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Tim might have been born and raised in Bristol but he is a Gothamite through and through. He’s survived Scarecrow gas attacks, Poison Ivy’s plant uprisings, and several attacks from various minor rogues at school. He prides himself, at age ten, at having eluded Batman himself when jumping rooftop to rooftop now that he’s back home for the summer.
Tim misses Gotham when he’s away. His parents have taken to sending him off to boarding schools for the majority of the year, afraid he’ll get up to too much mischief while they aren’t home. Little do they know that summer in Gotham is the best time of year to get into trouble. The temperature rises, driving tempers higher. Kids are everywhere, occupying their free time. Tim can slip by, unnoticed, amongst the chaos.
Like now, Tim sticks closely to a mother and her gaggle of kids. To any outsider, Tim looks like part of her brood. Or maybe a family friend who is tagging along. The bus driver doesn’t give him a second look as he boards with his backpack stuffed chock full of books from the library.
Gotham Public Library has closer branches to Bristol. One Tim could probably bike or skateboard to, if he wanted. But the central branch, in downtown Gotham, has the largest collection on archaeology. If Tim wants any chance of accompanying his parents on future digs, and seeing them more than twice a year, then he really needs to get studying.
His fancy boarding school doesn’t have any electives about archaeology. The best Tim could do was take classical studies, which was mainly teaching kids Latin and Ancient Greek. Everyone else there was way older, taking it for their SATs and ACTs or whatever, but Tim still finished the semester with the highest grade in the class.
So here Tim is, a backpack full of books about archaeology, taking a bus home to Bristol. This exact bus won’t take him all the way home. Tim will have to switch lines a few times. But it’s worth it. Besides, it isn’t like anyone is home to notice the late hour.
Tim’s heard enough from his classmates that the arrangement at Drake Manor isn’t exactly normal. His friends know so much about their parents. They go on trips together. Tim… doesn’t.
His parents love him. Tim knows this is true. Like the sky is blue and grass is green. Even if the sky in Gotham is mostly gray, and grass shows up in many different colors depending on the pollution. So maybe that’s the most reliable of metaphors. Whatever.
The bus eases to a stop and the doors open with a hiss.Tim can’t wait to get home. It is late, and he’s already had to change lines three times. He is tired, and ready to be home. Tim isn’t watching when whoever it is steps inside, but he looks up when the lady he is with gasps. Condiment King is there, expression furious.
“You have to pay the fare.” The bus driver prompts gently. The rogue scowls, smashing the fare box with one of his guns.
“None of you take me seriously!” He accuses, sweeping around the mustard gun in a wide arc. There’s a wild look in his eyes that Tim really doesn’t like.
“No one takes me seriously. Well, you’ll see! You’ll all see!” Condiment King crows.
Now, Gothamites are not an easily cowed people. Tim considers it one of the city’s best qualities. They stick together when shit goes down and they’re reasonably brave, unphased by craziness. That’s why, to no surprise, several passengers rush the villain, attempting to stop him from holding up the bus.
Unfortunately, Condiment King is really livid. He knocks one guy down to the floor, and throws the other guy off the bus entirely. The one on the floor tries to get back up. Condiment King shoves the gun into the man’s mouth. Mustard is pouring out the sides, he’s choking, and King doesn’t stop. The bus driver floors it, which loosens the man’s grip.
The passenger guy chokes, coughing and puking on the floor of the bus. His eyes are streaming and nose is running. There’s a little blood mixed in too.
The mood of the bus has shifted. Condiment King isn’t really one of the rogues that most Gothamites take seriously. After all, he is more inconvenience than threat. But, apparently, he has chosen tonight to change that.
The passenger scrambles away, still hacking. The bus driver keeps driving, blowing past stops with people waiting. Tim feels a cold dread settle in his gut.
Gotham whizzes by in the windows and Tim starts thinking through ways he can help. He is small. He can go unnoticed. Maybe he can sneak by and help? He’s too small to fight the guy. And too small to drive the bus. But he is not too small to slip around him and unhook the guns, maybe.
Condiment King has largely turned his attention to the driver now. One gun trained on him, ketchup, and the other trained on his fellow passengers. Tim inches forward, avoiding the mess. He stays out of King’s line of sight. It isn’t hard. Tim is slight, reedy thin. He takes after his mother that way, or so people say. Anyway, he has lots of practice going unnoticed. If Tim can avoid Batman, he can avoid Condiment King.
