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The spell hit Tim in the chest because, technically, he had shoved Damian out of the way.
Damian would later insist that he had not needed shoving.
This was a lie.
Everyone knew it was a lie, including Damian, who had been standing directly in the path of a glowing green bolt of magic from a stolen artifact that had, according to Zatanna over comms, “temporal distortion properties.”
Jason would later ask why they kept fighting people who used phrases like temporal distortion properties.
Bruce would not have an answer.
The bolt struck Red Robin dead center, lighting up the alley in a flash of sickly green. Tim made a startled sound, less like pain and more like surprise, and then he vanished into the smoke.
“Red Robin!” Bruce barked.
Dick swung down from the fire escape. “Tim?”
Damian landed beside Bruce, sword drawn, face tight. “Drake?”
The smoke cleared.
The Red Robin suit lay in a heap on the pavement.
For one horrible second, nobody moved.
Then the cape twitched.
A small hand pushed out from under the fabric.
Dick made a noise like someone had punched him in the throat.
Bruce went very still.
A little boy crawled out of the oversized suit, drowning in black and red kevlar, his dark hair sticking up in every direction. He could not have been older than seven. Maybe eight , if you were being generous. He had Tim’s eyes, Tim’s nose, Tim’s stubborn chin.
But his face was rounder.
Softer.
Scared.
The little boy looked up at Batman, then Nightwing, then Robin.
His eyes went huge.
“Oh,” Dick whispered. “Oh, no.”
Bruce crouched immediately, careful and slow. “Tim.”
The boy flinched.
Bruce stopped.
The flinch hit harder than any punch that night.
“It’s okay,” Dick said gently, dropping into a crouch too. “Hey, buddy. We’re not gonna hurt you.”
The little boy pulled the cape tighter around himself and stared at them with the frozen terror of a child who had just woken up in the middle of a nightmare and found monsters leaning over him.
Damian lowered his sword at once.
His expression shifted from irritation to something almost stricken.
“Drake,” he said, quieter this time.
The boy’s lower lip trembled.
Dick shot Damian a look.
Damian bristled. “I was using a calm tone.”
“Your calm tone sounds like you’re about to challenge a ghost to a duel.”
Bruce did not look away from tiny Tim. “Tim. You’re safe.”
The boy said nothing.
“Do you know who I am?”
Tiny Tim stared at the cowl.
Then he shook his head very, very slightly.
Dick’s face twisted.
Bruce swallowed once.
“All right,” Bruce said. “That’s all right.”
“It appears,” Damian said carefully, “that Drake has reverted to a younger mental state as well as a physical one.”
Dick glanced at him. “Yeah, thanks, Baby Sherlock.”
“I am not a baby.”
“We currently have a literal baby Tim in an adult vigilante suit, so maybe now is not the time to argue.”
“I am seven,” tiny Tim said.
Everyone froze.
His voice was small.
Very small.
Dick’s entire body went soft with relief. “Seven. Right. Sorry. You’re not a baby.”
Tiny Tim looked at him suspiciously.
“I’m Dick,” Dick said, pointing to himself. “That’s Bruce. That’s Damian.”
Tiny Tim clutched the cape harder. “Where’s Robin?”
Damian blinked confused.
Dick pressed his lips together.
“I am Robin, can you not see properly as well,” Damian growled out.
Tiny Tim stared at him.
Then, with the blunt honesty of a terrified seven-year-old, he said, “No, you’re not.”
Dick lost the fight and let out a snicker.
Bruce’s mouth flattened.
Dick muttered, “This is the greatest day of my life.”
Bruce ignored him. “Why do you think he’s not Robin?”
Tiny Tim looked at the white lenses. “He’s not my Robin.”
Silence dropped hard over the alley.
Dick stopped smiling.
Damian looked down.
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
Tiny Tim seemed to realize he had said something wrong. His face closed up immediately, and he looked at the pavement.
Bruce’s voice lowered. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe.”
The boy did not answer.
Dick carefully gathered the oversized suit around him so Tim would not trip. “Can I pick you up?”
Tiny Tim shook his head sharply.
“No problem,” Dick said quickly. “No picking up. Walking is good. Walking is great. Huge fan of walking.”
“He is wearing boots that are larger than his legs,” Damian pointed out.
“I noticed, thanks.”
Bruce removed his cape and held it out.
Tiny Tim eyed it.
“It’s cold,” Bruce said.
For a long moment, Tim did not move.
