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Chapter Text

Every inch of Tim shook as he contemplated ringing the front doorbell.

He had two baseball mitts and a ball clutched in his left arm, leaving his right hand free for ringing. If only he could convince himself to actually push the button.

He screwed his eyes shut and took a couple deep, shaky breaths to steady himself. And then, too quickly to talk himself out of it, he pressed the doorbell. Tim's heartbeat pounded in his ears. After a minute's wait, the door opened.

"Good afternoon, sir." Mr. Wayne's butler looked Tim over with raised eyebrows. "May I help you?"

Tim took another steadying breath. "I'm your neighbor. My name is Tim Drake. Jason and I go to school together." Of course, Jason was two grades ahead of Tim and they'd never even spoken, but Mr. Wayne's butler didn't need to know that. "I came to see if he would like to play catch. With me."

The butler glanced at the gear Tim held and smiled. "I shall ask him. Won't you come in?" He stepped back and allowed Tim in the door. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth."

Tim smiled back. "Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

Mr. Pennyworth left to find Jason, while Tim waited nervously in the entryway. He rearranged the gloves tucked under his arm, and panicked when he saw one of the tags still attached. He tried frantically to rip the tag off while not dropping the other glove or ball, when a voice startled him.

"Do you need some scissors?"

Tim froze and looked up. Jason Todd was standing right in front of him.

Robin was standing right in front of him.

"Um. Yes please." Tim followed Jason down a hall and past a handful of doors, until they came to a room with a writing desk in it. Jason fished out a pair of scissors and handed them to Tim.

"Alfred makes a point to have scissors and pens available in as many places as possible. Chances are, if you see any drawers, there are scissors in them."

Tim nodded, and cut the tag.

"So Alfred said you wanted to play catch?"

Tim nodded again. "Only if you want to. I brought us each a glove."

"Yeah, sure. I have my own glove though." Tim's face heated up, and he felt stupid for not noticing Jason was carrying a glove.

Jason led Tim back out the front door and around the side of the manor. "We just have to go far away enough that we can't hit any windows. There's some shade over here."

Shade was good, because Tim was already sweating from stress, and didn't need any help from the August afternoon sun.

"Do you need help putting your mitt on?"

Tim shook his head. He had watched no fewer than six YouTube videos, and practiced putting his glove on for an hour before coming over. "I've got it."

Jason took a few steps back and tossed the ball gently to Tim. Tim was almost annoyed that Jason was obviously going easy on him, but decided to be grateful instead. Better Jason think he didn't know what he was doing than for Tim to prove it. As it was, Tim caught the ball easily, and tossed it back to Jason.

"Good throw," he said, and Tim just knew his face was red again. "Can I ask a dumb question?"

Tim nodded.

"How do we know each other?" Jason caught the ball again and tossed it back to Tim. "You look really familiar, but I've met so many people over the last year, and it's harder than I thought it would be to keep them all straight."

"We go to school together," Tim said, adjusting his glove, because maybe he hadn't broken it in enough. "I'm in fifth grade, but we have lunch at the same time."

"Oh, okay. Fifth grade, huh? So you're eleven?"

Tim had hoped it wouldn't come up. What thirteen year old would want to be friends with a little kid? "I'm ten, actually," he said hesitantly. "I skipped third grade."

"Oh, cool. So you're, like, really smart?" Jason said and Tim shrugged. "I missed out on a couple of grades before I moved in with Bruce, so the school wanted to put me back in fourth last year instead of sixth. But Bruce worked with me a lot, and I got put back in sixth grade before winter break."

"So you're really smart too?" It made Tim smile to see Jason's face go all red this time.

"More like Bruce is really smart. I just did what he said."

"Whatever you say," Tim said, grinning. Their game continued for an hour or so, before Mr. Pennyworth called them inside and told Jason it was time to wash up for dinner.

"And shall I be setting a place for you, Mister Drake?"

Tim hesitated, glancing over at Jason, who said, "You should stay. Unless your parents are waiting for you."

"Um. No. They're out right now. They're not expecting me."

"Excellent," Alfred said, "Master Jason will show you to the bathroom to wash up, and dinner will be ready soon."

Tim again trailed Jason through manor until they made it to the dining room, where Mr. Wayne was already waiting for them. "Hello, Tim," he said with a small smile, "Alfred told me you'd be joining us tonight."

Tim nodded and sat at the chair Jason pointed to. "Thank you, sir. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," he said, still smiling. "Jason's friends are always welcome."

Tim felt like his chest was going to explode. Jason's friend. Mr. Wayne had called him Jason's friend, and who would know better who Jason's friends were than Jason's dad?! He ducked his head to hide his smile while Mr. Pennyworth served dinner.

Tim enjoyed having dinner with Jason and Mr. Wayne. He didn't say much unless they asked him a direct question, but he just loved listening to them talk to each other. They were so clearly fond of each other that it made Tim's chest hurt, and he wished he could do anything to make them that fond of him.

"When will your parents be home?" Mr. Wayne asked when they had finished eating.

Tim didn't really know. When he'd had an email from them on Friday, they'd said Wednesday or Thursday, but that was as specific as they could be. All Tim knew was, they'd be home soon.

"They'll be home soon," he said, and Mr. Wayne nodded.

"Is there anyone at your house now? I can drive you home, but I don't want to leave you there alone."

Tim didn't know what was wrong with being alone, so he made up a little lie. "Our housekeeper is there. She'll be there when I get home. But you don't have to drive me. I can walk."

