Chapter Text
'It hurts.'
‘It hurts too much.’
Tim clenched his chest. His heart was ringing in his ears along with the sirens in the city of crime.
‘Stop this. Stop.’
Tim didn’t know whether he was speaking those words out loud, or if they were just inside his head. His body was burning from the inside, eating his consciousness alive.
His bones were melting inside his own body.
Tim groaned as he tried to move. It was inevitable that this day would come. Running with a camera around his neck behind Batman, it was a disaster waiting to happen. There were some close calls, a few broken bones that proved his hypothesis regarding the fact that he had bones and was not, in fact, boneless.
It was a miracle that he had managed to survive for as long as he did.
“Ne–need to move.” Tim imagined Batman saying that to him. The curtains flew freely, and in that darkness of the night, it was easy to fool his mind that his idol was there for him.
Just like Tim had hoped his time would end: helping Batman, or more exactly, that Batman would be there with him. It was selfish, yet Tim didn’t want to be alone even in his last moments.
But Batman wasn’t here. No one was, no one who would care anyways.
That realization was a punch to the stomach.
‘It’s taking too long.’
‘Would his parents miss him? I mean, they should miss him and hold him closer, right?’
Tim reached beside him, searching for something to quench his dry throat. The concrete floor was cold; the moisture against his burning hands was likely the blood of the one responsible for this. Clenching the metal case in his right hand, it held the poison that was about to end him.
It was meant to be a prime spot to get quality images of Batman, Nightwing, and Robin. Not that he would be witnessing a crime. Worse, they noticed him.
After a few attempts, Tim felt some sort of bottle.
Not caring what it was, Tim drank the whole thing. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to die thirsty. The liquid tasted funny; Tim squinted at the label, vaguely making the name out.
Gin.
Tim hissed; just his luck that his last drink had to be this abomination.
‘It’s a pity that the bone hypothesis has to be discounted. Just proving two bones existed was not enough.’
His eyes grew heavy.
Fine, it was his end. Or so he expected. A jolt ran from the bottom of his spine, reaching all the way up to his brain.
That was the last thing he remembered before the world turned dark.
Never in his eight years of life did he expect that he would wake up again.
His head was spinning and his body felt too heavy at the moment. It took a while for him to return to his senses.
‘I am alive?’ Tim raised his hand above his face. His hand looked real and as fine as it could. The cold wind running against his skin further proved that.
‘It does look bigger. I'll care about that later.’ Tim pushed himself up. He could deal with everything when he was back in his room.
Tim blinked. This was wrong. He was taller than the table. Tim was sure the table used to be at his eye level and not at his waist level.
Or maybe he should consider looking at it. As Tim stood up, he realized his hand was longer than it should be. The fact that his clothes were torn...
He had grown taller.
"Damnation!" Tim cursed.
The door to the Drake mansion creaked open, revealing a tall man with sharp features. He wore a patchwork of clothes, clearly having stolen them from the trash. His cheeks and hands were stained with dried blood. A metal box along with a camera and a glass shard were all held close to his chest.
This was none other than Tim, who now looked like an 18-year-old rather than a 7-year-old. He heaved a sigh of relief, finding the Drake manor empty.
While Tim confirmed that it had only been a little over 15 minutes from the time he was poisoned till he regained consciousness, he held it inside, hoping that someone would perhaps be waiting for him back home.
Tim ruffled through his hair. ‘This is all good. This is perfect, wasn’t I just worried about being labeled as a thief in my own house?’
Tim closed the door behind him and, as usual, returned to his room. Numerous photos of Batman, Robin, and Nightwing filled his walls. Tim tossed his camera on the bed and carefully placed his evidence on his desk next to his laptop.
The first thing he did was ditch the clothes and enter the shower.
It wasn’t until the cold water hit that everything came rushing down. He had become an adult.
An adult. With a weird drug that was supposed to end him. He was sure because he woke up next to a pile of clothes.
That would have been his fate.
That should have been. Tim stood in the shower, letting the water cool his head. He was going to die.
That idea had lost a bit of its charm at the moment. He hadn’t died yet; for all he knew, he would live.
‘Why would the drug fail?’
Tim replayed the events. The only thing that made sense was the bottle of Gin he drank at the last moment.
What was he supposed to do? What if he never became a child again? How could he inform his nanny not to come? His parents won’t be there for another 4 months.
‘Maybe he should go to Batman?’ Tim considered that idea, almost slipping in the shower. It was his last bit of rationality that told him it was a bad idea.
There was no saying that Batman would even believe what he was saying.
‘No. I can’t take that risk yet. If I had proof...’ Tim's eyes widened. ‘Of course, the drugs. I can just try to decode them, then Batman will have to listen to me.’
He had four months, at the max. That should be enough for him to know more about the drug.
Tim slipped out with a towel wrapped around his waist. His father still had some clothes which he didn’t use; Tim politely changed into them and returned to his room. It felt weird being an adult; he almost tripped on numerous occasions because he couldn't judge distances properly.
There was another set of problems, but they could be dealt with later on. Tim didn’t want to admit that being an adult was weird and he needed time to process all of this. Because, if he processed everything, he would be screaming at the sky at the top of his voice.
He fired up his computer; meanwhile, he studied the pills. The red pills had no defined markings or signs that would help Tim; it looked like an ordinary pill.
There were 48 of these pills in the metal case. Initially, there should’ve been 50 pills inside.
Tim placed the pills in another container, a medium-sized glass bottle.