Then he reached out with one tiny hand and took the edge of Batman’s cape like he expected a trap.
Bruce let him take it.
Dick looked like he was two seconds away from crying.
Damian looked like he was trying very hard not to be concerned and failing.
The trip back to the Batmobile took twelve minutes longer than normal because tiny Tim refused to be carried, tripped on the oversized Red Robin boots twice, and once stopped completely because he saw a stray cat under a dumpster.
“It’s hungry,” he whispered.
Bruce paused.
“We are in the middle of a magical emergency,” Damian said.
Tiny Tim’s eyes filled with tears.
Damian went pale.
“I did not mean—”
Dick was already fishing a protein bar out of his belt. “Cats love protein bars, right?”
“No,” Damian said, appalled. “Cats do not love protein bars.”
Bruce opened a compartment in the Batmobile and produced, somehow, a small tin of tuna.
Dick stared at him. “Why do you have tuna in the Batmobile?”
“For Ace.”
“Ace is a dog.”
“He has diverse tastes.”
Damian took the tin with dignity. “I will feed the cat.”
Tiny Tim watched Damian kneel by the dumpster and carefully offer the tuna to the stray.
His grip on Bruce’s cape loosened by half an inch.
Bruce noticed.
Of course Bruce noticed.
By the time they reached the Cave, Alfred was waiting with medical equipment, a blanket, and the calm expression of a man who had once raised Bruce Wayne and was therefore impossible to surprise.
Tiny Tim stepped out of the Batmobile, looked around at the Cave, and immediately backed into the side of the car.
Dick crouched again. “It’s okay. This place looks scary, but it’s safe.”
Tiny Tim stared at the dinosaur.
The dinosaur stared back.
Tiny Tim whispered, “Is it real?”
“No,” Bruce said.
Dick said, “Emotionally, yes.”
Damian said, “It is a trophy.”
Tiny Tim looked more alarmed.
Alfred stepped forward, lowering himself slightly so he was not towering over the child. “Master Timothy, I am Alfred.”
Tiny Tim stared at him.
Alfred held out a small juice box.
Tiny Tim stared at that too.
Bruce looked at Alfred.
Alfred looked back.
The juice box remained between them like a peace treaty.
After a long moment, tiny Tim took it with both hands.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You are most welcome, sir.”
Tiny Tim’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.
Dick clasped both hands over his heart. “Oh my god, he’s polite.”
“He was always polite,” Bruce said.
“Yeah, but he’s pocket-sized now.”
Tiny Tim immediately hid behind the edge of Bruce’s cape.
Bruce looked at Dick.
Dick winced. “Right. Sorry. Not helpful.”
They brought him to the med bay.
Or, more accurately, they invited him to walk to the med bay, where he sat on the farthest corner of the cot with Batman’s cape wrapped around him like a blanket and refused to look at any of them.
Bruce tried to ask questions.
Tiny Tim did not answer.
Dick tried to make him laugh.
Tiny Tim stared at his shoes.
Damian tried to explain that magic was “frequently inconvenient but rarely permanent when handled by competent practitioners.”
Tiny Tim looked like he might cry.
Alfred tried the juice box again.
That worked, but only because tiny Tim had not finished the first one and apparently wanted to hold a second in reserve in case the adults turned out to be unreliable.
Zatanna arrived by video call and confirmed that the artifact’s effect would likely wear off within twelve hours, sooner if they could stabilize Tim’s temporal aura.
Dick repeated “temporal aura” three times and looked less enlightened each time.
Bruce ran scans.
Damian stood guard.
Alfred brought a plate of cut fruit, toast, and peanut butter.
Tiny Tim did not eat until everyone looked away.
Then he ate very quickly, like he was afraid someone would take it.
Nobody said anything.
That made it worse.
By the time Jason arrived, the Cave had reached a kind of tense quiet.
Nobody had called him.
He had simply shown up because Oracle had dropped one extremely vague message into the family channel that said, Do not panic, but Tim is currently seven.
Jason had, naturally, decided to come and see what the hell that meant, maybe tease the replacement a bit.
The roar of his motorcycle echoed through the tunnel.
Tiny Tim flinched so hard that Bruce immediately stepped between him and the entrance.
Jason came in still wearing his helmet, jacket scuffed, guns holstered, boots loud against the Cave floor.
“All right,” he said, yanking off one glove. “Where is he? What the hell happened? Why did the group chat say Replacement is seven? Why is no one better at explaining emergencies?”
