Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim’s dad really wanted Tim to have regular young boy interests. The only thing that ever really stuck was cars.

Tim didn’t like baseball or any other sports. He wasn’t into building things, he didn’t own a single construction toy that he actually deigned to play with. He didn’t fantasize about being a police officer or a firefighter, and he was far too into photography. He couldn’t give less of a shit about wrestling aside from the ‘interesting technique’ and the dramatic costumes, which his father complained that somehow Tim had turned wrestling into a girly thing by talking about costume design. Both his parents nearly took the hide off his ass when he ‘desecrated’ his mother’s makeup.

But cars… cars stuck.

Jack Drake was on the cusp of giving up when he introduced Tim to an engine. Way too young, mind you, but that would only apply if Tim had a normal IQ for his age. He was very smart for an 8-year-old!

Jack was ecstatic to find his son interested in both the design of vehicles, and the inner workings. Tim even seemed to enjoy the racing events he put on the TV!

Tim was just glad that his father was spending time with him for the most part. He’d tried all those other things his dad thought were appropriate for a young boy, but they just weren’t… interesting. Cars were different. They were fast, super fast, in the racing events he watched. They did maneuvers he had never seen a Gotham roader do, and trust him, you see some crazy driving in Gotham. The events on TV had strange obstacles thrown onto the road, and Tim liked to imagine what he’d do if he were facing such a roadblock (pun intended). Tim bought GTA just to do car stunts in-game, nothing else. The designs of the powerful race cars on TV were sleek and beautiful, the ooooh boy, the racing gear that the motorcyclists and race car drivers wear? Yeah. In a few years that’s gonna be an awakening.

And the engines and all inner workings are so complex. A million pieces and reactions that determine how fast, how smooth, how entirely fucking awesome and efficient this wonder of machinery worked. To go from dead-still to over 60 miles per hour in a few blinks? Awesome.

And best of all, his father didn’t mind this one!

If Tim turns his legos into a real, working mini-rocket he’s “a total nerd” but if he supes up an engine he’s “my little man, just like your dad!”

(But then they leave again. Because they always leave. It was fun while it lasted, at least…)

(anyway)

Tim found that, even in their absence, vehicles stayed as an interest. 

He’d go in their garage, and climb around the various cars they own. No motorcycles, unfortunately, but still cool. Fast and fancy, Tim briefly hyper-fixated on these machines. The ones they own are more for looks than acceleration and speed, but it was still intriguing.

He spent all his spare time between school and Bat-Stalking taking online driver-ed courses. He couldn’t get a driver's license yet, and he was wayyy too short to reach the pedals, but he just wants to know. 

In his mind, all the tricks and stunts easily translate into calculations– their physics and the actions needed to achieve them.

Tim spends his ninth birthday alone, with only a cupcake from Ms.Mac to brighten his day. Well, until the next morning, when his parents had a child-sized dirt bike delivered.

Best birthday gift ever.

He will forgive them for this being year 4 of them not being here on his birthday. 

Tim probably should have waited for some adult supervision, but instead, he decided ‘Eh, it’ll be fine,’ and gives himself a concussion breaking in the new toy. The bike was fine though, thank god.

But it wasn’t that fast, it had a steep limit on speed and took a minute or so to get there, so Tim… made some changes. Because crashing on it the first time at regular speeds and acceleration wasn’t enough for him, apparently. Look, if they didn’t want him turning it into a small racing dirt bike, they shouldn’t have made it so easy! Plus, he bought a helmet. 

He breaks his wrist and tears too much of the skin off his leg before he decides that maybe he needs more than just a helmet. That was a rough hospital visit, but thankfully, “I got a dirt bike for my birthday” was all the staff needed to hear before they just huffed with amusement, and murmured about parents getting their wild children crazy toys.

Tim wonders why Robin doesn’t have his own vehicle. Sure, he’s young, but it would be so convenient! Bruce Wayne, as Tim had discovered was Batman, could certainly afford it.

And speaking of Batman… the Batmobile. Holy. Shit. What a car. What a car. Tim’s soul sparkles every time he sees it or hears its engine rumble. The incredible acceleration, insane speed, beautiful design, gadgets for anything you could possibly need— so much thought put into it too! At some point, Batman had fitted the tires with these new caps that made them extremely resistant to tire jacking!

…Not that Tim ever thought about trying, or anything. No, that would be bad. He’d never do that.

Coming up to Tim turning 11, he emailed his parents asking for something he could drift and was supremely satisfied with seeing one of those tween go-kart things the day of. Of course, it would have been cooler if he’d woken up to them being there, but this works too.

Tim didn't even deign to get in the thing until he changed the mechanics a bit. Speed limiter? HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAH—

Ahem.

Suffice it to say, Tim altered some stuff.

Tim didn’t dare try it inside, he learned that lesson with the dirt bike (don’t ask) but the Drakes’ have a massive driveway, like any rich family in Bristol. It was practically a raceway already!

He rolls the kart a few times learning to drift, but god is it fun. Probably the most fun he’s ever had on a birthday, and this time he doesn’t even get a concussion! He ruined some grass, but his parents won’t be home in time to see that.

The gardener was there, which Tim didn’t realize at first, but when he skidded to a stop at the garage with a screech and a whoop of victory, he was faced with a look of horror.

“Uhhh…” Tim had droned, blinking, “Rich kid shit?”

The gardener just shook his head in bewilderment and pretended he never saw anything. Then, and in the future.

Tim learned a while ago that you can get away with pretty much anything by saying your parents are rich.

Neither of his vehicles had enough longevity or size to reliably get him to-and-from Gotham Main without running out of fuel or getting pulled over, but Tim was working on that! In the meantime, Tim was still stuck with boring, safe methods of transportation. Eugh.

Despite a need-for-speed, photography still had Tim Drake’s heart. As such, it was not too long after his 11th birthday that he was in Gotham, playing paparazzi. 

(Paparazzi sounds a lot better than ‘stalker’ so he’s gonna keep going with that.)

Tim crept across rooftops and alleys as if he’d been born to do so, camera at the ready. Batman and Robin 2 were planning something big for tonight, he’s been keeping an eye on it for a week now but has yet to figure out what. Some big take-down that’s been in the works to knock out some major players.

Tim gets a few okay shots of the two taking down criminals in the meantime, and one shot he’s really proud of where Robin has his entire body wrapped around Batman’s arm and the man is grumpily walking around, slightly off to the side with the weight.

Then, Nightwing shows up.

Oh, shit.

Tim knows what’s going down now. 

Batman and Robin have been paying special interest to a group of drug distributors, a newer criminal body going by the Vipers. Cliche as shit, but hey, not everyone can be the king of creativity. Everything Batman owns is the ‘bat-item’ so it’s not like he can judge. Tim hadn’t given the Vipers much thought, because they’re largely mild, as far as selling drugs go. They sell some of the safer drugs in Gotham, they aren’t cut with crazy shit, they don’t hike prices— it’s started to feel like maybe they have some Upstanding Citizen Drug Dealers for once.