"No, no," Mr. Wayne said, "it's almost two miles, and it's going to be dark soon. Besides," he smiled, right at Tim, "I don't mind."

Mr. Wayne pulled up in front of Drake Manor. He smiled at Tim again, and Tim couldn't help smiling back. "Looks like somebody's home."

That's because Tim's parents told him to always leave the front hall lights on, so robbers would think someone was home. But Mr. Wayne didn't need to know that. "Thank you for driving me," Tim said, getting out of the car.

"Of course, Tim. We enjoyed having you. Come over any time."

Mr. Wayne waited until Tim was inside to drive away. Tim ran up to his room and threw himself on his bed, unable to kill the smile that seemed like it would be stuck permanently to his face.

Best. Day. Ever!

Chapter Text

Jason sat with Tim at lunch on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday that week. When Tim asked if he wouldn't prefer to sit with friends in his grade, Jason shrugged and said Tim was the only cool person he knew.

Tim felt like he was walking on air for the rest of the day. First Mr. Wayne says Tim and Jason are friends, and then Jason says he's cool-

Tim could've died happy right then and there.

On Wednesday afternoon, Tim hurried to get his homework done. If his parents came home that night, he'd be free to spend every moment with them.

Wednesday night came and went with no word from Tim's parents, but that was okay. They had said Wednesday or Thursday, so Tim would plan on the next night instead. It was okay.

Everything was okay.

Tim had already started on some of his homework for that morning's math lesson when Jason sat across from him at lunch.

"Hey," he said, unzipping his Wonder Woman lunch box, "working on homework already?"

Tim nodded. "Cool lunchbox."

"Thanks. Did you know it's 'not cool' to have superhero lunch boxes in seventh grade?" Jason scoffed. "As if there's anything about Wonder Woman that isn't totally awesome."

Tim had no doubt Jason knew first hand how awesome Wonder Woman was. Batman was Tim's favorite (second only to Robin) but Jason didn't need to know that. Maybe someday... "Yeah, she's really awesome."

"Anyway, you're getting your homework done early so you can come hang out with me after school, right?"

Tim nearly choked on his juice box. Jason wanted to hang out with him! Jason thought he was cool! Tim would've given his spleen for Jason to have asked him that on any other day. "I can't," he sighed, "I have plans with my parents tonight."

"Oh, cool. Next time."

"Definitely next time."

It was five o'clock and Tim's homework was done. He poured himself a little bowl of cereal. If his parents got home late and didn't want to eat, it would be okay because Tim already ate something. If they did want to eat, it would be okay because it was a really little bowl.

Five o'clock turned into six, six turned into eight, into ten....

They still weren't there. But it was okay. Because Thursday was still Thursday until midnight, and it wasn't midnight yet.

Tim checked his phone for any updates. Nothing. He restarted and reconnected it, in case there was a problem with the network and it wasn't receiving messages. Still nothing.

No email. No call. No text.

But it was only ten-thirty.

And then it was only eleven.

At eleven-fifty, Tim stopped hoping. They weren't there, and they weren't coming. He buried his face in his arms and cried.

Chapter Text

The days after Tim had cried himself to sleep were always the worst. He woke up with a pounding headache and dry eyes, and his morning classes felt like torture. Throughout the morning, he sent multiple texts and emails to both of his parents, all of which went unanswered. When it was finally time for lunch, Tim collected his tray and sat down at the table he'd taken to sharing with Jason. He'd been staring at his lunch for five minutes when a Wonder Woman lunch box landed on the table in front of him.

"Hey, Tim," Jason said as he sat down at the table, "whatcha got today?"

Tim shrugged, not really knowing or caring what the lunch ladies had put on his tray.

"Rough day then?" Jason asked, "me too. I like school, but if today could be over right now, I wouldn't complain. You know?" Jason unzipped his lunch box, and then finally looked up at Tim. "Whoa. You okay?"

When Tim didn't respond, Jason waved his hand in front of his face. "Tim. Timmy, look at me." Tim looked up. "Are you okay? You're all pale and your eyes are all red. Are you sick?"

Tim shrugged again, which just made Jason look more concerned. Tim didn't like making Jason look concerned. "I'm okay. I just had a long night."

"Oh yeah?" Jason pushed a bag of carrots across the table to Tim. "Carrots?" Tim took a carrot. "Were you up all night reading or something? Bruce is always on me about that. Like he's gonna go broke because I keep a lamp on for a few extra hours."

Tim didn't think it was the electric bill that Bruce was concerned with, but it also really wasn't his business. "No I was just, um- I was waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"My parents didn't come home last night."

Jason looked startled. "What do you mean they didn't come home last night? What time were you expecting them?"

"Oh, um, no. They didn't say a time, they just said Thursday. And it's not Thursday anymore, so..." Tim was horrified when he started crying. He missed his mom and dad so much that it hurt, but Jason didn't need to know that. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, trying to take deep, calming breaths. Suddenly Jason was next to him, his arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Okay, Tim. It's okay. Listen," he was holding his cellphone, which was playing some generic hold music. "I'm calling Bruce. His secretary just went to get him out of a meeting. Where were your parents coming back from?"

Tim tried again to take a deep breath. It was a little easier this time. "Egypt. They said Wednesday or Thursday."

"Okay. And you haven't heard from them at all?"

Tim shook his head.

"And you're sure their plane landed?"

