Work Text:
It’s a warm brisk November morning for Gotham city when Tim leaves for school. He dresses himself warmly, just as Ms. Mac had insisted when she called. He even put on the scratchy scarf she made him.
Tim wraps his scarf tighter around his face. It wasn’t really cold enough for the scarf on his way to school. But now Tim is wishing he had more. More layers. More warmth.
Mr. Freeze attacked the area near Gotham Academy during the school day, class got let out early. Nearly a foot and a half of snow blankets the surrounding neighborhoods, covered in a deceptively hard to see layer of ice. The wind picked up shortly after Batman and Robin took the guy down. Snow billows across the empty streets and drifts begin to form.
Now Tim is picking his way back home, shaking and desperately hoping his fingers aren’t as purple as they look. Maybe it's the dye from his thin gloves bleeding onto his skin? He’s made decent progress so far. All the other kids had someone to pick them up, parents braving the tundra to rescue their children. Tim has no one but himself.
Tim trudges forward, slipping slightly on the slick sidewalk. His nose has long gone numb, along with his toes, fingers, and ears. His breath puffs in front of his face. Small crystals form on the cusp of his scarf. Squinting to avoid the bright light reflecting off the snow, Tim tries to read the road signs.
Bristol’s signs consist of black curly font on a white background. A faux wrought iron border frames the names of the streets, many styled after French wines. Tim is pretty sure that he is on the right street. He can’t read the name, his eyes keep drooping closed of their own accord.
Shivering, Tim turns at the corner, stumbling. He manages to catch himself before falling into the large drift of snow that has gathered there. Picking himself up, Tim feels his joints protest. His muscles have been held tense, either to maintain his balance on the icy snow or shivering to keep him warm, for such a long time. Tim manages to take a few steps forward.
Eyes drooping closed, a wave of exhaustion sweeps over him. In the back of his mind, Tim knows that falling asleep would be bad. Something about being too cold and not waking up.
The branches of the trees bow close to the ground, weighed down by the ice and snow. Tim has to push several aside to reach the gate at the end of the drive. Head swimming, knees buckling, and hands shaking, Tim reaches forward to force it open. The metal screeches in protest and Tim mutters a curse under his breath. Finally, the gate gives way, launching Tim forward into the snow.
It is so cold. Pain is seeping into his abdomen. Every breath feels like he’s being stabbed. Tim shuts his eyes for just a moment, just to rest enough so his chest feels less heavy. A distant bark filters through his mind before quickly falling by the wayside. The Drakes don’t have a dog. Mother is allergic.
*************************************************************************************************************
The insistent and panicked barks are what draws Alfred out of the house and into the frozen expanse. Masters Bruce and Jason have just returned from their fight with Mr. Freeze, and Alfred had managed to coax them both into a fireside hot chocolate to warm them up.
Ace is woofing, pausing to grab ahold of fabric, dragging the pile towards the door. Alfred slips another scarf around his neck to keep the chill at bay.
“What have you there, Ace?” Alfred calls, concerned. The dog has thick fur, but even he shouldn’t be out in these temperatures for too long. Ace drags the bundle closer.
“My goodness!” Alfred exclaims as he catches sight of human hair. The poor boy is woefully underdressed for the conditions, and starting to turn blue. Alfred rushes over, cradling the small child to his chest.
“Good boy, Ace!” Alfred assures as they hustle to get inside. “You are a very good boy.”
Ace wags his tail at the praise but stops, whining with concern as the child does not react to the warmth of the house.
“What is it?” Master Bruce calls, as Master Jason peaks around the corner down the hall to see what all the commotion is about.
“Ace found a child freezing outside.” Alfred says, fumbling to excavate the young one from his ice coated clothing. “We need to get him warmed up immediately.”
“No.” Jason calls, running forward and stilling Alfred’s hands with a firm grip. “I saw this a lot when I was livin’ on the street. We need to warm him up slowly, or he could die.”
Jason pulls an emergency reflector blanket from one of the pockets of his cargo pants, wrapping the foil around the boy. His skin is still discolored, and Alfred cannot help but fret. A child, desperate, this close to dying on his doorstep!
“I know him.” Bruce intones softly. “That is Timothy Drake.”