…which is only a thing you can hope for in Gotham. Nowhere else, nowhere else can you think ‘Oh, maybe these drug dealers aren’t quite as evil as the usual ones’.

They kill only if competition comes after them, and they’ve got a large portion of Gotham’s junkies buying off them. Tim is realizing now why Batman has been keeping an eye on them.

A gang in Bludhaven has been spiking drug batches with deadly chemicals. It’s a slow death, ugly too. Tim was stalking the bats a few weeks ago and hovered over some sort of deal between two men who were clearly Vipers, and another man who had a slightly different accent. Like Gotham, but different. Bludhaven.

If Tim is right about how he’s reading the situation… The Vipers have been playing the long game, and they’re about to cash out.

Tim carefully sneaks as close as he can, dropping down onto a dark ledge near the group convening on the roof above him. He curls into the dark like he was born from it, listening intently. A few pieces of gravel trickle off the side of the ledge, and Tim holds his breath, but’s high up enough that you can’t hear them hit the ground.

“Nightwing. We have confirmation?”

“Yeah, B. The Vipers were doing trial runs in Bludhaven, small scale. It’s the same gang. They’ve got nearly all of Gotham’s users buying from them, and now they’re gonna hit; we’re going to have people dying all over Gotham if we don't stop this tonight.”

Tim can hear Robin breathing heavily in barely contained rage. The boy, nearly-15-year-old Jason Todd, kicks a rock off the roof. It flies over Tim’s hiding spot, and he startles. Robin scowls audibly. “Fucking psychos… there’s no cash gain from this! They’re just doing it to fuckin’ off people! For the damn fun of it!”

“Language, Robin.”

“That hasn’t worked before, why d’ya think it’s gonna do shit now?”

Batman sighs heavily, and Nightwing chuckles at the attitude of the younger boy.

Tim can hear fabric rustling. He takes a gamble, praying this is worth it, and peaks over the edge of the roof, only for a split second– and then ducks back down. All in a blink. Batman is kneeling down in front of Robin, a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Robin. Do you need to sit this one out?”

Tim hears Robin scoff, and there’s a fierce grin in his voice. “Hell no. I’m gonna bash these fuckers' teeth in.”

Tim practically vibrates with excitement. This is gonna be awesome . Robin 2 holds such a special place in his heart. He’s a bright light, he casts a protective shadow to hide in, he’s real, he’s magic, he’s Tim’s idol, he’s just… Robin. Tim knows it’s borderline parasocial, but he can’t help but feel like the bats protect him personally, more than anyone else. Because without them, what would he do? Spend all day alone in that house? On that property? Nothing to do, no one to talk to, alone? They’re the only reason he leaves, besides school. They provide him with this semblance of company. Maybe they don’t know him, but to an extent, he knows them. They keep Tim believing there are good people in this world.

And Tim wishes he had what they have. Desperately.

The bats fly off into the night on grappling lines, and Tim curses quietly. It’s always a pain to follow them when they grapple. Tim scrambles up onto the roof once he’s sure they won’t be turning back, scrambling to get his distance lens out of his bag. He affixes the zoom lens to his camera, holding it up to his face and following the figures through the Gotham sky. 

Tim holds the button down, the rapid clicking of the camera catching a beautiful shot of all three at the peak of a swing. Batman, cape billowing behind him, arm outstretched to line up his next grapple shot. Nightwing, mid-flip– the showoff, Tim smiles fondly. And Robin. Grinning sharply, head turned and body poised as if he were aware that he’s posing for a photo. The whole shot is perfect.

The trio sink beneath Gotham’s waves– dark buildings, rising and peaking, dipping to troughs. Tim secures his camera equipment in their protective sections in his bag, rushing to get somewhere he can see. The bats haven’t come up again, which can mean a few things. Tim isn’t gonna risk missing this fight for anything. He just knows he’s going to get some insanely cool shots of Robin kicking major ass.

Tim is nothing if not prepared. He’s got modded climbing gloves he put together, hooked and tough. He has a climbing harness under his jacket, and a sturdy rope with a clip set up. He’s testing a portable zip-line setup he’s been agonizing over for months now, but he hasn’t had the confidence to test it further than the space across his garage. If he could get the confidence to see if it would reliably work between Gotham buildings, it would be so much quicker. Tim is good at parkour, it’s a necessity with his niche hobby, but he’s no Nightwing. He’s not about to try making straight 10-foot gaps without something or someone to catch him.

Tim decides now isn’t the time to test the zip, but his climbing gear does wonders for travel. He manages to get some swing and makes his way from building to building like a wraith floating through the gloomy Gotham night. Silent. Tim is good at silence.

It takes him a bit to where he saw the bats drop down, and when he gets there, he’s disappointed to find them gone. This wasn't ground zero.

The fucking Batmobile being here soothes that disappointment.

Tim gapes down at the alley below him, eyes glittering with excitement. 

“Holy shit…” he whispers reverently.

Tim hooks his climbing rope’s clip into the roof ledge and hooks the rope itself over the hand of a gargoyle with its palms up and fingers clawed. He’s too excited by the wonder of machinery below to giggle at the visual of the gargoyle holding his rope. Tim zips down the ravine-like alley at reckless speeds, having to use a hooked climbing glove to slow his descent. Tim flicks his arm just so, jarring the clip loose and whipping the rope outwards and away from him as it falls, because if Tim accidentally hit the Batmobile with his climbing clip and scratched it he’d have to throw himself off the docks out of shame and repentance.

Tim rolls his rope up hastily, shoving it into his waist bag along with his gloves. He gets his camera out, attaching his nicest lens, because he just cannot resist this opportunity.

Tim kneels, lining his shot up, and takes a picture of the Batmobile. And another. And another one. And just one more.

Tim practically does a whole photoshoot with the car.

Finding the Batmobile unmanned? That is rare. 

Tim just wishes he could get pictures of the inside… unfortunately, the top is up and all the windows are tinted too dark to even get a glimpse. Tim turns back to the building wall, intending to climb back up and search for the bats– but…

Tim looks back at the vehicle. He shouldn’t be greedy, he should stop while he’s ahead, not test his luck… He’s having a Hubris moment.

Tim stalks towards the Batmobile as if it’s about to reach out and grab him. 

He studies the side. There’s no keyhole… interesting.

Tim touches the door handle, and a glowing pad of squares lights up underneath it, startling him. There are 12 squares, 3 across and 4 down. A number pad. 4-digit passcode, most likely.

Tim shouldn’t… but boy does he love a puzzle.

What would the passcode to the Batmobile be?

Tim has to get this right on the first try. A wrong answer could set off any number of alarms or defense mechanisms. Really, he should just walk away, but he can’t. Not now.

Batman seems the type to pick something significant, but not easily connected to his civilian persona if someone saw him enter it. So no family member’s birthdays, no death dates, social security number would just be weird…

Don’t ask why Tim knows Bruce Wayne’s social security number.

