Chapter Text
Tim holds his breath. His knees starting to become sore from sitting on the rooftop, even through the fabric of his cargo pants. His camera held up to his face, fingers capturing the moment Batman and Robin bust the drug ring across the street. His hoodie over his head, keeping his ears warm despite the slight chill of the Gotham night.
It wasn’t particularly cold in September. But Tim tended to run cold. Maybe it was because he was small, even compared to kids his own age. He was healthy, or Tim assumed he was, so it was just genetics that kept him small. Jack Drake wasn’t a tall man. Neither was his father before him.
Tim perked up when he heard a familiar thwip nearby. Despite doing his vigilante-journalism (Batwatching, as he had come to mentally call it) for over a year now, he still felt that jolt of excitement whenever he heard the sound of the Bats’ grapples.
He ducked below the parapet, camera clutched to his chest and elbows jutting out. Tim sits back up after a moment, capturing a few pictures of Batman and Robin on the roof of the rundown factory across the street.
He turns his shutter-speed up, capturing images faster. His nose scrunched when the heroes dropped down through an open skylight. How could Tim capture pictures if they were inside?
He could sneak inside. It would be dangerous but–
Tim’s thoughts were interrupted by muffled gunfire and shouts.
Maybe he wouldn’t do that.
Tim sighs, shifting around to sit with his back against the half-wall. He releases his grip on his camera, letting it rest against his chest. Tim grabs his worn backpack from beside him, unzipping it and grabbing his half-empty water bottle and a granola bar. He eats and sips at his water while checking the pictures he took.
The pictures weren’t half bad. If Tim was honest, he’d say he was even proud of them. They needed some touching up, but nothing out of the normal. Editing the pictures was part of the fun.
He finishes off his water and granola, before shoving his trash into his backpack. Tim carefully packs his camera into its protective case, before setting it in his backpack. He zips up the bag, sliding both straps over his shoulders and making his way down the rusty, creaking fire escape.
Tim drops into the dirty alley way, cringing at the soft thud. He’s been working more on his stealth, and has improved since he first started batwatching. But he was still too loud, and not invisible enough. Especially if he were to hit puberty soon, and grow. He would lose his small-stature advantage for stealth.
Tim pushes the thoughts out of his mind, glancing back at the factory Batman was currently dragging unconscious and tied-up thugs out of. He turns, slipping into the darkness of the alley and reappearing on a different street.
He didn't stop walking until he was sitting on a bench at a bus stop, waiting for a bus to take him to Bristol.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tim’s legs were sore by the time he reached his front door, his fingers fumbling for his keys in his pocket. The jingling of metal against metal makes him cringe, before he manages to unlock the door. He steps inside the mausoleum that is Drake manor, the silence like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Tim ignores the weight, not allowing himself to drown in the feeling. He trudges up the pristine stairs, and down the hall into his bedroom. The only room that was his. The only room that he (almost) never drowned in. The only room in the silent house where Timothy Drake didn’t matter, and where Tim Drake existed in his fullest.
He drops his bag near his closet door, pulling off his batwatching gear and changing into his pajamas.
Tomorrow, Tim will be starting his first school year at Gotham Academy– a private school in Gotham that many of the Gotham upper and upper-middle class send their children to. Before, Tim went to several different private boarding schools around the country.
But Tim was starting 7th grade now. And his parents deemed him old enough to stay in Gotham for longer periods of time alone, with the occasional visit of Mrs. Mac and other housekeepers to keep up Drake Manor’s eloquent appearance.
But Tim would be alone. Alone, and free to roam. He had money– 500 a month– to spend at his pleasure. And all the freedom and independence to do what he pleases.
And that is what Tim plans to do this year.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Tim rolls over, groaning and turning his alarm off. He already missed his bed, and the comfort of being asleep. Why did school have to start so early? Weren’t there studies conducted that showed that students were more productive when they didn’t have to wake up at the but-crack of dawn?
Nevermind the fact that Tim didn’t go to bed until 3 or 4 in the morning. That was his problem and had nothing with him being tired this early in the morning.