That thought hadn't even occured to Tim. Jason swore loudly as Tim went into hysterics.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Jason sounded panicked, although Tim didn't know what Jason had to be panicked about. Maybe it was sympathy panic? Did friends get sympathy panic? Tim didn't have time to ponder that because Jason was squeezing him in a crushing hug. "They're fine, I'm sure they're fine. Bruce will know what to do. Bruce always knows-" Jason let go of Tim suddenly to pick up his phone. "B? Yes it's an emergency. - Tim's parents never came home last night. - No- I don't know. He doesn't know. - Okay." He set the phone on the table and ended the call. "Bruce is on his way." He sounded so relieved that Tim couldn't help feeling a little relieved too.

Tim tried to wipe away his tears with a napkin, but it was useless when new tears wouldn't stop coming. When Jason reached for Tim again, he happily accepted the hug. While Jason patted his back, one thought kept repeating itself in Tim's head;

Batman will know what to do.

Chapter Text

Mr. Wayne took them to the police station, where they were led to an office and told to wait. Tim was grateful when Jason grabbed his hand and didn't let go. He felt floaty and scared, and holding Jason's hand helped him feel grounded. It wasn't long before a man with red hair and a mustache, who Tim recognized as Commissioner Gordon, came into the room. "Bruce," he greeted, shaking Mr. Wayne's hand.

"Hi, Jim." Mr. Wayne stood next to Tim's chair and squeezed his shoulder. "This is Tim Drake. His family lives next door to me. His parents didn't come home last night when Tim was expecting them."

Commissioner Gordon pulled a chair over to sit directly in front of Tim and smiled at him. Tim had seen the Commissioner before, but never face to face. Tim knew he was a nice person, and he imagined he could see it in the Commissioner's eyes.

"Hi Tim," he said, "my name is Jim. I hear you've had a rough couple of days?"

Tim's breath hitched, and Jason squeezed his hand tight. "Yes sir."

"Bruce said that you told Jason that your parents were in Egypt. Is that true?" Tim nodded. "And that they were scheduled to come home last night?"

Tim nodded again, and said, "I don't know what flight they were on. I couldn't check to see if it- if it got here okay." He spoke so quietly that he wasn't even sure the Commissioner could hear him, but he must have, because he wrote something down.

"Okay, Tim. You'll be glad to know that, as far as we know, it's very unlikely that your parents were involved in a plane crash." Hearing the words out loud made Tim feel sick. He took deep, stuttering breaths to keep from melting down in front of Jason and Mr. Wayne again. "Every plane scheduled to come into Gotham from Europe or Africa either landed safely, or was delayed and didn't leave."

Tim burst into tears. He hadn't even realized how afraid he was that his parents were dead until that very moment. Jason squeezed his hand again, and then Mr. Wayne was crouching down in front of him. He lifted Tim up under his arms and held him close. Tim went limp against Mr. Wayne, crying into his button up shirt, and Mr. Wayne just let him. He sat down next to Jason and held Tim on his lap. Tim was distantly aware that he should be mortified by his own behavior. He had no right to cling to Mr. Wayne and cry. Tim tried to focus on getting himself under control, but fear and stress continued to overwhelm him. At last - Tim didn't know how long he'd been crying - his tears dried up, and he lifted his head from Mr. Wayne's chest. Mr. Wayne loosened his arms around Tim, but didn't let go. "Are you all right, son?" He asked gently. Tim nodded, and Mr. Wayne situated him on his lap so he could face the Commissioner again.

Commissioner Gordon offered Tim a tissue and a bottle of water, and then continued questioning him about his parents. All impulse to lie flew out the window, and Tim found himself wanting to tell Mr. Wayne and the Commissioner everything. He explained how he hadn't had a nanny, or anyone to stay with him full time since his sixth birthday, and how sometimes his parents would be gone for as long as three months at a time. He held nothing back, and answered with as many dates and details as he could remember. He didn't know how all of that information would be useful in finding his parents, but the Commissioner was smart, and Tim wouldn't do anything to hinder his investigation.

As Commissioner Gordon finished questioning Tim, a woman with short blonde hair carrying a clipboard and files came into the room, and stood by the door taking notes. Commissioner Gordon beckoned her forwards. "Are you Ms. Martin?"

The woman nodded, and shook the Commissioner's hand. Then she shook Mr. Wayne's hand and introduced herself. "My name is Kelly Martin. I'm Timothy's case worker. I have a foster family assigned for him until his parents are found."

"No!" Jason shouted, and Tim's stomach dropped. He hadn't considered the possibility of foster care.

Tim could feel Mr. Wayne's deep voice rumble against his back when he spoke. "Actually, Ms. Martin, Tim will be staying with me. I'm a foster parent." He nodded towards Jason. "This is my foster son, Jason. I am prepared to take Tim home tonight."

"That won't be possible," she said. Tim thought she sounded annoyed, and leaned back against Mr. Wayne, suddenly afraid. "There isn't time to do a home study for you this afternoon. This family is ready for him now."

"Ms. Martin," Mr. Wayne explained patiently, "I have a house study on file from less than a month ago. I don't see any reason why Tim can't stay with me."

Ms. Martin rolled her eyes. "I have a perfectly nice family in this file right here. They're prepared to take Timothy in now, and leaving him with you would mean a great deal of unnecessary paperwork and hassle. Not just for me. For everyone involved. And I'm not going to do that when there is a perfectly nice family," she waved two file folders, the first one stamped with T. Drake in small letters along the side, in front of Mr. Wayne, "right here."

