Chapter Text
Tim’s 16th birthday started out well. He was actually reminded of it by friends, which was a pleasant surprise. Batman didn’t remember it, which made sense. Tim was his soldier, like Jason had been. A commanding officer doesn’t give birthday gifts to their soldiers.
Then there was the mysterious box.
Tim figured it out after days of paranoia, sleeplessness, fear and the horrible, nauseating weight of total failure on his shoulders, later. It was a test, one set up by Batman and Agent A! He was angry and screamed and carried on.
He was embarrassed later when he rethought the situation only to realize it wasn’t a hoax, a crueltest, it was a lesson! Situational awareness and hyper vigilance were essential in their lives. It was a kindness, meant to help Tim develop the needed skill.
Once he realized that, Tim silently apologized for his ingratitude by repaying the favor, to help Batman and Agent A refresh their skills.
The spring loaded kitchen drawer that landed meat mallets on Agent A’s foot was quite clever, Tim thought. It made him jump, which had to be good for his cardiovascular system- important for an older man.
Smashing Batman’s ‘Best Dad’ mug into ceramic shards, and placing a sharp bit in his left Bat Boot was a good way to keep him on his toes.
Replacing Batman’s sugar with salt in his coffee, and coffee grounds mixed into Agent A’s tea collection resulted in some interesting arguments, with Dick taking the blame because Tim was always honestly confused by the ‘accidents’.
One thing the Drakes had taught him long before he ever met Batman was how to lie with absolutely zero physical tells. He now fondly recalled his childhood lessons with the polygraph machine. He hadn’t considered it would be particularly useful when he forced his way to become Robin, but then, it’s the sort of skill that applies to all business, really.
Damian al Ghul showed up. Tim had high hopes a child raised by assassins would be fully trained, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Damian quite loudly warned Tim he was hostile, thereby removing even the slightest potential slackening of Tim’s awareness.
Not that Tim was ever unaware. He’d trained his subconscious to listen for danger in his sleep, and his mind to interpret any shadows across his closed eyelids in his sleep. Naturally, he slept with the light on. He explained it to Batman and Agent A as a childish fear of the dark and played up his neglectful childhood history to sell it. Really, his parents had been great, they’d given him the tools to become his own person without babying him and wasting his formative years on hugs and other behaviors designed to help primates overcome their homicidal instincts in order to live in groups, semi-peaceably.
Damian was however, nearly quick enough to dodge when Tim rolled over ‘sleepily’ with a sharp batarang in hand.
It was fun for a while, with Damian helping Tim hone his awareness with sneak stabbing attacks, but when he poisoned Tim’s breakfast oatmeal, Damian was distracted by Tim throwing his voice to make it sound as if a cat was in the breakfast nook. Switching the bowls took a fraction of an instant. Tim groaning and clutching at his stomach reassured Damian, who ate his poisoned serving. You fail, Damian.
Dick immediately noticed Damian’s collapse and picked the child up. He blamed Tim, but fortunately the vial of poison fell out of Damian’s pocket, making it obvious who’d put the poison in the oatmeal.
Tim accompanied them to the hospital where he sadly informed them that he’d suspected Damian was not settling in well to his new environment. He gently pushed up Damian’s sleeves to show all the thin slices which certainly looked like self-harm. Damian had undoubtedly been embarrassed to admit he’d earned each stripe as a lesson for each failed attack on Tim. He let them draw their own conclusions. Poor child, he really wasn’t up to the challenge of living in Gotham, so different from being the Prince, the Heir, his mother’s pampered pet.
Later Tim learned Damian had escaped the watch the hospital put on him, and disappeared, leaving a note telling them he was returning to Nanda Parbat where he was appreciated. It was for the best.
Dick was still suspicious of Tim, but since he mainly worked in Bludhaven, Tim didn’t feel it was his responsibility to hone Dick’s survival skills.
A new Crime Boss appeared, wearing a ridiculous metal helmet. Red Hood, but it wasn’t even a HOOD, so the name was stupid, too. If he wanted armor, his whole outfit should be armored. Maybe he thought he was ugly? The bar in Gotham was really, really low, though, with Joker and Killer Croc and Two-Face, so if he thought he was uglier than that, Tim didn’t want to look under it.
Batman ordered Tim to Titans Tower because this Red Hood made specific threats against Robin. The Batcave was far more secure than the Tower, so Tim figured it was another training session. Probably Batman would ‘accidentally’ give Hood access to the Zeta tube from Gotham to the Tower, so Tim could practice self-defense in an ambush situation.
Tim liked his fellow Young Justice team members. They were all metas, so they didn’t need situational awareness training, as most things either couldn’t hurt them, or would get them even if they knew they were there. Kryptonite radiation, for instance. They were kind enough to assume he was fully trained, and the only jump scares he got were unavoidable results of Bart’s super speed.
That environment could have made Tim careless, so it was thoughtful of Batman to send the Red Hood after him. He wasn’t much of a challenge, though. Hood’s dramatic reading and stripping gave Tim plenty of time to jab him in the throat with his electrified Bo staff set at Sizzle.
The stripping was puzzling. Maybe Batman hired a Villain-Strip-A-Gram? Tim decided to be gentle with him, because maybe Batman would have to pay damages. So he took Hood to the medical unit and stripped him down to the skin to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself when he slammed into the coffee maker on the kitchen counter.
The Hood had a fake autopsy scar? Scars, sure, lots of Gothamites go in for scarification, but that’s a creepy body mod. Except for the scars he wasn’t ugly. Tim had seen pretty blue-green eyes go nice and wide when he was shocked. He also had a cute white fashionable lock of hair. Actor down on his luck? That would explain hiring on as a rent-a-villain-strip-a-gram.
Tim decided to check that out later. Sounded like a good business opportunity.
He carefully restrained Hood before waking him up. “Good job,” he said consolingly, feeling sorry for an actor driven so low. “I’ll make sure Batman gives you a bonus, to make up for the tazing. No hard feelings?”
Hood cried then. Tim felt really bad when Hood claimed that he was really Jason Todd, the second Robin, who was dead, and a lot shorter than him. But good try. Tim patted him on the shoulder. It was a very sad story. Not really as believable as Tim’s 16th birthday lesson, but Hood gave it his all. Pure Method Acting, obviously he had spent years refining his technique.
Tim Zetaed back to Gotham with Hood in tow and was surprised when Batman verified he really was Jason Todd, not Clayface or a hired actor. So, that meant the villain-strip-a-gram business was an open field. Good to know. Tim intended, once he graduated from vigilante-ism, to get into the much more cut-throat world of business.
Tim decided to take Jason under his wing. Obviously he was sadly in need of situational awareness, vigilance and distrust lessons, having been fooled by his mother and then by Talia. Maybe he had a weakness for mother figures? Tim was glad his mother wouldn’t have stood for that nonsense.
Dick came and was embarrassingly emo. Tim was just… *sigh*
Batman went out and was supposedly killed by an evil Space God of Chaos, or whatever. Tim didn’t buy it for an instant. He’d bet dollars to donuts that Batman had just fucked off for an extended holiday. Dick didn’t believe him. Jason didn’t either, but he was Tim’s protege now, and so he helped Tim gaslight the Justice League into getting off their shiny spandex’ed asses, to find Batman and drag him home. If Tim didn't get days off, he didn't see why Batman should.
Really, people could be so gullible. Maybe Tim should lead a seminar on marketing scams aimed at Superheroes. He’d be embarrassed if Wonder Woman tried to join a multi-level marketing scam. Pyramids are bad, Diana, stick to your Amazonian/Greek temples.
Tim was excellent at lessons.