Chapter Text
"Hey B. I haven't seen the Replacement in a while. Where's he been?"
"Red Robin? Why?"
"I, I need to apologize. I never apologized for Titans Tower, or… everything else. I need to do it in person, but I realized I didn't know his civilian identity somehow. Do you know where he is?"
"..."
"What?"
"... I'll let you know when he comes into contact with us."
"What is it B?"
"..."
"What are you not saying?"
"I made mistakes… I made a lot of mistakes with him."
“What does that mean?!”
“I… Red wore disguises from the beginning, but I never cared about learning who he was until he had already learned to hide completely from me. As hard as I tried, I never did find out who he was behind the mask. He didn’t… I. I didn’t try, hard enough.”
"So you don't know who he is or where to find him?"
"No."
"... well darn B, it looks like we both have some apologizing to do."
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The day that Tim decided that Batman needed help, he made plans. He could put his photos together and make an argument showing how Batman needs a Robin… but would that work?
Batman was already acting unstable, there’s no telling what he would do to Tim in his anger. He hadn’t hurt kids, but if he registered Tim as a threat? Tim couldn’t chance that.
So he needed to be registered in Batman’s head as untouchable before physically interacting.
He could do that. He… could do it. For Robin. For Jason.
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Blackmailing Batman wasn’t easy. Tim didn’t have any other choice though. He went through Alfred first, letters and messages explaining what he had: proof who Batman was, pictures of the blood and violence spread each time Batman patrolled. He explained exactly what he was going to do if Batman wasn’t quelled.
Alfred sent messages back, at first angry. Demanding he leave them in their mourning. Tim continued explaining over the course of a week, multiple messages sent a day, until finally Alfred agreed.
For two whole days, Batman didn’t show up. Tim was relieved at first, hoping that it would be taken care of.
Of course, things could never be that simple.
Batman went back out the next day, Thursday night. Tim nearly cried that night. Batman was once his hero, but heroes aren’t infallible. Normally Tim would stay in the shadows, never show himself, never be seen. When Batman walked away from a man bleeding from multiple wounds on his head and a gash in his stomach, Tim couldn’t stay back.
The 911 operators recognized his voice as the Seer, and he tried to stay calm as he begged them for instructions. Begged them to help him save this man. Bandages and stitches, Tim breathed through it all, trying not to shake as he followed instructions. And when the ambulance finally came their way, he ran.
Hyperventilating and shaky, Tim raced home and sobbed. When he had cried all he could, he called Alfred. He would only give them one more chance.
Hoarsely, he gave his terms to Alfred. Alfred, shaken, agreed.
A com connected to Batman, a link to Batman’s cowl cam. Both without anything to trace Tim, or the blackmail would be used.
The next time Batman went out, he heard a new voice. A voice telling him when to stop, when it had to end. If Batman passed that line, the voice would begin explaining, in detail, what blackmail he had.
Batman listened.
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Things were getting better. Not good, not even close to how it was before. But better.
Tim stayed awake every night, watching the camera feed and putting a stop to things if Batman was losing control. At first, it took minutes of arguing. After three weeks of doing this every night, most of the time it only took a sharp “Batman!” to stop him. Batman would just growl and back off, moving on. Tim breathed a sigh of relief every time.
Then a night came where Batman was trapped. Poison Ivy often wasn’t thought of as the most vengeful villain, but she was deadly. Toxins of every kind, she knew them all. She embraced plants as her family, and Batman had destroyed many in his paranoia and anger.
Batman was trapped, but Tim wasn’t. Alfred asked, begged Tim to go. To stop Ivy. Because nobody deserved the pain those toxins were causing, because Ivy was angry and didn’t leave out bystanders.
At first, Tim refused. With no suit, no armor, he would never stand a chance. Alfred told him about the Robin winter suit, a special one that covered every speck of skin.
Tim agreed.
Stealing a blond wig from his mothers room and chopping the hair to be barely longer than his current style, changing his clothes, adding a hat to ‘cover’ his hair, and a mask on his face, he snuck through Wayne Manor and entered the Batcave.
Alfred’s face grew grim as he looked at the young man in front of him. Tim grabbed the suit and went to change.
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Ivy was back in Arkham, and Batman was out of action for a full day. Tim kept the suit. Villains wanted revenge for the pain caused during Batman’s ‘mourning’. Alfred begged, Tim became Robin again. And again.
Batman eventually insisted that he get training if he refuses not to leave them alone. Says he can’t stand the incompetence. Batman sends him to Paris to work with someone, Tim went with his brown contact lenses and slightly auburn wig. Tim knew Batman wanted to patrol without the eye over his shoulder, and tasked Alfred with keeping him from losing control.
Lady Shiva was a much harsher mentor than anyone Tim had ever known. He spent four months training with her. He used his saved money to fly back to Gotham as needed when he needed to be Timothy Drake.
Lady Shiva asked, as he was leaving, who he was. She meant his civilian identity, he knew, but he didn’t care. He laughed. “I’m Robin, don’t you know?” And gave a dark smirk.
She shook her head, looking at him intently. “Robin? You don’t seem entirely like a Robin, boy.”
Tim looked down at his hands, still seeing the blood from that one night. “This Robin has red on his hands, and it never seems to go away.”
Shiva looked at him seriously. “It never goes away, not completely.”
She turned away and walked. As they walked their separate way, he heard her call out one last thing to him. “Goodbye little Red Robin!” He barely heard it, she was so far away. He raised a hand back, and left without a second glance.
He hadn’t killed anyone directly. He didn’t leave many injuries. That didn’t mean he didn’t see the blood of each person he patched up since that first night. His own injuries, his own blood, never showed. But he saw all of them still, their blood, but mainly the first.
George Clements passed away due to severe internal bleeding
He went back to Gotham with a staff in his hand, and the knowledge of dozens of different immediate takedowns in his body.
You want to know how to take people down without causing injury? Where’s the fun in that?
Best way to teach is to do, they say. Better learn quickly, hm?”
He wasn’t the light that Dick or Jason were, but he could hold the dark back. He trained, he fought, and he grew. He treated his own injuries, never allowing them the chance to identify him. Bruce trained him in hacking. He learned quick and added it to his lessons outside the Manor.
Oracle established her place as the eyes of the city. Dick started dropping by as Nightwing. Tim avoided them.
When they got upset about him using the name ‘Robin’, he only laughed. When Dick yelled at him for using Jason’s title, Tim shook his head.
“Don’t you know, Dick? This little Robin is Red.”
Silver tips on black hair flickered and swished in the wind as Tim left that night, green eyes flashing. Tim hadn’t cried since that night, but sometimes he wanted to.
They began calling him Red Robin, Red for short, and that was fine by him. He still saw it, and couldn't wash it off.
And at the end of the day (night) he walked back home. A cold, empty house. Took care of his wounds. Went to sleep. Woke up for school.
And he was happy with what he was. He knew he wasn’t the Robin that they were. But he was what was needed, and he did it.
He was forcing Bruce to start therapy. Dick reconnected with Bruce, and Bruce seemed happier. Alfred was less stressed. Barbara came around occasionally.
Tim didn’t stay at the Manor for anything other than for cases. Eventually, Dick started inviting him to play games or watch a movie. But Tim saw the look on Bruce’s face and knew he needed to stay away. He see’s me as Jason sometimes… if I were to play upstairs with Dick, would it remind him of his lost son?
So Tim shook his head at each invitation. Only occasionally took the food offered by Alfred.
I’m not the Robin they wanted. But I did what was needed.