"I don't think you quite understand what I'm saying." Bruce stood and set Tim back down in his chair. "Shall we step out into the hallway?" Ms. Martin followed Mr. Wayne with a huff "I suggest you get your supervisor-" was the last thing Tim heard before the door clicked shut.

He drew his legs up, and realized he was shaking. Jason must've noticed too, because he offered to bring Tim a hoodie he'd left in Mr. Wayne's car. Tim shook his head frantically, desperate to not be left alone. "Are you sure you're not cold?" Jason asked, knitting his brow. "You're shivering."

Tim was freezing, but Jason didn't need to know that, especially if it meant Jason would leave Tim alone, even for a couple of minutes. "I'm not shivering, I'm just..." He realized he couldn't think of an excuse. "I'm not shivering."

Jason didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. "Suit yourself, I guess."

While they waited for Mr. Wayne, Tim decided to check his email one more time. His mouth went dry when he saw an email from his mom.

Dear Tim,

Dad and I decided to take a detour through Spain before coming home. There was nothing to be worried about. You know that it can be difficult for us to stay in contact while traveling. In the future, please don't panic just because our phone service is spotty.

Mrs. Mac will still be around twice a week, except for next week, which she requested off, but Dad and I have no doubt that you will step up to the plate, and take good care of yourself and the house.

Please make sure you finish your homework on time. Don't forget to eat breakfast again, and remember your coat!

Dad will send you our itinerary in a little while.

Love, Mom

They were okay.

His mom and dad were alive and safe in Spain. Tim finally felt like he could breathe again. He felt shaky and wrung out, and his head pounded horribly. He wordlessly handed his phone to Jason, and leaned his head on Jason's shoulder, exhaustion and relief weighing him down. Mr. Wayne came back in, his expression angry and hard, but he softened immediately when he looked at Tim and Jason.

"B, look at this." Jason sounded angry too, which didn't make sense, because Tim's parents were okay and there was nothing to be scared of anymore. He passed Tim's phone to Mr. Wayne, who read the email and left again.

Tim was half asleep when, almost forty minutes later, Mr. Wayne, Commissioner Gordon, and a woman Tim didn't know came back into the room. She had dark skin and curly hair, and was carrying more files and clipboards. She smiled warmly at Jason.

"Hi, Jason. How are you doing, sweetie?"

"Hi, Cyndi," Jason said, "Can't complain. Doing better than Tim here." He jostled his shoulder where Tim was still leaning, and Tim took the hint to sit up straight.

Cyndi crouched down in front of Tim and smiled right at him. "Hi, Tim. My name is Cyndi, and I'm Jason's case worker. I'm going to be taking over your case so that you can stay with Bruce and his family. Is that okay with you?"

That sounded wonderful to Tim, but entirely unnecessary. "Oh, um. My parents are okay. They're just still traveling, so I can just go home now. Everything's okay."

"No, sweetie," she stood up and pulled a chair close so she could sit facing Tim. "Even if your parents are okay, it's not okay to leave you alone by yourself."

Now Tim really didn't understand. "But it's okay. I've been taking care of myself for years. I'm really good at it, I promise."

Cyndi wrote something down that Tim couldn't see. "I have no doubt that you're a very grown up, dependable boy." Her voice was so gentle, but it didn't change the fact that what she was saying made Tim want to cry all over again. "However, it's against the law for a ten year old child to be left alone. That's why Bruce is going to take care of you for a while. Okay?"

Tim nodded mutely as his world came crashing down. He was only vaguely aware of what happened after, as Cyndi, Mr. Wayne, and Commissioner Gordon signed paperwork and talked some more. At some point, Jason wrapped his arm around Tim, and let Tim rest his head on his shoulder again. And then Mr. Wayne was in front of him, asking if he was ready to go home. Tim supposed he was, even though he realized Mr. Wayne meant his home, not Tim's. Mr. Wayne picked Tim up and settled him on his hip, and the three of them left together.

Chapter Text

Me. Wayne carried Tim out to his car and buckled him in the back seat. Jason sat next to him, instead of up front, which Tim appreciated. The setting sun in the windshield felt like it was stabbing Tim's brain, so he closed his eyes. It wasn't long before the motion of the car lulled him to sleep.

Tim woke up to Mr. Wayne opening his door. "What time is it?" He asked groggily.

"A little after six-thirty," Mr. Wayne responded. He held his arms out, and Tim leaned out of the car to be scooped up again. It occured to him that he was far too old to be carried like a baby. In fact, Tim couldn't remember the last time somebody carried him. He probably had been a baby. But his body felt too light and too heavy all at once, so he was just glad not to have to do his own walking. The sharp pain behind his eyes had dulled while he slept, but it still felt good to close his eyes and rest his forehead on Mr. Wayne's shoulder.

Mr. Wayne carried him in through the house somewhere - Tim would have been very interested in seeing where they were going were he not so disinclined to open his eyes again - until Tim was being set down on a bed. Tim's eyes flew open, and he saw he was in a bedroom that clearly belonged to somebody.

Jason's!? he wondered.

"This is Dick's room."

Still cool.

Mr. Wayne sat down on the bed next to him. "Jason is going to bring you some of his pajamas, and Alfred is making up a room for you now. Tomorrow, you and I will go to your house and get everything you need. Okay?"

Tim nodded. A moment later, Jason came in dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He handed Tim a pile of neatly folded clothes, and Tim went into the attached bathroom to change. The pajamas were way too big, but Tim didn't care. Then Mr. Wayne showed him to the room next door.

