Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Taking a sharp turn into a nearby alley, he heart batarang missing him by a hair and exploding behind his back. Tim used the momentum of blast wave for a speed boost, curling his body into a well-timed roll and never daring even a brief glance back at the pursuers. Well, it's not like this time is different from the earlier dozens ones.

With only a slight pang in the chest, he wondered again where everything went wrong.

When Batman lost Jason?

When he decided to help victims of Batman’s destructive grief?

When Gotham’s Dark Knight first sent a small-time thief into intensive care?

…When 12-year-old Tim Drake remained the only one who cared?

Or maybe nothing was wrong, not really. It was just him.

After all, his parents always praised him for being an exception to the rules.

Another turn on a bigger street and a head-on run in preparation for hustled scale into the second-floor window. Tim closed it after him quickly, but gently and dove out of sight. Experience told him that the Bats rarely considered resident buildings as potential hiding spots in pursuit, but the first rule of surviving in the Crime Alley was to always be on your guard.

Tim instinctively held his breath as Batman and Nightwing sprinted past his position with baited prayers. He didn’t move for a minute for a good measure, keenly listening for any sign of deception, but it seemed like the chase was over for today.

He let out a long exhale and got up to find a ‘check-up’ paper and scramble a time mark. The new system was a little troublesome, but apparently, it put adults' minds at relative ease. After that one (the only one this far!) crash from a rooftop and subsequential disappearance for two weeks they collectively (and he still hasn’t had time to figure out where and when they meet without him) decided that it was the best way to keep track of him. But also to collect the data for him and communicate, so he left it alone.

He huffed to himself, adding a little note for Emi to look out for Bertinelli's guys. They were spotted a couple of nights before wandering too far from the East End and too close to the Crime Alley. And giving the nature of mafia, there was a high probability that they were looking into expanding their territory… Again. Could be by shaking sex workers to pay for the ‘protection’. Actually, he should check later how their unionization is coming together…

Tim blinked away stray thoughts and concentrated back on the present. Right, he needs to work his way through his list first. Before adding new objectives. He was lucky to lose Batman so fast today, it left him more time for community work than normal. And without the usual bruises! Was he getting better? Or maybe Batman was getting better!?

Hopping into the fire escape from another window, Tim hummed almost inaudibly. He will need to update his statistics graphs and see. It has been four months, what is an average time for processing a loss again?.. Certainly more than half a year, but it should be gradual, right? So it’s a start!

Tim mindlessly checked the rooftops and alley for the Bats and escape roots as it became second nature for him. And continued to muse about Batman’s mental health. Nightwing came to town the third time in a row on weekends. That meant they were mending bridges? Even if their bonding activity became chasing Tim across the whole Northern Gotham Island. It was fine, his plan was going even better than he expected!

…Even if that crash from a roof had something to do with the first time he saw Nightwing in pursuit alongside Batman. But hey, he came out alive and with all limbs intact. Mostly. And with new skills and new knowledge. Knowledge was everything for people like Tim. He was young and weak and untrained and slow compared to Nightwing and Batman, so he could rely only on his wits and years of stalking the Bats.

Remembering his next destination in mind, he smiled to himself a bit self-reproachingly. Of course, he didn't do it alone. Couldn’t even help Batman, one person, independently, forced to rely on others. Without Crime Alley locals, of all kinds, he probably would be caught the first time he decided to actively lure the hero.

''Just com’ inside, Loonie, I can hear ya thinkin’ from here.'' Tim stilled for a second, frozen in the window frame with a risen foot, but obligatory came all way inside the basement gym. Jumping down on a press bench, he stayed silent, letting Nic pick up the conversation topic. Weirdly, man always had something different and pointed to say to him and at this point Tim just kinda gave up on trying to get straight to the business. The same as with Emi and her coworkers, they wouldn’t stop asking about his health and skip to what really matters!

After a half-minute of silence, filled with noises of fists hitting punching bags, Nic dropped his opener for tonight, ''Always expect the worst from people when ya meet ‘em first, kid. Will get you to live bits’ longer. I would know.''

Following their routine, Tim didn’t protest immediately as he did the first few times. Those times Nic countered his perfectly logical and sophisticated arguments with brutal life examples with short sharp conclusions. And if anything, Tim was a fast learner and an obedient student. Nowadays it had helped when he treated those conversations as a source of figuring out the mindsets of Crime Alley natives and thus it was just another way of gathering intel.

He carefully thought of possible implications before answering. Nic had all rights to treat people with suspicion. Living in Crime Alley, comes with the territory. Tim didn’t have the same distrust, craved deeply into his bones, fed to him with mother’s milk. There laid the difference, the lesson: Tim was born with a silver spoon in the mouth, he didn’t have a reason to be wary of people as default, but Nic had. While Tim cared about proper first impressions, guys like Nic cared about survival.

He could ask about how to make allies then and which behavior patterns are accepted and which are not, but he also knew that Nic appreciated simpler and more straightforward questions, as he called himself ‘just some basic Crime Alley riff-raff, slightly less asshole-y than others’. So he tried to shred his Bristol upbringing and see things from Nic's side. Survival. Need to secure basic stuff with scarce resources. Violent competition.

''So what kind of ‘worst’ exactly? What do you do to… uh, not to die in the first meeting?'' Nic snorted and abandoned the corner with punch bags in favor of fully turning towards Tim. He flushed a little at his oversimplified follow-up line, but Nic insisted. So he swallowed instinctive elaboration down and waited. The man lowered his wrapped hands and nodded once, sharply.

"Finally, right questions, pimp. It’s not always the murder, can ya believe? Nobody will ever get anythin’ done around here. And kinda bad for business in general. Always an option thou’. But. The real deal is that there is always a risk of losin’ your shit. Food, money, life"

"…oh."

There was some pause to allow the words to sink in. Nic gestured vaguely to the small window. ''On the street it can mean death. And. If ya gettin’ noticed, they want somethin’ from ya, kid. Info, money, shady stuff. So ya best bet is to figure quickly what they want and what type of ‘worst’ they are. Works most of the time."
Tim cocked his head in curiosity. He didn’t expect the second part. He thought Nic would advise him something like Batman’s infamous paranoia. But it sounded… not exactly the same. Common public doesn’t have access to Batman resources and often the time for decision is limited on streets, he supposed.

''So I can tell ya some of the signs, so you will not get your rich ass killed too stupidly, Loonie,'' Tim let out an embarrassed squawk, but Nic just rolled his eyes, ''You got some skills and wits, kid, but it’s no brainer to know ya’ not poor. Thou’ I have no idea how ya family lets you do what ya do.''

Tim could just blinked wildly at Nic who now looked vaguely amused by his bewilderment. He hasn’t expected to be exposed so easily. He has never given his name and always made sure to cover his face.

''Com’ on, Loonie, ya smarter than this. You have been givin’ street kids stuff for years, that’s the only reason youngsters don’t run from you, by the way. Well, and ya are a kid yourself, so not a big threat. And for shit you tryin’ to do for ladies you need some serious money, not to mention ya speak like a small university prof.''

Huh. When put like this, it became obvious. But also it implies that he was extremely lucky to gain what little trust Crime Alley kids have in him. He didn’t think giving out snacks and some basic items to random children he met during Bat-watching would lead to some kind of… trustworthy reputation, but he is glad it turned out as it did. He just wanted to help, and if now it makes easier to help more?.. It’s nice.

The more he thought about it, the more stupid he felt. Of course, street kids didn’t show him good hiding spots just because he asked! He literally exchanged food and clothes for some good shortcut routes yesterday. It’s plainly embarrassing how he overstimulated general goodwill of Crime Alley. Now he will know better.

Tim slumped into the press bench and concentrated on the following words. He tried to take notes before, but Nic sent him an incredulous look the first time and laughed so hard that he almost fell on the floor. Tim understood the implications clearly and has taken to write ‘rapports’ strictly at home.

The next hour was spent quite productively. Tim learned about who was considered less dangerous and who was more so. The golden rule was, of course, that nobody was one hundred percent to be trusted by default, but some types were less likely to kill. The worst recognizable kind were goons of the ‘crazier’ Rouges and drug dealers. For kids, Nic said, any willingly approaching adult in Crime Alley was bad news, no matter the looks. Apparently, some trafficking rings were getting smart and used a wide variety of tactics, mostly playing off desperation and promises of safety.

Nic also talked at great lengths about organized crime and it was… interesting, how duel it could be. Some were better compared to others, and Tim again marveled at the intricate network of underground and its delicate balance. Nic shared the ‘common’ Crime Alley knowledge, but even the most generic descriptions sent Tim’s mind reeling.

Chinese triads and Latin American cartels were tight-knit groups with extreme prejudices against outsiders, street-level gangs were more prone to quick violence and short-term gain, mafia families were surprisingly not an issue, preferring more ‘clear’ crimes, and Russian mob was mostly made up from ex-military and ex-KGB.

Dozen and dozen layers of Gotham crime scene, and Tim barely peeled a couple of them. It was horrifying, but he never would change what has he done, no matter where it will lead. Nic was the first victim of Batman’s grief he helped, but probably not the last. The thought filled him with grim determination. Nic didn’t even do anything, just appeared in the wrong place at the really wrong time. Batman was still slipping, but at least Nightwing was back in Gotham.

"Thank you very much for the information, Nic. I can assure you that it won’t be used for harm.'' The man rolled his eyes and shot him a half-frustrated, half-exasperated glance. ''Sure thing, kid. Ya don’t need to repeat ‘is all the time. Wouldn’t tell ya otherwise.''

Tim nodded even when Nic wasn’t looking, and silence followed. The man didn’t like small talk, and Tim understood. Here, in Crime Alley, actions practically screamed, not just spoke louder. So in the next hour they exchanged barely a dozen of words, mostly Tim asking to repeat a move or to assist his posture.

…If his parents ever knew that he was learning street self-defense in a crappy basement gym from a questionable adult with criminal background, they would either die on the spot from mortification or disown him. Tim should have known that he will end up somewhere in Batman’s obit from the moment he picked up his camera and went out into the Gotham’s night.

"Okay, enough for today, Loonie. Bedtime for tiny crazy kids.'' Tim, covered in sweat and dirt, couldn’t disagree. His stamina wasn’t great, the disadvantage of age and size. He tiredly bobbed his head and quickly scattered to the window, dropping a few bills on the press bench. Nic didn’t like it, but it was a minimum he deserved for dealing with Tim’s crap… and self-defense lessons.

The trip back didn’t take long, Tim quietly slipped from shadow to shadow till he reached the bus stop on the edge of Crime Alley. From there two bus changes brought him to the Drake manor. Not home, but just… the place where he lived. No, slept? He didn’t spend enough time there to claim he actually had some kind of life there. Nowadays the most active part of his days nights were spent around the Crime Alley. Aside from the school.

"I am back. One more successful night of helping Batman, yeeey,'' Tim mumbled under his breath, removing his sneakers, ''Nic taught me some cool moves today, I think you would love him. Or hate him. He kind of reminds me of you, you know? Or is it a Crime Alley thing? I don’t know yet, but I really hope to learn. If Batman wouldn’t catch me as it is. With Nightwing. Oh gosh, Nightwing was here today!" Slowly, Tim coaxed himself back into good mood. He needed just a little more energy to make it through a shower before crashing into the bed. Talking aloud helped him to go through movements and not to collapse where he was standing. ''Aaaand there are barely any bruises! And I think it is a whole week since Batman used excessive force. He still doesn’t look after himself though. I swear he was sporting at least two unhealed stab wounds. Maybe I can trick Nightwing into staying a little longer in Gotham? ..Wow, okay, that sounded bad. But it’s a thought that counts, right?''

Already half-asleep, Tim stuck his hand into a pajama sleeve and yawned, interrupting his musings. He fell into the bed with a sigh of relief and started to drift to sleep almost instantly. ''Goodnight, Robin,'' he murmured into the void of Drake manor, half-fooling himself into thinking that Robin would care.

Morning came unwelcomingly soon. Tim wasn’t a morning person before, but now his dislike for the beginning of the day bordered on vampire-like levels. He entered the kitchen with blurry eyes and uncoordinated movements. Found coffee beans and started a pot on the stove. It wasn’t probably recommended for children to drink so much caffeine, but hey, he was an exception! Besides, he drinks his coffee with milk and cream. It’s not that bad.

Several times he thought of skipping school and faking digital records (please, the cyber security of the Gotham Academy is a joke), but his parents should be back just in a week, and he couldn’t risk not being a perfect son with perfect grades and perfect attendance. On a small chance that mother and father would be interested in his school life, he will be ready to answer.