Tiny Tim peeked around Bruce.
Jason froze.
The helmet tilted down.
Tiny Tim stared at the red helmet.
Then at the brown leather jacket.
Then at the white streak in Jason’s hair when he pulled the helmet off.
Jason’s expression was still sharp with confusion.
But beneath it, there was something familiar.
Something in the set of his shoulders.
Something in the frown.
Something in the way he stood between the shadows and everyone else like he was daring the world to try something.
Tiny Tim slipped out from behind Bruce.
Bruce glanced down, startled.
“Tim?” Dick said softly.
Tiny Tim walked past them.
Jason did not move.
The little boy crossed the med bay in Batman’s too-large cape, clutching a juice box in one hand.
He stopped in front of Jason.
His eyes were huge.
Jason stared down at him.
“Uh,” Jason said. “Hey, kid.”
Tiny Tim’s face changed.
The fear did not vanish, exactly.
But it cracked open into wonder.
“Robin?” he whispered.
The entire Cave went silent.
Jason’s face went blank.
Dick’s hand flew to his mouth.
Damian looked between them, confused.
Bruce closed his eyes.
Jason swallowed. “What?”
Tiny Tim took another step closer. “You’re Robin.”
Jason looked like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with both hands.
“I’m not,” he said, rougher than he meant to. Then he saw Tim flinch and immediately softened his voice. “I mean. I was. A long time ago.”
Tiny Tim stared at him.
Jason tried again. “I’m Jason.”
Tiny Tim nodded quickly, like of course he knew that. “Jason Todd.”
Jason’s eyebrows lifted.
Tiny Tim’s voice became a shy whisper. “You’re my favorite.”
Dick made a tiny broken sound.
Jason looked as if the floor had disappeared under him.
“I’m your what?”
Tiny Tim looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Favorite Robin.”
Jason’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Dick whispered, “This is also the greatest day of my life.”
Damian elbowed him.
Tiny Tim, apparently terrified that he had said too much, took a step back.
Jason reacted instantly.
Not forward. Not grabbing.
He crouched.
Slowly.
Carefully.
It made him smaller. Less loud. Less Red Hood.
More like a boy in yellow and green laughing from a rooftop in a memory Tim had carried for years.
“Hey,” Jason said, voice gentle in a way none of them had heard in a long time. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.”
Tiny Tim hugged the juice box to his chest. “I saw you once.”
Jason blinked. “Yeah?”
Tiny Tim nodded. “Batman was with you. You did a flip off a roof.”
“Sounds like me.”
“And you laughed.”
Jason’s face changed.
Tiny Tim peeked at him through his bangs. “Batman didn’t laugh, but you did.”
Dick looked away.
Bruce’s face was unreadable, except for the fact that he had gone perfectly still.
Tiny Tim continued, braver now because Jason was listening. “I used to watch sometimes. Not in a bad way.”
Jason’s throat worked.
“I thought you were magic,” Tim whispered.
Jason looked down.
His voice came out very quiet. “Yeah?”
Tiny Tim nodded seriously. “You weren’t scared of anything.”
Jason laughed once, but it hurt. “I was scared of plenty.”
Tiny Tim shook his head. “No. You were Robin.”
As if that explained everything.
As if Robin meant fearless.
As if Robin meant bright.
As if Jason Todd had been a hero in someone’s childhood before he had become a cautionary tale in everyone else’s.
Jason stared at this tiny version of Tim Drake, wrapped in Bruce’s cape, hiding apple juice behind his back like a treasure, looking at him with open trust.
Trust.
From Tim.
After everything.
After Titan’s Tower.
After the cruelty.
After Jason had looked at this kid and seen a replacement instead of a lonely child who had once looked up at Gotham’s rooftops and chosen Robin as hope.
Jason’s voice cracked. “Aw, hell.”
Tiny Tim frowned. “That’s a bad word.”
Jason barked out a laugh.
Dick immediately started crying.
“I’m not crying,” Dick said, crying.
Damian looked disgusted. “You are visibly leaking.”
“Shut up.”
Jason wiped a hand over his face. “Sorry, kid. I’ll watch my mouth.”
Tiny Tim studied him.
Then, very carefully, he held up his unopened juice box.
Jason stared at it.
“For you,” Tim said.
Jason looked absolutely devastated.
“No, no, that’s yours.”
“I have one.”
“You need both.”
Tiny Tim shook his head. “You can have it.”
