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How to Make a Best Friend, Step One: A Brick
He hadn’t been Robin long, only a few months. Selina was still mad at him for doing it, but things were going pretty well.
Alfred knew who he was from the start; you couldn’t hide anything from the magical man.
Bruce was… Well, Tim would be blunt about it, as he always was.
Bruce was a bitch with a capital B.
Tim wouldn’t call him abusive; he only hit him during training (and he came close that one time Tim poured his alcohol down the drain), though, he hit hard.
Hard enough to sprain things.
Fun fact!
Bruce gave him a concussion bad enough that a healing power appeared. So, Bruce didn’t even notice he was hitting that hard since the injuries never showed.
Selina also didn’t notice, but she kept sending him sad and concerned looks.
Tim hated it.
He wished he could just fix everything.
Anyway.
After he’d called Tim Jason again, he sent him on a stakeout mission since he couldn’t stand seeing him.
He didn’t really know how to feel about Bruce despising him so much.
Dick just didn’t come by the manor. Tim had only seen him once since he became Robin.
But Bruce was there, and he actively hated him.
That’s one of the reasons he always sent him off by himself.
He was either yelling at him, hitting him, or ignoring him.
Alfred said if he did one more thing, he was going to slap sense into the man.
Did Tim mention he loved Alfred?
His thoughts cut off when he noticed someone slinking through the empty warehouse. They messed with a few crates, then started running off.
Hmm? He always did love a game of cat and mouse.
He began chasing someone clad in all purple—and such a pretty shade, too—across the rooftops of Gotham.
He tackled them to the ground (roof?), and they shot out a high-pitched yelp.
“Hi, there, masked figure. Can I ask why you were breaking into a warehouse that seemingly doesn’t belong to you in the middle of the night?”
They twisted in his grip, wiggling and trying to escape.
He began to speak again when a brick hit him in the jaw.
That hurt.
It reminded him of Bruce.
“I love your outfit,” he added.
It was flashy, but not too flashy. And the purple was dark enough to sneak around easily.
They stopped, fully still.
“I just hit you in the face with a brick, and you tell me you love my outfit?”
Tim shrugged.
“My bro—friend put Skittles in my braids when I was seven after calling me a monkey, and I still love him. And I like all the purple.”
“...Thank you?”
He let go of them and held out a hand to shake.
“I’m Robin, by the way.”
They took it hesitantly.
“Spoiler.”
“So,” he stood up and twisted to look at the warehouse. “Why were you breaking into a warehouse. You don’t look like any of his goons, their outfits are way uglier, and they don’t sound as young.”
They followed him in standing, still wary.
They were a few inches taller than he was, but basically everyone was, except kids.
“Remember my name? I’m spoiling his shit.”
“So you’re a vigilante?”
They nodded.
Then stopped.
“You’re not gonna send me into the Big Bad Bats, are you?”
He paused to think.
According to protocol, he should. According to protocol, he shouldn’t be having a civil conversation with them, either.
“No, he’s been a jerk recently, and it’s not like you’re doing anything bad. You’re not fighting people and putting yourself in danger.”
They cackled.
“What type of Robin are you?”
He grinned, walking over to the edge of the roof.
“Who says I’m a Robin?”
And he let himself fall, disappearing into the night.
Jason would have said he was more dramatic than any theater kid he’d ever met.
The next time he saw Spoiler, it wasn’t quite a good time.
He’d been arguing with Batman.
The man was being too reckless, almost got himself shot.
Tim had barely been able to take the guy out before the gun went off.
Then Batman hit him across the face.
He stumbled, his nose bled.
Then, he left.
Left Tim in the alley to make it back by himself.
Did this count as training?
On patrol training? Testing his reflexes?
Yeah, that’s what it was.
Just training.
“Dude, what the fuck was that?!”
Called a familiar voice.
Tim turned and saw Spoiler coming down from a fire escape.
“What was what?” he wiped at the blood running from his nose.
He was too tired to heal himself. Anymore, and he might pass out.
“That!” They pointed at his nose. “He just punched you in the face! I’ve never seen Batman hit a kid like that, especially not a Robin!”
Tim paused for a second, staring at their masked face.
“It was just training; he was testing my reflexes.”
He couldn’t quite tell, but it seemed their jaw had dropped.
“Didn’t look like training to me,” they stepped closer again.
“He just… hits a bit hard sometimes.”
They pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to him.
He took it.
“Thanks, Spoiler.”
Their odd meetings continued like that. Some at random, sometimes, Spoiler would seek her out to give—or for—information.
This time, though, they were eating a midnight snack.
“Batman hit you again?” She asked (Trixie found out she was a girl on the third meeting), motioning to her cheek.
Trixie reached up where a few scratches rested.
“Would you believe me if I told you this was due to a cat and monkey fighting over what drama show to watch next?”
She couldn’t tell what face the other girl was making, but she thinks it was surprise.
“No, no, I would not. But seeing as you’re the bluntest, most honest person I know, I do.”
Trixie grinned.
“Is that a compliment, or an insult?”
Spoiler sighed.
“Can’t it be both?”
By now, she'd actually called them best friends on multiple occasions.
“That’s not fucking training, Birdie, it’s abuse.”
“It’s not, Spoiler! It is training! He didn’t abuse any of the Robins before me. Why would he start now?”
“Maybe because Batman’s lost it?”
He flipped around.
“He—he just needs somewhere else to take his anger out. At least he's not beating petty thieves into the ground now.”
“Yeah, that’s because he’s beating you,” she grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Look at me,” he did, albeit reluctantly.
Then, she pulled off her mask.
Her hair was golden locks, she had light skin, but not as fair as Tim’s, and her eyes were as blue as the sky, close to what Jason’s had been.
“I’m your best friend, I need you to trust me when I tell you this isn’t training, and a grown ass man shouldn’t be taking his anger out on anyone, let alone his kid that’s not even tall enough to see over the steering wheel.”
“Hey! I’ll be old enough to drive in a bit over a year, and I’m not his kid!”
She stared into his soul; even with the domino mask, he felt naked.
He looked away.
“F—fine. I’ll try and talk to him or something.”
He landed on the roof beside her.
“Did you talk to him?”
He nodded.
“And how did it go?”
“Well,” he sat beside her.
“At first, it started as a big argument, then Agent A came in and punched him square in the face, but he had been on a call with Nightwing, so then he started questioning shit and came to the cave. It got too loud, and I kinda ran off.”
She blinked at him.
“That’s… I hope that’s good?”
“Me too.”
They sat in silence after that, watching the lights of Gotham.
“My real name is Stephanie. I go by Steph.”
He looked at her, lips slightly parted, then looked away.
Batman would be really angry if he knew what happened next.
Tim removed his mask, letting the shifted blue drop from his right eye, and looked back at her.
“I’m Tim, usually, at least.”
It looked like she’d just seen magic when she looked in his eyes, then she grinned.
“Is ‘usually’ for when you’re Robin?”
He shook his head, that seemed to throw her off.
“Usually is for when I’m something else. Tim for when I’m a boy, and my birth name, Trixie, for when I’m a girl, or in the middle. Mostly Tim, though.”
For some reason, coming out felt a lot scarier this time.
“So you’re…?” She leaned a bit closer, as if inspecting a puzzle.
“Transgender, genderfluid. Usually a boy,” his voice shook the lightest bit.
Steph flung an arm over his shoulders.
“Cool. Which is it right now?”
He looked into his lap, the widest smile in forever gracing his lips.
“Tim,” voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, Tim, it’s nice to officially meet you.”
The grin on her face was audible.