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When it came to his vigilante work, Tim was obsessive.
He had been chasing the bats for years, after all. You don’t wind up stalking vigilantes over rooftops, in disgusting sewers, and through abandoned buildings in the country’s most crime-ridden city if you aren’t a little obsessive.
It just meant he took a little extra care when it came to doing things right.
Unlike the shining example of Dick Grayson and the brilliance of Jason Todd, Tim Drake was fully aware that he was never chosen for this role. Robin was something he took for himself when he saw that the city needed it.
When he saw that Batman needed it.
So, he made sure he did everything as perfectly as he could. It was the only way he knew to make Bruce proud.
He was pretty sure he was doing a good job of it, anyway. He was diligent about reading the relevant case files, attending presentations, and completing the intensive training courses.
Bruce would never have let him out of the cave if he wasn’t convinced that Tim could handle himself. He wouldn’t take the risk after Jason.
But two years after the second Robin’s death, Tim still lurked in his shadow. He was fine with it, really. If it meant he could be close to Batman, he was willing to do anything.
At least he’s stopped calling me ‘Jason’ by now.
Tim adjusted his position near the window of the abandoned corner store, deep in the heart of Crime Alley. His fingers twitched as they fiddled with the binoculars.
This would be a nice shot. He thought as he gazed out at the fog of the streets below. The streetlight's lighting would frame the burned-down toy store quite nicely.
A rat chittered as it ran across the room. Neither of the dynamic duo flinched.
“Robin.” Batman’s gruff voice echoed in the abandoned room. “Did you read the file for this case?” He didn’t need to ask; he already knew the answer.
“Yup.” He popped the “p”. “Front and back, about a dozen times,” Tim admitted. He was sure he had the entire thing memorized. He could recite it in his sleep.
“Our mission?” Batman asked, adjusting his thermal scanner as he leaned against an opposing window.
“There’s a new player in Gotham. Goes by the name of Red Hood.” Tim began, eyes focusing on two streetcats below who were hissing at one another. “One of Joker’s old monikers.” He stated, glancing at B.
He always got a little tense when it came to the Joker.
“Good. Continue.”
Exhaling through his nose, Tim did. “After having ascertained that the Joker was still in Maximum security holding at Arkham, we’ve come to the conclusion that this ‘Red Hood’ must be a copycat.” He explained. “So far, they’ve been systematically dismantling the power structures established in the underworld.”
A gunshot echoed through the empty streets. Neither man flinched.
“Dismantling how?” Always so professional.
“Should’ve said dismembered.” Tim joked, glancing at his mentor, who didn’t deign to laugh.
Rude.
Tim sighed. “Chopped off the heads of some major lieutenants. Practically overnight, Gotham’s drug trade has been rerouted to go through this guy.”
“So why are we here, then, Robin? It sounds cut-and-dry.”
“We’re here because this Red Hood guy is a completely unknown variable. He’s a new player, so we don’t have any information about him. All we could gather was that his base of operations was established in Park Row… Er, Crime Alley.”
Pleased by the rundown, Bruce settled further into his spot. “Good. You’ve been studying well, Robin.”
Tim tried to not preen at the compliment. It was incredibly hard not to when it was his hero saying it.
Instead, he just grinned to himself.
At that moment, Oracle’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “Come in, Batman and Robin.” She echoed. Tim elected to let Batman respond.
The Dark Knight did so immediately, flicking his comm on with one hand as he kept his eyes trained on the scanner. “Oracle.”
At the response, she continued. “Red Hood was spotted on a rooftop three blocks south. He’s heading your way.”
“Understood.” He said, flipping the comm off. “Robin. Keep your head down. Do not let him see you.”
Rolling his eyes like a petulant child, Tim sank a bit lower against the wall. He didn’t hide completely, no, he wasn’t going to miss out on an official sighting of the new crime-lord.
“Got it, B.” He said, nonetheless. “But… I’m just saying, if we do get caught, do I have permission to…”
“Absolutely not.” Batman barked. “You will stay out of sight. This is an order. Do not engage with the Red Hood. He’s an unknown assailant.”
Tim hated being treated like a child. “But, what if I-” He trailed off as the white lenses of the cowl focused fully on him, narrowed into thin lines.
Got it. No arguing.
He tried his best not to pout.
Instead, he elected to turn back to the window, focusing on the rooftops across from them. He desperately wanted to take a photo of the Red Hood for his personal collection. But tonight, their main goal wasn’t taking photos; it was observing the patterns of this migrational crime-lord.
Silently, the duo waited for Oracle’s tip to come through. Neither one talked; they didn’t need to. They were focused fully on their mission.
It was Tim, however, that saw a telltale flash of colour on the opposite roof. “B.” He whispered, tightening his grip on the binoculars.
Brown leather Jacket. Shiny red helmet. Grey pants. Combat boots. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the Red Hood.
His breath caught as their newest rogue paused on the building opposite them. Neither dared to utter a sound now. He was only ten feet away.
It was like he knew they were there.
But that was impossible. Their uniforms were designed specifically to distribute heat, rendering them invisible to heat scanners. They were silent, they were bats.
Nobody should be able to find them in their little nest.
Nobody.
Before he could think to move lower, the world turned into a fabric-covered blur.
Shots rang out in the air as bullets whizzed through the open windows, planting themselves in mould-covered plaster. The walls shook as they rained down dust and debris. Tim couldn’t help but cough as a mouthful of ancient, rotten plaster dust sprayed all over his face and hair.
But for the most part, he was lucky to be in good shape. Batman had thrown himself over top of his Robin, knocking him away from the window and shielding him with his cape. So, apart from a twinge in his shoulder, Robin was perfectly fine.