Tim keeps his touch light and his expression solemn. One of the mothers, clutching her own children tightly to her, shakes her head at him slightly. She looks terrified. But Tim plows on. He’s scared, absolutely, just like she is. But he might be one of the few people on this bus capable of helping. He’s not gonna just do nothing.
So Tim inches forward. He slips his hand towards Condiment King’s utility belt. He hooks a finger lightly where the tube meets the reserve of dressings. Tugging just enough, Tim unhooks the tube. One gun down, one to go. Mentally, Tim fist pumps.
Then the driver slams on the breaks and Tim flies forward, crashing into the villain. Condiment King smells like he showers in relish and horseradish sauce. Tim has to force himself not to gag.
“What the hell did ya do that fer?” Condiment King demands, shoving Tim off him and onto the ground. Thankfully, he misses the puddle of sick from before.
“There’s someone in the road.” The driver explains timidly. “One of those bats.”
“A bat?” Condiment King repeats excitedly. Then, after a moment, his face falls. “But not Batman. Nobody is ever gonna take me seriously. Batman is sending his fucking child to do his job!”
Condiment King spies Tim on the floor. Tim stares up at him, trying to look appropriately frightened. The man rakes his gaze over Tim, calculatingly. Shit.
Batgirl forces the front doors open at the same time that Robin gets the back set. The other passengers flee immediately. Tim gets snatched up by Condiment King, the remaining gun stuck in his face.
Well, Tim thinks ruefully, this is what he gets for trying to help.
“Come any closer and I’ll drown the kid in mustard!” Condiment King warns as both Batgirl and Robin board the bus. Tim locks eyes with Robin, trying to make himself the most sympathetic hostage he can. Choking to death on mustard is not how Tim wants to go.
Robin gives Tim a smile, which is probably meant to be reassuring. It isn’t, given that there’s still a gun in his face. But it does help a little. Robin's smiles are a little crooked. The original Robin, who Tim is pretty sure is the new vigilante Nightwing, had more of an impish smile. Like he thrived off ruining the plans of various Gotham villains and making them suffer horrendous puns.
Speaking of, a flash of blue and the glimmer of that devilish smile from the shadows outside the bus indicates that the two vigilantes on the bus are not the only bats present. Tim wishes he had his camera. Maybe he can hack into the bus line and local shops’ CCTV and take screen shots. Nightwing patrols with Batgirl or with Robin, but all three together? Tim’s been dying to get more group shots in his collection.
“How dare Batman disrespect me by sending you runts!” Condiment King roars. Tim squirms in his grip, writhing. “I deserve the real deal!”
“You’re an idiot!” Tim protests, weighing the pros and cons of sinking his teeth into the man’s arm. “And you smell like a shitty hoagie!”
Robin cackles and Batgirl looks horrified, but Tim feels better. This asshole ruined what was a perfectly peaceful night time bus ride. He can suck eggs.
“Why you little-” Condiment King begins. But Tim jabs his elbow as hard as he can into the man’s sternum. He raises a foot and kicks back for good measure, nailing the guy in the gonads.
Condiment King goes down in a heap, with Tim trapped beneath him. Inches from the vomit beginning to dry into the vinyl flooring of the bus, he does his best to hold his breath. The driver, now free from threat, helps lift Condiment King off Tim. Batgirl hoists him up and clear of any of the grossness. Next thing he knows, Tim is being swept away from the scene. None of the other bus passengers have stuck around, or maybe Nightwing cleared the area. Tim isn’t sure.
He is sure that he’s missed his chance, though. Not likely to get a picture of all three of them now. Definitely not getting Batman in there as well. Man, this sucks.
“You alright kid?” Batgirl asks kindly. Her smile is warm, and she seems genuine. But Tim can’t help but wonder why. He got held hostage by Condiment King after stupidly getting within arm’s reach. That hardly counts as a traumatic incident.
“I’m fine.” Tim grumbles. “Pissed I got grabbed but fine.”
“Okay.” Batgirl accepts, but she doesn’t set Tim down. Robin approaches, carrying Tim’s back pack. It slipped off when Tim slammed into Condiment King. It looks intact, but Tim has to check.