"The one directly across the hall is Jason's," he explained, "and the one on the other side of Dick's is mine. This one is yours."

Dinner was already served when Mr. Wayne showed Tim downstairs. He made sure to pay extra attention to where he was going, since he'd missed everything on their way in.

They ate the best dinner Tim had ever had in his entire life, and then Jason and Tim helped Mr. Pennyworth clear the table. When Mr. Pennyworth took Tim's plate from him, he worked up the nerve to say, "Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. That was really, really good."

Mr. Pennyworth smiled at Tim and said, "Please, sir, call me Alfred. I'll keep pot roast in mind as one of your favorites."

Tim didn't know what would be more mortifying; calling Mr. Pennyworth by his first name, or arguing with him about it. He chose the path of least resistance. "Thank you, Alfred."

Jason showed Tim to a room with couches and a TV and told Tim to pick out a movie. "Bruce has, like, Netflix and everything. But they only have so much. So he keeps a bunch of our favorites on Blu-ray in this cabinet here-" he opened the cabinet to reveal stacks upon stacks of movies, but Tim's eyes went to one stack in particular.

"You have Star Wars?"

"Yeah. Bruce likes the old ones. I've never seen all of them, though." He grinned and pulled out the whole pile. "Hey, how about we stay up all night and watch as many as we can get through? I don't think Bruce will care since there's no school tomorrow."

Tim agreed eagerly. The only thing better than Star Wars was introducing someone to Star Wars. They popped in episode IV, and got comfortable on the couch.

The Millennium Falcon had just escaped Tattooine when Mr. Wayne came in and leaned on the back of the couch behind Jason. "Star Wars, huh?"

"Yeah," Jason said, pausing the movie. "We decided to have a sleepover in here tonight and watch a bunch of them in order, even though it's not order, because numbers don't work like that."

Mr. Wayne glanced at Tim, and then looked back at Jason. "I'm not sure tonight's a good night for that, son. Tim is probably exhausted and would like to sleep in a real bed tonight."

Suddenly the thought of being all by himself all night was terrifying to Tim, but Mr. Wayne didn't need to know that. "Actually, a sleepover sounds like fun. I've never been to one before. If that's okay?" He wanted to curl up and die out of embarrassment for talking back, but it might be worth it if he got to hang out with Jason all night.

Mr. Wayne tapped Jason on the head. "You sure you don't have any...work or anything to do tonight, Jay?" And Tim felt like an idiot. Of course Robin always went out on Friday nights! How could he have forgotten? But Jason just shrugged.

"Nothing that can't wait until next week. Hey, Tim," he said, grinning, "wanna see how many blankets we can find to make a fort?"

Tim wanted that more than anything.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up the next morning feeling much more refreshed than he'd expected to after a day of crying and a night of too many movies. Jason was still fast asleep next to him, so Tim took a minute to think. He thought that maybe- if he couldn't go home and his parents wouldn't mind, of course- he could maybe see himself staying at Wayne Manor for a while. Given his own way, there was no place in the world Tim would rather be, but it was hardly his decision. He would have to be careful to fit in and not make anyone regret allowing him to stay. And- this part scared him, but there was no avoiding it- he would need to tell Mr. Wayne he knew about Batman. The thought of Batman or Robin being in any way compromised because of trying to keep their secret from Tim was completely unbearable. Tim would rather die himself. He resolved to tell Mr. Wayne as soon as possible.

Jason rolled over, blinking sleepily at him. "Morning," he grunted.

"Good morning," Tim said. People didn't usually say that to him, and it made butterflies flutter in his stomach. Sometimes his mom would send him a good morning email, but they always came at weird hours of the day, depending on where they were.

"Oh good, you're up." Mr. Wayne was standing in the doorway. Tim remembered his resolution, and his butterflies started to go berserk. "Alfred just finished breakfast."

Jason didn't make any move to get up. "Maybe we should have a picnic breakfast to go with our awesome fort," he said, and Mr. Wayne chuckled.

"If you had a fort last night, I don't know what you did to it, because now it's a messy pile at best." Tim had to agree. "Come on, breakfast is already on the table." Jason acquiesced, grumbling something about french toast.

Tim followed Mr. Wayne and Jason into the dining room and sat down next to Jason. Jason lit up when he saw the platter of french toast in front of him. "Awesome," he said, already piling some onto his plate. Tim was at a loss, but then Jason grabbed his plate and filled it too. "That enough?" Jason asked, and Tim nodded. Jason left him to pour his own syrup. It was different from the one Mrs. Mac always bought for him, and so thin that Tim poured twice as much as he meant to.

"Oops!" He said, righting the bottle. "I didn't know it was gonna come out that fast. The one I have at home is different."

Fortunately Mr. Wayne didn't seem mad. "That's because this is real maple syrup. There's nothing in it to make it thicker. Try it, you'll like it."

Tim was a little bit appalled that Mr. Wayne thought he was complaining, so he took an enthusiastic bite of french toast drenched in far too much syrup. Mr. Wayne was right. "You're right," he said as soon as his mouth was empty, "I like it a lot!"

"Yeah, that's 'cause it's better," Jason said, pouring more syrup onto his own plate.

"So, Tim," Mr. Wayne said, "I think after breakfast we should go to your house and get your things. Okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Tim agreed, "um, yes that sounds good. Oh!" He suddenly remembered something. "My house key was in my pocket! I forgot to take it out."

"Alfred found it when he washed your clothes last night. Don't worry, I have it." Mr. Wayne smiled kindly at him, and Tim found it surprisingly easy not to worry.