Eating only slightly burned eggs (progress!) with one hand and reading morning news on the tablet with another, he wistfully thought back to his laptop in the bedroom. He wanted to research unions for Emi and her friends later today, but maybe he can squeeze it in his free period at school? Would it be weird for Tim Drake to take an interest in unions and non-profit organizations? Eh, probably not, if he framed it as following Drake Industries guidelines. Never too early to start investing in public persona!

The prime example sits just next door. Bruce Wayne turned 'pretend' into an art form. The paparazzi even gave him a separate name – ‘Brucie’. Tim is convinced that ‘Brucie’ is a mask as much as Batman is. Mask so genius that Tim needed to double-check even when he had all evidence of Batman’s identity lined up.

Wondering how he should portray himself to the public entertained him for the most of bus drive. He couldn’t help it, the night stuff was so much more interesting to think about. Certainly, more exciting than middle school math equations and more helpful than boring English essay for five pages. It has much higher stacks too, but… He was trained for it. His parents literally were preparing him for it all his childhood. For operating under pressure. For the responsibility.

The school was annoying. It surpassed the mark of ‘boring’ in the second period, and Tim was kinda amazed at how his expectations for lessons dropped lower and lower. He just couldn’t give the school a full focus when there were so much better things to do with his time. To learn how to hack, to research ways to handle grief aggression, to finish profiles on Gotham Rogues.

The only slightly interesting thing that he could think of was still a half-day away. The Detective Club was thankfully deemed a proper afterschool activity for Drake heir, and due to being in Gotham there never was a lack of new ‘cases’. Flipping his pen in hand absentmindedly, Tim started to wonder what they were doing today. The club usually was for older students, but the curator didn’t care enough to try to keep him out of some ridiculous reasoning as ‘age-sensitive materials’. Please, they were living in Gotham. It should be treated as PG-13 for everyday experience alone.

The shrill of bell made him flinch and he blinked damply at the room. Students around were packing to go to the next class and Tim caught a questioning look from the teacher before he reacted and barely held himself to scramble to follow. Hurry only made everything look suspicious, so he sent the teacher a polite smile and cleaned his desk in carefully relaxed movements.

It worked as always, and with a parting returned nod of acknowledgment he was out of the class. The remaining time till the Club stretched like rubber despite all Tim’s efforts to focus. He made some notes, at least. He felt justified rushing out of the last period and power-walking towards the cafeteria. He already learned his lesson on coming too early to the Club and eating lunch was an adequate time passing. He needed his body in peak condition to be able to escape Batman, even hurting and sleep-deprived. Tim first-handily saw what a lack of self-care did to a person.

Taking a few last bites, he checked time. Hm, he had a few more minutes before the Club opening, so scrolling through his phone it is. Sure, Tim didn’t do any ‘heavy lifting’ on his personal cellphone, too hackable, but at least he can read some articles.

Oh, there was another one with speculations about Batman’s declining behavior. He signed heavily. It wasn’t exactly the truth, the author used outdated info by month, minimum, but it wasn’t a cheap clickbait either. The facts were cleverly arranged and provocative questions were asked. He couldn’t prevent media from speaking, but he hoped someone will catch on the changes soon. Batman wasn’t healed, far from it, but he was getting better.

According to a psychological guide he put together a few weeks ago, Batman was repressing the hell out of his feelings and used his nighttime work as emotional crunches on top of projecting and turning his anger and grief outwards. Playing a part of ‘ghost Robin’ helped turn his laser focus to a singular target, effectively limiting collateral damage, but an appearance of Nightwing should have provided much needed emotional support. Alfred Pennyworth by all accounts was an amazing human being, but he was also dealing with the same grief and couldn’t do a legwork for two adults. Gosh, the Robin’s no-nonsense attitude would have done wonders with-

Tim shook his head. Wow, too dark for a school day, he was thinking in circles again. But on the bright side, it was finally time for the Detective Club!

He made it to the room just in time to be not the first one. Perfect. He received a few greetings from older students and after returning the nods went to his usual place at the front. Sometimes discussions got heated and due to his short…er statue it was easier to grab attention sitting closer to the center.

After just a few minutes the room filled up and the curator, a tall blond woman with an indifferent look permanently fixed on her long face, clapped her hands.

''Okay, kids, quiet. Today we will switch things up a little. Instead of our usual ‘case’ we will prepare a debate. The topic is a familiar one to all of you, no doubt, but it is good to keep you on your toes. By the end, we will answer the question if police should actively work with vigilantes or not. You have thirty minutes to study those articles,'' she gestured behind her on the projected screen with the list of names, ''and present your opinion. I expect at least three arguments in order to proceed with the debate.''

The whispered remarks faded into the background when Tim recognized one of the articles. Oh no. It was the one he red at lunch. About Batman and his violent streak. He winced. Thankfully, other info sources were more neutral like statistics and history timelines with a dash of a couple of research articles.

Tim took a deep breath and tried to isolate his ‘extra curriculum’ knowledge. If he were a regular student and regular Gotham citizen, what conclusion could he draw? Okay, so the first obvious argument – Justice League. They already work with the Law, and even if Batman is a vigilante in Gotham’s eyes, he is still a part of Justice League, therefore already part of official structure affiliated with the government.

Second, he can argue that Gotham became safer. He knew various statistics by heart – in almost ten years of Batman being active common muggings and assaults were steadily decreasing as well as the number of solved cases in collab with the police was increasing.

It was true, but, tiny inner voice whispered, then the ‘Rogues’ entered the scene and Gotham discovered supervillains. Not that there was a direct correlation, but the timing was… uncomfortable and half of Rogue Gallery was straight obsessed with Batman. Frankly, the more Tim dove into the dubious public records of Arkham Asylum, the more he wondered how it came into existence at all. He still was in the process of decrypting different psychiatric records, so he hasn’t had a full picture yet.

Ah, this is a sad thought for another day. Now he should concentrate on the present task. So the third point… Ha, easy. Batman’s philosophy. From police point of view, it is very compelling – he doesn’t kill and leaves the punishment of crimes to the system. He is not overstepping, so to speak. Batman shares information with police, collects evidence and doesn’t intervene with their work.

Satisfied with himself, Tim looked up to the clock. He had more than half time left, and after throwing a cautious glance around, he opened the social media to gauge the public reaction to Batman. He meant to do it earlier, but it wasn’t too high on his priority list and was harmless enough to do on his phone in school.

Not too spectacular, but almost nothing traceable. People relied on gossip and articles, thankfully, there wasn’t photographic evidence of Batman's rampage on the Internet. Yet. Oh, how he was tired of this singular word hanging upon his head like Damacl's sword. But alas, he will take the lack of bad news as good news. Positive mindset and all that.

The teacher announced half-hour was up. Tim locked his phone and prepared to listen. He was generally one of the last to speak because of his non-repetitive arguments. It was fine with him, he liked to listen to people’s theories and compare with his own.

They started with ‘vigilantes are outside of the law and therefore are criminals’ stances, which not a lot of students shared. The main points were, of course, a suspicious abrupt disappearance of the last Robin and the whole ‘breaking of the law’ part. The teacher hummed, poked a little into their proof and moved to the next groups.

There was some variety of opinions, from ‘Batman should collaborate more openly with police’ to ‘Batman is okay, but…’ It was interesting to hear and unsurprising that arguments for more transparency and control capitalized on Batman’s recent violent strike. People still trusted, just were… side-eyeing their hero now.

Tim was part of ‘yea, police totally should collaborate with Batman’. Almost all students here were fans of Batman, so Tim allowed himself to fall into pleasant polite geeking about his favorite hero. He could recite all of the told facts in his sleep, but it was familiar territory and just what he needed after all mini-crisises he suffered earlier.

The teacher inclined her head and directed the discussion to a more broad topic, asking what about other vigilantes and how they think it works outside of Gotham. Because they all knew that basically in Gotham every even loosely vigilante-adjacent person works with Batman. Gotham is Batman’s. And Batman is good in GCPD books, but how to judge every vigilante?

It sparked a new turn of debate that Tim immensely enjoyed. There was no right answer, and the existence of Justice League and its process of gaining members complicated the discussion further. They ‘approached promising heroes’, but the line between vigilante and hero was extremely blurred, and didn’t all heroes start as vigilantes at some point?

The discussion didn’t come to an end, but the allotted time did. The teacher promised that next time they are doing debates, they will continue the topic of the difference between hero and vigilante. Students dutifully murmured agreement and proceeded to more general topics. Tim barely stayed behind to chat for a couple of minutes with more sociable students before practically bolting out of the door.

It was the middle of April and the weather was good for once. Sunny and cool breeze – a rarity in Gotham. Tim sat at the bus stop and gazed at cloudy sky. Today outside was… nice. He hesitated for a moment. Tim was planning on going straight home to research, but maybe he can go to a public library? He can take bus from Upper Gotham to Diamond District and then walk to the Central Library. It has a huge archive section, maybe he’ll find something interesting there. And he will spend some time outside! Killing two birds with one sto-..

Okay, maybe not the best metaphor. But hopefully it’s the meaning that counts. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. The psychological books recommend taking time to spend outside, indulging in hobbies and speaking with friends to avoid depression and burning out. He can’t have the last, but he can do the first two things! Running from Batman should count minimum as a part-time job.

Chapter Text

His heart thundered like a hummingbird and he curled his body impossibly tighter. His chest hurt. Oh. It wasn’t from internal misery, he wasn’t breathing. His vision blackened for a moment and he automatically drew a huge shaky breath. Basic survival instincts saved him where consciousness failed.

One, two, three unsteady sucks of air. Polluted, smoky, but such needed Gotham’s air. The gunshots abated and gradually disappeared. Or maybe it was Tim’s mind glitching in and out of reality. Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, he twitched.

Despite not moving from his hiding spot at all, he felt utterly drained. Curtain of blissful numbness fell upon him as he crawled from under the air unit. He couldn’t think about anything but how to get back to the Manor, to a silver of safety.

His focus narrowed to jumping from roof to roof, then running from shadow to shadow and eventually to the bus stop. He was hyperaware of his movements, his single-minded focus, starkly highlighted environment as opposite to how life-changing moments are portrayed on TV. He wasn’t diving in and out of consciousness, he had perfect clarity.

Too soon he found himself back in his room. He shut the door a tad bit too loudly after him before falling straight into the bed and cocooning himself in the pile of blankets. His brain didn’t catch a hint and continued to methodically work through the list of bad and worse future scenarios with more and more twisted possibilities.

Somewhere between contingency for criminal mastermind-him (because that was where the beginning of his mental slippery slope was leading) and contingency for Batman-him with guns (because he already thought of plans for any other possibilities and guns were convenient for his stature) he almost didn’t catch a quick thought that maybe he was overreacting.

But his mind mercilessly launched into the new development and started to dissect it into neat pieces. Tim gulped, squeezed his eyes and with mighty effort distanced himself from the situation as much as he could.

Just to pretend for a little bit that this was not happening to him. So hypothetical situation, right.

A child A young wealthy heir with decent intelligence knows the secret identities of city's vigilantes. He follows their patrols and sees how man slips into grief after loss of his partner. Young boy is already familiar with streets where crime occurs and is in a position to help. The vigilante has almost no support structure and is prone to shutting emotions down. The direct approach would not have worked – if even his first son and father figure wouldn’t rein his violence, how could a random 12-year-old? Blackmail was discarded as not sustainable in long term and possibly harmful for the boy himself. The vigilante is a workaholic and tries to process grief by fully emerging in night activities. Problem: the vigilante displays unproportionate aggression and borderline self-destructive tendencies.

What did become a solution? The boy leads the vigilante to believe that someone impersonates his dead partner and narrows his attention on the new target. His behavior slightly improves with a clear goal for his aggression. After inability to catch imposter the vigilante asks for help, demonstrating further progress. It wasn’t exactly boy’s intention, but it seems the indirect approach worked. At the same time, boy learns more about the crime underworld from people he helped during vigilante's rampage and establishes an informant network without intent. Now he wants to be more involved. Where does it leave him?

Tim exhaled, clutching blankets tighter. It is all rooted in one single question. Does he trust himself? He truly didn’t know. Guess he has to wait and see. Collect data, observe results, and draw conclusions.

With newly found determination he buried deeper into his blanket nest. Everything else can wait till tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a brand new, wonderful day.
He slept right through the alarm.

Tim woke up with blearing eyes and an annoying headache. He grumbled and blindly grabbed for his phone. It was afternoon. The day went to hell in a blink of an eye. Urgh.

And he missed school just as he promised himself he wouldn’t. Wonderful. And yesterday he made such an emotional mess. Mother would be so ashamed. She taught him better than that. And thinking now, with a clear head, it was plain simple embarrassing.

All he needs is a couple of plans to feel reassured. So better than make the best out of skipped school and make up for his little breakdown. After quick bathroom routine Tim went to the kitchen for breakfast. Stuffing a frozen meal into the microwave with one hand, he steadily typed in the phone with another. Changing his digital presence records again. Thankfully on Tuesdays he had only voluntary study group, so nobody in particular would miss him.