“Our neighbor?” Alfred clarifies. He has only met the Drakes at charity events and galas. But he only knows so much about them, as they are not one to chat with the help.
“He goes by Tim.” Jason corrects, slipping off his sopping leather boots. The sickening crunch of his softs echoes off the walls of the foyer.
“He probably tried to walk home.” Jason adds, wrapping another emergency blanket around the boy. “He usually does. No clue why his parents didn’t come get him.”
“They aren’t in town.” Bruce supplies, tone solemn. “I am going to put a load of blankets in the dryer, warm them up for Tim.”
Alfred watches as Jason curls Tim against him. They are nearly the same size.
“I am going to get a change of clothes for him.” Alfred says, standing. He tosses a treat to a worried Ace, who catches it and sets it aside. He stands guard over the boys, watching them anxiously.
Alfred returns to Jason softly whispering to Tim. The younger boy has begun shivering forcibly, rattling the blankets around him.
“Here.” Alfred says, gesturing for Jason to hand Tim over. “Let’s get him to a bedroom and changed into dry clothes.”
Alfred is struck by just how small the boy is as he carries him down the hallway. A wisp of a child, miraculous that he made it to their door all the way from Gotham Academy. Alfred will not be letting that miracle go to waste.
What sort of parent would leave their child alone like this? What parent would not be consumed with worry, and trying to get their child home safely? His rage does not quell his worry, so he shelves it away in his mind to process later.
Jason waits just outside the door of the bedroom as Alfred deftly switches out the damp clothes for dry warm ones. Even still, Tim remains unconscious and shivering. Bruce brings the warmed blankets. Carefully, Alfred, Jason, and Bruce nestle them around Tim, tucking him in.
The boy looks so small. So pale. At least the blue and purple countenance he had upon his arrival has lessened. Ace jumps up onto the bed, plopping on top of the boy.
“Ace!” Alfred chides not unkindly. “You know that you are not allowed on the furniture.” The dog lets out a pitiful whine, and gives Alfred a pleading look. It does nothing to bolster his resolve when he turns to find Masters Bruce and Jason giving Alfred a similar look.
“Oh, alright.” He relents. “But just this once.”
************************************************************************************************************
“I have rung the school.” Alfred says, stirring the warm pot of stew on the stove. He and Bruce retreated to the kitchen to prepare things for when their guest awakes. Jason volunteered to keep an eye on Tim, in case his condition changes.
“What did they say?” Bruce inquires, curious and livid. To allow a child to walk home in this storm, the very idea turns his stomach. Bruce should threaten to pull their funding.
“They said that Master Timothy indicated he spotted his parents’ vehicle.” Alfred replies, adding another dash of spice to the pot. “A teacher is supposed to walk each child to their car and confirm the adult is present and approved for pick up.”
“I’m guessing that somewhere, in the chaos, things were missed?” Bruce supplies, sighing. Alfred nods, frowning. He scowls at the pot like it owes him a large debt. “I suppose so.”
Bruce takes another sip of his steaming hot chocolate. His mind goes over what they know. The Drakes are gone, out of town until after the new year. Tim was walking home alone, something he apparently does regularly. No one answered when they called the Drake residence. From what they can tell, and security footage, no one has gone out looking for Tim either.
“What else do we know about Tim?” Bruce muses aloud. Alfred quirks a brow at him.
“Perhaps you should ask Master Jason, or Tim, when he wakes.” He suggests. Bruce nods, mulling over his options. Interrogating a child is tricky, especially after a trauma. Batman is easier, because he has candies and tells the cops to take a hike. But Brucie Wayne is Tim’s neighbor. There are a million ways this can go.
Bruce stands and makes his way to their guest. Jason is reading, leaned up against the headboard and tucked beneath the covers next to Tim. Ace is curled atop the younger’s legs, snout nudging the quilt covered shape of Jason’s left foot.
Bruce takes in the sight for a moment. Jason is not normally one for human contact, especially after just meeting someone. He must know Tim pretty well to be cuddling beside him.
“He doing any better?” Bruce asks quietly. Ace swivels his ears but doesn’t lift his head. Jason shrugs. “His breathing is better. More deep and even. I think he’s sleeping.” He replies, turning to look at the boy. A gentle hand moves the hair from his forehead and Bruce’s heart aches. The familial gesture is one his parents made often, and one he tried to recreate with Dick. Jason must have learned it from his mother.