Robin hands it over, and Batgirl lets Tim down to dig through his bag. All the books are there. No sign of mustard or anything else on any of the books. Tim lets out a relieved sigh.
Robin and Batgirl exchange a pointed look. Tim just catches the tail end of whatever silent conversation they were having while standing over him. Whatever, he doesn’t need to care about it. Tim takes hold of his bag, carefully, and shuffles his feet briefly. Neither Batgirl nor Robin clock it, so Tim takes off.
He hauls down the road as fast as he can. Both Batgirl and Robin chase after him, calling out for him to stop. Nightwing drops down from the sky, landing in front of Tim. He skids, pivoting his direction and weaving his way through the maze of old streets and alleyways.
Tim manages to lose them, or so he thinks. He keeps running. He slips into the shadows, huffing and puffing. Tim is so busy looking over his shoulder for the bats chasing after him that he runs right into a solid wall of muscle.
For the second time tonight, Tim falls back on his butt and his bag slips from his shoulders. A dark shadow towers over him. This time, however, it's Batman.
Batman looks down at Tim. His expression softens, the whites in his cowl rounding and widening. Slowly, he crouches down. Kneeling, Batman offers Tim a large gloved hand to help him off the ground.
Tim thinks about swatting it. About biting it. About crawling away on all fours like a feral gremlin. But his books are scattered on the ground, his ratty backpack giving way to the weight of the heavy tomes. Tim can’t leave without his books.
So Tim takes Batman’s hand, hesitant. Batman pulls Tim to his feet and then lets go. He doesn’t try to push Tim or hold onto him longer than necessary, which he appreciates. It was nice when Batgirl held him earlier, but Tim is used to only getting hugs twice a year. He’s hit his quota of human contact for the day, the month even.
Batman sits there. He doesn’t press Tim for answers. He just slowly helps Tim pick up his books, stacking them in his arms. Tim lets Batman hold them because, frankly, ‘Batman stole my library books’ might be enough of an excuse in Gotham to get any late fees waived.
“Are you alright?” Batman asks gently as he and Tim walk to the end of the alleyway. Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl are all posted down the street. They don’t approach. They don’t call out. They give Tim his space.
“I’m fine.” Tim snaps. He shouldn’t. He isn’t upset with Batman. But his night is ruined, his backpack is broken, and the longer he stays out tonight, the higher that this gets back to his parents somehow. Tim isn’t exactly sure how’d they take it, but he knows it wouldn’t be good.
“Anyway, Thank you for your help, Batman, sir. But I gotta go.” Tim insists. He tries grabbing the books from Batman, but his arms aren’t big enough to carry all of them. Tim drops one, and Robin is suddenly at his side, carrying it.
Nightwing and Batgirl grab books too. All of the bats are helping Tim carry them now. It must look ridiculous. Crime fighters helping a ten year old with his summer reading.
“I just need to get home.” Tim says softly, looking down at his scuffed sneakers. “My parents will totally kill me if they hear about this.”
“Were they not on the bus with you?” Batman inquires, curious. Tim chews on his bottom lip. He could lie to Batman, but there is no guarantee that’ll work this time.
“No.” Tim answers, determined not to elaborate further. There, he answered. He told the truth. Batman can let it go.
“Then where are they?” Batman asks. “We should let them know you’re safe. I’m sure they’re worried.”
“They aren’t.” Tim snaps bitterly. “And they don’t know I’m gone. I just need to get home, okay?”
“Okay.” Batman accepts dumbly. Tim walks briskly, a little ahead of the others. The only one who can keep pace with him is Robin.
Eventually, they hit a cross street and Tim has to admit that he isn’t quite sure where he is. With the bus going off route, at speed, and all that running, Tim seems to have gotten himself all turned around. He stops, staring at the street sign, trying not to cry.
This sucks. This whole night sucks. Tim finally meets his heroes, only when in danger of losing his life to fucking Condiment King. Now they’re stuck helping Tim lug his stupid books around for his stupid pipe dream that probably won’t ever happen because his parents won’t be home for another six months to ask about it anyway.
“You said your name is Tim, right?” Robin asks suddenly, pulling Tim from his thoughts.