He’s had the Batmobile longer than he’s had Jason, and longer than he’s had Dick. But who’s to say he doesn’t change it? Hm…

Oh. Ohhhhhh if Tim is this lucky, he’s gonna buy a damn lottery ticket!

What are the chances that maybe, one of the bats has used the keyboard without gloves recently? Or with dirty gloves?

Tim has a bag of chalk powder to keep his hands (and sometimes equipment, Gotham rains quite often) from getting slippery when he’s climbing. It’s essential, it keeps your grip. Tim takes out a large pinch of chalk and gently tosses it at the keypad. He blows the excess off, and–

Can’t see anything.

Tim scowls at the glowing keypad– wait!

The glow from the pad might be inhibiting his ability to see anything left behind.

Tim takes out his camera. He takes a step back, and turns on the flash– he takes a picture.

Holy hell. A lottery ticket is in tomorrow's plans.

The flash reflected off chalk on 5 keys? Oh! One is probably an enter button to the right and one is a ‘clear’ button, to the left, with zero in the middle! But… wait…

Tim looks at the smudges again. If this were an ordinary keypad, that would mean it was three numbers, the enter and clear button? He doubts that the bats mess up often enough for the delete button to be visible. So… Aha! It’s not oriented like a regular keypad! But like a computer keypad, with zero to the left, and enter all the way to the right, with delete in the middle!

Which also means that 1 is at the bottom, instead of the top!

So the smudges are on 4, 6, 2, and 0…

Tim doesn’t have to think on it too long before it comes to him. It's a mix of both Bruce and Batman. 04 for April, and 26 for age… 26 years old, April. The age Batman was when he debuted, and the month he debuted in.

Tim knows way too much about Batman. He is officially creepy.

The question now is what order? Age, then month? Month, then age? Month and then age might sound like April 26th, but…

Tim musters all his courage, and just goes for it!

0-4-2-6-enter

Tim tears his hand away, covering his head, fearing the worst– no alarm blares. Nothing hurts him. The car beeps lightly, almost a jingle. The door clicks.

…

…

No. Fucking. Way.

Opening the car door feels like Tim is dreaming. Tim jumps right in, closing the door behind him.

He’s in the Batmobile.

Holy shit, he’s in the fucking Batmobile!

The car lights up around him, LEDs making the space glow. There’s even pedal extenders thrown in the back, holy shit, does Batman let Robin drive this thing?!?! Tim is so jealous. It’s incredibly high-tech, and Tim is practically drooling over the setup. He feels like a king, sitting in the driver's seat of Batman’s car. Tim does what any self-respecting tween who just broke into the Batmobile would do… and takes his phone out to take a selfie. Or 30.

Best. Day. Ever.

A monitor in the center lights up, coming to life with– he can hardly believe it, this day just keeps getting better. It’s mask footage.

Live. Mask footage.

Tim watches with rapt attention as the mask footage, seemingly Robin’s, gives him a POV experience of the fight. Tim spots a sign in the background, and damn, he knows exactly where that construction site is, but he doesn’t think he has the strength to leave the Batmobile and go take pictures. He wants to live in this car.

Tim gets lost watching the footage, laughing at Robin’s quips, cheering when he gets hits in, but anxiety builds in him. There seem to be more and more men showing up. He can’t see Batman or Nightwing, and Robin seems to be getting overwhelmed. Then… a chilling laugh echoes through the car speakers.

No…

Joker is a part of this?

Shit. Tim should have known. Who else is such a glutton for suffering just for suffering's sake? Who else would kill half of Gotham just because?

Batman is Nowhere in sight, and Robin’s situation is looking worse and worse. Tim can hardly hear what’s happening over the pounding in his ears. He has to help Robin! He… he has to–!

He has… a terrible idea.

Tim is discovering that he is a big fan of terrible ideas.

The Joker laughs uproariously as various gang members get a good grip on Robin, and that’s what decides it for Tim. Tim pops open the glove box and is ecstatic to find a Batarang. He’s keeping this, later. Tim cracks open the underside of the drivers console, and thinks to himself–

Is he really about to attempt to hotwire Batman’s car?

Yes. Yes, he is.

Newer and more advanced cars, like the Batmobile, have a wiring setup that makes them harder to hotwire, but not impossible. Never impossible. Not for Tim.

The beautiful beast roars to life, and Tim grins something feral. He snatches the pedal extenders from the back, putting them into place– he has to move the seat forward a lot, put his (non-camera) bag under him for height, and make the extenders a lot taller so he can reach, but it works.

Tim is going to be murdered by Batman later, but he will be going out with no regrets.

Tim tears out of the alley, clipping a sign. Whoops. He’ll… do something about that later. It’s a bit to get accustomed to, and he’s a little jittery at the start, but he gets the hang of it by doing a few test maneuvers. Then, he kicks the gas as hard as he can and zips off with the screeching of tires and the popping of the exhaust. Adrenaline floods his system as he heads for the construction site, glancing at the screen to check up on the fight. It isn’t going great. 

Tim gets lots of honking, yelling, and middle fingers directed at him– but it’s for a good cause!

He takes a corner so sharply that the car spins and he finds himself shifting to match up with the fact that he is now driving backwards. Tim swings the wheel, shifting again, and he does a J-turn back to the right direction. The smell of burning rubber greets him, but he’s sure that’s fine. Tim can’t help the massive toothy grin on his face.

This things gotta have radio, right? He needs cool background music. Tim takes his eyes off the road, ignoring one very insistent honk to find the button for the radio.

"I like that boom boom pow, those chickens jackin' my style, then try to copy my swagger, I'm on that next shit now--"

Good enough for him! Tim turns up the volume enough that the car might be shaking a little bit.

Tim sees the construction site where the chaos is going down, the anyone civilian left fleeing the area. There are barriers around the construction site– like that’s gonna stop him. He spots a large pile of dirt and decides, yeah, that’ll work.

Tim tears off the road so sharply that the back of the car fishtails, but he gets it under control and takes that motherfucker like the ramp god intended it to be for him.

Tim clears the barrier with ease and lands in a way that has the car skidding sideways, nearly missing hitting Batman.

“Sorry!” he shouts, knowing it won’t be heard outside the car, but instinctively saying it anyway. Batman stares at the car with wide eyes as the Batmobile knocks out a group of gang members like bowling pins, sending them in various directions.

Tim jerks the wheel and the car spins. The rear swings into a support beam, bringing down 2 tons of steel onto what was previously a get-away car, and is now a crushed can. Tim saw the driver climb out in time, so it’s probably fine.

Tim spots Nightwing, and then spots a man hiding behind a crane aiming a gun at Nightwing. Tim glares, letting his foot off the gas and drifting to a stop with the back of the car facing the gunman. Then, Tim does something to the brakes and gas pedal that makes him feel awfully guilty for probably hurting the car, but he feels less guilty about the mass of dirt, sand, and fumes that crash over the criminal like a tsunami. The man is coughing and retching when Tim streaks off again with the screeching of the tires, and the blaring of speakers.

There!