“Sleeping is good. He must be exhausted.” Bruce whispers, stepping closer. He sidles up to the bed and sits on the other side of Tim as Jason. Bruce takes a moment to feel the boy’s forehead. Still cold to the touch, but much warmer than what it was.
“Seems to me that he’s warming.” Bruce says. “You’re doing a good job taking care of him.”
Jason huffs, placing his bookmark before turning to look at Bruce.
“I saw this a lot, in the winter.” Jason says, scowling softly. He looks down at Tim, sadness in his eyes. “I never thought I’d see it in this part a’town. What with’em bein’ loaded.”
“Economic class does not determine the quality of parenting, unfortunately.” Bruce says, trying to keep the mood light. He knows what Jason must have seen. Street kids do freeze to death in Gotham. An unfortunate reality that Wayne charities have been trying to squash for a while now.
“No, it really doesn’t.” Jason says, anger flashing in his eyes. “How come they didn’t hire somebody to take care a’him?”
“I wish I knew, Jason.” Bruce admits. He cannot protect Tim from his parents’ neglect. Just like he couldn’t protect Dick from his parents’ murders, or Jason from his mother’s overdose and his time living on the streets. There is so much in the world that Bruce cannot protect them from. Even as Batman, even as part of the Justice League.
Bruce settles in, throwing an arm around the pillows and pulls Jason closer. Tim is sandwiched in the middle, turning onto his side and tucking his ice cold toes against Bruce’s leg. He tries to suppress the jolt from the unexpected contact, but judging from Jason’s giggles, he fails.
“I have a lot of questions for him when he wakes.” Bruce warns gently. “And for you as well.”
Jason huffs, wrapping his arms around Tim. “Ask away B.” Jason whispers. Bruce nods.
“How long have you known Tim?” Bruce asks, starting at the beginning. Jason shoots him a dead pan look. “Gee, B. Where could I have run into Tim?” Jason asks sarcastically. Bruce sits there silently, waiting for his son’s real answer.
“The summer gala.” Jason answers, staring off into space. “Some rich brat was picking on me. Dick was gonna intervene but Timmy here got to ‘em first.”
Bruce hums thoughtfully. He doesn’t remember this particular encounter. “You didn’t tell me about it.” He observes. Jason ducks his head. “I thought if I was too much trouble, you’d be rid a’me.” He admits quietly.
“You know that is not true, don’t you?” Bruce clarifies. Jason nods.
“I put that together after Dickie crashed that chandelier.” Jason points out, grinning. “You just sighed and ordered ‘nother one.” Jason shrugs, giving Bruce an unreadable look.
“If you weren’t gonna toss Dickie for breaking part ‘a the house, then I was fine. Nothing I was gonna do would be that bad.”
“I’m glad you know that I’ll always love you, Jaybird.” Bruce murmurs, leaning over Tim to kiss Jason’s hair. Jason huffs and swats playfully at Bruce’s face. “You’re a sap.” He taunts. Bruce just gives his son a fond smile. He can’t argue Jason’s point. He is right. Bruce is a sap. He is a father, warmed by his children feeling safe and knowing that they are loved.
Tim stirs between them, twisting under the blankets. His cheeks are ruddy, feverish. Bruce frowns, and feels his forehead again. It's warm. Too warm.
“Go get Alfred, please.” Bruce requests. Jason opens his mouth to protest but Tim lets out the tiniest sob. Jason flees the room, taking off like a shot.
Bruce pulls Tim onto his chest. The boy’s hair is damp, and not from the melting ice. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead. His small body begins shivering violently once again. Bruce hums sympathetically and rubs a comforting hand up and down between his shoulder blades.
“You’re alright chum.” Bruce murmurs as Tim lets out a pained whine. “We’ve got you now.”
Alfred storms in, armed with a trayful of medications and a broth. Jason, right on his heels, is clutching several additional blankets and his stuffed bear. The bear made it through Jason’s early tumultuous home life, a year and a half on the street, and Jason’s move to the manor. Worried, Jason wordlessly shoves the bear under Tim’s limp arm.
