Chapter Text
Dick was eight when his parents died and he was adopted. Nine when their neighbor Timmy was born, and ten when he first babysat Timmy. In fact, he had been ten the first time he'd met Timmy.
By this point, he had been Bruce Wayne's son long enough to know both how to behave at galas, and that he hated galas.
He wore a suit, charcoal gray, and a blue tie. Alfred had tried to get him to gel his hair back too, but there was only so much Dick could put up with.
Less than an hour after it started, he was glad he had refused. It was uncomfortable enough wearing a suit, listening to rich-people small talk, and trying to find anything a ten year old would want to eat from the buffet.
Thankfully, though, it seemed that much of the attention typically directed at him was being given to a couple wandering around the room.
Dick didn't think much of it, other than to be grateful to not be swarmed by cheek pinches and questions about school, until he heard the crying.
It sounded like a small child, and was followed by the crowd dispersing from the couple. Some of the people laughed, making pitying comments about someone being fussy.
Dick just mentally rolled his eyes and went back to snatching the best snacks from the tables. He would never understand what would make people think that a gala was a smart place to take a small child to.
"Dick? Could you come here, please?" Bruce called from his spot by the couple.
Dick headed over, very quickly seeing the small, crying boy held to… Jane? Jane Drake's chest. Dick knew that most likely wasn't her name, but he couldn't place what it actually was.
Jane twisted slowly back and forth, bouncing and trying to shush the kid, to no avail, while her husband talked with Bruce about how their 'unfortunately useless nanny had called out sick at the last minute' but they 'just couldn't miss the gala'.
Bruce nodded along, and Dick knew for a fact that he was the only one able to detect just how hard his mentor was working to keep up his Gala Bruce persona.
"Hey, buddy. How would you like to watch Timmy for a bit? He's feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment, and his parents would like to mingle a little more."
Bruce could have asked Dick if he would like to hang a raw steak from his neck and train against bears and Dick would have jumped at it. Anything to get him out of this gala.
"Okay."
"Take him out to the living room. You can watch TV or see if he'd like you to read to him, but you're responsible for keeping him safe, alright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Janet? Jack? Is this alright with you? Dick's got experience taking care of small children."
Bruce had hardly stopped talking before Janet (not Jane) knelt and handed the still crying boy over to him.
Dick adjusted him so his face was pressed against Dick's shoulder. Timmy wrapped his tiny arms around him in a tight hug which Dick was quick to reciprocate.
"Thank you, sport. Sorry you're stuck with the kid." Jack ruffled Dick's hair and gave him a smile.
Ten minutes later, Dick was seated on the couch, Timmy still clinging to him, but no longer crying. He had red, wet cheeks and his eyelids seemed to be growing heavier.
"Are you tired, Timmy?"
Timmy sighed and rested his head against Dick's chest, eyes slipping closed.
"Yeah, I hate galas, too "
Yyyyy
It was two years before Dick saw Timmy again.
He had just finished his homework when Bruce called him down to the living room. There, he found Bruce, Alfred, and a familiar toddler.
The boy was making himself busy with a box of crayons and some blank paper, pointedly not looking at anyone else in the room.
"Dickie, you remember Timmy, right?"
"The Drake's kid? From next door?"
"That's correct. His nanny is running late and his parents have a plane to catch and have asked us to watch him in the meantime. I've got some calls to make, so would you watch him?"
"Sure." Dick didn't have anything else to do for the afternoon, and had actually been planning on heading over to Mt. Justice to hang out with Wally and the rest of the team, but he didn't mind watching Timmy.
"I'll prepare something for you boys to snack on." Alfred headed for the kitchen.
Dick walked over and sat beside the small boy. Timmy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't otherwise react.
"Hi, Timmy. What are you drawing?"
No reaction.
Dick frowned and glanced up at his father. Bruce, who had been on his way out of the room and only paused in the doorway to make sure the boys were getting along, gestured Dick over to him.
Dick stood and walked over. "Is he okay?"
Bruce led him just out of earshot of Timmy, while making sure he was still in view.
"Jack and Janet said he mainly interacts with his nannies, so he might end up being a bit quiet. You'll have to be patient with him, alright?"
"Alright. How quiet do you think he'll be?"
Bruce hesitated, glancing back at Timmy. "His parents are workaholics, and Timmy is their first child, so they've been having some trouble… figuring out a sitter for him. I guess they've gone through so many so far that he doesn't really talk to people he's not used to."
"So he might not talk to me at all?" Dick looked back at the kid, who was still scribbling on the same paper.
"I know it's a big ask, but do you think you'll be alright watching him? I should be done with work in about an hour, and Alfred will be on hand if you need any help."
Dick hadn't looked back at Bruce, but his eyebrows had furrowed together. "He's three, right?"