“Huh?” Tim responds dumbly. He doesn’t remember telling anyone his name. Not even the librarian since he used a fake name on his card to check out his books.
“Your name.” Robin insists. “It’s Tim, right?”
Tim narrows his eyes at Robin. He figured out Batman and Robin’s identities, the first Robin, two years ago. Bruce Wayne, and his ward, Dick Grayson. It was actually kind of easy. This Robin has to be the new Wayne kid, Jason Todd. He helped Bruce when was getting carjacked or whatever. Batgirl is the only one Tim isn’t a thousand percent sure about. Although he’s had his suspicions about Commissioner Gordon’s daughter.
“I’m not telling you, Jason.” Tim hisses. Robin stills. Nightwing and Batgirl, who had been inconspicuously flirting, both go silent. Batman is as stoic as ever.
Maybe Tim should’ve waited to play that card, leveraging it when he was really stuck. But Tim is tired. And today sucked. And honestly, they really need to be better about the whole secret identity thing.
“How’d you know my name?” Robin demands.
“How’d you know mine?” Tim shoots back. He might be almost a foot shorter, but Tim steps into Jason’s space anyway.
“So it is Tim, then, isn’t it?” Dick interjects. His tone is cheery, but there is an undercurrent of warning. Tim takes a step back. He feels everyone lower their defenses just a tad.
“Yes.” Tim admits, sighing. “And before you ask, yeah, I know the rest of you. I figured it out like two years ago.”
“Two years?” Dick screeches. His face looks pale. Tim snickers, almost rolling his eyes. His panic about finding a way home is completely forgotten.
“What? Like it was hard?” Tim asks, teasing. “Pretty sure Batgirl had it figured out before I did.”
Batgirl breaks out a megawatt smile. She nods in confirmation and nudges Nightwing with her shoulder gently. Dick’s body language relaxes again, practically melting.
Batman steps forward, gingerly, but his imposing presence dampens the mood instantly. Tim’s smile drops. He stares down at his sneakers.
“How old are you, Tim?” Batman asks softly. Tim shrugs.
“Ten.” He mumbles. Is Batman mad? Is he embarrassed? Tim’s mind races as he tries to anticipate what comes next. But no amount of thinking would have prepared him for what actually came next.
Batman bends down to be eye to eye with Tim. Or eye to cowl, really. “Tonight would have been a lot for anyone, even an adult. You’re very resilient.” Batman commends him. Tim stands there, in shock, brain buffering.
“I’m sorry?” He stutters out. Robin is grinning at Tim now.
“I think Timantha and I need to have a kids only meeting.” Robin declares, pushing the books he was carrying into Dick’s arms. He shovels Tim’s load into Batman’s arms. Then he snags Tim by the arm and leads him into a nearby alleyway.
“Sorry,” Jason says hastily. “B can get all gooey and forget that kids are tough sometimes. Pretty ironic, huh?”
Tim’s head spins. This has been a night. First the bus, now Tim is having a one on one conversation with Robin? And Batman thinks he’s resilient? What the fuck?
“What’s a kids only meeting?” Tim asks instead of the millions of questions swirling around in his brain.
“Its where you ‘n I have a talk. Kid to kid. No lame-o adults allowed.” Robin explains, raising his voice just enough for the others to hear. Dick looks offended. Jason just turns around and sticks his tongue out at him. Batman steps between the two and says something to Nightwing that calms him down.
“Okay, Tim, time to get real.” Jason says, leaning in. “What’s a Bristol kid doin’ in this part of town this late at night?”
“It wasn’t this late when everything started.” Tim huffs, crossing his arms. “I was at the library picking up the books I put on hold.”
“Okay.” Jason accepts easily. “And why didn’t your parents take ya?”
“Because they’re busy.” Tim answers, evading. The whites of Jason’s domino narrow.
“Too busy to accompany their seven year old to the library?” Jason asks, doubtful.
“I’m ten!” Tim bristles. Jason holds up both hands in a placating gesture.
“I’m sorry, my bad.” He offers. Tim takes a deep breath and holds it before letting it out. It helps, slightly.
“Why do you guys even care anyway?” Tim asks, exasperated. Jason smiles at Tim sympathetically, like his teachers do when he misses a joke all the older kids get.