Jason carried his plate into the kitchen, Tim trailing behind him. He handed Alfred his plate, and Tim was surprised to see him lean affectionately against Alfred while he thanked him for breakfast. Alfred patted his shoulder and smiled warmly at him, saying "You are quite welcome, love."

Tim was struck by how easily they touched each other. Would he be expected to- what if he didn't know how to be like that!? He felt himself start to panic. Jason stepped back and looked at Tim expectantly. Tim took a shaky breath, making up his mind. He handed his plate to Alfred, and said, as steadily as he could, "Thank you for breakfast, Alfred."

"My pleasure-" Alfred was cut off by Tim throwing his arms around him, hugging him tight around the middle. He let go just as quickly, and immediately regretted his entire existence when he saw surprise on both Jason and Alfred's faces. Alfred recovered quickly, and patted Tim's shoulder just like he did Jason's. "My pleasure, dear boy."

Fifteen minutes later, Tim had escaped the awkwardness of the kitchen and changed into his own clothes. Mr. Wayne was waiting for him in the hallway to take him to the garage. The drive was quick, and Tim wasn't sure how he felt about that. The sooner they got there, the sooner Tim would have to tell Mr. Wayne the truth, but the longer it took, the longer he had to worry about it. Mr. Wayne pulled up to the front door, and handed Tim his house key. He let them in and took Mr. Wayne to his room.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, thoroughly embarrassed. Mrs. Mac had given up on trying to civilize him, and hadn't been around to clean herself in a little while. Tim would need to do better at Mr. Wayne's house so Alfred wouldn't get mad at him. Mr. Wayne didn't say anything, which Tim appreciated. The comments his parents made about his room always set him on edge. "It's not always like this," he lied, "I was just really busy last week."

"Do you have a suitcase?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"Yeah," Tim shoved over a pile of clothes and Legos to force open the closet door. "It's on the top shelf." Mr. Wayne retrieved his suitcase, and Tim set to work filling it. He felt his face heat up as he realized most of the clothes he needed were in the 'dirty' piles on the floor, not that he thought Mr. Wayne could tell what were 'dirty' piles and what were 'clean' piles. Tim could tell, but he didn't expect anyone else to be able to. "I might need to do laundry first," he said, embarrassed all over again.

"Don't worry about it, Tim," Mr. Wayne said, "Alfred can do your laundry when we get back. It's not a problem."

So much for not giving Alfred a reason to hate him.

Tim's clothes were packed, and he started to gather his camera equipment. He took a photo album from one of his dresser drawers and hugged it close to him, trying his best to keep his breathing steady, and his hands from shaking. "Mr. Wayne?"

"You can call me Bruce, Tim," Mr. Wayne said kindly. He was so nice, it almost made Tim relax a little.

He looked down at the photo album, and all thoughts of relaxation flew out the window. "I have to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I know that you're Batman."

Chapter Text

"I know that you're Batman."

Bruce's expression didn't change. He still looked kind and concerned and perfectly composed, which was not what Tim had been expecting at all.

"Batman?" Bruce said, and Tim didn't think it was fair that he was the only one who was nervous. "What makes you think that?"

"I know that you're Batman," Tim continued, "I know that Jason is Robin. And Richard Grayson is Nightwing." He handed Bruce the photo album. "I've been taking pictures of you all out at night for two and a half years. I figured it out last year."

Mr. Wayne flipped through the photo album, still looking frustratingly composed. "I don't see how pictures of Batman and Robin mean that they're Jason and me."

Tim steeled himself, and handed Bruce another picture, one that wasn't kept in the album. This picture caused Bruce to react.

"That's Dick," he said, finally surprised. Tim nodded.

"I met him at the circus. I saw him do a quadruple somersault. They talked about it a lot during the show. They said nobody in the world could do it except the Graysons." Tim pointed back to the album. "And Nightwing." Bruce handed the album back to Tim, and he flipped through to a photo of Nightwing, clearly in motion. It couldn't really prove anything, but Tim remembered taking that photo vividly. "Once I figured that out, everything else made sense."

Bruce looked appropriately stunned.

"So," Tim went on, "you don't need to worry about me finding out. And I won't ever tell anybody. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Bruce didn't seem to be listening anymore. "You mean to tell me that you've been going out at night, into downtown Gotham, with," he glanced towards Tim's camera equipment, "at least a thousand dollars worth of camera equipment for two years?"

It was closer to two thousand dollars, but Bruce didn't need to know that. "Um. Yeah."

"I see." Bruce crossed his arms. He looked very serious, and Tim's nerves were back with a vengeance. "Okay, kiddo. I think we're going to need to set some ground rules."

Tim's heart skipped a beat. "So I can still stay?"

"Of course you're still staying." Bruce's serious expression melted into a soft smile. "You being just about the smartest kid I've ever met doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't?"

"It doesn't. I still want you safe and protected."

Tim's breath hitched. "You do?"

Bruce smiled sadly at him. "Yes. I do."

Two fat tears rolled down his face, and he quickly scrubbed at them with his sleeves. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Bruce knelt down in front of him. "What are you sorry about?" He asked.

Tim willed his tears to stop, but they wouldn't listen. He wiped his face with his sleeves again. "I don't like crying," he said, sniffling, "I'm tired of crying. I don't even know why I'm crying right now. I'm not even sad."