Alfred and Bruce manage to coax a little medicine into Tim. Liquid fever reducer, mostly. Tim, whose eyes barely open, also chokes down half the broth and a few sips of water.
“We’ll try again in a few hours.” Alfred says assuredly. One does not argue with Alfred, especially when he speaks in that tone. “For now, he needs to rest.”
*************************************************************************************************************
When his fever finally breaks, Tim realizes that he is not, in fact, at home. Mostly because someone else has been taking care of him. If that hadn’t been a large enough clue, the cheerful tones of the Dick Grayson carrying down the hallway would be irrefutable proof.
“How’s the newest member of the family?” Dick asks, just outside the door. Tim clutches the covers closer. Dick Grayson is the first Robin. Tim met him once, when he was little. Or littler.
“He’s sleepin’.” Jason says. Jason is nice. He stands up for Tim at school. When Tim asked him why once, Jason just muttered something about hating bullies and changed the subject. Jason is the new Robin, Tim is almost sure of it. He might need a few more data points to support his hypothesis before he can call it a theory, but he is positive that he is right.
“Is his fever better?” Dick asks. Jason makes an affirmative grunt. Just like Batman. Another point in favor of Tim’s hypothesis.
“Has Bruce drawn up the adoption papers yet?” Dick teases. Jason laughs. Tim’s heart sinks.
“Not yet.” Jason answers. “I think B is waiting to get ahold a’his parents or somethin’.” A surge of fear shoots through Tim. His parents cannot know about this. About Tim imposing on their neighbors.
Tim flings the covers off of him. A german shepard, sleeping in a dog bed in the corner of the room, lifts his head. Tim holds a finger to his lips to keep the dog quiet.
“Don’t worry, doggie.” Tim whispers, flinging open drawers and closet doors to find some shoes. He finds a beaten up pair of hiking boots at the bottom of the closet. Tim snags several additional pairs of socks from the drawer, layering them on his feet. Shoving the shoes on and lacing them tightly, Tim examines the window frame.
It looks sturdy but unalarmed. A stroke of good luck for Tim. Carefully, Tim shoves the window up, slinking out onto the snow piled under the window. Thank goodness for first floor bedrooms, Tim thinks.
He drops down, shutting the window silently. Tim scurries through the drifts, skidding on the sporadic icy patches. It takes a while, and his fingers hurt from the cold, but Tim makes it over the property line.
Trudging through the snow, Tim finds his front door. He reaches in his pocket for his key. But his pocket is empty. These aren’t his pants.
“Shit!” Tim curses. His quiet voice bounces off the trees. Wincing, Tim mumbles a reflexive apology under his breath. His hands are shaking. He has to fix this.
Slipping off his top layer, Tim wraps it around his fist. Bracing himself, Tim thrusts the hand through the glass of the nearest window. The glass shatters, cutting his arm above the sweatshirt wrapped around his wrist. It hurts almost as much as the cold.
Tim uses the sweatshirt to push away the remaining glass shards, carefully climbing through the window. The cold wind whistles behind him as Tim steps inside the empty home. The glass crunches beneath his borrowed shoes.
“Shit.” Tim breathes. He’ll have to get these clothes and things back to the Waynes. He’ll have to come up with a reason that his parents didn’t know. Why they aren’t looking for him. God, he has so much to do.
Tim trudges down to the basement, checking that the heater is still in working order. It is. Although the house doesn’t feel like it. Tim grabs a spare piece of plywood and brings it upstairs to wedge it into the broken pane.
Next on the to do list is to change into his own clothes. So Tim trudges upstairs to his room, noticing just how quiet it is. How empty. Maybe he should get a dog, it’s not like mother will notice.
Tim changes into his own clothes, carefully folding the loaned items. He isn’t sure how long he was out, but the dried sweat on his skin makes him itch. Tim decides to take a quick shower. Warmer, now, that he steps out and dresses in woolen pajamas, adding a fluffy robe.
Tim sits on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms and thinking hard. How can he explain this to the Waynes? He can’t lie to Batman! He’s only nine!
Very few ideas come to him, and the ones that do aren’t good ones. Tim knows that his heart isn’t in it. He loves Mother and Father. He doesn’t want them to get in trouble. But it felt so nice to be with the Waynes. The idea that he might be adopted by them struck him with terror, but also excitement. Tim has always wanted siblings. His parents had always said no.