Jason took the juice box like it was made of glass.
“Thanks,” he said.
Tiny Tim gave him the smallest smile.
And then he stepped forward and pressed himself against Jason’s chest.
Jason froze completely.
Tiny Tim wrapped both arms around his neck and hid his face in Jason’s jacket.
Everyone else stopped breathing.
Jason’s hands hovered in the air, wide and helpless.
His eyes shot to Bruce in panic.
Bruce, who had handled alien invasions, League assassins, demonic possessions, and one memorable incident involving a penguin with a flamethrower, looked equally helpless.
Dick mouthed, Hug him.
Jason mouthed back, I know that.
Then he moved slowly, carefully, and wrapped his arms around tiny Tim.
The little boy melted into him.
Jason looked like he might fall apart.
“Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay. I got you.”
Tiny Tim’s voice was muffled against his jacket. “You came back.”
Jason’s eyes squeezed shut.
Bruce looked down.
Dick covered his mouth again.
Even Damian’s face softened.
Jason held Tim a little closer. “Yeah, kid. I came back.”
Tiny Tim did not leave Jason’s side after that.
He would not answer Bruce’s medical questions, but he would whisper answers to Jason, who repeated them aloud with increasing emotional damage.
“Do you feel dizzy?” Bruce asked.
Tiny Tim hid behind Jason’s arm.
Jason glanced down.
Tiny Tim whispered.
Jason looked up. “He says no.”
“Does anything hurt?”
Whisper.
“His head feels fuzzy.”
“Does he remember patrol tonight?”
Tiny Tim shook his head hard and buried his face against Jason’s shoulder.
Jason’s expression sharpened. “Back off on that one.”
Bruce nodded immediately. “All right.”
Dick watched this with a soft, watery smile.
Damian watched with intense suspicion, as if trying to figure out whether Jason had discovered a secret technique for handling small Drakes.
After half an hour, tiny Tim was sitting on Jason’s lap in the med bay, wearing one of Damian’s old hoodies, which Damian claimed he had only surrendered because it was “too small and therefore useless.”
It was, in fact, his softest hoodie.
Tiny Tim’s sleeves covered his hands.
Jason held the straw of the juice box steady while Tim drank from it.
“I can do it,” Tim whispered.
“I know,” Jason said. “I’m just making sure it doesn’t escape.”
Tiny Tim looked at the juice box.
Then at Jason.
Then he giggled.
It was tiny. Barely there.
But it was a laugh.
Bruce turned away and pretended to check the Batcomputer.
Dick pressed both hands to his chest. “I have been healed.”
Damian said, “You are being dramatic.”
Dick pointed at tiny Tim. “He laughed.”
Damian looked at Tim.
Tiny Tim immediately hid against Jason.
Damian’s face fell before he could stop it.
Jason noticed.
Of course Jason noticed.
“Hey, Timbit,” Jason said.
Tiny Tim looked up.
Jason nodded toward Damian. “That little gremlin over there gave you his hoodie.”
Damian bristled. “I am not a gremlin.”
Jason ignored him. “That means he’s looking out for you.”
Tiny Tim peeked at Damian.
Damian stood straighter. “It is warm. You were cold. The decision was logical.”
Tiny Tim considered this.
Then he whispered, “Thank you.”
Damian looked startled.
He cleared his throat. “You are welcome.”
Dick leaned toward Bruce. “This is adorable.”
Bruce said, “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m appreciating it.”
“You appreciate loudly.”
Jason snorted.
Tiny Tim looked up at him. “Did Batman adopt you?”
Jason choked on air.
Dick made another noise.
Bruce went rigid.
Damian looked deeply interested in the answer.
Jason recovered badly. “Uh. Sort of.”
Tiny Tim frowned. “Sort of?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he forget?”
Bruce closed his eyes.
Dick whispered, “Kids are terrifying.”
Jason looked at Bruce.
For once, there was no accusation in it.
Only an old ache.
Then Jason looked back at Tim and said, “No. He didn’t forget.”
Tiny Tim seemed to accept this.
“Good,” he whispered. “Nobody should forget Robin.”
Jason’s hand stilled on Tim’s back.
The Cave went quiet again.
Jason looked down at him for a long moment.
Then he said, voice rough, “Yeah. You’re right.”
The spell wore off just after dawn.
Tim had fallen asleep against Jason’s chest, one small fist curled in the front of his jacket. Jason had not moved for three hours. He claimed this was because tiny Tim had “weird little raccoon grip strength” and not because he was terrified of waking him.