Finishing altering the data, Tim closed the app with a final swipe of the thumb. He felt a tiny surge of pride in his chest. He created the app all by himself in two weeks, despite it being simple. It had only one function, but it saved him so much time after. Instead of painfully hacking all the way into the system every time, he copied and planted an invisible account with blank data inside. Now he has direct access to his school’s system. Very convenient, even if it could be found via simple security check. In a month it has to be done yet. Atrocious cybersecurity.

He got distracted by figuring out what to do first. Automatically shoving food into his mouth, Tim stared into the distance running all probabilities in mind. Escape routes take priority for now, seeing how if he got caught by Batman he wouldn’t be able to do anything else. So sewers. If he could dig out some blueprints, then he could scout sewers right tonight while none of the sewers-loving Rogues walk free. Solid plan.

Taking some coffee (with milk and sugar!) into the bedroom with him, he settled with his ‘night’ laptop to research. He installed many VPNs and the latest anti-virus software he could find in this thing and never used any personal data on it, but against Bat skills it would not hold, he knew. But it was a start.

He always scrubbed the research history clean with the help of a couple of specialized programs, but some information could be found only in the Internet. Tim triple-checked his secured connection and got to work.

Two cups of coffee later Tim was ready to throw hands with the Gotham’s administration. He somehow managed to gain access to the inner system. However, it was an easy part. The hard part was finding the necessary documentation. The organization of files was a joke. Tim was silently fuming when he hit the dead end for the fifth time in a row. How difficult could it be to find underground maps?! He tried every combination of names, but the files didn’t have coherent designations.

It was driving him insane. They aren’t even in categories! Some are titled by random numbers, some by abbreviations, and only a small part had actual names. More and more looked like administration workers just dump documents into the common system in whatever form they want.

Tim stared at thousands of files in exasperation. It would take him hours upon hours to sort through that. Stopped by people’s laziness. Urgh. It is disgusting how much it doesn’t surprise him, even at twelve. Mother never complained out loud, it is beneath her, but she expressed her dislike for incompetence.

Finally giving up, Tim furrowed his brows at the screen. Maybe he can find hints at where blueprints could be. He had several options – try to find physical copies, search some sort of black info market, or dig deeper online. The first two sounded extremely illegal, but for the last one he needed to narrow somehow the parameters. Hmm, if only he can make sense of titles. Dates, abbreviations, surnames…

Dates could be from anything as abbreviations. But surnames… If he could find ID’s… Engineers? Or who worked on the most recent reconstructions of sewage tunnels. Yes. Yes, a good point for start.

Now more reassured, Tim cracked the neck and flexed the fingers. It took a bit of a workaround, but he didn’t even need to hack anything! All info was publicly available. Tim snorted. Yeah, just buried under layers and layers of legal chains of connections. Gotham city, apparently, outsources a lot. Tim guessed it is cheaper to pay contractors once in a while than to have a full-time position in stuff. Well, at least it makes sense why the sewage system maintenance is such a problem.

He rolled his eyes at such a stupid solution to the mystery. A few minutes, and he had a list of IDs of the most recent reconstruction crew. Separating those who most likely were responsible for any paperwork took only a couple of clicks, and he held his breath waiting for a ping for any of letter combinations.

Ding.

He couldn’t hold back a self-satisfying smirk. He was right about the unoriginal name of the file. The guy, - Mr. Louis Rounds, the senior manager, - submitted dozens of files into the system in a span of a couple of years. Tim narrowed his eyes and scrolled half-page of recent results.

LRounds_Robbinsville_01(2).pdf
LRounds_Robbinsville_03.pdf
LouR_CrHill_04(2)(1).pdf

…No wonder he couldn’t find anything. Even with the filter for the last three months and knowing the manager’s name, it was impossible to know what was inside the files without opening them. And there was nearly one hundred of similar papers in the system just for one guy. And he was not the only one with a great idea to label files after his ID and not specify what it was supposed to be. Tim could even tell when the guy uploaded a copy of the copy! It was bordering on ridiculous. So he decided not to dwell on it for the sake of his own sanity and finally downloaded the files after checking them for viruses. Just in case of a very elaborate trap for online sewage maps’ thieves. You never know. As Tim opened the first file he instantly forgot about any complaints. He hit the jackpot. He found the maps. Not exactly maps, - he squinted and tilted his head trying to understand – more like digital copies of… blueprints?

It wasn’t clear, but Tim thought angles of twin lines and strings of numbers next to them reminded him of that architectural plan of some ancient temple or whatever he saw when he was seven and his parents brought it home from their travels. They were so excited about that old piece of paper that they even showed it to him and Father raved for hours to Tim. Something about sides of the world, ancient Egypt and pylons? Eh, he didn’t quite catch the technical jargon that time.

More importantly, the blueprints were a bit similar to his memory. Obviously, they were modern, but not less messy as if someone has drawn new lines several times over and over. Some were just a little to the side and others were too thick as to reinforce borders on paper. In first two blueprints he could distinguish a circular structure with a round little room in the center. Or pillar? They were slightly different, weeks apart, but it was golden mine nevertheless. Especially if he can match actual spaces to the blueprints. On the next plans there were corridors or tunnels. Maybe.

The next hours blurred together as he worked at deciphering and cataloging the plans. It was slow progress, what frustrated him to no end, but at least partial success gave him some measure of patience back.

Yeah, the start of puberty sucked.

After sitting so long in one place he felt tired, so he got up and made his way to the kitchen after saving the files and thoughtfully disconnecting from every system he ‘logged’ in. Tim opened the fridge and stared into its contests. He needed energy for today’s sortie. He didn’t finish his to-do list yesterday, so he needed to spend extra time outside today to recompensate.

He made a grand decision to heat himself one of the frozen dinners and sat at the table, mentally running through the possible routes. The big emotional revelation doesn’t change much in short term, actually. He will take it one day in time and maybe he will never need to encounter his dark thoughts again. Right, like that would work.

Anyway, the go-to priority today was creepy mask shop. Before something or someone else happened to it. Tim checked the whereabouts of the Rouges and Batman as usual. Nobody broke out of Arkham and Batman should still be injured. Nightwing left the town. The fallout from the night conflict would take all attention of vigilante. The trip to Crime Alley should be relatively safe.

Tim checked the time and contemplated going out a bit earlier than he normally would. He wanted to be done as soon as possible. So he finished his dinner, gathered supplies, and suited up.

…The shop was creepy even from far away. Zack’s friend downplayed the eerie factor in his story. The showcase windows reminded monster jaws full of teeth, full of broken glass and suspicious dried red paint. Hopefully, it was paint.

The wooden door was tall and imposing and held traces of previous elegance. Tim peeked around the corner. The little niche where the shop was nestled between two ancient resident buildings was empty. He surveyed the place for another five minutes and only then quickly dived into the dead end.

He crouched against display windows and agonizingly slowly, inch-by-inch, lifted just enough to steal a glance of what was going on inside. He almost had a heart attack when he came face-to-face with the huge caricature mask. The scream stuck in throat, only a strange wheeze left his mouth. With heart pounding in his ears he moved to the side to peek in a gap between two masks. Inside was just as unsettling as he expected, just in another sense. It was surprisingly clean, uncharacteristically clean for either Crime Alley or Gotham. No trash, no evidence of Joker’s activity, no broken merchandise on the floor.

It raised hairs on his neck. He almost left on a spot out of plummeted into the stratosphere bad feeling, but the necessity of exploring got even more urgent. Precisely because it was so suspicious.

Taking deep breath through the heavy gas mask (the minimum precaution when dealing with Joker), he climbed through the corner window, carefully avoiding jarred glass edges. Thankfully, he found the relatively free gap and was able to wiggle inside mostly without disturbing the rows and rows of masks.

He didn’t descend from the showcase elevation immediately, staying half-hidden by display pieces. Tim took his time observing the opened space. From the front area he could see several entrances or corridors leading deeper into the shop, probably forming a maze. The countertop in washed-out colors was huge but did nothing to draw attention away from rows of masks hanging from the ceiling and arranged around displays. Behind there was another decorated door leading to a backroom. The space was looming, crumbled with numerous merchandise, positioned everywhere. Walls, ceiling, counter, shelves. Simple white masks with emotions, exaggerated caricatures, costume ball dominos, some indescribable monster masks with horns. Tim really didn’t want to stare longer than half a second into their shady empty eyes.

The place looked like something straight from those old folktales where the life lessons for kids are not censored at all. With heart-in-the-box and evil-stepmothers-dancing-in-iron-burning-shoes-till-their-death thingies. Eerie, but somehow still child-adjacent.

There was a layer of dust, but it didn’t tell much, especially in Gotham. He needed to inspect the rest of the shop to determine if it still was used or not. He didn’t move.

Tim knew he should. But fear crawled its way into his gut and held him in place with icy fingers. He couldn’t help but shiver.

He certainly understood why nobody dared come here. The shop was weakly illuminated from the outside with miraculously working street lump and shadows stretched and stretched over to him from dark corners.

Tim gulped and reached for the flashlight. Finally gathering scraps of the same courage that allowed him at nine to venture into night Gotham, he moved. Clicked the flashlight on. And found himself looking at several cat-sized rats in said corners. He slapped his free hand over his mouth in a faint attempt to muffle the horrified sound. It failed when piercing bead eyes of rodents zeroed at him. Tim froze.

The rats didn’t move for a moment, their eyes glowing in the dark, reflecting the light. Then strange spell was broken and they silently scattered out of the sight. Tim didn’t realize right away why the beam of light was jumping on the shop walls, but after a second he put together that it was not the flashlight, but his hands shaking.

Oh. Right, he should have been already used to giant rodents in streets, but somehow he still wasn’t. He guessed it was his chance to fix it. But just the thought of going further into the darkness gave him creeps.

Logically he knew that even enormous Gotham rats generally were scared or at least wary of humans, but on another hand, they were from Gotham. Who knew? They had a crocodile man in sewers, it was not too big of a stretch for man-hunting rats. Tim took a few deep breaths, only slightly hindered by gas mask, and gingerly lowered legs to the floor.

It was okay. Probably. If the rats run away, it means they don’t want to eat him, right? Right.

The minutes trickled one by one and he still hasn’t talked himself into moving. He was wasting time! He couldn’t!.. But he also couldn’t just go into the darkness with rodents and creepy masks.

Suddenly it was like a bulb lighted over his head. The logical part of his mind found a solution. The rats won’t eat him if he feeds them. One briefly seen line on the library exhibition flashed before his eyes. Just a silly 100-year-old superstition about the rat colony of Gotham, but…

Every superstition is based on grain of truth. Illogical explanation for a true observation. So in the past century rats weren’t secretly cult servants in animal form, but probably displayed more friendly behaviors towards humans when left with enough food. Ergo, it was a good chance that the rats would leave him alone if he gives them something to distract.

So he choose the furthest corner from the backroom and threw granola bars there, not allowing himself to hesitate. The food disappeared almost before touching the ground. Tim blinked. Threw some more. Slight rustling and again, granola bars nowhere to be seen. Tim cocked his head. Huh.

They should have been really hungry. Quick and almost shy acceptance of food was kind of cute. Tim was startled by the stray and frankly out-of-place thought. It was his mind trying his best to calm him and distract from unsettling atmosphere of the shop, for sure.

Well, it worked in that sense that if rats were living in the building, then it wasn’t laced with working traps or gas. Tim gripped the flashlight tighter and stepped closer to the counter, giving the dark corner a wide berth. When nothing jumped him for a couple of minutes, he relaxed a little and decided to inspect the drawers. Nothing interesting, just useless trinkets like broken pens or wrinkled pieces of paper. Only one drawer was stuck closed. Tim tried to apply more strength, but it didn’t buckle.

Fortunately, he came prepared with basic lock picks. Even with the simplest build-in lock it took him embarrassingly long time to open it. And maybe for the next time he should make something with the flashlight not to hold it in his mouth. Inside the drawer he found a stack of checks, yellow from time.
Not particularly useful, but still a clue for when the shop stopped operating.

Steadily avoiding the eyes of countless masks, he walked to the back door. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked and opened with only mildly ominous crack. Tim listened for a moment for any sound, but the space remained silent. Tim entered the room. And then slowly backed away, closing the door on his way. It was a storage. For more demonic masks. Which all somehow gave the impression of watching him.

He, uh… He probably didn’t need to inspect that room. There was nothing except the masks. And besides, Tim was on a time crunch. He didn’t quite turn his back on the dark rat corner or the ominous cracking door, so it left him awkwardly sliding sideways towards the nearest nook.