“Ugh. Gross.” He muttered as he sat up on his elbows, wiping the dust off his face with one hand. “Thanks, B. I didn’t even see him pull a gun.” He admitted, rather shamefully.
“It’s important to stay vigilant, Robin. If I hadn’t been here, you would have - hng.” He cut off as he pushed himself back.
Tim paused. “B? You okay?” He asked, tentatively. His eyes slid over the Dark Knight’s form. On the surface, everything appeared to be fine. But the cape was draped over his mentor, and his mouth was set in a tight line.
“Fine.” He gritted his teeth, adjusting himself slightly to reach for the forgotten heat sensor. “He’s gone. He knew we were here.” He mumbled, fiddling with the dial to check other frequencies.
Tim wasn’t stupid. He could see the smear of blood on the scanner when Batman pulled his hand away.
He was already reaching for his emergency first-aid kit. “B. You’re hurt. We should -”
“I’m fine, Robin. We should move locations; he could be nearby.”
Tim didn’t think that was the wisest course of action. “You’re bleeding.” He stressed. He didn’t wait for permission before pulling the cape open.
One of Batman’s hands was pressing firmly to his side. Tim could see the dark blood leaking from between his fingers.
He only got hurt because he pushed you out of the way. His mind supplied. Red Hood was aiming for you. He got shot because of you.
Tim swallowed. “C’mon, B. We… We gotta patch that up, before we do anything.” He said softly.
Shockingly, Batman didn’t argue with him. Instead, he pulled himself back against a wall to allow Tim to work.
Carefully, Tim packed the wound with as much gauze as he could to try to staunch the bleeding. Flicking his comm on, he called out. “Agent A. This is Robin, come in.”
“Agent A.” The old man responded primly. “How can I help, Robin?”
“B’s hurt. Red Hood shot him. Prepare the medbay, he’ll need stitches for sure. I can’t get the bleeding to slow down.”
“Robin,” Batman grunted. “It’s fine. We can still-”
“Understood, sir.” Agent A echoed. “I will be seeing you both shortly.” The butler shut down B’s argument immediately. Nobody could ever argue with Alfred.
Keeping his hand firmly on the blood-soaked gauze, Tim did his best to pull his 250lb mentor off the ground, keeping the bulk of the man’s weight on his shoulder. “C’mon. We parked in the alley. Can you get down the fire escape?” He asked.
He didn’t think he could carry him down. If necessary, he could probably call Clark to fly him home.
Bruce would never forgive him for that.
“I’m fine, Tim, it’s only a bullet.” He grunted. The way he stumbled next didn’t inspire much hope in the teenager.
“Try telling Alfred that.” He mumbled, pulling the Dark Knight to a side window.
Once he was satisfied that the only thing occupying the alley was still the fighting cats, he gently guided the man through. “C’mon, out you go.” He urged, trying to be positive as he watched the Dark Knight valiantly climb down the fire escape.
As he slid into the Batmobile, he flicked on the autopilot.
His uneasy gaze was focused directly on the oozing bullet wound.
As they pulled from the alley, he was sure he saw a glint of Crimson metal.
The ride to the Batcave was silent, save for the occasional grunts of pain from the ferocious Bat. Tim slid his fingers to the back of the cowl, unlocking the mechanism and pulling it over Bruce’s head slowly. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and his eyebrows were scrunched together.
Overall, he looked okay, though.
“How’s it going, B?” He asked, glancing up as they crossed through the waterfall and descended into the cave.
“It’s not that bad, Tim.” He grunted. “We could have stayed out.”
“Could’ve, maybe. I’d rather you didn’t pass out from blood loss, though.” He admitted, sliding out of the car and helping Bruce to his feet.
Naturally, Alfred had already prepared the medbay and was waiting patiently with a suture kit.
“What happened?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow as Bruce begrudgingly sat down on the cot, allowing the pair to pull off the chestplate and peel the sticky underarmour off. Both were thoroughly saturated with blood.
“Red Hood. He was aiming for me… If I just noticed, B wouldn’t have had to jump in front.” Tim said, frowning.
He should have been changing, too, but he didn’t want to remove the domino. It was his only protection against them knowing his every emotion.
“Tim. That’s.” Bruce started, wincing as Alfred disinfected the wound. “I would have jumped in front, even if he wasn’t aiming at you. Even if you were paying attention.”
Tim frowned. “But I-”
“I’d take a million bullets for you. Any of you.” Bruce grunted. “There’s no world in which I’d let you get shot at, if I could prevent it.”
Shuffling where he stood, his hands tightened on the bloody material of the batsuit. “You shouldn’t have to.” He whispered.
“I didn’t have to. I chose to. You’re my son, after all. It’s what parents do.”
Tim wasn’t sure he heard properly.
You’re my son. It’s what parents do.
He had never thought of that before.
It’s what parents do.
Is it?
You’re my son.
He couldnt prevent the warmth from spreading through his chest, but he didnt think he wanted to.
To be frank, he was never truly sure where he stood when it came to being a part of the Wayne family. He always felt like an outsider, a pretender trying to play family when he didn’t belong.
He was practically a cuckoo bird, taking over the nest of an unsuspecting parent.
“Still…” he whispered, eyes cast downward. “You shouldn’t have jumped in front of the window like that. It goes against every protocol.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well. We’re lucky that I wrote those protocols, aren’t we?”
Tim gave a weak nod.
“And there are times where protocols won’t be optimal. This was one of those instances.” Alfred wrapped the wound carefully in gauze, before stepping back.
“I couldn’t put it better myself, Master Bruce.” He hummed. “Though I’d rather you both returned home without bullet wounds.”
Flushing, Tim set down the bloody suit.
“No promises, Alfie.” He murmured, warm smile spreading over his face.
He’d gladly face a barrage of bullets if it meant that Wayne Manor could remain his home.
Gladly.