"That's right."
"... A three year old shouldn't be silent. It's just not normal."
Bruce put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Maybe he just needs to know someone will be sticking around before he can trust them. We all have our ways of coping."
Dick couldn't hold back a slightly mocking smirk. "You mean like your 'coping method' of beating up crooks while basically cosplaying a CEO?"
Bruce frowned and rolled his eyes. "That's rich coming from the chronic runaway."
Dick chuckled.
Bruce smiled and nudged Dick back to their guest. "Go on. He is our neighbor, and if anyone can get him to open up, it's you."
Dick nodded and headed back to the coffee table. Once again, he received a brief side eye as the only acknowledgement of his presence.
"Hey, Timmy."
No response.
Dick continued, unfazed. "That looks like fun. Do you think I could join you?"
Timmy's hands stilled and he gave Dick another side eye, this time suspicious. Like he wasn't sure if this was some kind of test. Neither boy moved a muscle for several seconds, until Timmy's eyes flickered quickly over to the small stack of blank paper Alfred had set up for him.
Dick, not sure if that was permission, stayed where he was.
A few more seconds later, Timmy reached into the crayon box, grabbed out a handful of assorted colors and placed them on the table near Dick.
"Thanks, buddy." The twelve year old reached over and grabbed a blank paper.
Timmy remained silent.
Dick just smiled and got to work creating his own masterpiece. It wasn't that easy, given that the handful of colors he'd been given consisted of two greens, a dark blue, a pink and a yellow. Despite that, he decided to welcome the challenge. He set about drawing a few flowers, making the paper as colorful as possible in an attempt to impress the small child, and was only slightly disappointed to see all of Timmy's attention was focused on his own paper.
As he was three, the page was only scribbles, but Timmy's expression was pure concentration. He also seemed to have his own system of coloring that Dick was starting to pick up on.
It was adorable enough, especially when paired with the serious expression on the chubby cheeked toddler, that Dick ended up just watching him work after a while.
He had selected about ten different crayons, laid them out in a line, and would carefully drag one around the paper for a few seconds before placing it at the back of the line and grabbing the next color to repeat the same process.
He had already worked his way through the entire line multiple times but showed no signs of growing bored.
"Can I see what you're drawing?" He asked.
Dick was almost concerned that Timmy's reaction to anything was that same side eye, but after a moment of contemplation, Timmy moved his hand away from the paper so Dick could take a look.
There was very little white left on the page, and he had even accidentally left the paper in a few spots and marked the table, but Dick knew how to clean it up, just like he knew Alfred wouldn't scold Timmy over it.
"Wow! That looks really good. Are you sure you did that all on your own?"
Timmy didn't say anything, but the side eye turned into just straight on staring.
Dick decided to push and see if he had created an opening in the boy's armor. "This here's my favorite part. Which is yours?"
Timmy's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Dick sat still, holding his drawing out to him. He was starting to see that Timmy was trying to judge whether he was being mocked or if Dick was being genuine.
Finally, though, he seemed to make up his mind and blushed, lips curling up slightly. He pointed to a well covered corner of the page.
Dick broke out in a wide grin.
This was progress.
The pair continued to draw for the next hour and a half, sharing a plate of mini sandwiches and a bowl of grapes Alfred brought out for them.
Timmy spent the entire time drawing on the same paper, never grabbing another one, but Dick noticed with pride that he now had a small smile on his face as he did so.
And, though he tried to be discreet, he kept glancing over at the older boy.
Additionally, whenever he and Dick made eye contact, he would silently move his hands away from the paper, subtly showing it off.
Dick found it adorable and couldn't stop himself from grinning everytime as he gave him enthusiastic compliments about his work.
By the time there was a knock at the door, Dick had almost forgotten that they were only watching Timmy for a short while.
As Bruce answered the door, Alfred picked up their dishes Dick helped Timmy gather up his crayons. Just as he tried to hand over the picture, though, Timmy looked him dead in his eyes and handed it right back.
He hadn't said a word the entire time he'd been in Wayne manor, but he made it clear what he wanted at that moment, and Dick felt honored to take his gift.
After Timmy left, Dick hung the paper on his wall, knowing full well that Wally would have questions about it the next time he was over, but not caring.
Timmy being silent still concerned him, though, and he felt a bit responsible for the trust he'd been given, so he asked Bruce if they could watch their neighbor again sometime.
Thankfully, Bruce agreed.
Yyyyy
Over the next few years, Dick became Timmy's favorite babysitter.
They didn't see each other often, very rarely actually, but whenever the Drake's were home and needed a break or there was a scheduling issue with one of their nannies, Timmy would always end up at Wayne manor.
Until Timmy turned eight, and Dick moved out.