There were, of course, more masks, but also the first evidence of goon activity, empty crates. Tim let his cautious curiosity guide him. There was nothing inside the wooden boxes, but sturdy exterior and stripped pieces of labels indicated some sort of big delivery batch from long distance.

Tim lingered near one. Something caught his eye, but his brain needed a second to realize what. Ah, there. He lifted the flashlight to take a closer look. The sticker on the crater side went in waves and the ink was blurry. As if… from humidity. So whatever that was, it arrived from the docks.

Any other identifying marks were removed, which didn’t bode well for Tim. It meant that either the cargo was valuable enough for Joker to try to hide the source of it or he was generally getting smarter in taking precautions against Batman.

But something in the second option didn’t sit right with Tim. He thought back to all gathered data about Joker’s encounters with Batman. He always made a spectacle out of it, always forced a grand final battle between them. It was widely known that Joker was the main ‘nemesis’ of Batman and Joker took a cruel delight in reminding everyone of it in the most lethal way possible.

But that didn’t quite align with constantly covering his tracks. It just doesn’t fit Joker’s M.O. He hides his plans right until the final, ending with big flash. After that he usually doesn’t care about the falling pieces.

Tim frowned. Something was still nagging at his mind. He trailed around crates again. They were coming up to his waist and Joker went all the trouble of bringing it all the way to here, not in some warehouse near the docks. So he intended to use it somewhere nearby? Or he just needed it nearby. But for what? But Joker didn’t only make his plans for Batman, didn’t he? Even being obsessed with Batman, the man terrorized the whole Gotham. For instance, he still produced the Joker gas and obtained the traps and equipment for his insane schemes somewhere. It required a hell lot of logistics. And part of it went unnoticed by Batman, considering the accelerated timing of Joker’s plans

That. That’s it. That is what bothered Tim. Batman usually was very thoughtful with disrupting Rogues’ schemes, Tim has seen it on his night followings of Robin and Batman adventures. But Batman must have missed some links if Joker could fall behind on old connections and cook an elaborated plan so fast.
Tim hasn’t made the connections before, but now, having some knowledge of the inner workings of Crime Alley and running numbers in his mind…

No way Joker was building his network every time he escaped Arkham from scratch. But shouldn’t Batman have eradicated it? It couldn’t be so easy to find suppliers for terrorists, right?

Tim was a bit at a loss. Yes, Crime Alley was full of human resources for that type of activities, but other? Equipment, finances, spaces? Surely, Batman has done something to it in all years he battled against Joker?

Tim shook his head. It was no time nor place for wandering this road. He should concentrate on the creepy shop and what it holds.

Which gave him another idea. If he can narrow down what Joker could have wanted to do with the cargo and what is located in the area, he could help Batman! Really help, not just play dress up for his sake! Tim felt a small surge of excitement.

Truly, he was lucky and honored to do so. And it’s not like anyone else can do it. Batman didn’t have the mental capacity, Nightwing was busy with his own town and Batgirl wasn’t spotted at all since Robin’s death. Maybe she was grieving too. It pained Tim to think about it longer than necessary, so he didn’t.

He focused on checking other rooms and niches in the shop. It took him longer than he liked, combining the skittishness around cat-sized rats and natural caution in venturing further into Joker’s lair, even abandoned. He found more crates, some cheap plastic chairs circled with cigarette butts and the only room, furnished for living. Or sleeping. The semi-hidden door at one of the dead ends led to the small space with, shockingly, separated bathroom. It was tiny and trashed, but still. The source of water.

Gripping the flashlight like a lifeline, Tim forced himself to explore the room closer. If there was some personal clue, it would be here. The room contained only bed, desk and wardrobe. The furniture looked ancient but was in okay condition. There were sheets on the bed, even if the smell was not the best. Tim almost bolted when he found in the wardrobe a bunch of identical purple and green suits. If there was some doubt left to whom the place belonged, it was vaporized now.

He poked one of them with the flashlight, as if it would come to life and strangle him. But it was just an ordinary fabric. Well, not exactly true. Tim looked closer and dared to touch it with his finger. It appeared to be much sturdier than it looked. And of very good quality. Hm. Makes sense, if Joker goes regularly against vigilantes.

He quickly turned his attention to the desk, finding some hair dye and face paint in the drawers. He noted the brands just in case. Unfortunately, nothing convenient like handwritten diary or maps with villain plans. Tim powered through his uneasiness and checked the bed, fully expecting something like a bomb, but found none.

The last point of interest was the bathroom, but it also was empty. He tried to tamper with the tap and water was running. So he was right about the source of water. Tim was both pleased and disturbed by being proven right.

He slowly made his way to the main space, checking on the way if he overlooked something. While on it, he pulled out one of his cameras and photographed the evidence: drawers, costumes, crates, paying special attention to less spoiled labels. He will take a look again back at home, in safety and peace.

The rats were lurching in the crooks and nooks and Tim eyed them warily before tossing the last of his granola bars to them. Better overcompensate than risk to be attacked. The creatures shuffled almost gratefully. Tim counted it as a permission to exit the shop. Wiggling his way back through the showcase, he ended up back in the street, as deserted as he left it. Good.

Tim felt a large part of tension draining out of his shoulders as he put some distance between himself and that creepy place. He even forgot for several moments about what he was going to do next in favor of sheer relief. At least he made sure that there was nothing dangerous left. Except for big rodents. Hm, nothing dangerous and unnatural for Gotham.

When he was far enough from the shop, Tim stopped and just… breathed. What now? Oh, right. He wanted to find Emi and maybe check on her friends. It was around twenty minutes on foot to the nearest meeting point. Tim arrived in fifteen but with labored breath. It seemed his stamina was still not the best.

He waved at the group of ladies after making sure they were unoccupied. Tim didn’t want to stunt their business, after all. They looked at him puzzled, but a few rose a hand in greeting. He trotted closer, wincing internally. This group hasn’t seen him eye-to-eye yet. The introduction was awkward every time.

Good evening, ladies. Do you know where Emi is tonight?” he asked simply, shifting his weight nervously. They could to not want speak with him, and they will be in their right. Luckily for him, at least one of them was in a talkative mood. She snorted and lifted one brow at him.

“Children shouldn’t be out in this time, boya. Especially around here.’’ She pointedly looked around herself. Some of her friends scoffed lightly. “But I guess you must be the kid with what was that?.. Unionization idea, right?’’

Tim nodded uncertainly. “Yes, ma’am. I plan to present the possible courses of action soon. But I don’t want to… overstep.’’

The woman shrugged, unbothered. “You will be one of the first, kid. But hey, nice idea to entertain. Anyway, if you want to see Emi today, you’ll need to wait, she is busy. Come in an hour or so to ‘Gun&Fun’ bar.’’ Apparently done with the conversation, she turned away from him.

Tim shortly thanked her and made himself scarce. They didn’t have to talk to him, so he was happy with what he could get. In Crime Alley every scrap of information could be sold, so it was rather generous of her to give the location of her friend to an unknown kid.

She didn’t explain where the bar with ridiculous and so Crime Alley name was. He had an hour to hunt down somebody who knew. Tim contemplated who to track. Kids might not know or care, but he didn’t know where Nic was. He and Emi never were at home at this time. And he has the scheduled training only in a couple of days. But he knew where Zack’s group was and well, while he was on it, he could update them on Joker’s lair.

He swiftly made his way across the streets. There were fewer people than usual, still echoes from yesterday's conflict. It worked in his favor, he arrived at the nightclub a little faster. He was relieved to see Zack and his friends not occupied.

He was noticed and promptly drugged into a somewhat excited discussion of yesterday's shootout. Turned out, it was Bertinelli family and two local gangs, who didn’t like their posturing in their territory. Rumors already spilled over, and it looked like after a violent clash nobody in particular won and everyone retrieved to lick their wounds after some causalities. Teenagers were eager to speculate on whatever the gangs would hold into their part of Crime Alley or who would step into the power vacuum if they failed.

Tim pressed the lips into the thin line not to say anything rude. He still wasn’t used to how uncaring residents spoke of human life. It’s not that the dead goons were good people, they most probably weren’t, but still, it was disconcerting to hear how little it meant to them. How casual they sounded. Tim shoved the struggles to the back of his mind and listened closely.

When one of the guys offered that Bertinelli could try to force their way to the Crime Alley again, Tim couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. He should have done it a bit louder than intended because suddenly all eyes of conversation were on him. The speaker frowned and asked more at aggressive side, “What, short stack? Somethin’ you want to say?’’

Tim blushed a little at the attention, but answered a clear challenge, “Um, I am sorry, it’s just… No way those guys will try anything in Crime Alley for at least a month after such failure."

The teenager eyed him suspiciously and opened his mouth to certainly say something unpleasant, but Zack stopped him with an abrupt hand gesture. “Wait, Carl. Smol guy here is freakin’ professor, I wanna hear his facts.”

His friend was not happy but backed down. Tim fidgeted with his switchblade in the pocket nervously. He thought it was obvious? But judging from face expressions in the group, it was not.

He started hesitantly, “Well, I am fairly certain that other mafia families are not happy with them? They heavily rely on their reputation in dealings, so having the strongest mafia family in Gotham fail so badly is detrimental to their usual business. They just couldn’t afford the second try so soon. They would be stretched too thin with the resources. They lost some man, correct? A lot should be injured. And opposite to Crime Alley, where there are a lot of gangs looking to step into freed place, they can’t just mobilize required amount of manpower on a whim.’’

With continued uninterrupted silence he became more confident, laying out his reasoning. “Besides, they need to gain the respect of other families back first. Everyone knows not to mess with Crime Alley, and mafia generally prefers to play safe. Bertinelli showed very poor planning if there was any. They are at a loss anyway. Either they didn’t bring enough people, underestimating Crime Alley gangs, or something gone wrong with their agreements, seeing how it was not one, but two gangs on one side of the conflict. In any case, it reflects poorly on Bertinelli’s reputation. They will be digging their own grave, if they decide to attack now. And seeing how they still hold power in East End, their leaders are no fools. Or if it was a decision of a fool, I am guessing he is not in charge anymore.’’

He was too far into his speech-turning-rant to notice wide eyes of teens or cackling and smug Zack. “Even if by some coincidence they are collectively drunk on aggressive juice or something, other families would sooner eradicate them than allow it. That’s how they function. Such weakness will be punished. If Bertinelli decides to attack second time where they already lost, then Cosa Nostra and Falcone and everyone who wants a piece will descend on them, not unlike the pack of wolves. So no, it wouldn’t make sense, if they return now. They don’t have resources and motives. Well, besides revenge, but they will lose far more than gain."

He finally stopped for a deep breath and only then noticed the stunned silence. He blushed from head to toe. Oh no, he just went full-on ranting. He didn’t mean to. He prepared to apologize but was met with a delighted grin from Zack and a friendly smack on the back.

“Ha, I knew you had it in you!”

He was muffled by loud exclamations from others. “Dude, it was freakin’ cool! How do ye know?!”, “What the fuck, when did smol Robin turn into baby mafia boss?’’, “It is kinda scary and impressive at the same time”.

Tim was at a loss of words. Should he thank them for compliments or be offended at comparison with criminals? He ended up somewhere in the middle, mumbling, “It was just logical deduction, Nic taught me a bit about Crime Alley politics…’’

Zack cut right through the noise, loudly proclaiming, “Nah, you are wickedly smart, mah guy. Just on the right side of crazy, but smart. So don’t ya doubt my intuition. So, what do ya have today for us?’’

Tim was thrown out of a loop for just long enough to miss the chance to protest. He was left to chase after the rapid change of topic and found himself dumbly falling in line with the flow.

“I… huh. I wanted to ask where the bar ‘Gun&Fun’ is and let you know that I checked the theater mask shop you talked about,’’ he made eye contact with the guy who gave him information, to the bewilderment of later. “It really was a former lair of Joker, but now there is nothing left, just some rats.’’

The teens around him erupted with disbelief and surprise, several were tagging him in different directions to make him pay attention to them. Tim felt a tad lightheaded from rapid changes in conversation dynamics.

Tim picked the first heard disbelieving accusation and in low-key panic run with it. “I have pictures!” Stupid, he shouldn’t have mentioned it. He just was so blindsided by their praise and attention!

Zack probably could tell that he was overwhelmed and waived his friends into less frenzy background noise. “Okay, okay, give ‘im a moment. Dude, I take it back. You are crazier than I thought. We tell ya ‘bout freaking Joker’s place and the next day ya run head first into it? Seriously? Was Batman not enough?” Tim was very grateful for his mask and googles, because he flushed a deep red at the exasperated fond note in older boy’s voice.