“Here.” Robin offers. It’s Tim’s phone. He hadn’t even noticed it was missing. There’s mustard and a little glob of ketchup on it, but it’s relatively unharmed. It is, also, unlocked. Someone, probably Robin, has been snooping.
In consolation, or more likely something else, Jason also hands Tim a batarang.
“I was pretty close to your age when my parents weren’t around anymore.” Jason shares slowly. His fingers fidget with his utility belt. “Adults are ‘posed to stick around, y’know?”
Tim recognizes the ruse. Offer vulnerability to connect with the subject. Establish rapport. Gain trust. Then mine them for information.
But there is something so genuine in Jason’s expression, in the shakiness of his voice, that Tim actually believes him. Absent-mindedly, Tim fidgets with the batarang. He lets it fly, sticking into the opposite wall, pierced in the mortar between two bricks.
“Nice toss.” Jason compliments easily. Tim nods. Still contemplating his words.
“What are your parents busy with?” Robin asks after a moment.
Tim shrugs. “Their dig in Bolivia.” He answers after a while. He immediately feels a sharp panic and guilt. Tim isn’t supposed to answer that question truthfully, ever. At least, not while he’s in the city. When he’s away at school, Tim can answer it. If his parents would tell him about their travels, he could be honest. He just doesn’t get the chance to.
Robin eases the guilt and the panic. He takes Tim’s shaking hands in his own, giving them a soft squeeze.
“Cool.” He says calmly, grinning. Tim can’t see his eyes, but he’s pretty sure there is a mischievous glint behind the mask. “Then you’ll just stay with us until they’re back.”
“Us?” Tim questions, knees feeling wobbly. The events of the night seem to be catching up with him. Batman walks back within earshot, a small frown on his face.
“Everything alright?” Batman asks, more to Robin than to Tim. Robin gives him a thumbs up, still clutching Tim’s other hand. Pins and needles run up Tim’s arm in a warm fuzzy way. The feeling is unfamiliar but not painful.
“We know you know, Tim.” Jason says, nudging Tim’s slight shoulder with his own. “You’re coming with us.” Batman approaches, ushering them both toward the curb.
“But-” Tim begins to protest. He quiets immediately when Batman raises a hand.
“Tim, we cannot, in good conscience, leave you alone. Either we take you home now, or we come by tomorrow with DCS.” Batman says calmly. “It’s just until your parents get back.”
“Fine. But this isn’t an adoption.” Tim instructs sternly, pointing at both of them. “I am not your next child.” Batgirl and Nightwing are hiding their laughs poorly. Batman doesn’t react to their mocking. He seems entirely focused on Tim.
“Understood.” Batman says, with a small chuckle, as the Batmobile pulls up.
They all pile into the car. At first, Tim thought they were just gonna load his books in and continue patrol. But all four of them ride back to the cave with Tim.
Of course, because Tim can never know peace, the ride back is eventful. Thankfully, this time, his transportation is unaffected by any rogue attacks. Just Nightwing and Robin ribbing each other. Batgirl joining in. All three of them making fun of Batman.
“Who’s your favorite, Tim?” Dick asks. His tone is cheery and searching. Tim swallows harshly. He isn’t sure if this will upset everyone, but he answers honestly.
“Robin has always been my favorite.” Tim admits shyly, shrugging. “No offense, Batman.” Batman seems unbothered. He glances up at Jason and Dick, respectively.
“I don’t get the panties though.” He tacks on, staring at the floor.
Batgirl guffaws. Dick looks heartbroken. “It’s the leotard, not panties!” Dick exclaims. Jason just grins like a manic.
“I knew I’d like you!” Jason exclaims, smacking Tim on the shoulder. He cackles at Tim’s bewildered expression. Dick’s expression softens.
“Oh really?” Nightwing asks, smirking. He nudges Tim. “What’s your favorite thing about Robin then? Not the uniform, obviously.” The teasing tone makes both Tim and Jason go a little pink. Dick doesn’t look like he is going to let this go, so Tim tries his best to answer.
“I like Robin ‘cuz he helps.” Tim explains shyly. Robin, regardless of who is wearing the suit, helps. He provides hope. He literally proves that kids can do important stuff too. No matter how helpless it feels when all the adults around you make all the decisions, Robin’s very existence means that you can do the scary thing.