Bruce stood and led Tim down the hall to the bathroom, even thought Tim didn't know how he knew where it was. He ran a washcloth under warm water and wiped Tim's face. "It's okay to cry sometimes," he said, "and it doesn't have to be because you're sad. I know the last few days have been a lot." Bruce finished with the washcloth and reached towards Tim. Tim started to lean into the hug when he realized that Bruce was actually just draping the washcloth over the edge of the sink. Tim cringed back, mortified, hoping that Bruce hadn't noticed. He must have, because his sad smile was back. Tim was wishing he could melt into an embarrassed puddle on the floor when Bruce pulled Tim into his arms, practically cradling him. Tim was angry with himself for expecting hugs barely one day into staying with Bruce's family. How was he supposed to readjust to normal life when it was time to leave them? Giving hugs he could do. He could be clinical and detached. But getting hugs was ruining everything. Bruce's hugs, and Jason's hand-holding, and Alfred's shoulder pats...

Bruce let go after a minute, but slowly, like he was asking if Tim was okay.

(He wasn't, but Bruce didn't need to know that.)

"Is there anything you need from in here?" Bruce asked, and Tim looked around.

"Yes. I almost forgot." He opened one of the drawers and fished out his toothbrush. "My toothbrush."

Bruce frowned, and Tim couldn't fathom what he might've done wrong. Did Batman and Robin not brush their teeth?

"Why don't you throw that one away, and we'll get you a new one out of our stash."

"Why?"

"See how all the bristles are flat?" Bruce said, "that means it's not cleaning your teeth, and it's time for a new one. Don't worry, we keep lots of toiletries on hand. What about shampoo?"

Bruce frowned again when Tim reached into the shower and grabbed a bar of soap. "You shampoo with bar soap?"

Tim shrugged. "It's pretty much the same thing. Right? They're both soap."

"Okay," Bruce sighed, "okay. We have some shampoo put away too. Stuff that will make your hair-" he grinned and ruffled Tim's hair, making him giggle, "clean and healthy."

"But my hair isn't sick," Tim protested.

"And we're going to keep it that way." Bruce stood and held out his hand to Tim. "Ready to go?"

Tim took Bruce's hand tentatively. "I just need to pack my camera stuff."

"All right. Camera stuff, and then home."

Tim nodded in agreement. "And then home."

When they pulled back into the garage at Wayne Manor, Jason rushed out to meet them. "Gosh, you guys were gone forever," he said, "Alfie told me to stop pestering him and help you carry Tim's stuff in."

Bruce smiled fondly at Jason, and passed him Tim's suitcase. "You carry this, I'll take the camera equipment."

"Camera equipment? Sheesh." His eyes went wide when he saw the large duffle bag and tripod. "Do you secretly work for National Geographic or something?"

"Actually," Bruce slammed the trunk shut, "that's something we need to talk about. Lead the way."

Tim felt stupid being the only one not carrying his stuff, but he dutifully followed behind Jason and Bruce up to his room. As they passed the kitchen, Bruce called to Alfred and asked him to meet them in Tim's room as well. Bruce set Tim's bags down against the wall, and then picked Tim up under his arms and set him down on his bed.

"What's going on, B?" Jason asked. Bruce gestured for him to sit on the bed next to Tim. Jason must have sensed Tim's anxiety building again, because he wrapped his arm around Tim's shoulders. Tim relaxed just the littlest bit. Knowing Bruce wasn't mad at him helped, but what if Alfred or Jason didn't react as well?

Bruce unzipped the front pocket of Tim's suitcase and removed his photo album. They'd stashed the photo of Tim and Dick together in the front page. A minute later, Alfred was there, and Bruce was handing him the photos. He didn't say anything, and Tim's anxiety kicked into high gear. Finally he said, "Tim? Do you want to tell them?"

Tim shook his head frantically.

"Okay," Bruce said patiently, "Tim knows all about Batman."

"What!?" Jason turned to face Tim, wide-eyed and excited, "you know? How do you know? I mean-" he caught himself, glancing at Bruce, "know what about Batman?"

"It's okay, Jay," Bruce said, and Jason grimaced.

"Sorry. I didn't think."

"No harm done. He really does know." Bruce explained everything Tim had told him to Jason and Alfred. Alfred was clearly impressed until Bruce told them about Tim taking the photos himself.

"I'm sure that the inappropriateness of that has been discussed?" He said.

"We're actually about to have that discussion right now," Bruce answered. He sat down on Tim's other side. Jason was still next to him, sitting close enough that he was afraid maybe his shoulder was digging too hard into Jason's arm. Jason didn't seem bothered though, and Tim had no desire to move away. "Tim," Bruce said, very serious again, "going out into Gotham at night is extremely dangerous. You're lucky you weren't hurt. Or killed. Or worse. Any of a thousand things could've happened to you. We'll go over all of the house rules later, but the most important one for you is that you never leave the house alone. Especially at night. Especially to go into Gotham."

The reprimand stung, but Tim didn't quite understand. "But you and Jason go out every night."

"Yes, we do," Bruce said, "but that's different."

"Why?"

"We have training. And equipment."

"And armor," Jason interrupted. "What if someone stabbed you? They try to stab me all the time, but it almost never works because of my armor."

Tim scrunched his eyebrows. "You don't wear any pants."

"I wear flesh colored leggings, for your information," Jason scoffed, "and the criminals never try to stab me in the leg anyway."

"The point is," Bruce rested his hand on Tim's head, reclaiming his attention, "nobody is going into Gotham alone for any reason. Be they bird or birdwatcher." Jason snorted, which made Bruce smile. But Tim had an idea.