“It… uh, it wasn’t that dangerous?” It came out more as a question, and Tim hurried to reassure teens looking at him in various stages of skepticism, “It is true! Joker is still in Arkam for the foreseeable future, and I did some recon. And I had a gas mask with me, I know what I am doing.” He finished a bit defensively.
Zack patted his shoulder with a conflicted expression, half-amused, half-horrified. “Yea, I don’t believe that ya truly know what ye doing, but then again, I believe that you would do it. Just. Don’t die, I guess. Oh, and ye needed to know where ‘Gun&Fun’ is?..”

Tim also couldn’t decide how to feel about this whirlwind of a conversation, so he concentrated on getting directions and firmly ignoring curious and even slightly awed looks from some teens, not wanting to deal with the implications.

He all but escaped the group under the laughing look from Zack and promise to bring new book next time. He preferred to think about the meeting with Emi rather than unexpected boon in respect from older kids. It felt uncomfortable.

The bar itself was located in a discreet nook, easily overlooked by bystanders. It was almost in The Bowery, strategically located right at the border. It should be pretty important, because Tim even clocked hidden from casual look security guards and working cameras. The signboard was small and easily mistaken for weird street art or decoration. The door wasn’t visibly blocked by guards, but Tim felt their attention from the second-floor windows when he entered. The door bell chimed softly, and Tim expected to be immediately confronted by a bouncer or waitress, but he got only a cursory glance and was left to his own devices.

Huh. He kinda thought that they wouldn’t let some random kid wander inside so easily. But maybe his first impression was wrong, and the bar was not as high-profile as he imagined. But the interior appeared at odds with the rest of Crime Alley. It was clean, well-lit and tastefully decorated in soft colors. There was an open-floored second level and a lot of private booths.

Tim quickly looked around, feeling ridiculously out of place with his robin-like clothes and goggles and medical mask. He couldn’t notice Emi from the entrance. He hesitated for a second, but then caught attention of passing waitress.

To the credit of the woman, she didn’t ask what a child doing in a bar in the middle of night. “I am looking for miss Emily. I was told she has prior obligations here. If you would be so kind to show me to her table?"

Waitress straightened a little at his request and wordlessly nodded and motioned to follow her. Tim was left with no choice except to obey. He was led to the second level, to one of the tables overlooking part of the area of the first floor. There was Emi sitting across an elegant elderly woman. Her hair was fully gray and her facial features held age lines, but Tim was instantly reminded of his mother. She drew attention without trying and held herself regally. She hasn’t said a word or even noticed him, but Tim already felt the need to straighten his pose and make sure his appearance was immaculate.

Tim stiffened, but Mother’s training kicked in and he slowed his stride automatically. He frowned a bit when waitress didn’t introduce them properly, just announced to Emi that ‘there is somebody to see you’ and didn’t wait for dismissal. If Emi was having an important meeting, no way he could intrude! The mysterious lady should be someone important. Okay, he still can salvage this.

He scanned their table and postures lightning fast. Both were at ease, but Emi was less subdued than usual. She wasn’t gesticulating and held into her wine glass as a way to occupy her hands. There were desserts on the table, so they were closer to the end than to the beginning. Both women looked at him the moment he got closer to their table, no immediate hostility. Emi threw him confused look, and mysterious lady regarded him with polite, but curious tilt of head. She was dressed in a mildly nice modest dress with a lot of drapes. And subsequently places to hide weapons, the part of mind, couched by Nic, whispered.

The conclusion reached, Tim rushed to speak up. “Ladies, good evening. I apologize for intruding, I was not made aware of current miss Emily’s obligations. I wish you the best of the night. Miss Emily, If you are amicable, I will wait outside later. My matters are not urgent.’’ There. Polite and making Emi look better with full name and respectful.

Emi was staring at him as he grew the second head, and her companion just looked amused. The elderly lady let out a singular laugh and motioned for him to come closer. Knowing better than to contradict a powerful woman, he stepped forward.

“Such a fine young gentleman. I am sure you don’t need to wait outside, Emi and I are almost finished here. We couldn’t let you go without hearing you first in good conscience. Right, Emi, dear?” Her voice was cordial and warm while still maintaining a royal attitude. She placed a hand at his shoulder and gently guided him to a chair. Tim bit a lip not to give his full name automatically and the moment he registered the gesture he stopped. He scowled briefly at himself for a slip but maintained a polite façade.

Emi was still dazed when she nodded slightly. But the elegant lady still smiled easily and addressed Tim, “Do you want something to eat or drink, dear? A friend of Emi is always welcomed here. Especially such intriguing as yourself.” There was a calculative glint in her eyes, but somehow it didn’t dim her friendly attitude. Tim was impressed. He didn't think it was possible to project both.

He went with the safest option. “I would take an apple juice, if it is not a bother. I can reassure you I have only several questions for miss Emily and I wouldn’t disrupt your meeting any further.’’ The lady eyed him appraisingly for a moment and flagged a waitress down before continuing her play.

“I told you a million times, it’s just Emi.” The second woman automatically corrected and finally snapped out of whatever she was thinking. “Wait, how did you know where to find me and why did you search for me?”

The mystery lady was also very interested in his answer. Tim cowered quickly. “Your friend told me and I got a little help in directions from locals. As for why… I will have an opportunity on the weekend to consult a specialist regarding a potential union formation we were talking about. I wanted to elaborate on a few details to make sure that I have all the information.”

Emi sighed deeply and the lady lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “Yes, kid, you can ask your questions. But for the love of God, don’t talk like that. Donna Maria here might be on the same wave as you, but for us, simple folks, tune it down.” It was said jokingly, but Tim reddened a little and promptly apologized. Usually at the streets it was way easier to match the speech pattern and to shut his training down.

Donna Maria hummed and didn’t give anything out. “I must admit, I am interested to learn who this fine young gentlemen is and what he is talking about.”

Emi chuckled and answered with good humor, “Donna, you would like the kid. Helped me a couple months ago out of tight spot, I try to keep him out of trouble where I can ever since. Very independent, a bit crazy, has a penchant for finding the information he shouldn’t have.” She gave him pointed look. Tim pretended not to notice. “Runs from Batman, pops out around in Crime Alley. I believe kids came around to calling him Ghost Robin? Since the last one… You know,” Emi finished a bit uncomfortably. She was in general not comfortable with his plan of drawing Batman’s attention. “And now he tries to pitch me in to unionize my girls.”

Tim didn’t protest, because fair. He guessed that was accurate and he was told that he lost rights for opinion in naming the moment he didn’t offer any himself.

Donna Maria nudged the juice, brought somewhere during introductions, closer to him. “Interesting combination and ambitious goal. Do you truly believe in success?” Her look was heavy and piercing. But he wasn’t feeling dissected as it sometimes did with Mother, rather he felt taken serious.

He let his hope and enthusiasm show. “It could be. Unions historically gave workers back power to influence their work conditions and I think with the right action plan, it will succeed. Of course, we should take Crime Alley specifics into consideration, but something should be done anyway. Also I am still in stages of research, so I will be able to answer your question better on a later date.”

Emi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Donna shoot him supportive smile. “A noble goal, indeed. I would love to hear about your endeavors, young man. But do not be in hurry. Gotham is a challenging place, but it weathered storms for years, it could wait a bit longer. Exercise precaution.” She was gazing into his eyes with utmost seriousness, as if she could see them behind his googles.

Tim nodded, enchanted. He had a sneaking feeling that she was not speaking about unions anymore. And this lady knew far more that she let out. He was totally researching her upon coming home.

“I will.” He felt it was necessary to promise her, to assure that even if he had doubts about what exactly he was planning, he wasn’t rushing blind.

“Oka-ay, you are totally on the same wave, Donna Maria. I don’t even want to know about you and the kid.” Donna smirked slightly and winked at Tim. He blinked in confusion. He was missing something here. “Anyway, kid, what did ya want to ask?”

Tim shifted in place, tearing his gaze from Donna and concentrating on what he has come for. “Right. I was wondering how many people we can start with…” He rattled out his questions, trying to limit them, but still ending up with considerate amount. Sue him, he didn’t realize how hard it was to start unionization! And for such a… contradictory business.

Emi did her best to answer it, even if only to humor him. She wasn’t 100% sold on the idea, but agreed to see where it was going. Donna added a remark here and there, and after ten minutes Tim was convinced of her deep involvement with Gotham’s underground. He was not sure how, but she was definitely more than just Emi’s work acquaintance.

He had a name now, but she was still a mysterious lady, with his Mother’s commanding presence, but warm, laughing eyes. Oh, and most probably with a couple of guns in the dress.

The conversation continued for a little bit, with Tim pointedly not asking what they were discussing before his arrival and Donna not prying any further into him and his motives. It seems it was not exclusively a Crime Alley rule.

Emi reminded him about semi-regular check-ins and said farewell. Donna didn’t appear displeased and gave him a… pin as parting gift. With two crossed feathers on a rainbow background. She just winked at him instead of explanation and it left Tim wrong-footed. He didn’t know what to think, honestly. It was a bit hard to think, it was…

It was time to go home, yea. He made a good progress today. He could feel the toll on his body from his little excursion to the mask shop on a top of running around Crime Alley and navigating his way through gala-worth meeting.

He yawned. It’s like with acknowledgement his body realized it was tired and was sending a bunch of signals his way. He drug his foot to the bus station a tad slower than he would like.

That’s likely why he was almost caught unaware by a group of mean-looking thugs on the corner right before the bus stop. But Tim had enough presence of mind left to not be goaded towards a dirty side alley. It was group of four man, and Tim eyed them critically from across the alley. Two behind and two forward.

Bus should be at the stop in the next few minutes and he didn’t want to waste an additional hour waiting for the next one or going all the way to another station. He signed tiredly. He was more annoyed than afraid, but he didn’t carry big sums money with him (just enough for a snack or bus) and he didn’t have anything else valuable on him.

The man looked extremely intoxicated. They were obviously swaying and one was swinging his knife like favorite toy on a walk. Tim refrained from rolling his eyes, but really, what is their plan? He might have just started self-defense lessons with Nic, but he had much smaller frame and was should be faster than them. He quickly located the nearest dead end with accessible fire escape and moved swiftly to disappear from their view.

As he turned corner, his attention immediately darted to alley’s items. Uh-oh. The heavy garbage container was moved for some reason. And now he didn’t have enough height to reach fire escape. Oops. He needs to invest into grappling hooks?

The grumbling from behind returned him to the task on the hand and Tim moved before fully comprehending what he could do. But stray trash bin was just light enough to move it into the position and high enough to reach the lowest crossbar.

He concentrated and leaped, hands catching on the beam. The bin fall and rolled once from the impact just as the first of man rounded the corner. Tim couldn’t help but smirk at him even if the drunk couldn’t see his face.

He grunted as he hauled himself up just with a little help of adrenalin (the thugs were big and from Crime Alley, okay?) and climbed to the roof. The man looked dumb-stuck, staring at where he was before and Tim snickered.

But he didn’t want to spend in Alley more time than necessary, so he turned, took stance and ran. Only seconds before the actual jump came the smart thought: he hasn’t judged the distance and might not have a lot of experience with leaping from rooftop to rooftop just yet.

The heartrate spiked, he was in the midleap when everything froze for a moment. Like one of the perfectly lighted photos he took of moonlighting vigilantes. But no hesitations or fears came. Just between one blink and the next he was plummeting towards the edge of the roof and his hands were automatically reaching, body curling into himself to absorb the impact.

He instinctually changed his body position to a side just as the brick roof edge was about to cut him in half. It still slammed into his legs, punching out a pained gasp out of him, but didn’t break anything, seeing how he was able to stand a second later.

He winced, feeling the steadily increasing throbbing in shins as he stepped to go back to the street level. Landing almost soundlessly from another fire escape, Tim scanned the area. Judging from the sounds, drunks were still trying to figure where did he go. Tim repressed satisfied grin and raced to the bus stop around the corner.

In a perfect timing, bus arrived. He hopped inside and took a seat in the back. Tomorrow Tim will hate Today Tim for bruises and exhaustion, but it was totally worth it.

Tomorrow Tim was very displeased. Next morning he woke up tired, with building headache and blurry vision. He spent all breakfast ranting aloud to Robin about poor decisions of Yesterday Tim and sulked through first half of his school period. Finally, when he was grew bored, he switched to tentatively working on his unionization draft plan in English class, hiding it under work sheets. He already spoke the language, he had better things to do, duh.

The problem came where he didn’t expect. It totally flew over his head that his class had PE today for the last lesson. They usually wore school-assigned sport shorts, and Tim only caught up to what it meant for his shining new calf bruises in the locker room. A ton of unwanted attention. He growled to himself. He was already standing out in-between older classmates! He didn’t need additional eyes on him!

Of course, he quickly cooked up a simple story about falling from stairs and earned himself a few half-hearted pitying words from classmates and obligatory visit to a nurse. The woman looked him straight into a soul and sent him home. He shrugged. Works for him.

