Chapter Text
Tim’s cheeks burn in contrast to the cold air, as his mitten hands hastily rush to his pocket and fumble with the keychain.
No, no, no- Yes! He silently cheered as a small ‘click!’ sound was made as he opened up the door. He runs to the heater immediately and turns it on, waiting patiently for it to heat him up. He drunkenly throws his balled up mittens toward the light switch, and sighs - laying like a starfish near the heater.
Why did Gotham have to be so cold?
Tim was struggling out here. He was shoveling the snow for at least thirty minutes, making him approximately twenty minutes off his ‘turn-everything-on-and-do-some-last-minute-cleaning’, which he really should be doing right now-
But his arms feel like jello. Noo. Curse this weak body that holds him to mortal chains.
“Is this place open already?”
Oh no. A customer.
For a second Tim and the customer stare at each other. Tim, laying on the floor, limbs all stretched out and the customer peeking their head in.
Well this was awkward.
In a flash, Tim scrambles up and nods. Then runs all the way to the coffee machine to switch it on. He steps on the step stools to stand behind the cash register and flashes his best customer service smile.
“What is your order, greatly valued customer?”
Tim would like to start this out by saying that he was fully aware of what he was doing.
Starting a coffee shop near Crime Alley was a calculated decision and Tim would stand by that, no matter what anyone else would say. Shut up. No. Tim’s right. You’re wrong. Get on his level.
He has plans for this. Look.
STEP 1: COME UP WITH A BUSINESS IDEA
STEP 2: FIGURE HOW TO SELL IT
STEP 3: PROFIT
It was foolproof.
Well at least once Tim thought of what the business idea was, how to sell it, and every other thing he had to figure out to make a business work. This shorter version above was the original plan. The more detailed and fully laid out plan was a document on Tim’s computer which laid out all the contingencies, plans, back up plans, and funds. Very thorough and useful.
But the shortened version of his story should suffice to explain why he was doing this.
It started when his mom and dad thought it was a good idea that Tim should make a start-up to help him learn ‘valuable life lessons for a future businessman’.
Tim scrunched his face when his dad was trying to warm him up to the idea.
“What would I even sell?” He cries out.
His dad was putting on a tie while his mom was putting on some makeup, “I don’t know Tim, sell lemonade or something.”
His mom hummed in bland agreement, “Hm, that is a nice one. I hear it is a popular choice among kids and would be a nice start.”
Tim was eight, and lived in Bristol. His nearest neighbors were the Wayne’s and they live at least a mile away. Did his parents forget they were all rich or something? Maybe the trips to Egypt dried out all of their brain juices.
“Maybe not.” Tim mutters quietly, “I think I can come up with something else though.”
His mother nodded stiffly as she added more blush and his father mumbles something about ‘His champ will come up with something’, making Tim’s ear turn slightly red. With that settled, his parents chatted with each other while Tim tried to rack his brain for other ideas.
He didn’t even notice when his father picked up his best tie tonight for tonight’s gala. Or how his mother picked up a glass of wine and pressed it to her lips. But she did give him a slight smile when Tim brought her a straight edge for her eyeliner.
“I love you, Mama.” Is what he says. ‘I don’t want you to go’ , his mind mutters quietly.
Tim thinks, for a second, that his mom knew that too. His mom paused, then shook her head. She puts her hand out, like she did not know what to do with it, before reaching out and patting his head. Her mouth was pulled into a thin line.
“I love you too, Timothy.”
His father slid himself into his mother’s side with a large smile, “Aw, no I love you Jack, Janet? Love of my life?”
His mom stares him down and Tim giggles.
When he woke up the next morning, Tim waited for Ms. Mac to show up. He knew about his parent’s dig all the way in Indonesia was going to happen for months. It was something about tombs. Very cool stuff, he just wished that his parents woke him up before they left.
When Ms. Mac finally showed up, Tim was pulling up his whiteboards and markers, thinking.
“Tim, what are you doing? You made a huge mess!”
He didn’t care though. The Janet Drake running through his veins was plotting.
Ed Nygma was going to be honest. He was just trying to run away from Batman, because for some reason, the man was one step ahead of him tonight.