He finally sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes while using one hand to grab his phone. He yawns, sleep blurring his vision while he checks the time. 6:13 am.
20 minutes to get ready, and 30 minutes of travel. Plus 10 minutes for traffic and any delays.
Tim stretches, pulling his blankets off his legs and hopping up. His vision blurs, and he drops back onto his mattress. The creak of the springs woke him up more than any soda ever has.
Maybe he should eat breakfast this morning. Tim wasn’t sure if he had dinner last night. Food gives you energy, and if Tim was gonna get through the day he would need all the energy he could get.
The early morning passed in a blur. Tim gets ready in an exhausted daze, moving through the movements of getting dressed and freshened up without much thought. He yawns, rubbing his eyes as he enters his kitchen. His body is already mindlessly grabbing himself breakfast and a soda.
Tim wasn’t sure what time he finally left the manor, only that the sun had risen over the horizon. The blues, pinks, and purples mixing like watercolor on the sky with Gotham’s foggy roads. He breathes in the morning breeze, letting the cool wind wake his groggy mind.
He manages to just catch the bus, realizing as he sprints to make it before it pulls away that Tim had left the manor late. He curses himself internally and he waves down the driver to not leave him behind. He was panting by the time he collapsed onto an uncomfortable plastic seat near the back, his backpack at his feet and breakfast bar in hand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gotham Academy was different from Tim’s various boarding schools.
It was louder, and more crowded. He was drowning in the overlapping voices, and slamming of metal lockers. He was being suffocated from all sides, squeezed until all he could do was duck his head and shove his way between kids a head or more taller than him. Tim was thankful by the time he managed to make it to his homeroom, finding an empty spot in the back corner and slumping in his seat.
His homeroom teacher seemed kind-enough. ELA wasn’t his favorite subject, science and math were by leagues, but he did enjoy reading nonfiction and the occasional sci-fi novel. He takes out a notebook and pencil from his bag and prepares himself for a long day.
Tim’s classes pass in a blur. He keeps his head down, trying to avoid catching any attention from his classmates. If he got what he wanted, he’d go the entire year ignored. It’d always been easier that way.
He heads to the library for lunch, headphones over his ears and laptop hugged to his chest. His backpack was in his locker, stored away for the period until he needed it for his last 3 classes.
His phone buzzing in his pocket draws him out of his thoughts, patting absently for it he glances down at his hand and runs right into someone as he enters the library. Tim’s laptop slips from his hands, crashing on the floor with the stranger’s various books.
“Sorry.” Tim mumbles, he pauses his music, crouching and picking up his laptop. He quickly checks it for any cracks as the stranger he’d smacked into grabs their books. When he’s sure his computer hadn’t been damaged from the fall, he finally meets the person’s gaze.
Holy fudge-nuggets its Robin.
Well-
Jason Todd.
He was a bit taller up close, freckled with curly hair and blue eyes. Jason’s uniform was pristinely ironed, only wrinkled from the first half of the school day. He held a few books to his chest, holding a hand out to Tim to help the younger boy up.
“It’s alright, kid.” Jason assures, pulling Tim to his feet and smiling at him. Wide and friendly. “I’m Jason.”
“I’m Timothy.” Tim replies, blanking on how he should answer. His mind rebooted to the Gala persona his parents had hardwired into him since he was old enough to join them at social events. “Timothy Drake. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Right,” Jason answers, his smiling straining at Tim’s stiff reply. “You too.”
Tim blinks.
Why couldn’t he figure out what to say? Tim was great at talking. His parents always complimented how he could talk to socialites at galas. He got the best information for Drake Industries. He talked people into making deals for the company. He talked people into telling him their dirtiest secrets or hinting at them.
So why couldn’t he talk to Jason right now?
Tim stares for seconds too long, before remembering the rules of proper eye contact and forcing his eyes away.
“You look young to be in middle school.” Jason comments, flicking one of his curls out of his face. It falls right back where it was before.