As a treat for himself and his headache, he went to a newly opened vegetarian place in the area. Mrs. Mac was scheduled to bring fresh groceries tomorrow, so he can try to continue his cooking lessons. The last time he was out of products before he could progress anywhere. Self-teaching how to cook from YouTube was hard, okay!?

And well… He was trying to make the Manor feel at least a little bit like home, so he figured using more spaces besides his own room could help. After arriving back Tim purposefully stayed in living room, bangled up in his favorite blanket with notebook and laptop, murder mystery documentaries playing in the background. The painkiller pill helped with a headache somewhat, but overall exhaustion was annoyingly consistent. As he reread the same sentence on the screen for the third time without any input from brain, Tim felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Time between blinks growing longer and longer.

He didn’t notice how he closed eyes to rest for a minute and woke up to YouTube bird videos several hours later. Tim had no idea how YouTube algorithm got from murder mysteries to animal video vines. Though, he privately remarked, domesticated rats look awfully cute. He yawned and just… watched for a moment or two how rats were trying to clean their owners or each other.

Comparing them to creep shop rats was probably a result of his newly woken brain. Clearly, it wasn’t firing all the cylinders if he thought that. He slowly peeled himself out of his nest and checked the bruises. They blossomed fully, and Tim frowned, trying to remember if he knew or not what to do to make them disappear faster. Nothing. Hmm.

A quick online research solved the issue, but he couldn’t just relay on that every time he went out and got hurt. Especially if he got something serious. Tim sighed. For now he will just avoid such situations and when he has a little more time, sign for first aid courses or something?

He already knew how to stop bleeding and immobilize a broken limb due to… Batman’s temporary lapse of judgment in his powers. Tim grimaced internally. Calling ambulance for petty thugs and sometimes involving himself was not pretty. Is not pretty. Good thing Batman is more focused on finding him now and Agent A is (hopefully) forcefully cutting his vigilante time. Now, having somewhat established sights of ‘ghost Robin’ in Crime Alley, Batman no longer is distracted by small (on Gotham scale) crimes. It is not ideal and not always working, but Tim made the best out of the accident that started this whole masquerade, in his own opinion.

It is no use to go out tonight. He made a good progress yesterday and his bruises throb. Besides, he still didn’t complete his observation notes about the shop and he needs to profile a new player: Donna Maria. And-

Well. He has several school assignments that he might have… forgotten to do. But with his parents in town soon, he can’t afford a slip.
Preparing to suffer mentally for the rest of the evening, he gets to work. The cute rat videos play on the loop in his brain all the time until he goes to bed.

Chapter Text

Wednesday arrived with a little fanfare if not counting a vague nightmare filled with gunshots and explosive batarangs. Tim wrinkled his nose. Batman hurled only one of those near him and he was already so scared? No way. He hoped it was a one-time thing. Batman wouldn’t seriously hurt a child, even if blinded by grief and anger.

At least today he can look forward to continuing the previous discussion in the Club. The lessons are still boring, but at least the science teacher gave up on pretending to try to control him and just let him do anything he wanted as long as it vaguely is connected to the subject.

Tim wasn’t doing anything connected to the subject. He was trying to translate ‘Crime Alley shady’ into proper business terms. Would mafia enforcers be called ‘unethical competition’? No, wait, they are more like the Board of Directors from what he heard from Father’s rants. In only for money by any means, distant, always moving in groups. He nodded. Yes, it would be suitable. Maybe he could make it more vague? ‘Micromanaging and overworking higher-ups’. Yeah, better.

He was pretty lost in finding appropriate analogies and didn’t notice how their science teacher got up to patrol between the desks. He made a displeased noise in the back of throat and Tim snapped to attention. Made eye contact. The man looked pointedly at the notebook filled with definitely not science formulas.

Tim slowly covered it with the lesson workbook. The teacher quirked one eyebrow but didn’t call him out. Instead, he made him solve the next task on the whiteboard in front of the class. Tim solved it right. The man gave him a bone-deep sigh but didn’t protest when he returned to his work. Openly. They have a deal, after all.

In the next lessons he was more careful. It slowed his progress somewhat, but at the end he still had an outline of the project. He briefly entertained the idea of ditching his study group, but he had already done it last time, so better not.

So study group first, then the Detective Club. Right.

He made his way to the school library, where his assigned group was beginning to gather. A few of his classmates, a few familiar faces from the Club. Tim was moderately comfortable in their company, and it covered his everyday need in social interaction with peers. The psychological guide mentioned that humans are pack animals. He mentally patted himself on the back for blending so well.

And he was forced to concentrate on school projects without distractions, which he appreciated. Time passed not as quickly as Tim preferred, but he endured. While not the best relationship, he felt okay spending time within the group. They didn’t nag him and on occasion even can hold entertaining conversations without too much patronizing.

Finally, one of the older boys groaned and slumped in his chair. Tim checked the time. The allotted one and half hour was almost over. He had a bit more than thirty minutes before the Club. He contemplated staying in the library, he was having a productivity strike.

Tim tapped his pen on the paper. Hm, yes, he didn’t want to move yet. But he was suddenly distracted by somebody watching him. Usually this feeling was triggered while in Crime Alley, so he immediately strengthened and narrowed his eyes on his surroundings.

To discover that it was just one of his clubmates watching him with a calculative expression, poorly hidden under an uncertain mask. Amateur.

 Tim settled for politely curious waiting. The boy quickly followed with an opening line. “Hey… Drake. Do you want to hang out with us before the Club?” he gestured to a boy and a girl sitting next to him. The girl looked surprised, but upon his gaze shrugged and nodded. Does not care. The second boy put the fakest smile he had seen recently. Even newbie drug dealers in the Bowery can do better.

So. They want something from him. Tim tilted his head and thought for a moment. He must admit, he was curious. “Yeah, sure, why not?” The group headed out of the library, older boys trying and failing to maintain gala-level small talk. Tim went easy on them and played along. The girl just rolled her eyes and stayed on the phone all the time.

They ended up in the cafeteria. The boy who invited him insisted on buying snacks for all of them. Tim remembered only a few basic facts about him. That guy was a son of the CEO of one of the Drake Industries subsidiaries. But the older boy never approached him directly before.  Why now?

Tim pondered the question while the conversation flowed around the everyday school topics and the Club. He chimed here and there, waiting for unavoidable request disgusted as casual chit-chat. And it came. “So, uh, Drake, you are coming to this weekend party too, right?”

He scrunched brows. “I have no idea which one you are talking about.” It’s not like he had friends in the school who could invite him to one.

The boy spluttered a bit, like he was not the one to breach the topic. His friend answered for him. “Uh, the one for Wayne Preservation thing? My parents were ranting for ages about it.”

Ah. “You mean Wayne Preservation Funds gala for fundraising? My parents and me are coming, yes.” Tim said slowly, not resisting slipping a bit of irritation into his tone. It was not a party. Even with most of Gotham elite invited, it was a social gathering for a good case.

The CEO's son hmphed and intoned patronizingly, “I thought so. They say it will be quite an event. You should be excited, I have heard your parents will present one of their archeological findings there, right?”

Tim. Tim didn’t know that. Mother and Father didn’t say anything about this. His thoughts came to a screeching halt and he heard himself answer as from the sidelines. “Of course. They are looking forward to the gala as I am.”

The boy nodded, very pleased by himself for some reason. Tim was distracted from figuring out his motive by the train wreck of his parents fact omission. They usually were very eager to talk about their digs and things they brought back home. Why not let him know by a few words in the email, at least?

He zoned back into the present just in time to catch the end of the phrase, “…would be cool to know.” Tim didn’t repeat, very deliberately, a few colorful Crime Alley curses in his mind. But it was not hard to guess what the guy wanted now.

Tim let out a flat chuckle and responded, “Well, I can’t tell you that! Mother and Father keep it secret even from me. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” The boy’s face soured and he clumsily changed topics. “Oh, that’s a pity. What’s the most interesting artifact they brought back home then?”

It sounded borderline rude, but they had only ten minutes till the Club left, so it was not worth the effort of calling him out. Tim told them a short polished story of parents’ journey to China where the highlight of their collection was found – an ancient handwritten scroll. It was perfect to tell at galas – a bit of adventures, a couple of jokes, and paints his parents in perfect light.

Judging from students’ expressions, they knew it too. Or heard this story already. Mother hasn’t given him updates about their findings for a while.

Luckily, they had a couple of minutes left, and Tim readily offered to go, cutting whatever retort they had. The boys didn’t look happy, but Tim didn’t care. The whole interaction left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t even discover what they truly wanted. Such a waste of time.

It reeked of fake attentiveness and cheap manipulation. Please, as he didn’t put two and two together the moment guy mentioned gala. Tim might not know what exactly the CEO son was banking on, but confronting the Drake heir only days before his parents, the owners of the mother company that owns a subsidiary that his parent is CEO of, return with some attention-grasping artifacts? Please. He just didn’t piece together what exactly the guy wanted. Yet.

But it was almost given that that nonsense of interaction was done by the CEO through his son. The question is… What did he gain out of silly interaction? He will find out. And if the man had something against Drakes? He will be crushed.

Tim smirked to himself, the only acceptable response to any threat towards family, whispered Mother behind his ear. He shoved the dubious praise to the back of his mind, it was not a time to question his mutating morals again. So he emulated Batman and just. Didn’t process it right now.

The Club was as always pleasant. As the curator promised, they finished the discussion of ‘Hero vs vigilante vs criminal’ and moved to the specific case: Wonder Woman. To say Tim was surprised is to say nothing. He didn’t think it was even a question?..

The woman was extremely pleased with herself, when she announced, “It will be a little thinking exercise. Now that we know legal and modern moral definitions of ‘hero’ and ‘vigilante’, let’s hear your thoughts on Wonder Woman. Keep in mind that Wonder Woman is said to be more than a thousand years old and from what public knows, Amazonian culture is very warrior-centered, so their understanding of ‘justice’ could be ambiguous. Besides, Wonder Woman is not only a founding member of Justice League, but also an Themyscirian diplomat, which implies diplomat immunity. How does it clash with her responsibilities in League?”

Tim hummed, already deeply in thought, and clicked on the first provided article. He researched Wonder Woman only minimally before, passingly as other founding members. The boy quite enjoyed the reading; it was a new and refreshing perspective. He needed it – a break, a simple analysis and arguing on interesting topic. Especially after the last outing.

“I believe that it puts a great amount of responsibility on her shoulders. Being seen both as her people’s representative, royalty and the first female hero among League founders, she faces immense pressure.” Tim announced, when his turn came. The more he learnt, the more he admired Wonder Woman. “I don’t have a stance on her actions before she became active as a hero, because we don’t have enough facts for that, Themyscira is hidden for a reason. Her sense of justice may and certainly is different from average person’s, but what matters is her actions. Upon making herself visible as Wonder Woman she has done nothing but save people. She hasn’t used her status as a diplomat even once, so I would say it doesn’t clash with her role in League as much as it could. However, she still holds a fair share of political influence. With King of Atlantis in League and princess of Tamaran in Teen Titans the hero teams became more than just groups of crime-fighters. The political element was introduced and it would be foolish to ignore it and to not adjust our law accordingly. So to answer the primal question: it doesn’t matter in a long run, whatever Wonder Woman thinks of proper justice. She is beyond our USA and even international law as Amazonian princess, but complies with our laws as a member of the League.”

A little speech earned him a praise from the coordinator for proper articulation and interesting point of view. He was pleased to be a cause for follow-up heated discussion about the legal status of the Justice League for the rest of the session. Everybody agreed that Wonder Woman was awesome, duh.

Tim felt like he just blinked and the Club time was over. He avoided the CEO son and his friends’ group on his way out, in too good mood to ruin it over some petty teenagers. They tried to corner him, but with him running in Crime Alley on nights it was an attempt doomed to fail. Tim ducked out of front gates and pressed himself into a wall, knowing that he will be sheltered from their sight just long enough for the group to skip further into the street, looking for him at the parking and the bus stop first.

While they were distracted, he slipped away in another direction. And if it meant a bit longer reroute, well, he could always benefit from additional workout. He should probably head to the Central Library, while he still had time. Later in the week he wouldn’t have a chance.  

Tim mentally adjusted his task list. He was nearly finished with the preliminary unionization plan and he got some info on potential escape routes via sewers, but he hasn’t check any of it in person. He also had a lot of ideas for gadgets and accessories he could add to his outfit, like built-in flashlight or camera. The scouting would be so much easier on him! But he didn’t have nor skill neither untraceable way to obtain materials. Besides, he didn’t earn that level of attention from Batman, thankfully.

But then again, depending on how far he would be able to go, he might even get to the point of needing vigilante-grade gadgets just to avoid capture. It would be one of the worst scenarios, though.