No one believed him.
The reversal began as a soft green glow.
Bruce moved first, scanning, alert.
Jason tightened his hold instinctively. “What’s happening?”
“Temporal field is collapsing,” Bruce said. “It’s reversing.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes.”
“Because glowing children are usually bad.”
“Jason.”
The glow brightened.
Jason looked down at the sleeping child in his arms. “Hey. Tim?”
Tiny Tim stirred.
His eyes opened halfway.
He looked at Jason and smiled sleepily.
“Robin,” he murmured.
Then the light swallowed him.
A second later, adult Tim Drake was sprawled across Jason’s lap in an oversized hoodie, long legs hanging awkwardly off the med cot, his face pressed against Jason’s shoulder.
Jason stared down at him.
Tim blinked.
Then he froze.
Nobody moved.
Tim lifted his head very slowly.
He looked at Jason.
Jason looked at him.
Tim looked down and realized he was sitting in Jason’s lap.
Tim’s face went crimson.
“Oh my god,” Tim said.
Jason’s mouth twitched.
Tim tried to scramble backward and nearly fell off the cot.
Jason caught him automatically.
“Easy, Replacement.”
Tim flinched at the nickname.
Jason felt it this time.
Really felt it.
He let go immediately.
Tim sat up, embarrassed and pale and too thin in Damian’s hoodie. “Sorry. I don’t— Did I— What happened?”
Dick appeared at his side instantly. “You got hit with de-aging magic. You were seven. You were very cute.”
Tim groaned. “Please don’t.”
“You hoarded juice boxes.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You told Jason he was your favorite Robin.”
Tim stopped breathing.
Jason stopped smiling.
Bruce looked down at the scanner.
Damian said, with unhelpful precision, “You also called him magic.”
Tim’s entire soul appeared to leave his body.
“I did not.”
“You did,” Damian said. “It was extremely informative.”
Tim stared at the floor. “Great. Cool. Amazing. I’m going to fake my death now.”
Jason’s chest hurt.
Because Tim was joking, but not entirely.
Because embarrassment had landed on him like armor.
Because grown Tim was already trying to make himself smaller, easier, less inconvenient.
The way tiny Tim had hidden behind Bruce’s cape.
The way he had eaten when no one was looking.
The way he had offered Jason a juice box like kindness was something you rationed carefully in case it ran out.
Jason stood.
Tim tensed.
Jason noticed that too.
And hated himself a little more.
“Hey,” Jason said.
Tim looked up warily.
Jason cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”
Dick’s eyebrows shot up.
Damian looked fascinated.
Bruce’s face did not change, but somehow his silence became louder.
Tim blinked. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
Tim’s mouth twisted. “Is this the part where you make fun of me for having terrible taste in Robins as a kid?”
Jason flinched.
Tim noticed.
His expression shifted immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” Jason said. “Don’t do that.”
Tim closed his mouth.
Jason took a breath.
He hated speeches.
He hated apologies more.
Not because he did not believe in them, but because real apologies required standing still long enough to let guilt catch up.
Jason was very good at running.
He looked at Tim anyway.
“You were a kid,” Jason said. “And you saw me as Robin.”
Tim looked away. “I mean, yeah. I followed Batman and Robin around with a camera. I was weird.”
“You were lonely.”
Tim went still.
Jason’s voice softened. “You were a lonely kid who saw Robin laughing in the dark and thought he was magic.”
Tim’s jaw worked.
“And then you grew up,” Jason continued, “and I came back, and I treated you like you stole something from me.”
Tim said nothing.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “But you didn’t. You didn’t steal Robin. You kept him alive.”
Tim’s eyes snapped to his.
Dick started crying again.
Damian whispered, “Grayson.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You are crying again.”
Bruce did not tell them to stop.
Jason ignored them.
“I was angry,” Jason said. “And I was hurt. And I took that out on you. That wasn’t fair.”
Tim’s face had gone very still, the way it did when he was trying not to show anything.
Jason hated that he recognized it now.
“I hurt you,” Jason said. “More than once. And I made you feel like you didn’t belong in your own family.”
Tim swallowed.
Jason’s voice roughened. “I’m sorry.”
The Cave went silent.
Tim stared at him.
Jason forced himself not to look away.
“I don’t expect that to fix it,” he said. “I know it doesn’t. But I want to try. Not just not-fight. Not just tolerate each other for Bruce’s blood pressure.”