Tim spots Robin and Joker surrounded by men. Joker has Robin by the front of his suit, and the boy isn’t looking great. He’s got a nasty bruise telling of a pistol whip, and there’s some blood dribbling down his chin. Joker is ranting wildly, waving the pistol he has around like nobody’s business.

Not on Tim’s watch.

Tim swings the wheel at full speed, causing the wheels to make an awful shrieking noise. Sand is flung everywhere and the smell of burning rubber is pervasive. The Batmobile does a donut, swiping a semicircle of goons out of the way. Hopefully, none of them died. That would be unfortunate.

Joker’s head snaps up to take in the chaos just in time to be face-to-face with the driver’s side window as Tim lets the vehicle drift, slamming into the Joker with the corner of the car’s nose, perfectly missing Robin and squealing to a perfect stop that leaves Robin staring into the black-out tinted windshield.

Joker flew something-feet away into a dirt pile with a crack and a thump , and Tim doesn’t really mind if he killed him, that wouldn’t be nearly as unfortunate.

Tim is frozen for a second, thrown against the side of the car, but then turns off the vehicle and opens the car door, stumbling out on shaky legs. He grins, throwing both fists in the air.

“That… was AWESOME!” 

~🚗💨~

Jason blinks with wide eyes as the car, absolutely blaring 'The Black-Eyed Peas', comes to a perfect stop in front of him. He scrambles back, flinching when he feels hands on his back– but calming down when he recognizes that it’s Bruce’s hands.

He had no clue Nightwing could drive like tha–

Nightwing is not in the car. He is staring at them from across the construction site.

The site is littered with groaning and unconscious men, sand in the air like a dust storm blew through. The Batmobile is puffing exhaust like someone put a smoke bomb in the pipe, and he can hear the engine crackling with heat.

Nightwing jumps down from his perch cautiously, swiftly traversing over to them to stand at the ready.

The music cuts out, and the car is still as a statue.

“...Alfred?” Nightwing asks, taking his best guess. Because honestly, yeah, that’s all he’s got.

All three of them are in various defensive positions, when—

A child. A fucking baby-ass- child stumbles out of the car, tripping and almost eating shit on the ground, and exits the vehicle. His legs are shaking like an average day in San Francisco, and he’s blinking like he’s trying to reboot his brain.

He stares at the decimated site, and throws his arms in the air. “That… was AWESOME!”

The boy whoops joyfully, jumping up and down and spinning in a circle, and turns and sees the three of them—

“--oh, shit!”

Bruce doesn’t gape, because that would be too much emotion, but Jason can tell that he is so fucking lost. Working on autopilot, clearly, because Bruce just flatly says, “Language.”

The kid stares, twitching. 

They all stare back.

Jason speaks first. “Who the hell are you?”

The child responds. “Uh– I’m Tim.”

Jason nods, “Hi, Tim. You got parents?” 

Tim tilts his head. “Uh– Kind of? It’s complicated…?”

Jason turns to Bruce, “We’re taking this one home, right?”

Nightwing is laughing, like that was supposed to be a joke.

Chapter Text

Jason turns to Bruce, “We’re taking this one home, right?”

Nightwing is laughing, like that was supposed to be a joke.

~🚗💨~

Part 2! >:D 

Nightwing laughs half-amusedly and half-nervously, and Jason can’t help but scowl. “Yeah, laugh all you want, gives me a head start— we’ll see who’s laughing when I’m the favorite big brother.”

Dick immediately stops laughing, narrowing his eyes at Jason’s challenge.

Bruce is still staring at the recently-introduced Tim like he isn’t sure how to react. Honestly, Jason doesn’t blame him; how do you react to a rogue daycare-attendee wearing a climbing harness hijacking your car and going all ‘Death Proof’ on the Joker? Which was awesome, by the way. Not ‘ Death Proof’ , that movie was awful, the hitting-Joker-with-a-car thing.

Well, Jason knows how to react to awesome things, so good enough!

Jason bounces towards the kid with a hand up for a high-five, “You’re a cold-hearted little bastard, that was fucking badass!” Tim seems extremely conflicted about what just came out of Jason’s mouth, but he lands a shaky high-five. They’ll work on that!

Tim looks frantically between Jason and Bruce. “Uhm, Mr.Batman?” Jason and Dick simultaneously look at each other with wild eyes, trying not to fucking choke, because oh my god, Mr.Batman— “A-are you, uh– is a-anyone gonna check if the Joker is alive? Or…?”

Jason snickers, “Nah, I say we leave him there. C’mon B, let’s get Evel Knievel home! Oh–!” he turns to Tim, “you should definitely drive us back!”

“No–!”

“No–”

Tim staggers back a little, unsteady on his feet. “Uhm. Sorry for breaking into your car. And hotwiring it. Oh! And sorry for almost hitting you, Batman!” he blushes bright red, kicking the sand as if he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I-I’ll go see if the Joker is still alive! Sorry if I killed him.” Tim turns to run towards the downed clown, but is grabbed by the scruff of his hoodie by the big bat himself. Tim squeaks like a snatched baby chick, windmilling his arms as he’s lifted.

~🚗💨~

Nightwing swoops in and grabs Tim in a proper hold, and Tim scrunches his face all grumpily when he’s sat on Nightwing’s hip as if he’s a baby. Well… it’s maybe kind of nice, being held and all, but he’s not a baby. Babies can’t drive.

“Nope!” Nightwing chirps, grinning. “No baby birds checking on the deadly criminal! B, you go do it. You’ve got restraints.” Batman swiftly strides over to the direction the Joker was sent in.

Tim squirms, glaring. “I’m 11, not a baby!”

Robin’s eyes go wide and he blinks blankly. “Oh shit, yeah, I totally forgot that you’re like, a child… Hey!” he snaps, turning to Tim with a glare. Tim flinches slightly, staring back, wide eyed. “What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve gotten hurt driving like that! No 8 year olds driving the Batmobile– shit, no 8 year olds driving any vehicle– how the hell did you even get in?”

Tim growls, but it’s not really that intimidating. “I am 11! Not 8!”

Robin and Nightwing both snort, which Tim finds highly offensive thank you very much– “Yeah, sure,” Robin drawls, “ Maybe I’lll give you 9, but I don’t believe 11 for a second. You are not.”

Tim wiggles to get free from Nightwing, but he’s just hiked up a bit higher and held more securely. This is immensely annoying to him.  “Am too! My birthday was, like, a month ago! My parents got me a go-kart.”

Nightwing huffs, “Great, so your parents are encouraging this. Cool.”

Robin’s face screws up all weird. Tim winces, wondering if that hurts with the face injuries. “Damn. You a rich kid? Yea, I see it now.”

Nightwing glances at Tim’s face and suddenly gets this wide eyed look, and Tim tries not to stiffen up. He wonders if Dick recognizes him now.

Batman glides back over, face as passive as it ever is. “Joker is still alive.”

Tim frowns. “Aww,” he mumbles, oddly disappointed. The three vigilantes turn to stare at him. Tim pales. “Uh– awwwesome…! That he’s alive and well. That is very good.” Tim avoids eye contact with any of them. “Can I be put down now?”