He turned his attention to the metallic box, keenly studying the box for a transmitter or any other device. Well, Tim shook the box a few time in frustration before whe noticed something wrong with it.
As it turned out, there was a hidden compartment after all. After using nearly everything at his disposal to very carefully open the bottom, there was just a USB.
Tim hurriedly plugged the USB into his laptop. In his defense, he didn’t give much thought to whether the USB would be open to all or safe, for that matter.
A sort of mania took over him. Tim surfed through the internet, swallowing any information about hacking and computers that he could.
It was the morning, perhaps noon. Tim didn't know, all he remembered was getting up at dawn from his seat, raiding the kitchen for breakfast and returning back to his research.
The familiar feeling of his body burning caused Tim to slump back.
'Is this the end.' Tim's heart shook. Alas, the pain was too much for him to try to move.
Much less reach Batman or try something.
'I don't want to die.'
As it turned out, the effect of the drug only lasts for 12 hours before he turns back into a child. The pain was the same.
“I am... back.” Tim pinched his cheek. “I am back!!!!!”
With that, Tim fell asleep for the rest of the afternoon, waking up with a roaring stomach at dusk.
Everything felt like a dream, almost everything, if not for the encryption on the USB or the bottle full of pills. A pill and some Gin could turn him into an adult.
What if he could use his adult form and get better images of Batman and Robin? That idea was crazy, but it stuck like a plague the moment it entered his mind.
Tim started to learn everything that he would need: biology, hacking, and a few more things that he thought would help him on his night outs. Packages of various things came to the Drake manor almost weekly. Some days it was electronics and another day it was a set of experimental beakers and other materials.
He also found that the Drake manor had a hidden bunker below the mansion that was built to protect the Drakes during war and act as an escape route. It didn’t take him long to stuff all his experiments and things into the underground bunker.
His parents had no clue that it existed. They hardly had any idea of what he was doing anyways.
That didn’t matter; his knowledge regarding chemistry and computers was increasing day by day. Tim had also taken that opportunity to look into some more questionable things on the internet.
Anything that explain to him, what just happened with his body.
He found a lot of things. Most of them were just faking it, but a few were better than the rest at it.
For example, a British guy named John Constantine. The title was catchy: it was how to grow into an adult with magic. On a normal day, Tim wouldn’t even think twice before ignoring it. Hell, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
The camera turns on with a heavy, mechanical click. The framing is poor, it’s a cheap web camera set up on a cluttered desk inside a dimly lit, smoke-filled London flat. In the background, stacks of old, leather-bound grimoires are piled next to empty beer bottles and an overflowing ashtray.
John Constantine sits back in a worn wooden chair. He’s wearing his signature rumpled tan trench coat, a loose white shirt, and a loosened black tie. He leans forward, squinting at the lens, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke straight into the camera.
“Right. Is this bloody thing recording? Looks like it. Look, I’m only doing this because a certain… acquaintance from the dark arts sector bet me fifty quid I couldn’t explain the system without causing an existential crisis in the comments section. So, let’s keep it brief.”
Tim frowns, seeing the man.
“Listen, magic is not some absurd art only found in fiction." As if to tell that John turns older, "You have a human dressed as a bat somewhere in America; whether magic exists or doesn’t should be an easy answer.” the next second, he returns back to normal.
Tim replayed that scene for 16 minutes, he couldn't find any sign of tampering or green screen.
Maybe, it was too advanced for him? Tim kept that idea. Yet, the man's word did have a charm to them.
Was the pill made by some sort of magic? Tim thought it made sense; otherwise, how could some odd combination of chemicals achieve such a result? Tim understood enough biology to understand that the pills went against all common sense.
Maybe, he could find an answer or just an inspiration that would work. Regardless, Tim decided to give this man a chance, perhaps Tim would find his tricks or he would help him.
It was win-win situation for Tim anyways.
“Here’s a secret to magic: Anyone can do it,” John stated, “but only if you know the right tricks.”
“Always remember, magic is more about playing with your opponent's head rather than just blasting them with a fireball.”
“So, what is magic? Well, it is what it sounds like, but with more consequences. Kind of like a modern version of money. Magic is money; each spell equals buying something, and to get this money you have to do a lot of bargaining and other means to get it.”
A light illuminated the room, making John to curse something under his breath. "Not now. I've–"
John paused. “Right, all those things might be too advanced for you at the moment. Just remember, you can get magic from old antiques and jewels. It’s a small amount, but it will help you get started.”
Tim had no doubt that this was one of the methods to ensure that anyone found it hard to prove his claims.
Call it fake, you don’t have the money to get jewels, or you just didn’t have the connections to get the right ones.
Regardless of that, Tim somehow found himself watching the conman’s videos regarding magic and stage acts. It became his only source of relaxation other than nighttime photography of Batman. Well, the conman focused more on the art of performance and wordplay rather than actual magic. Tim took it upon himself to consider all the magic things he spoke of as another riddle that he had to solve.
His first goal was to ensure that the drug was working in a controlled manner. As long as he could control his transformation, much of his problems would be solved.
Explosions had become a part of the Drake mansion. Most of them were just experiments Tim was doing with his collection of tools taken from both villains and Batman. He would need some form of self-defense if he was going out as an adult and not a kid.
So far, no one had knocked on his door regarding the explosions. Though, they were mostly small and only happened in the soundproof room that his parents had built. It was for his music lessons or something. The violin was still gathering dust in the corner.
This was more to create physical evidence for his parents, if they ever asked about the spending.