Over the next few years, and between the Titans, getting Nightwing established, starting police training, and moving down to Bludhaven, not to mention the recent loss of Jason, Dick didn't have time to think of much else.
In fact, the neighbor kid didn't even cross his mind until he was introduced to the new Robin.
But when Dick saw Timmy- no. Tim.
When he first saw Tim again, he was shocked to realize just how long it had been since they'd seen each other.
Tim had grown up.
He was no longer a chubby-cheeked little kid glaring at anyone who came too close while holding onto the hem of Dick's shirt to make sure the older boy didn't leave him behind.
No.
Now he was a teenager, easily as tall as Bruce's shoulder and a formidable force to be reckoned with when it came to fighting, whether he was using his bo staff or his bare hands.
He had also proved to be quite the hacker, and had taken it upon himself to start feeding the cave bats.
He had mentioned plans to train them, but refused to elaborate, which concerned everyone.
Seeing him in the uniform…
Especially after Jason…
Dick hadn't been the best brother to Jason.
He knew that.
And he knew it was too late to take back his words, his actions.
He had been so hurt that his father had given Robin to some new kid that he hadn't even given Jason a chance.
And now he was dead.
And Tim was Robin.
Dick felt something well up inside of him.
Protectiveness of the boy who used to stay silent unless he knew you were a friend?
Fear that he was going to be out on the streets of Gotham fighting supervillains?
Anger?
Bruce hadn't been handling the loss of Jason well, Dick knew. That was part of why he'd started spending more time back home at the manor.
But now he'd brought Tim on as Robin.
Didn't he know the risks?
Hadn't it been enough to have to bury one kid?
But then he'd looked at Tim, seen the determined glint in his eyes.
This kid had stalked them for years apparently, and none of them had noticed.
He had figured out Dick's secret identity all on his own and kept it to himself.
He had had the guts to walk right up to Wayne manor with all of his gathered evidence and tell Bruce right to his face that he wanted to be Robin, because Gotham needed Batman at his best, and Batman needed Robin to be at his best.
He had had the grit to tough out the training, overseen by Batman, Alfred, a multitude of martial arts experts, and now even Dick himself.
This truly wasn't the cute little kid Dick used to babysit, but it was still Tim.
Dick still felt the worry settle deep in his chest. He hadn't been the best big brother to Jason, and now that he was gone so was any hope of fixing his past mistakes.
But he could keep from making new ones.
Tim wasn't Jason, and Dick would make sure he didn't end up like him either. He wasn't going to bury another brother.
Not again.
Yyyyy
Nightwing heard the call for help over his comm and wasted no time making his way over to the docks.
Bane's goons littering the ground outside told him which warehouse Batman and Robin were currently in.
He took just a brief moment to assess the situation through the skylight before dropping down to help.
"Behind you!" He called, knocking the legs out from under a goon sneaking up on Batman.
"It was an ambush." Bats grunted, swinging his fist at another.
Robin was easily holding his own against a third, bo staff swinging.
"Duck!"
Nightwing hit the ground the instant he heard the command.
A body hit the ground right behind him.
He jumped up and caught the weight of yet another goon, throwing him off balance just enough for Robin's staff to knock him the rest of the way over.
"Nice one!" He grinned, and Robin absolutely beamed before running at the next guy.
"Keep your eyes out for Bane." Batman threw a batarang just over Nightwing's head, and Nightwing grabbed one of his escrima, activated the taser, and jabbed it into the thigh of his next opponent.
"You think he knew you two were coming?"
"All our intel said that this was supposed to be a small job. Bane, maybe like seven thugs, and three crates of weapons." Robin planted one end of his staff on the ground and used it to vault up and over another man's head, kicking him square in the face as he did. "There are no weapons, no nondescript vehicle for them to transport weapons, and no seller. What we do have is- Nightwing!"
Nightwing felt the weight of a small body tackle him to the ground, only to almost immediately get yanked off of him.
He rolled and sprung back to his feet, gasping at the sight of Robin struggling in the one handed grasp of a fully powered up Bane.
"Robin!" Batman yelled.
He tried to activate his grappler, aiming for Bane's legs, but three goons dog piled him before he could.
"Buenas noches, little bird." The giant man chuckled, seemingly relishing the look on Nightwing's face as the thirteen year old gradually slowed down his attempts to get free. He was being held by his neck tight enough that he couldn't breathe.
Nightwing clicked on the taser function on his escrima again, this time flicking the switch all the way up to ensure it stayed on even without holding his finger to it, and threw the stick with all he had.
Bane just laughed and dodged, letting the weapon clatter harmlessly across the room behind him.
"Very well. You're next." Without even a second glance at Robin, Bane threw him aside, hard.
Nightwing heard the sound of his brother hitting one of the wooden crates stacked near the loading doors, but Bane was running at him full force.