Before Robin put on a cape, Batman was a scary run of the mill themed weirdo in Gotham. But Robin, dressed in bright colors and cracking jokes, is different. He’s a kid. He fights, he helps. Robin isn’t helpless. He isn’t powerless to the whims of the world around him like Tim is. Robin is a goddamn hero.
“Like when you beat Crazy Quilt that one time, just with your quips.” Tim adds, staring down at his hands which are clasped tightly in his lap. “Or when Jason totally nailed that rapist in the back of the head with a rock.”
The batmobile grows quiet, but Tim can’t stop. He’s on a roll now.
“Robin is cool.” Tim rambles. “He can do stuff that other kids can’t do. Like - …. Like get adopted by Batman after stealing his tires or taking down Penguin by himself when he is ‘posed to be on bedrest with a broken wrist.”
Tim forces himself to stop talking. His ears burn. No one is saying anything. He can feel the disappointment wafting off Batman. Oh no. Oh, Tim just made things like ten times worse, didn’t he?
Tim’s breathing quickens of its own volition. His chest catches in what might just be a small sob. Tim isn’t sure. Somebody unbuckles themselves. Then, they clamber over the seats to Tim.
Batgirl takes a second, pausing to let Tim see her coming. Then she unbuckles Tim, pulling him onto her lap. Her arms are tight around him, solid. He could still escape her hold, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. She smells nice and her soft red hair tickles Tim’s face.
“It’s okay.” She soothes gently. “Just breathe with me. That’s your only job, alright?”
Tim tries. He really, really does. Her lungs are much bigger than his. Thankfully, it seems to help anyway.
By the time Tim begins to feel normal again, the batmobile is slowing down. Outside the window, solid rock flashes past. A brief hint of light is all the warning they get before the Batcave comes into view. The car pulls to a stop and reality hits Tim like a careening freight train. The Batcave!
Robotically, distracted by taking it all in, Tim files out of the batmobile with the rest of them. He is going to stay with Batman and Robin. He is going to be living with his neighbors. If he’s lucky, Dick might even come to visit.
Alfred, the Wayne butler, kneels down to greet Tim, even though they’ve met before. He escorts Tim to the medbay and onto ‘their least scratchiest cot’ according to Dick. Tim will take his word for it. Alfred and Tim go through a few tests, like a check up at the doctor’s office, while the others disperse to do other stuff. When they’re done, Tim gets a cookie. Chocolate chip, and one of the tastiest that he’s ever had.
All of Tim’s archaeology books are stacked carefully on a table in the cave. They are all laid out so Tim can read them anytime he wants. Tim runs a finger over the raised lettering on the spine of one, letting the feeling ground him.
Jason clears his throat. He is waiting at the foot of a stone staircase, already showered and changed. Tim wanders over, taking his time to gawk at the massive penny.
“You ready to check out your room?” Jason asks, wriggling his eyebrows at Tim. “It’s next to mine in the family wing.”
“Oh no, that’s okay.” Tim assures, confused. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I can just stay in a guest room or something.”
“Inconvenience?” Batman repeats from behind. Both Tim and Jason jump, having not noticed his approach. “No, chum, we’re more than happy to have you.”
The man ruffles Tim’s hair, and ushers them both upstairs. The contact baffles Tim. Turns out, the Waynes are huggers, based on how Mr. Wayne scoops Jason up in his arms up the stairs. Jason giggles and waves from his perch on his dad’s shoulders. Tim waves back shyly.
They finally make it up the stairs, and into the manor proper. Jason leads Tim to ‘his room’. Clothes in his size are already laid out on the bed. A well loved stuffed elephant rests on the pillow at the head of the bed. A book, Emma, is placed carefully on the bedside table. A small sticky note is also there, with a smiling bat cowl drawn on it, with two phone numbers on it. One is labeled Dick and the other ‘Babs’. Tim grins. He has confirmation for his theory that Barbara Gordon is Batgirl, straight from the source.
All in all, his night has been insane. Tim takes heart, though, that he truly has a Gotham story to beat all Gotham stories. Who else can say that they helped take down a rogue, got a ride from Batman, and then stayed the night at Wayne Manor? No one would believe it.
Tim could thank Condiment King, since he was the reason for all of this in the first place. But he won’t. Fuck Condiment King. Even if he did change Tim’s life for the better.