At the beginning, Tim planned to disappear back into Gotham night after Batman gains some emotional stability back, but as any primal plan, it didn’t survive collision with the reality. After getting some intimate knowledge of Crime Alley, Tim wasn’t sure he could just abandon the residents. He didn’t do much, but doubted he could sleep peacefully at night without regular check-ins with street kids or ladies anymore.

Now Crime Alley was teasing Zack with his friends and playful Emi and gruff Nic with their overbearing system of reports. Now it was small apartments where he was welcomed to hide from Batman, learned by heart routes with favorite stops and secret hanging spots. Midnight life moments, rough and raw, but real, captured on camera. All new faces he was meeting every night. With every new person he cared a bit more, with every small good deed he got entangled a bit further.

Tim sighed so heavily that his whole body sagged. He slouched in the back seat and leaned against glass, staring at Gotham streets. He didn’t even noticed when he started caring so deeply. Who knew? It’s not like he has a lot of social interactions to compare what’s normal and what’s not.

On the brighter side, he has a training session with Nic today! The man promised to show something completely new, if he  wouldn’t get injured. Tim wasn’t, so he was going to enjoy surprise. But before that he still had something to do.

Exiting the bus in Diamond District, Tim cheered himself with fancy smoothie from small place on his way to the library. No wasted time and a lot of vitamins! It was a genius move on his part, definitely. He mentally pated himself on back. He found one more way to be both healthy and efficient!

Tim finished his smoothie just as the Central Library came into the view. Getting rid of the cup, he thoughtfully gazed on the towering building for a moment. His mind was flooded with plans and strategies and half-backed ideas, so he took a second just to breath. Everything was rushing on him from all sides, and he needed to recenter himself not to lose sight of priorities.

He was dying to brainstorm more escape routes or things he can do for Crime Alley, but this could wait. More pressing matters included finishing unionization project to show his parents in disguise of taking an interest in business management and tying all loose ends with his school assignments to please Mother and Father with good marks.

It’s not like Batman would try to catch him right this night, the man had taken a nasty blow to head last time he heart of him. And in very unlikely scenario of Nightwing subbing for him, the younger vigilante hadn’t shown the same single-minded drive to catch him, so everything should be alright. He had a bit of time, right? Efficient time management.

He nodded firmly and entered the building, prepared for a few productive hours…

…Several hours later he was viciously cursing past logical Tim that didn’t account for sheer vigilante stubbornness. Yes, Batman shouldn’t have been out for at least a few nights. Yes, he thought Mr. Pennyworth’s authority and common would be enough for Batman to stay put. Yes, he grossly overestimated Batman’s logical side.

And now he regretted every decision that led him to this point in life. And just to think, everything started so peacefully.

“Welcome to the Gotham Central Library.” Six and half hours ago, nice librarian recited at him at the entrance without paying much attention. Tim politely returned the greeting and sneaked into one of the quieter areas. The distant familiarity of librarian lady still bugged him, but he delayed the solving of this minor mystery for later.

The library seemed even more welcoming than the last time, decorated with paper flowers and colorful stained-glass films. In hindsight, that was what got him to relax and lower his guard for the rest of the night. Uninterrupted hours of work just lulled him further into false sense of security.

He finished all his school homework, found an excellent business book on unions’ history and spied a little on library regulars for detective training. Like Sherlock Holmes! Shame he couldn’t check how much of his theories were right. No convenient narrator in life to let him know. But it was a fun exercise. Points for him in socializing!

Three hours ago he left the library in a good mood and on his way back helped an old lady cross the road. The bus arrived just in time, he hadn’t waited even for five minutes.

One and half hour ago he met with Nic and the man announced that Tim finally had enough stamina and muscles for learning the basics of knife fight. Tim had his emergency pocket knife on him all the times as instructed, so they had the first lesson immediately. Nic even praised him for staying away from any physical squabbles (no need to worry adults with Joker’s lair bit). Tim was having a blast. Aaaand that’s was it, that’s where his daily allotted luck run out.

Right when he was so sure that Batman was resting home, gang activity was still on low side from the recent conflict and it was perfect time to visit Feng twins and Lora. Who lived in a shady building in a heart of Crime Alley that just happened to be only a street away from the Monarch Theatre. And Batman just happened to feel like visiting his parents’ murder place. And Tim, like complete idiot, didn’t check his surroundings before crossing the street in a full view under perfectly working street lump. Like he was asking to be captured.

What Batman did, in one smooth glide with help of his cape and without a single sound. Batman appeared from his blind spot like a boogieman he rumored to be, with an iron grip on his shoulder. Tim squeaked and jumped in surprise, immediately twisting to dislocate the hand with well-practiced move and grabbing a pepper spray from the pocket. It was practically the first thing Nic taught him.

Tim turned to get a better hold on offending limb and froze like a deer in headlights. For horrible long five seconds pepper spray hovered just in front of Batman’s face (at least Tim correctly judged the height of assailant). Tim slowly lowered it, afraid of making sudden movements. Batman’s grip easily adjusted on his shoulder when he twisted, but was no less tight. He will be sporting some very interesting bruises tomorrow.

Cowl white lenses were staring right into his soul and Tim was half-convinced that Batman was seconds away from incinerating him on a spot. He shrunk into himself, mind absolutely blank from fear.

“Smart choice.” Batman growled after what felt like eternity. What? What was he… Oh. The pepper spray. “Don’t try to run, boy, if you don’t want to be treated like a criminal.” There was a clear warning in his harsh voice and could Tim pass out, please? Right now and right here.

Without further explanation Batman begun to roughly stir him down the street, not caring if Tim’s legs were working or not. They refused to cooperate, so Tim stumbled, white noise in ears, but the vigilante just hauled him higher and dragged along.

Tim… didn’t understand what was happening. What was Batman doing in Crime Alley with what he suspected to be a concussion? What he was going to do with Tim? What Tim was going to do?

The gauntlet fingers dug painfully into his shoulder, five claws sinking into prey’s flesh. It can’t be the end, can it? Batman is far from stable, it can’t end here! No, he is not going to wherever Batman is bringing him! Gotham needs Batman and Batman needs Robin. To protect or to chase.

Mind finally kicking into the gear, Tim instantly went into overdrive. Batman didn’t take him to rooftops to dangle him from the edge, but was dragging him somewhere. Likely came here with Batmobile, not to patrol, but to visit the Monarch Theatre. Concussion often results in mood swings and cognitive problems, and combined with his grief it is pleasurable to assume that Batman was not thinking clearly when he came here.

Trying to be discreet and dying inside a little, Tim observed the vigilante from corner of the eye. Batman was staring right ahead, jaw set in cutting line, a pair of pliers clasped on Tim’s shoulder. He couldn’t suppress a low whine when Batman jerked him around the corner and fumbled for a half-step. Suddenly everything came into a sharp focus for Tim, just like that time at the rooftop.

Batmobile, a measly twenty steps ahead. Batman, not confiscating spotted weapon and stumbling out of the blue. Tim, desperate for escape and with perfectly working blade up his sleeve. In the jacket, easily discarded in seconds.

They were half-way to their goal, when Tim decided. Now or never. With heart ready to race out of his ribcage, he went limp in Batman’s hold. It didn’t work as well as he hoped, since his weight was not enough to put off even heavily concussed Batman, but by some miracle the vigilante grunted and stopped to adjust his grip. Tim, not wasting a moment, sprang into action, fueled by adrenaline and knowledge that he will be in a world of trouble, if not dead, after Batman would be done with him.

A blink, and he had an open blade in one hand and was slipping another out of jacket sleeve, using vigilante’s grip as a leverage. Clumsy swipe on Batman with the blade, not to hurt, just to get attention and give himself a precious second to finish getting out of the jacket and start running in opposite direction. It worked.

Batman swiftly dodged his attack, not that Tim doubted even for a second, and predictably didn’t let go of his jacket. But that’s all what was left in Batman’s grip. Just a piece of cloth. Tim wasn’t greedy, Batman can have it.

Tim heart man swearing behind him and didn’t look back. He didn’t want to tempt fate any further. So he hit the ground running as if hell hounds were biting on his heels and employed every dirty trick he knew to throw Batman off his back. Sharp turns, too narrow for adults cuts, passing through buildings via shuttered windows. He had no idea where Batman was anymore, but he run and run, until he didn’t recognize streets anymore. He found the darkest and the smallest place and hid.

He couldn’t be caught, he couldn’t, not yet, not yet, not yet. Angry Batman, sound of breaking bones, crimson blood on concrete. Don’t run, boy, if you don’t want to be treated like a criminal you are. White lenses locking into him, hands closing into him, no-no-NO!

Tim shuddered and sobbed. He was scared. Batman was scary. Batman looked at him and didn’t see a child. Tim… Tim was… Where was he?

He was somewhere in… Robinsville? His mind launched into the distraction. At least it was the direction he was running towards. He shivered.

Tim tried to lift his hands to rub a bit of warmth into his torso, but met some resistance. Oh yeah. He forgot that he crumbled himself between wall and… some sort of container?.. He felt a gentle breeze against open patches of skin. Oh.

He somehow ended up near the harbor, from Robinsville side. Huh, a boy pretending to be a Robin, hiding in Robinsville. It was no clever, neither funny, but he still let several slightly hysterical giggles.

He was almost stuffed into Batmobile by angry concussed Batman. He escaped Batman. And he was cold.

Tim took calming breath. He was alright. He escaped… Wait, but what about Batman! He should be in pretty bad form to make such glaring mistakes! And several in a row. Not taking Tim to the rooftops, cutting out his escape. Not getting rid of his weapons. Not securing the grip.

He needed to get back and check on Batman. If either of them is lucky, the vigilante will go home with autopilot in Batmobile or something.

…Batmobile should have autopilot, right?

Tim shivered again from particular strong gust of wind. Okay, check on Batman and go home. He suddenly realized that he was underdressed for the weather. And he was exhausted from his mad run all way to harbor, so the trip back took much longer. At this point of night he was hopeful that Batman had already gone home, because the alternative didn’t bode well for any of them.

But when he eventually drugged his feet all way back to the Monarch Theater, Batmobile was disturbingly parked in the same spot, Batman nowhere in sight. Tim double-checked, triple-checked the radius, but not a hair of vigilante to be seen. He made sure to scout all nearby rooftops, but Batman just wasn’t near Batmobile.

There weren’t any big enough spots for Batman to hide, and Tim took his time observing the area, sliding closer and closer inch by inch. The area was eerily quiet, people probably caught wind of Batman’s presence and stayed away. Only the indeterminable amount of time passed and Batmobile was still here. Something was wrong.

Tim felt a small thrill passing along his spine. Exhaustion temporarily pushed to the back if his mind, he focused on problem on hand: Batman was missing. Concussed Batman, to make the bad situation worse. And it’s not like Tim could do anything.

He brew in indecision and steadily raising panic in side alley with a clear view for Batmobile. He had no idea where Batman could have gone and he couldn’t call anyone! Well, in theory, Mr. Pennyworth, but what butler can do? If he couldn’t stop Batman from leaving with such dangerous injury, then calling him and exposing Tim’s knowledge would be a moot point.

Justice League? He didn’t have a direct line to them, and it would take hours to find any reliable contact information. And he didn’t appear the most trustful source of information, either.

Think, Tim, think. There should be at least something he could do. Just searching streets would be counterproductive, he needs to narrow parameters somehow. He can start with the closest area, he supposed, but the unease feeling in gut was telling him that it was more complicated than that. And during his time in Alley he learned to trust the intuitive tells.

Human body, forced into extreme situations, often fall back into primal responses that allowed people to survive on the dusk of civilization. His senses already noticed something important and subconsciousness was forcing him to translate it into logical thought. So he stilled himself and tried to listen. But again, it was uncharacteristically silent, not even a rustle from stray rat.

Then it struck him. Not even street animals were making sounds! He got so used to rats and cats and all sorts of Gotham mutant animals shuffling in trash that he paid no mind to them anymore. But now they were silent too. So something scared them, likely loud noise. Like gunshot or sound of battle. So either Batman got into a fight while he was in Robinsville, and recently, or something equally loud happened.

So there was a possibility that someone heard something. Mind made up, Tim sprinted to his primal destination. He has witnesses to interview and no time to spare.

                                                                                                ***

Lora was one of the first Crime Alley kids to trust him and it was in large part thanks to her that younger generation was more or less at ease with him. She was the first to unironically call him Robin too. And, what was slightly more embarrassing, she refused to call him anything else. Tim was smart enough not to give his name out even in early days of photographing the Bats.