Robin hunches over, hands on his knees, wheezing. Blood is still dripping from his nose, and Tim hopes there’s nothing wrong with his breathing– they should probably get Robin some medical help.

Nightwing sets him down, but Tim can’t help but jump back and bump into the man again when he turns around to come face-to-face— well, more like face-to-chest— with Batman. Tim swallows nervously, figuring this is it. Batman is about to break his no-kill-rule and murder Tim for his audacity to take THE Batmobile for a joyride.

Batman looms over him, and Tim can see Robin scoff and roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “How did you get into the Batmobile?” Batman asks, but it feels like a demand.

Tim can feel sweat drip down his back. “Uhm… it was unlocked?” Batman’s glare intensifies, and Tim shrinks in on himself, “…lucky guess?” He squeaks quietly. Tim knows that nobody is gonna accept that, but I'm your super-stalker and used my invasive knowledge of you to break in sounds soooo bad. Batman looms even harder.

Robin, who is Tim’s favorite person on earth, comes to his rescue. “Uh, B? My face kinda hurts. And everything else. Can we do this later? After my face isn’t bleeding anymore?”

Batman immediately turns away from Tim to look over Robin, and Tim releases a breath of relief.

Batman scans Robin’s face, and looks around the construction site. He holds a hand up to his comm. “Police ETA?” He's quiet for a second, and Tim assumes he got the answer he wanted, because he nods. “Get in the car,” he grumbles.

Cool, they’re going to get medical attention. Now Tim can enact the plan he’s been brewing in his head this whole time to flee the country, change his name and get reconstructive facial surgery so he can never be recognized. He slowly walks backwards, hoping that if he doesn’t look at any of them, they’ll forget he’s there—

“You too,” Batman demands stoically. Tim squeaks, nodding. Okay. Yup. He’ll just live the rest of his days in Bat-Jail. That’s fine, he’s okay with that too. Tim scrambles for the car, freezing and tripping when Batman groans, “The back seat.” 

“R-right! Sorry!” Tim had gone for the driver’s side instinctively. Nightwing is chuckling at him, not sure if he should be extremely concerned or just amused.

Tim goes to the back and yelps when Robin picks him up to help him up and into the car. “Hey!” Tim glares, cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “I’m not that small, I can get in by myself!” Tim reaches to the front to get his supply bag and camera bag, flopping back into his seat with his arms crossed. Robin laughs boisterously, but it sounds a little weird with his facial injuries. More scraggly.

Robin gets into the seat next to Tim, eyeing his bags with curiosity. Tim holds his camera bag close to him, subtly checking his lenses in their lens pockets to see if anything was damaged in his wild driving. Everything seems fine, and he sighs with relief.

Batman gets in the driver’s seat, Nightwing in the passenger, and Tim stiffens. Alright. Time for a long, awkward ride to… well, he isn't sure. They can’t bring him to the batcave without exposing its location, and the manor obviously isn’t an option (plus, Tim has a theory that the cave is part of the manor) so he isn’t really sure where.

And boy, when Tim said ‘long’ to describe the ride, he was spot on: this is going to take forever, Batman drives so slooooowww.

The adrenaline starts to leave Tim, and he finds himself growing lethargic. He’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, knowing he has to stay alert. He yawns, trying to hide it with his hand.

Nightwing chuckles, watching him in the rear-view mirror. “You getting sleepy, kiddo?”

Tim’s too tired to care as much about the childish way he was addressed, just glaring weakly. “Can we go a little faster? I’m gonna be 12 by the time we get to the manor,” he complains. He’s already going to Bat-Jail, he doesn't think a bit of whining is going to affect that. He just doesn’t want to fall asleep, and thus be in a vulnerable position.

The batmobile jerks to a stop, and the air in the car goes thick. 

The manor.

Tim is sooooo fucked. 

“Oh god. I’m a fucking idiot,” he says, instead of scrambling some braincells together in time to make some sort of smooth, super slick excuse as to why he just outed the fact that he maybe knows where they live.

Everyone is turned to stare at him, vaguely panicked.

“Language,” Jason quips.

~🚗💨~

They bring Tim to the batcave, where he’s probably going to spend the rest of his life, imprisoned for the crime of knowing who Batman is.

Tim shakily gets out of the batmobile, feeling like he’s walking the plank. Batman and Nightwing are talking in hushed voices by a huge computer, and Robin is standing next to Tim, wiping his bloody face down with a sterile towel.

By the way– Tim was totally right about the batcave being part of the manor. They had him close and cover his eyes and look down for the last stretch of the drive, but Tim knows all the routes to his house, and considering the Wayne’s live next door, (or as good as you can get on a property so large) it feels very similar.

Alfred comes down the stairs with tea and a basic mask on his face, but clearly no other attempt to hide his identity. He’s probably only wearing the mask for Bruce. He’s holding a tray of tea and snacks.

“Agent A,” Robin greets, nodding.

Tim sighs, deciding that it isn’t worth the mental energy to play along with pretending he doesn’t know. “Hello, Mr.Pennyworth.”

Various heads whip in his direction, but Tim isn’t sure why considering he already revealed he knows who they are. Or, well– where they live? But that’s basically the same

Alfred doesn't even seem surprised, not missing a beat. “Good evening, Master Timothy. And Please, call me Alfred.”

Tim cringes, “Ah, Tim, please.”

“Tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure.”

Robin– Jason is gaping openly. “Oh, shit– okay. So you know, know.”

Tim’s eyebrows furrow. “I thought that was obvious?” He blushes, eyes going wide. “Sorry! I– I’m not trying to imply anything about– uhm, your intellect, I just thought because I kinda admitted I knew where you all lived–”

“Tim,” Jason stops him. “I get it. Chill out, kiddo.”

Tim just nods silently, not saying anything just in case he says something dumb again.

Jason looks at him with a searching eye, unendingly curious. “How… do you know?” He asks.

Tim shifts nervously, messing with his hands as four pairs of eyes settle on him. Alfred hands him a cup of tea, which he sips from to give himself a moment. Tim then sets the cup down on a nearby table partially covered with gadgets. “Uhm… I haven’t told anyone, a-and I won’t! I promise! I never intended to and still don’t, I just got lucky, really…” Jason puts a hand on his shoulder.

Nightwing, Dick Grayson, approaches calmly and crouches down in front of Tim to get closer to his height. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody’s shoving an NDA at you, we just need to know to prevent it in the future,” he reassures.

Tim looks around at them all with a nervous expression, clear anxiety. He looks at Mr.Wayne, and stands up straighter. “He… he won’t get in trouble, right? You have to promise.” His eyes stay locked on the man, doing his best to portray sternness.

Jason blanches, a quiet oh shit muttered. Dick snickers, patting his little brother on the back. “Hey, it’s okay; mistakes happen.”

Tim is still watching Mr.Wayne. Finally, the man nods. “Nobody will be in trouble, so long as it wasn’t on purpose.”