“I skipped two grades.” Tim replies, returning to eye contact. His bangs obstruct the top of his vision, probably making him look younger than he is. “I’m older than I look.”
“Really? So you’re not a 7-year-old genius?” Jason teases, smirking and shifting his books to be in one arm. The grin is carefully not close to his smile as Robin.
“No. I’m 10.” Tim corrects, nodding once and hugging his laptop tighter as if it was a stuffed toy. He levels his smile. Keep it professional. Just as he was taught.
“Not much difference there.” Jason points out, one eyebrow raised.
“There is a difference. 3 years.” Tim argues, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m not a little kid.”
“Yeah?”
Tim’s nose scrunches, some irritation bubbling deep in his chest. Jason had no right to imply that Tim was a little kid. Not when Tim was able to follow them for over 2 years now without being spotted. Not when Tim can take care of himself at home.
Tim wasn’t a little kid. He grew out of that description years ago.
“Yeah.” Tim insists, irritation bleeding into his voice like a disease before he could stop it. Tim has always been level headed, the perfect heir for his parents even when he was annoyed. He couldn’t comprehend why that mask wasn’t working here. “You can’t be implying that I’m a little kid.”
Jason smirk faded, his jaw tense and lips pressed into a thin line. “Excuse me?” he scoffs, a hand tight around the books he checked out. “What? People from Park Row aren’t kids at some point too? Newflash, kid, people there are humans too and grow up to be better people than rich assholes like you.”
Tim blinks, the anger he had previously felt rising fading as quick as it came. “No-that isn’t what I meant.” he backtracks, swallowing a thick lump in his throat.
“Yeah? Then what did you mean, Timothy?” Jason scoffs, shoulders squared defensively.
“I-I…” Tim stutters, like the idiot he felt like. He couldn’t tell Jason the real reason, because that involved revealing what he knew and how much he knew. But he didn’t want Jason to hate him for being a classicist. “Because…you aren’t that much older than me.”
“So 3 years between 7 and 10 is a lot, but 4 years between 10 and 14 isn’t?” Jason argues, tension bleeding into his shoulders and stance. Tim takes half a step back instinctively.
“Well- I just…” Tim bites his tongue before he could say something stupid again without thinking.
Jason shakes his head, walking past Tim with a muttered “whatever” before Tim could think of something intelligent to respond with.
So much for keeping his head low and avoiding people for the year.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tim shuffles inside his bedroom, shoulders slumped and stiff smile falling. He drops his school bag near the door, and changes out of his uniform into comfy clothes.
He drops onto his bed, face buried into his soft pillows and screaming. Silence drowning him out within seconds.
He’d never felt stupider than he had today. Tim has known who the bats were for a year now. He’s spent over two years following them. He was there when Jason first debuted as Robin two years ago. He’d skipped two grades, he’d been taking care of himself on breaks since he was old enough to reach the counters.
Tim wasn’t supposed to be stupid. He was carefully crafted by Jack and Janet Drake to be the perfect heir.
Smart. Calm. Detached. Independent. A Drake.
Tim isn’t stupid. So why was he acting like it? If Janet was here she’d be disappointed in his performance. If Jack was here Tim would be punished for not living up to the standards that had been set for him.
He rolls over onto his back, running a hand through his hair and sitting up. He’d come back to this problem later. Maybe never. Ignoring problems was his specialty. His best skill.
New plan. Tim would continue as he always does, and just come to terms with his hero hating him.
Maybe it was for the best anyways. If Jason hated him, then he wouldn’t look too closely into what Tim could possibly know. And Tim could continue his photography.
It was for the best.
Tim rolls out of bed a few hours later, changing out of his matching pajamas into his batwatching gear. Just because Robin hates him, doesn’t mean Tim doesn’t want to photograph him.
He grabs his bag, checking all its supplies are together. Camera gear, snacks, phone, water, notebook and pencil, basic medical supplies, his pocket knife, and his pepper spray.
He had everything. He was ready for another night of batwatching.