A thump downstairs pulls Tim from his rumination. A sudden fear grips him. What if someone is breaking in? What if someone saw the broken window and decided to take advantage of the opportunity? What if they steal Mother and Father’s stuff and it's all his fault?
“Tim?” A familiar voice calls out. Tim finds himself walking to the top of the stairs in a trance. “Timothy Drake?”
Batman is standing in the foyer. Batman is in Tim’s house! Fear bleeds away as curiosity takes over.
A small part of Tim wants to hide, to see how long it would take for Batman to find him. But hiding when Mother and Father return home has never gone well. There is no evidence that it would be received well by Batman either.
Shaking, Tim clutches the banister. The wood creaks under his small hands. Batman’s head snaps up to look at Tim.
“Tim!” He cries, sounding relieved. “You’re alright?” He begins walking towards Tim. Tim backs up, he doesn’t know why. He knows who Batman is. He knows that Batman doesn’t hurt kids. But Tim cowers anyway, unable to stop himself. The sound of footsteps on the stairs sends him fleeing.
Ducking into his room, and hiding on the floor of his closet covered in blankets, Tim hides. Not even well. Batman knocks on the door frame politely.
“May I come in, Tim?” He asks from the door to the hall. Tim peaks through a gap in the blankets, eyeing Bruce. Batman kneels down, leaving room for Tim to flee if he wants to. He’d still have to get past Batman, but Tim’s quick. He can probably make it if he throws something to incapacitate the man.
“I’ll stay right here.” Batman says softly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Can we talk?”
Tim shrugs, moving the blankets up and down. Batman wants to talk with little ole Tim Drake? Whatever for?
“I understand that you had some difficulty getting home from school the other day?” Batman prompts. Tim shrugs again. “Can you tell me why you didn’t call your nanny to bring you home?”
“I don’t have one.” Tim mumbles. A pulse of fear hits Tim and he repeats himself, articulating precisely. Batman watches him with a neutral expression.
“Okay.” Batman says softly, nodding. “Who watches you when your parents are busy?”
Tim shrugs again. “Ms Mac comes by sometimes.” Batman nods again.
“And when she doesn’t?” Batman prods. Tim sighs.
“I can take care of myself.” Tim says harshly, feeling defensive. “I was fine until Mr. Freeze screwed everythin’ up.”
Batman nods again, with a thoughtful hum. “Do you want to take care of yourself?” He asks. Tim pauses, confused. Batman repeats himself.
“I - I…” Tim stutters, unsure. “I dunno.”
“I know someone who wants to take care of you.” Batman suggests. “He seemed very scared when he realized you disappeared.”
Tim bites back the smirk at how bad Bruce is at hiding that he is Batman. Then his point hits Tim. Bruce wants to take care of Tim. He was scared when Tim ran.
“What about the others?” Tim asks shyly.
“Dick and Jason?” Batman clarifies. Tim nods. “And Alfred and Ace.” He adds.
“They’d love to have you.” Batman says. When Batman says stuff, it sounds real. It sounds true. Tim wants to trust it. To trust him. But a part of him still hesitates. What if they get bored of him? What if they make Tim go back?
It is one thing when it’s his choice. When Tim makes the decision to run, it's his. But to have it all ripped from him? Because he got too annoying? Tim doesn’t think he could stand that.
“I don’t wanna get used to it and lose it.” Tim admits quietly. Batman sighs, and offers Tim a gloved hand. “You aren’t gonna drive us away, Tim.” Batman says, in that assured voice again.
“Us?” Tim asks, crawling over to Bruce. Batman chuckles. He moves slowly, making to hug Tim, but allowing plenty of time for Tim to stop it. Tim doesn’t.
“You’re bad at hiding secrets, Bruce.” Tim chides. Bruce just squeezes him in the hug.
“I think I’ve done pretty good so far.” Bruce says, amused. Tim wags a finger in his face.
“You need to be more careful. You gotta protect your Robins too.” Tim instructs.
“Is that right?” Bruce asks, teasingly. Tim nods seriously.
“Of course it is.” Tim confirms. Bruce clutches Tim closer, standing and lifting him easily.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bruce says fondly. “Let’s get you home.”