Bruce grunted.
Jason continued, “I want to be better. To you.”
Tim gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Why?”
Jason thought of tiny Tim’s arms around his neck.
You came back.
He thought of the juice box held out like treasure.
He thought of a seven-year-old who had looked at him and seen Robin.
“Because you deserved a big brother,” Jason said. “And I should’ve been one.”
Tim’s face crumpled for half a second before he caught it.
But Jason saw.
Everyone saw.
Tim looked down at his hands. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Jason huffed softly. “Yeah, me neither.”
That got a tiny laugh out of Tim.
Not the seven-year-old giggle.
A grown Tim laugh.
Tired, hesitant, but real.
Jason’s mouth lifted. “We can be bad at it together.”
Tim wiped quickly at one eye like he was angry at it. “That sounds like our brand.”
“Exactly.”
Tim looked up. “So what, you’re gonna start giving me brotherly advice?”
“Yes.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“First piece of advice: sleep more.”
Tim groaned. “You sound like Bruce.”
Jason pointed at him. “Take that back.”
“Never.”
“Second piece of advice: eat actual food, not coffee and spite.”
Dick gasped. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
Jason looked at him. “Yeah, but you say it with jazz hands. No one respects that.”
Dick placed a wounded hand over his heart.
Tim’s mouth twitched.
Jason turned back to him. “Third piece of advice.”
Tim raised an eyebrow.
Jason hesitated.
Then he said, quieter, “You can always ask me for help.”
Tim’s expression softened with something fragile and unsure.
Jason held his gaze. “I mean it. Not just cases. Not just emergencies. If you’re tired, or hurt, or stuck in your head, or you need someone to sit there and not make it a whole thing.”
Tim’s voice came out small. “You’d come?”
Jason’s answer was immediate. “Yeah.”
Tim looked at him for a long time.
Then he said, “Okay.”
It was not a hug.
It was not forgiveness tied up neatly with a bow.
It was one word.
But Jason knew enough about Tim Drake to know that one word was a door opening.
Just a crack.
Enough to start.
Bruce stepped closer, his voice low. “Tim.”
Tim looked at him.
Bruce hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Tim blinked like he had not expected that either.
Then he gave Bruce a small smile. “Me too.”
Dick immediately swept Tim into a hug.
Tim made a noise of protest but did not actually fight him.
Damian stood beside them, arms crossed. “This entire ordeal was absurd.”
Tim’s smile turned faintly evil. “I heard you gave me your hoodie.”
Damian froze.
Jason grinned. “Your softest hoodie.”
“It was not my softest.”
“It has little embroidered paw prints on the sleeve.”
“It is a tactical garment.”
Tim looked down at the sleeve.
There were, in fact, tiny paw prints.
He stared at them.
Then he looked at Damian.
Damian’s ears turned red. “It was Pennyworth’s purchase.”
Tim’s smile warmed. “Thanks, Damian.”
Damian looked away. “Do not mention it.”
“I’m going to mention it forever.”
“I will end you.”
“There he is,” Tim said fondly.
Later that week, after three days of awkwardness, two patrols, and one very tense but successful shared stakeout, Tim found a bag sitting on his desk at the Nest.
Inside were a few things.
A map of safehouses Bruce didn’t know about.
A collection of mini smoke bombs (with a note attached saying use on dickface)
A first-aid kit with half the supplies replaced by better ones.
And a box of apple juice.
Tim stared at it for a full minute.
Then his phone buzzed.
A text from Jason.
big brother starter kit. don’t make it weird.
Tim smiled despite himself.
Then he typed back:
You gave me juice boxes.
Jason replied instantly.
hydration is important.
Tim looked at the first-aid kit.
Then at the travel mug.
Then at the juice.
His chest ached.
Not badly.
Just in the way healing sometimes hurt when it first started.
He typed:
Thanks, Jay.
There was a long pause.
Then Jason replied:
anytime, Timbers.
Tim rolled his eyes at the nickname.
But he saved the message.
And across Gotham, Jason Todd sat on a rooftop staring at his phone with a stupid smile on his face, feeling for the first time in a long time like maybe Robin had not been something he lost.
Maybe Robin was something he could still choose to be.
Not in the suit.
Not in the mask.
But in the way a lonely kid had remembered him.
Bright.
Laughing.
Magic.
And this time, when his little brother needed him, Jason was going to come back.