He dodged to the side, rolling, and swung his leg out to trip the smuggler.
Batman was still working on dealing with the rest of the conscious goons.
Bane hit the ground with a grunt but recovered quicker than Nightwing had hoped, managing to wrench a board free from a nearby crate and swing it like a baseball bat at the oldest bird.
Nightwing ducked and grabbed his second escrima, but before he was able to use or even activate it, Bane grunted, began twitching, and fell.
He didn't get back up.
Standing right behind him, panting and blinking dazedly, was Robin. Nightwing's escrima stick was clutched tightly in both of his hands, still sparking.
Nightwing was at his side in an instant, grabbing his weapon and steadying the boy when he swayed. "Robin, where are you hurt? Talk to me."
Robin stayed silent, but reached up to run a hand through his hair. It was slow, but then he sucked in a breath and pulled his hand away, showing his brother his now bloody palm.
"Okay, we're getting you back home." Nightwing kept his voice steady and glanced back at their father, noting with relief that he had just finished tying up everyone they had knocked out. "Batman. We've got to go. Bane got Robin pretty good."
"The Batmobile's outside. I'll drive, you make sure he stays awake."
Nightwing nodded and wrapped an arm around Robin's back, guiding him to the car, while keeping a gauze pad from his utility belt held firmly to his head wound.
The three of them made it back to the cave in just over twenty minutes, but by that time Tim had faded enough that Dick had to carry him to the med bay.
He had lost a lot of blood, much of it on either his uniform or the backseat, and the removal of his mask had confirmed that he had a concussion.
"Set him down." Alfred ordered, directing Dick towards the cot.
Dick sat Tim down, legs hanging over the edge but not quite long enough to reach the floor, and sat next to him.
He kept both arms wrapped tightly around him, one to keep him upright and the other holding a new clean rag to the gash in his head, until Batman and Alfred were ready to work on him.
"You still with me, Timmy?"
"Tim." The boy corrected softly.
"Tim. Sorry. You still hanging in there?" Dick adjusted the rag, noting with worry that the blood still hadn't slowed down. Damn head wounds. All he was able to do for now was keep him talking.
"I'm 'wake."
"Tim, hey." Dick gave him a firm shake. "Keep your eyes open."
Tim blinked and did his best to listen, though he was now leaning even more against Dick's shoulder.
"Bruce?"
"How is he?" Bruce, as he had removed the cowl, knelt in front of the boys and began examining Tim.
"Not great. He's conscious, though."
"That is good. It looks like a pretty bad concussion, though. Tim, buddy?"
"Hn?"
"Alfred, Dick and I are going to have you stay here for the night so we can keep an eye on you, okay?"
"...'kay."
"What about his parents?" Dick asked, running a hand through Tim's hair, trying to smooth it away from the injury.
"Cairo." Tim supplied with no further context.
Wordlessly, Dick glanced up at Bruce, who was moving aside to let Alfred get close so he could clean and bandage Tim's head.
"His parents are currently on a dig in Cairo. They won't be back until late next month."
"Next month? Are they usually gone that long?"
Still partially slumped against Dick's side, Tim let out a weak scoff. "They're never here."
Dick, at Alfred's direction, pulled his hand away from Tim's head to let the older man get to work, but instead of taking his arm back he wrapped it around the boy in a secure hug so he didn't shift while being treated.
"I arranged it with Jack and Janet so that whenever they're out of the country Tim stays at the manor. He now spends more time here than he does at home."
Bruce didn't exactly look happy, and Dick couldn't blame him.
"I like it better here anyway." Tim muttered. "Get to be Robin."
Bruce excused himself to see about making sure Bane had been arrested while Alfred finished wrapping Tim's head.
Dick was about to move off the bed so he could help Tim change out of his blood-soaked uniform when the kid continued.
"Being Robin's better than being Tim Drake, anyway. More important."
Dick didn't know what to say. "You're plenty important, Timmy."
"Yeah. As Robin." He moved to detach his cape but winced and closed his eyes.
Dick stood and faced him, hands firmly on his shoulders. "Timmy-,"
"Tim."
"Sorry. Tim. Robin is a costume. You, Tim, are family. That means that you're more important than Robin."
"No. 'M not tryin' to be dramatic." He still had his eyes squeezed shut and was rubbing his temples like his head hurt. "Realistic."
Dick glanced back at the two other adults in the room, both far enough away to not hear what their youngest was saying.
"Gotham needs Batman. Batman needs a Robin."
Dick mentally sighed and drew Tim in for a hug, letting the boy rest tiredly against his chest. He'd always hated dealing with the moods Jason would get in when injured or concussed, and it looked like Tim would be a similar case.
"Yeah, well." He murmured. "Right now you're Tim Drake. And Dick Greyson needs Tim Drake. So deal with it."