Tim figured it out, B,” Jason says, trying for casual as he flips through another photo. “Promise it wasn't me.”

Bruce chuckles, low and amused. “Well. That makes things easier.”

Both boys freeze, glancing up in unison.

“Jason, would it be okay if I had a word with Tim?”

Jason looks at Tim, who nods, before he stands to go. The tiny show of support means so much to Tim.

“Don’t upset him, B!” Jason tosses over his shoulder as he heads for the door.

Tim laughs under his breath. He can't believe Jason gives Dick a hard time for being an overprotective big brother.

“How are you holding up, Tim?” Bruce asks.

Tim opens his mouth to say “okay”. Then he closes it again. How is he holding up, really?

Finally, he says, “I’ve, um, definitely been better…”

Bruce smiles, eyes wrinkling, and says, “I can imagine.”

Then his expression turns more serious, and he says, “Tim, your parents have agreed to let you stay with us for the foreseeable future.”

What. What ?

Tim just blinks dumbly.

“For the moment, it's officially just until they're back in the country. But if you don't want to move back in with them then, we'll do everything we can to make sure you don't have to.”

He… he can stay with the Waynes?

“It's entirely up to you, though, Tim,” Bruce adds. “We won't force you into staying if you don't want to.”

“I want to!” Tim blurts. He can feel his face heating up as he says, “I mean… I'd really like to stay with you guys. If that's okay?”

“Of course it's okay,” Bruce says gently. “I know Jason and Dick have told you this already, Tim, but you're family . There's nothing we wouldn't do for you.”

Tim smiles, but it fades as quickly as it came. “My parents are my family too…”

“They are,” Bruce nods.

“Even… even if I stay with you… they'll still be my family.” Tim doesn't know how to feel about that.

“They will.” Bruce says it like it's so simple.

“Does it make me a bad son? Not wanting to stay with them?”

Bruce crouches on the floor and takes Tim's hands in his. “Family is complicated, Tim. Having complicated feelings doesn't make you a bad person.”

Like that's the permission he's been waiting for, all of Tim's feelings seem to hit him full force. 

“Then why wasn't I enough for them?” he whispers, tears threatening to spill again. He's getting so fed up with crying. “Why wouldn't they stay ?”

“I don't know, Tim,” Bruce admits, and Tim allows himself to be pulled into a hug. “But I promise you'll always be enough for us. We're not going anywhere.”

Tim hasn't had a lot of experience with grown-ups keeping promises, but for some reason, he believes this one.

This time will be different.

Tim would like to say it's the best Christmas he's ever had, but honestly? He spends a lot of it crying about his parents. 

Then, in the middle of Christmas dinner, they get word that Calendar Man and Mr Freeze have teamed up for a Christmas-themed scheme. Bruce and Dick quickly leave to stop them.

The day ends with Tim and Jason drinking hot chocolate and reading Matilda together in Wayne Manor’s library, though. So it isn't all bad.

It’s still one of Tim’s top three Christmases.

“10!”

New Year's Eve finds Tim and his family gathered in the Batcave. Calendar Man is back in Arkham, but they're staying alert all the same.

“9!”

Most of Tim's Bat photos are on display around the cave. Two days ago, Superman was in the Batcave to give Bruce some information. He told Bruce Tim's photos were incredible . Bruce replied, “I know,” with more than a hint of pride in his voice. Tim still can't stop smiling about it.

“8!”

The photos James took at the awards ceremony are hanging in the foyer. Tim’s favorite is one snapped before they were ready. All three boys are sprawled on the floor, limbs flailing. Dick looks deeply offended by the turn of events, Jason sports a mischievous grin, and Tim is laughing as he leans over them. They look like a real family.

“7!”

The Waynes got Tim a new darkroom for Christmas – and a skateboard, too. Now he doesn’t have to go back to Drake Manor to develop his photos. He did feel a little bad that he only had a framed photo to give each of them, but Jason’s “best present ever” verdict put him at ease.

“6!”

Tim's parents didn't get him anything as far as he knows. They haven't called or emailed since the 22nd. It doesn't hurt – as long as he doesn't think about it.

“5!”

Mrs Mac emailed on Christmas to say thank you for the vouchers. Turns out she has a new job at Wayne Enterprises. Tim replied that it must have been all her experience managing and organizing household inventory that got her the job. He's going to miss her. Bruce better make sure she's treated well in her new role.

“4!”

Barbara Gordon is Batgirl. Tim doesn't know how he hadn't worked it out. Things make so much more sense now. Babs teases Dick for hours when she finds out it was his secret identity that Tim figured out first.

“3!”

Alfred has been helping Tim organize his new room. No more slippers on his desk. The contents of his lockbox (minus the Bat photos) are displayed on shelves around the room, now that he's not so worried about things being thrown out. Except the beanie frog. He lives on Tim's pillow.

“2!”

Tim knows Bruce has been speaking to his lawyers about Tim's situation. Tim knows that as soon as he says he's ready, Bruce has a plan laid out to make his stay here officially permanent. Tim knows that one day, Bruce is going to feel more like his dad than Jack Drake ever did.

“1!”

Dick is the funniest, kindest, and most frustrating person Tim knows. He’ll stick up for Tim, drop everything to be there. But he’ll also wind Tim up until Tim wants to punch him. When Tim complained about it to Jason, he was unsympathetic. “I told you what having siblings was like,” he says. “Welcome to my world.”

Tim puts Lego under Dick's fitted sheet so when he gets into bed, he's immediately jabbed by tiny little corners. Matilda would be proud, he thinks.

“Happy New Year!”

Jason throws himself at Tim to give him a hug. Their friendship isn't quite back to the way it was before their falling out, but it's getting there. They're figuring out the “brothers” thing and the “friends” thing at the same time.

It's difficult, but it's fun. And it's so worth it. To have someone to bounce ideas off of? Someone who encourages Tim to do things like take his new skateboard down the grand staircase? (Even if he does run and leave Tim to deal with Alfred on his own when it goes wrong.)

Every moment with Jason is worth it.

It's January 1st, 2000. Tim is eleven years old. He's surrounded by his family .