Tim takes a deep breath, releasing it and shaking off his nerves. Good. He wouldn’t want to get Dick in trouble, it really wasn't his fault anyway, Tim was just in the perfect place in existence to have seen the Flying Graysons, be obsessed with them, remember what exactly that certain trick was and who can do it, and be out watching it be done—

“The quadruple somersault. Nightwing did it, and Nightwing was the first Robin, and only one person still living in American can perform the trick, and he lived in Gotham at the time,” Tim rushed out, letting the information come up like word-vomit to just get it over with.

There’s a second of quiet, then Dick is screeching, “WHAT!?”

Tim tries to hide in his own skin, cringing back. Oh god he’s so mad they’re so mad at him oh god he’s the worst—!

Jason’s face has split into a massive shit-eating grin. “YES! So it wasn’t me!” He looks at his older brother, smiling evilly. “Fuck yeah, you fumbled, dickwing! You owe me so much money!”

Dick is just staring at his hands, horror on his face, mumbling to himself. “It was me? Because I did a cool trick? This can’t be right. This isn’t real.”

Jason slaps him on the back, whooping with victory. “That’s what you get for being a show-off!”

Mr.Wayne had approached when Tim wasn't paying attention, and he pats a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “No more quadruple somersaults,” he grunts, not looking angry however. He turns his eyes on Tim, who shrinks into himself more, if that’s possible. “Where is the video of this? We cannot leave evidence out there for others to connect.”

Tim shakes his head, going to reassure them. “No video! I didn’t take one, a-and I wouldn’t dare post it!” That should calm them down, no video evidence to deal with.

Mr.Wayne is quiet for a moment. “You witnessed the trick in person?”

Both Dick and Jason go silent and turn to stare at Tim. Tim nods. 

Jason looks way too stressed for a kid his age. “Tim… Timmy, Timtam, evil Knievel, what the absolute ever-loving fuck were you doing running around Gotham to see that?”

“Language—“

“No! What were you doing running around Gotham tonight? How the hell did you find the Batmobile? Were you just walking around alleyways!?” Jason interrogates him, hand on his head in distress. “Holy shit, I can feel myself graying, what the hell kid?!”

Tim grimaces. “Uhm… n-nocturnal photography?…” he holds up his camera bag. “Of… local wildlife?”

Dick looks equally stressed out. “I cannot think of an abundance of wildlife in Gotham proper. Please tell me that contains pictures of rats or something. Or drunk people. From a safe distance. Like, through a telescope,” he pleads.

Tim plasters a gala smile on his face. “Yes. That is what they are.” He’s not completely lying, there definitely are some pictures of drunk people.

Jason stares him down. “One, that was creepy as shit. Two, I smell bull. Three, the driving again! You could have died!”

Tim feels defensiveness boil in his blood. He knew what he was doing! He’s played so much GTA, and he has the vocabulary to prove it. He knows all the fuck words. Tim does his best glare, crossing his arms. “I know how to handle a car, I have practice and everything. I even took an online drivers education course! I have a need for speed!” He declares. Surely, they can understand his soul's desire!

“No, the only thing you have a need for is a set bedtime and a sense of self preservation,” Jason tells him with a twitching eye. Dick just has his head in his hands in despair.

Mr.Wayne looks between them and holds his gloved hand out for the camera bag, and Tim thinks his heart is breaking. It— it’s fine, he has more at home. Unless they make him destroy those, too. It’s okay. He deserves this. It’s for their safety. He hands over the bag solemnly.

Mr.Wayne walks over to the batcomputer— which is awesome by the way— and carefully removes the storage card from the camera. He has the correct computer insert for it, because of course he does, and in less than a minute Tim’s photos are plastered across the various monitors.

His photoshoot of the car takes up the majority of it, and Tim feels mildly embarrassed by them. They’re damn good, that he knows-  he wouldn’t dare take bad photos of the Batmobile— but he wishes he got the chance to edit them before Batman himself saw them.

Dick looks over them all, including the one of Robin on Batman’s arm, and the picture of them all in the air, as well as others. Of fights. Close up. “I am seeing a severe lack of rats and drunk people, kiddo,” he says with a tense voice.

Tim tries to smile but it definitely becomes a grimace. “Uhm, i-it was a bad night for drunks?”

“There’s good nights?”

“Fridays are nickel shot nights at O’Halligans.”

“Don’t tell me how you know that, I can’t take it at this moment.”

As Bruce continues to click through photos, Jason makes a very exaggerated fake-yawn, stretching his arms up, then laying one over Tim’s shoulders. He startles, jolting in surprise. Jason tugs him in, gluing them side-to-side. Tim thinks he’s gonna explode. Best day ever. Batjail, he’s ready with open arms! He’s done all he wanted to do in life. “Alrighty! I’m beat, and Grand Theft Tim here should have been putting his nighties on forever ago, so we’re gonna go up and get some sleep. Bye dad, I’ll put my new little brother to bed, night!” He rushes out, herding Tim towards an elevator, and his head is gonna explode. He’s definitely bright red, he can feel the heat in his face. Jason Todd has his arm over his shoulder. Jason Todd called Tim his brother.

Mr.Wayne seems to melt when Jason calls him dad, but he then sits up and quickly clears his facial expression until it’s pure neutrality.  “Jason, he has parents. You can’t just keep a child here for the night, and you can’t just decide to keep one. That can be called kidnapping. I’ll have Alfred drive him home, they’re probably worried sick.”

Nobody is taking away a sleepover with fucking Jason Todd Robin 2 away from Tim. Not even Batman himself. “They aren’t! They’re in Guatemala for the next two months. They’re totally fine, they don’t have to know,” Tim tells them, hoping and praying that the universe gives him this.

Mr.Wayne frowns. “They will. Your nanny is sure to call them the second she discovers your absence, if she hasn’t already.”

Tim grins, because he’s won. “No nanny, no babysitter, just me.” Checkmate, mother fucker.

Alfred, from where he’d been tidying up the med area, stops. “Oh my,” he comments shortly.

Jason stiffens next to him, and Dick freezes. Mr.Wayne makes this face that kind of makes Tim feel bad, but hey, maybe he’s a sore loser. His Loser Face looks weirdly similar to worry. Dick smiles, but it’s tight and awkward. “So, you’re in charge of yourself, huh?”

Tim puffs up a little, pride at his self-sufficiency. “Yup! I stay home all by myself, have since I was little!” He blushes a little, looking up with hopeful eyes. “Wh-which means I can give myself permission to stay the night…? If that’s okay?” Please say yes please say yes please say yes—

Mr.Wayne nods stiffly. “Yes. Go get to bed, you two.”

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEES—

Tim is a normal amount of excited about this.

Jason starts steering Tim towards the elevator, muttering something about this is what fucking happens when you leave a kid with no supervision, they turn into Sean Boswell, and Dick calls after them, “I’ll be up a bit!” and Alfred follows them.

Once they reach the manor, Tim looks around in wonder as they step out of a clock and into a study. Awesome. 