"What if I wore armor and went with you some nights to take photos?"

Alfred was quick to respond. "Absolutely not."

Bruce thought it over for a moment. "Maybe."

"Sir," Alfred protested, but Bruce just raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe also means maybe not." Alfred just sighed. "Oh, and before I forget, Tim will need a toothbrush and shampoo too."

Alfred nodded once and left.

"You okay, bud?" Bruce asked. For a second Tim thought Bruce was going to hug him again, and he might have, had Jason not beaten him to it.

"Of course he's okay," Jason said, throwing his arms around Tim and hugging him tight. "He's got us to take care of him now. Right?"

Tim smiled. "Yeah."

"Okay," Bruce said, also smiling. "I'm going to go call Dick and let him know what's going on. What are you two going to be up to until lunch?"

Jason shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe we'll go outside."

"Good idea. Take advantage of the warm weather before it goes away." Bruce got up to leave. "You two have fun."

Once Bruce was gone, Jason scowled. "Don't know why he's gotta tell dickface everything." He hopped off Tim's bed. "Come on, get your mitt. Let's go."

Chapter Text

Tim wished he could stop shaking. He'd met Dick before. Many times, in fact. First as a really little kid, then here and there at events. And once while trailing Batman and Robin. But this was different.

This time, he had Dick Grayson's — the original Robin's — full, undivided attention for the first time since he was two. The excitement was making him a little dizzy.

Dick was tall. Not as tall as Bruce, but tall enough that Tim felt small, especially when Dick knelt down and hugged Tim briefly, following Alfred's introduction. They sat together at the kitchen table, Bruce and Jason still being asleep, while Alfred made breakfast. Tim did his best to follow the conversation, despite the buzzing in his ears.

"Alfred says you're in school with Jason. What's your favorite subject?" Dick asked.

"Uh, yeah," Tim said intelligently, "um, math is probably my favorite, I guess? I don't really like any of them."

"Master Tim is a wonderful photographer," Alfred interrupted, setting plates of pancakes in front of each of them.

"Oh, that's neat. Have you taken any photography classes?"

Tim nodded, reaching for the maple syrup. "Yeah, I did for a while. But my teacher kept telling me what pictures to take, and what they were supposed to mean, and I didn't think it was any of her business."

Dick threw back his head and laughed, and Tim's buzzing died down a little bit. Dick Grayson thought he was funny.

"You're so right though," Dick said, smiling, "Art classes are a sham." He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell Jason I said that."

Tim wasn't dumb. He wasn't oblivious either. He'd picked up on Jason's not-so-subtle hints, and knew he and Dick didn't get along, although Tim couldn't understand for the life of him why. Dick Grayson and Jason Todd were the coolest, nicest people Tim had ever met, and it didn't make any sense that they didn't love each other as much as Tim loved them.

Dick poked him in the shoulder, startling Tim out of his introspection. "So what's the plan for today?"

Tim hunched up his shoulders. Dick was leaning slightly towards him, looking for all the world like he'd be happy to spend his day however Tim wanted. "Nothing, I think? Jason and I go outside a lot. Sometimes we read, or play catch."

Dick quirked an eyebrow. "You two go outside to read?"

"Well, Jason reads," Tim admitted, "I mostly play games on my phone."

"Better than playing video games inside," Alfred interrupted again.

"Definitely." Dick winked at Tim. "You know, I'm better at baseball than Jason is. I could probably teach you some things."

Tim couldn't think of anything better.

Chapter Text

Tim trotted outside after Dick.

"Where are you guys going?" Jason called from the doorway.

"We're going to play catch!" Tim was too excited to even realize he was bouncing up on his toes. "Do you want to come?"

"Catch is really a two person game, Timmy," Dick said.

"I have two gloves," Tim said helpfully, "Jason can use mine!"

Dick shook his head. "Jason has his own glove. But we don't need a third."

"Whatever." Jason scowled turned to leave, and Tim panicked.

"No, wait! You two can play." He started to pull his glove off. "I'll watch."

Dick sighed. "It's okay, kid. If Jason wants to play, we can make it work with three."

"Oh," Tim said, happily wiggling his glove back on. Once it was back in place, he tossed the ball to Dick, who caught it easily. Then Dick threw to Jason, except he didn't throw to Jason the same way he threw to Tim. Instead of tossing the ball, he wound up, and threw the fastest pitch Tim had ever seen outside of a real baseball game.

"Ow!" Jason shouted in surprise when the ball made contact with his gloved hand. "What the heck, Dick!?"

"What? Robin can't handle a little fast ball?" Dick taunted.

Jason's face went red, and he pitched back to Dick, ignoring Tim's turn altogether. Dick caught it, laughing. "That can't be all you've got."

They went back and forth for a while, and Tim was starting to lose interest, until he looked up to see the ball coming right at him. He threw his arms up over his face, and felt it make contact with his right arm, just below his shoulder. The impact knocked him over and be landed on his butt, stunned.

"Tim!" Dick was suddenly in front of him, ripping his own glove off. Jason landed on his knees next to him. "Are you okay?!"

Was Tim okay? His arm was throbbing. "I think so." His voice was shakier than he thought it would be. "It hurts a little."

"Come on." Dick lifted Tim up under his arms and set him on his feet. "You can walk okay, right?"

"You hit him in the arm, stupid," Jason scoffed. "Of course he can walk."

Dick rolled his eyes and led Tim into the kitchen, Jason right on their heels.