He ran into a coffee shop not really thinking much about it. Why should he?
What he didn’t expect was a small kid to be staring up at him with the biggest blue eyes he has ever seen. Ed couldn’t exactly see the bottom half of his face because of a mask, but from what he can tell, the kid’s at least six.
“I can call Batman on you, I know he is literally within a block radius.” The kid says, his voice is not wavering, even as Ed was in his whole ‘Riddler’ costume. He takes out a notepad and crinkles his eyes, “Now what do you want to order?”
“Huh?”
The kid points with his pen behind him to a chalkboard, “Check the menu.”
“I don’t think I want to-”
The kid smiles, “Order or I will call Batman.”
He says it way too happily. And to be honest it was a little unnerving.
Ed reads the first one he sees, “Robin’s Punchline?”
“That’s my absolute favorite!” The kid clicks his pen excitedly as he skips over to the machine and unsurprisingly, makes coffee. The kid points to the booth in the corner, “Least visible spot in the spot and has an exit right next to it.”
There was a crash coming from behind, and the Riddler takes no time to doubt the kid's words. As he turns though, he notices it was the kid that spilled his tip jar on the floor. He was not sure what was more sad, the fact that the kid flinched at the flying glass or the fact there was not even a single penny in there.
That should have been the first red flag.
The actual first red flag he had noticed was a lot more concerning.
He snatches the kid by the wrist, “Don’t pick up glass with your hands! You, ugh . . . Do you have a broom or something?” The little boy nods, “Ok, I’m gonna clean this up, you make your coffee or whatever.”
The little rascal runs away behind the counter and Ed sighs. Damn, he needed to be a better villain. Why the fuck did he grab the kids hand and say… all that? This was not a good look on him.
It doesn’t take long for him to find a lousy broom that looks like the combs are about to fall off and sweep up the mess, throwing it into the trash. When he finally sits back down, a pair of bright blue eyes meet up with his brown ones.
The paper container had smoke coming out of the little hole at the top is offered. He takes it and it warms his finger quickly. Tentatively, he takes a sip.
The little raven tilts his head, “So? How was it?”
Shit, feedback?
“It’s really great.” Ed says in a slight panic. Not to say the coffee wasn’t good but, he was still weirded out by the kid… wearing a barista outfit… who was forcing him to drink coffee. It was also four am. So it is also entirely possible for this kid to also be his sleep paralysis demon.
…
That was originally a joke, but he was seriously considering it now. Again, Ed should mention, this kid was probably six. Older if he squinted.
The kid happily takes the compliment and goes behind the counter again. The older one takes the silence with grace and drinks the coffee peacefully. He likes the sweet and spice of the drink. He thinks of sugar and cinnamon?
Oh, it tasted amazing.
He wants to go back here sometime.
…
Batman can never find out about this.
“Hey, I’m a little lonely here, and um-” Ed raises an eyebrow and the kid stutters. It takes him a moment to build his courage back up, but when he does, he says something that he doesn’t expect, “Could you give me a riddle please?”
“What?”
“I’m bored and like- If you might be my only customer then I should be nice to you and try to answer your riddles.” He explains leaning against the counter (and oh my god. Was that kid standing on a stool?), “So?”
“They are kind of hard for kids.” He says.
The kid glares with the ferocity of a baby lion, “I am ten.”
Ed blinks, “Are you sure about that?”
This kid was definitely not ten. He didn’t even pick a believable age. He didn’t back down though.
“Fine.” Ed concedes, “What goes up but never goes down?”
The kid pouts.
“Did you even try? It’s age.” The little shit crosses his arms, “And even that is not applicable to everything anymore”
The Riddler blinks. He wasn’t expecting an answer so fast. He then scowls, “I was giving you an easy one.”
“Well, then give me a harder one.” The younger taunts.
And that is how the Riddler stayed up till dawn arguing over riddles with a kid. He leaves through the back door and all he thinks is, maybe he should visit this place more.
“How the hell did you lose the Riddler?”
“Robin.”
“Oh, shut it Little Wing. You and B didn’t find him either