Alfred leads them out into the hall, “How about I finish fixing up Master Jason’s face, and then make you boys some snacks before bed?”

Tim is pretty sure his eyes are sparkling. He’s never had a sleepover before, and this is already the best sleepover ever.

~🚗💨~

Jason sits on the couch, going to town on a sandwich while the little dare devil sits next to him, joyously playing GTA.

After Alfred patched him up, draining his nose to get what blood they can out and adding ointment where necessary, Jason and Tim settled in the game room to eat. Tim’s been picking at his food, and Jason just wants him to scarf it down already. This kid is like, whack tiny. He looks like he’s gonna blow away in the breeze. Instead he’s running people over in GTA.

Jason feels like he should be a little concerned about Tim’s morality. He makes a token effort. “…should you be doing that?”

Tim doesn’t even glance at him, launching his car off a building and flying through a billboard. “If they didn’t want to get hit by a car, they shouldn’t have been on the sidewalk.”

“…right.”

Jason takes another bite of his sandwich.

Eventually, Tim hands the controller over and finishes his food as he watches Jason swap GTA out for some platformer. After a bit of playing, Jason turns off the TV and then stands up, stretching. “Alright, it’s bedtime, bike birdy. We’ll set you up a room tomorrow, but you can sleep in my room tonight. You’re too small to go in a guest room, we might lose you,” Jason tells Tim, snickering.

Tim looks at him with pure confusion. “A room? Why?”

Jason pats him on the head, smiling. “Because you’re staying, duh.” Tim’s big blue eyes go wide.

They start to looks a little shiny, and Jason has a second to think oh shit before Tim asks him with a wobbly voice, “So I am going to Batjail?”

Jason tells himself he is not allowed to laugh at the distressed child, but oh boy, Batjail, that’s good. “No, no no no, nobody is going to—“ Jason snorts, “-Batjail. I said a room, didn’t I? I’ve just decided we’re keeping you.”

Tim looks very confused, but then he looks like he’s had a realization. He nods. “Because of my useful driving skills.”

Jason grins with amusement. “Sure. You can be our getaway driver. We’ll call you Rescue-Robin!”

“Absolutely not!” Dick wails, entering the game room and ruining Jason’s fun all in one go. “No baby getaway drivers!”

Tim glares at Dick, crossing his arms and pouting, which is adorable by the way. “I am not a baby, I told you, I’m 11!”

Jason still doesn’t believe that.

Dick just sighs, then swoops in and picks Tim up, who squeals and squirms. “Alrighty, babybird, it’s bedtime. For both of you,” he specifies, giving Jason a stern look.

Dick carries Tim upstairs as Jason follows along, before depositing the little adrenaline junky on Jason’s bed. They find Tim a spare toothbrush and some of Dick’s old clothes, which still are too big for Tim but work fine as pajamas for now. They both find themselves nodding off near the end, and decide to just share the bed. Jason makes Dick turn the lights out for them, exchanging good nights before closing the door.

…

“Did you see the way Joker flew when you hit him?” Jason whispers in the dark of the room.

Both of them instantly crack up, trying and failing to keep it down until Alfred pokes his head in and they both have to pretend to be asleep with bright red faces and barely contained giggles.

Yeah, Jason decides: they’re keeping Tim.

~🚗💨~

If the next day, they don’t see Bruce all day long until dinner (which was a pain to convince Tim to stay for, the boy being convinced he was intruding at that point) then let's just say Jason knows his dad.  Because at the dinner table, Bruce asks Tim if he’d like to stay for a little bit, until his parents get back, and really, they’d all feel more comfortable knowing he wasn’t home alone, and there’s plenty of room. Just think of it as an extended sleepover. Come on, it’ll be fun!

Tim agrees, and they go to pick up everything he needs from his house. There’s not enough food in the fridge when Jason snoops, and what’s in the fridge and freezer is not healthy enough for a kid, all instant stuff with only a few sparse ingredients. The house is too empty and too cold and Jason can’t find any family photos. 

Tim shows Jason his room, and the excitement in his voice is adorable, so of course Jason lets himself be given the full tour. They team up to convince Alfred to help them find the best way to get Tim’s go-kart and dirt bike over to the manor, and Jason starts to wonder where the hell his dirt bike is, Bruce should definitely get him one. He only has to mention it and Tim pulls out a pad and pen so they can strategize as to how they’ll convince Bruce to get Jason one.

Jason won’t hold too much of a grudge if he doesn’t get one, so long as Bruce at least gets him this one thing; a little brother.

He already has one picked out and everything.

Chapter Text

Jason starts to wonder where the hell his dirt bike is, Bruce should definitely get him one. He only has to mention it and Tim pulls out a pad and pen so they can strategize as to how they’ll convince Bruce to get Jason one.

Jason won’t hold too much of a grudge if he doesn’t get one, so long as Bruce at least gets him this one thing; a little brother.

He already has one picked out and everything.

~🚗💨~

One thing Dick knows for sure? The devil works hard, but Alfred works harder.

The speed at which Tim had his own room set up in the family wing was truly impressive. Nobody even saw the butler do it!

They’re still working on bringing the whole “hey so we looked at their flight records and your relationship with your parents is so dysfunctional. Like. This is neglect. Would you like to stay forever?” thing up. But they’ve convinced Tim to live with them for now, through a combination of bribery and guilt tripping. It’s been three days since The Batmobile Incident, as they’re calling it, and something has been bothering Dick.

He’s been staying the night back to back since they essentially snatched Tim up off the street, but hey, he was in their car , so. Dick wants to be around for Tim and Jason, at least for a good while. He’s been meaning to be better to Jason, and he’d like to avoid hurting Tim altogether. He’s taking this big brother shit seriously now.

Maybe part of it has to do with Jason essentially throwing down the gauntlet on who’s the Best Big Brother. 

Anyway— back on topic. Something has been bothering Dick.

So at dinner that third night, he asks.

“Hey, Timmy,” he says, getting the kid’s attention. His little mop of black hair pops up as he looks up from his plate. Tim tilts his head a little, and Dick can barely resist the urge to coo. Tim doesn’t say anything in response, but they’ve gathered by now that Tim isn’t comfortable speaking at the dinner table, at least not without being invited to. They’re working on it. “I’ve been meaning to ask… we never covered it, how did you get into the Batmobile?”

Tim waits a moment, and Dick gives him a little nod to encourage him to respond, frustrated at what Dick can only assume is a habit born from a ‘children are seen not heard’ parenting style. Well, when they’re around to even see Tim.

Tim finally answers. “I deduced it,” he says, looking a little proud of himself. 

Bruce looks intrigued, eyes focused on his newest charge. “How so?”

Tim seems a little flustered by actually being asked to elaborate, but explains himself. He seems to unfold from his previous meekness, a fire growing in him. Excitement. “It could have been anything, you probably change it, but probably never to something that would obviously connect Bruce Wayne to Batman, so no bold references. That still left a ton of possibilities. I hoped that maybe the keypad had been used with dirty gloves or bare hands, so I threw some chalk at it and it stuck to the oil on the spots that had been used. I could see the keys that had been pressed recently. That was mostly just luck. If you’d wiped it down, I probably wouldn’t have gotten it.” Tim takes a sip of his orange juice, making a face at it, offended it isn’t coffee. They’ve had to wrestle with getting the kid to drink less, and it’s a currently on-going battle.

“Anyway,” he continues, “five keys, four numbers and an enter button, and it only made sense arranged like a computer keypad. So the numbers were 4, 6, 2, and 0. It didn’t take that long after that,” he shrugs, however he’s bouncing in his seat with excitement. “Batman debuted in April, and Mr.Wayne-“ Bruce makes a face at that, still struggling to get Tim to call him anything else, “-was 26 when he debuted. So 04 for April, and 26 for his age.”

They’re all just staring at Tim now, because what the actual hell. Like what the ever loving fuck. How does he even know that? Where is he storing all these Batman fun-facts?

Bruce looks way too excited right now. “And what of the order? You had to know it was a toss-up.”

Tim grins sharply, eyes shining with passion. “At first, yes! Maybe it was partially luck. But I figured there was a chance you’d want to make a distinction, even if just to yourself, that it wasn’t April 26th, but 26 years and April. So that was the more likely order. Which would make it 0-4-2-6. Because you write your dates day first , then month, then year. Because that’s the UK form, therefore the way Mr.Pennyworth writes them, therefore the way you’ve always written them. So for you, the 26 being after the 04 would not read as April 26th to you!” Tim is practically standing up in his seat now, and he sits back down with a quiet oof, crossing his arms and grinning. “0-4-2-6!”

Bruce and Tim are staring into each other's faces, eyes practically glittering, and Dick looks at Jason with the most dreadful expression, and it’s reflected right back at him. They both look at Alfred, who just looks tired.

Holy clone, Batman. There’s two of them.

~🚗💨~

Jason spins around in his chair at the batcomputer, hands clasped. “I did a DNA test and confirmed Timbit isn’t your biological child. You’re welcome.”

“…that was a concern we had?”

“It was a concern I had.”

~🚗💨~

6 years later…

The comms are alight with activity. Communication, back and forth, yelling, codes. Tim’s glad he doesn’t have to have that right in his ear. He sits up a little from where he had been lounging back in his seat, and adjusts the car radio to turn the volume down just a little— but loud enough that he can hear it still, of course.

Tim adjusts his suit collar a little. The navy, black, and vibrant red costume is heavily padded, a tough exterior with a high collar to protect his neck. His gloves are thick too, padded knuckles and incredibly sturdy fabric. His boots are heavy and steel-toed with significant ankle support. Tim’s helmet covers his entire head, although the visor is currently up, showing his eyes-to-brows area.

The radio crackles. “RR! Come in! Extraction time,” Jason barks over the line.

Tim grins, a sharp, confident thing. Finally.

Tim pops his visor down.

He adjusts his mirror just a tad. His hands settle on the wheel, gripping tight til the leather creaks. The engine growls like a wild animal, ready to go, go, go. 

Tim pauses. Hm. Missing something…

Tim turns up the comms so he can still hear them from the front speakers, then flips a switch; the speakers in the back roar to life, his usual radio station. The car shakes with it.

“—if you think that you’re the one, step into my ride, I’m a fine-tuned supersonic speed machine—“

“Oh, this is so on brand,” Tim’s grin gets a little sharper. “All right, Scarlet. Let’s go, girl.”

Gas. The tires scream as he tears out of the garage, exhaust in his wake as his baby burns rubber.

Tim heads for the extraction location with a terrifying speed, turning corners so sharply that he’d be thrown into the car door if not for the racing-style seatbelt installed. Tim hums along calmly with the radio, despite the chaos. The car is like an extension of himself the second his hands touch the wheel. He could probably drive this perfect machine in his sleep. Actually… now that he’s thinking about it, he probably has. Mmm, sleep… It’s been a few days.

“ Can you handle the curves, can you run all the lights? If you can, baby boy, we can go all night—“

Make no mistake, however; the energy is exhilarating every time. If Tim could find out how to convert it, he’s sure he could put adrenaline in the tank of this beast. His eyes are alight with electricity, leaning forward in his seat. Right! Tim takes the next turn with a blood-pumping drift, Scarlet sliding beautiful across asphalt. Anyone confident enough to both have a car in downtown Gotham and drive it at night honks at him furiously, but hey, he’s got a job to do. He didn’t even hit anybody!

Tim swiftly approaches the extraction point, keeping his tricks to a minimum at the moment due to the road being a bit busy.

As the site comes into view, Tim spots the police barricade blocking off the active battle zone. He rolls his eyes. Every fucking time.

Tim revs his engine, cranking the bass loud enough it rattles his head. Various officers hear him in an instant, their heads popping up and swinging in his direction. Looks of panic overtake their expressions, and he can’t hear it, but he can see their mouths moving, panicked cussing. Really, they should know better by now, this happens every time… 

Tim speeds up.

The police quickly run to the side of the road, some even going as far to jump out of the way— Tim crashes through the barricade, mowing it down. Plastic bounces off the windshield, bits and pieces of broken barricade flying behind him.

Tim grins, turning his bass down just a little. “Every time… you’d think they’d stop setting those up, or maybe use like, police tape instead?” The car, of course, doesn't respond— but he knows what she means.

He’s almost at the extraction spot. Shit! A few Penguin goons run across the road, like right in front of him, and Tim grits his teeth. He swerves, the car turning sideways and slowing its approach. Breaks! The smell of burning rubber fills the cabin. All of them seem to get past, Tim rights the car again and hits the gas—

*tha-THUMP*

Tim sucks a breath through clenched teeth. Whoops. That might have been somebody. Tim rubbernecks to look behind him, trying to see if there’s blood, because Bruce will be a bitch if there is, but he can’t see anything. He turns back to face forward— SHIT!

Tim grips the wheel in white knuckles, and quickly swerves, avoiding hitting a van head-on. He holds on tight, turning it right, then left, then right as he tries to regain control of the car. It’s not working out great. He clips a stop sign. He’ll have to go back and get it later to add to his collection.

“Uh oh.”

Tim starts to spin out, his car whirling around like a beyblade. He quickly gets his bearings, admittedly used to ending up in situations like this, hands tight on the wheel, and slams the breaks.

An ear-piercing SCREEEEEEE sounds out from the car, and Tim cringes. He comes to a stop a foot from Jason, Steph and Dick. Your destination has arrived! He pats Scarlet’s dash lovingly. “…I meant to do that. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Tim rolls down the window, Rihanna blasting out the car, resting his arm on the sill and leaning out a bit to look up at his brothers and friend. He flips the visor up on his helmet playfully. “Hello, ladies! Your Uber has arrived.”

Dick and Steph stare at him, unimpressed. Jason facepalms. “Road Runner, what the hell?”

Road Runner’s playful expression drops into a glare. “Get the hell in the Scarlet Racer or we don’t stop by McDonalds.”

The three scramble in as quick as possible.