Maybe because when they met, she was very little and had some naivety left, maybe because she just was such a pure kid. But when 10-year-old Tim saw 4-year-old Lora wandering streets alone in the middle of night, their fate was practically sealed. Through series of challenging interrogation games and bout of luck he managed to her home, but he was unable to truly leave her alone. Her family wasn’t the most caring, even in Crime Alley standards.

He saw her adults maybe twice in all those years and they were the most indifferent people he could think of.  It was a very bitter memory – reuniting lost 4-year-old child with her presumable family only to get a blank stare and a single half-hearted “thanks” in return. Lora’s casual reaction didn’t help at all. As he discovered in a course of the following weeks, Lora survived only due to patronage of other two kids from the same apartment building – Feng twins. They were somewhere near Tim’s age, both girl and boy laconic and with a better poker face than some adults in high Gotham society. They also nearly beat him up when the twins spotted him checking on Lora from afar. In the same day he discovered what “stalking” was.

From there they fall into somewhat friendly interactions, where Tim was bringing them things here and there and they were teaching him how to not die in Crime Alley. Lora was almost always hanging out in their tiny place, so he spent time with her too. Despite not even knowing his name or how his face looked like, she really liked him for some reason. And when he showed up in robin colors a few months ago, she shrieked something about always knowing and Robin and jumped right into his arms, clinging like koala. The twins just laughed into his face when he tried to gently pry her away.

He also didn’t have a heart to correct her that he was not a real Robin. Lora deserved to see real hero, Jason, Robin-is-magic Jason. But the life was cruel, so she got Tim and depressed Batman. If Tim had anything to say, he was going to change the latter, but he needed to make sure the vigilante was alive first.

Tim knocked twice on the door. Feng’s apartment was on the last floor and had an excellent view on the streets below. After a pause there was a shuffling noise and the door opened to a narrow gap. Tim slipped inside, allowing it to be closed right behind him. Suna and Shian gave him calculative and, if he interpreted it correctly, worried looks.

Tim in response produced combs and hair ties from his bag along with some snacks. Never to be said that he can’t multitask. Suna disappeared into the next room, and Shian pursed his lips, already getting over whatever disturbed him in the first place.

“Batman?” Shian was unimpressed. It was certainly a skill how he could fit so much distaste and skeptisism into singular word. Tim gave up to beat him on this hill long time ago.

But it also gave him hope that they saw something, if Shian dove directly into the topic.

“Batman.” He confirmed with apologetic glance. Everyone was entitled to their opinions, after all. And well… The vigilante was not the frequent visitor in Crime Alley sans the pursuits.

Shian let out a deep sigh worth several adult men and shook his head. “Come. Lora will tell.”

Tim followed the twin into the dingy living room with renewed hope. In ancient sofa Suna was busy inspecting the gifts, and Lora was happily munching on the snacks he brought. But upon noticing she squealed abandoned her food and the next moment Tim had his arms full of excited 6-year-old.

“Robin! You are finally here! You wouldn’t believe what we saw!” Tim smiled faintly at her joy and hugged her in return despite his nerves. “We saw Superman!”

The exclamation left him somewhat lost. He blinked. Looked at the twins. They nodded in unison. Lora continued a bit more subdued, “He took drunk Batman away. Batman was very upset and he was yelling at the wall, like old Mike sometimes does, and then Superman appeared like – whoosh! Then he took Batman flying! Robin, how did he know that Batman needs time-out?”

Tim was torn between relief and bitterness. On the one hand, Batman was safe. On the other, he doubted any regular 6-year-old should know how drunk people behave and what ‘time-out’ for them means. He focused back on the conversation when Lora tugged on his sleeve, waiting for response.

“Oh. He is friends with Batman! So he knew that Batman was upset and needed help. But he was not drunk, sometimes, when people hit their head really hard, they might have a difficult time controlling what they say.” He tried to say it lightly, but judging from twins’ poker faces, he failed somewhere.

But thankfully, Lora’s attention span was short, and she already switched topics. “Uh-uh. Robin, why you haven’t visited for so long? You haven’t been here for,” she frowned at her hands, flexing her fingers, “for eight days! It is one day longer than a week! You promised to be here every week.”

“Yes, Robin, why?” Tim could never tell if Fengs were sarcastic or not. But they totally were enjoying his discomfort.

Tim… deflated. He was tired, physically and mentally, and wanted nothing but to collapse into the bed and forget for a couple of days about outside world. He put Lora at the cushions and sat next to her.

“I am sorry, I was busy.  I didn’t realize how quickly time passed.” He didn’t have any energy left to make up a believable excuse. The twins glares softened and they flanked him and Lora from the sides, giving silent support.

Lora peeked into his eyes for a long moment, but seemed to find what she was looking for and nodded confidently. “Okay, I forgive you. But you are not leaving us forever-forever, right?” She clung to his arm with all her might and hid her face in his cheap Robin replica shirt.

His heart ached for the little girl. She didn’t know any better, Lora deserved proper hero model, not pretender like Tim. But she got him, and he wasn’t going to shutter her expectations anymore than reality has.

He awkwardly petted her head. “…Yeah. I am sticking around for a long time.”  

For a second atmosphere stayed sober, but Lora wasn’t prone to brooding for a long time, and Fengs didn’t care about vigilantes enough.

After Lora switched topics once again and roped him into playing Uno that he brought some time ago, Tim felt a tad better. He was still tired as hell, but seeing Lora always managed to make him feel better. And knowing that concussed Batman was no longer at streets helped.

Before going back he had a short exchange with twins, who begrudgingly told him a bit more about Batman’s yelling match with the wall. They didn’t hear much, but still distinguished screams about ghosts, parents and justice. Uh, not the best combination and could cover a number of topics. But definitely fall under “Not Good” category for Batman’s mental health.

Tim bit Lora and the twins farewell and kinda… stood outside their door for a while, lost in thoughts. Eventually he moved, but the trip back to the Manor was tinted in dark shades both from Gotham night and haunting thoughts.

                                                                                          ***

Needless to say, the next day Tim woke up cranky and sore. There were a lot distracting thoughts bouncing around his skull, so school barely registered as a blip on his radar.

Yesterday was eye-opening for him. He grossly misjudged Batman’s progress. The vigilante was relapsing and hard. Tim couldn’t fathom how such rational and cautious person as Batman went  without backup and with severe head trauma to one of the most dangerous areas in Gotham. There weren’t any criminals for him to beat this time, but he managed just fine on his own.

Fear changed into sadness, sadness transformed into helplessness and helplessness melted into anger. At himself, at Joker, at Batman. At everything. How did Universe dare have Jason killed and left Tim as a replacement? Look at how he was doing! He thought he was helping, while Batman was, apparently, suicidal. It was a grim conclusion, but it couldn’t be anything else.

Tim might be missing a few pieces, but overall picture didn’t change from that. He spent all day digging into the topic, brushing classmates and teachers aside. He barely had enough patience to poorly hide what he was doing, but he didn’t need anyone questioning why 12-year-old was researching suicides.

And he was feeling too ruthless to wait till home. And weirdly unrooted. All his carefully laid plans were derailed. All previous research thrown out of window. It was difficult to plan to shelter others from Batman’s grief, but how he was supposed to help Batman against himself?

And yesterday Batman didn’t even remotely looked like he wanted help. Not from Mr. Pennyworth, not from Nightwing and definitely not from some random child.

Tim felt irritated. Betrayed, for some reason.

If investment is proved to have lost potential, cut your losses. His Mother’s lecture voice hissed behind his ear.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Tim had a long history of not listening to authority figures in his life. He refused to give up. There was nobody to pick up the slack.

His resolve hardened. Batman didn’t want to be helped? Too bad, Gotham needed Batman, so Tim would make such a nuisance out of himself that Batman will have no choice than to pull his head out of butt and focus.

Time to change tactics. Time to take some risks.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was spent in a haze. Overhauling his whole approach in such short time left Tim somewhat reeling. But Wayne Foundation Fund gala was too good of a shot to do… something. He was still ironing out the details, but what he knew for sure is that he couldn’t afford to skirt around corners anymore.

He needed to do something drastic. Starting with dragging Nightwing back to Gotham. He teamed briefly with Batman on the weekend, but that must have been a fluke as he returned back to Bludheaven right after.

It was too easy to fabricate an officially looking email to one Richard Grayson with very insistent request to come to gala, presumably from PR department of Wayne Foundation. And if the email just happened to be different by one letter from one listed on the website… Well, surely, Richard Grayson, tired from a long day in police, wouldn’t know the difference, right?

And if the enthusiastic respond just happened to be sent from a ‘new’ work email address, well, that’s understandable. Richard Grayson is adult now and it is time to have a separate credentials for official Wayne business.

The last step was to make sure his scheme couldn’t be reversed without losing face, so leaking the news to Vicki Vale it is. Tim highly doubted that Mr. Wayne and Dick Grayson will manage to figure where exactly the scheming started. They will need to speak to each other for that. And nobody liked to look stupid, so high chances everyone will just pretend that this was their plan from the beginning.

If Batman angle was not working, maybe Bruce Wayne approach will be more effective.

Tim was very grateful for Mother’s lessons on how to survive in high society, sitting in internet café somewhere in Chinatown. He didn’t even need to do any hacking for that, there was no way Batman could trace him digitally if things go south. But also the moment the news of Dick Grayson coming to gala hit the news, his fate is sealed. High society rules.

Taking deep breath and silencing the tiny voice of hesitation, Tim doubled down on planning. There was not much he could do regarding Mr. Pennyworth right now, not publicly, at least. Tim frowned at opened articles on ‘Brucie’ Wayne. He doubted any of his socialite friends were his real friends. Ideally, Tim needed Superman and Wonder Woman on the site, but Diana Prince was impossible to reach and he didn’t know a way to contact Superman! Does he even have a civil life? Tim red something about Fortress of Solitude in the Artic once?..

But something… felt wrong. Tim’s fingers hovered for a moment over the keyboard. He wasn’t fully sure what irked him. He couldn’t put it into words. He rewatched a bunch videos of Superman interacting with public and journalists. He was reassuring and charismatic, perfect picture of who people consider ‘hero’. But that the thing… For an alien Superman was surprisingly adept in human culture and language right from the beginning. Tim found the famous ‘introduction’ interview by Lois Lane and the earliest recordings available to public. There was not much to see, but Superman didn’t falter even once.

It could arguably be explained by some Kryptonian technology that downloaded the guide  ‘how interact with humans 101’ directly into Superman’s brain. But. He acts so natural. Superman always calls Earth his home. That kind of deduction to protect can’t exist only because he happened to land on a random planet an liked it enough. With some time, yes, but it looks like there wasn’t any transition period at all.

So Superman either had lived among humans before moving to the Fortress of Solitude, or has a fully functional secret identity. There could be several more complicated explanations, but Occam’s razor. Fledgling detective in him screamed to go with simpler explanation. It’s not like he would lose something by superficial check.

Superman heavily favored journalists Lois Lane and Clark Kent from Metropolis, they wrote the main balk of articles about him. Less Mr. Kent, and more Lois Lane, so he looked her up first. She was the only clear concrete Superman’s connection to the humanity. Well, if not to take Lex Luthor into account, but he doubted that supervillains counted.

It was a good point to start, because Superman didn’t interact with any other person on constant basis, sans Justice League. Lois Lane seemed to have an interesting life for an average Metropolian.  Often first on a scene with alien and supervillains’ attacks, kidnappings because of said connection to Superman on a regular Tuesday, chasing dangerous scoops instead of evening run.

Tim thought for a moment about the Bats. A bit of wild shot, but if Batman’s allies all know each other in day life, maybe Superman’s associate knows him too. So Tim went to her social media. There were a lot of journalism bits to filter through, but there also were some photos with her coworkers and a couple from different celebrations with who he assumed were her friends and family. On a first glance, nothing outstanding.

Tim stared at the photo from some event with the most people on it. The public social media accounts were all professional-looking, there was a chance that something was hidden in personal accounts, locked from the public. After five minutes of scanning crowd’s  faces, Tim went to her Wikipedia page. Maybe there will be a clue.

Hm, she was married to Clark Kent, journalist in the same magazine, and they had a little son together. But he was nowhere seen, probably to separate professional and personal life. Makes sense. But also it was the next chain of connection – her husband was less famous and could be less strict about his social media.

Tim was left frowning at the screen after typing his name into search bar. There was some info about him on official site of Daily Planet, like rewards won for his articles, but he didn’t have any social media accounts. Which was a bit weird for a successful journalist.

Tim navigated the Daily Planet stuff page and found his profile. The guy was the only one who had an passport-style photo with crappy quality. Other journalists provided nice, high-quality photos, Lois Lane included. So couldn’t she help her husband, even if he was bad with the technology? It seemed counterproductive for his career, and he had several serious rewards to his name, so it meant professional, right?

The feeling of wrong only grew. The faint suspicions started to form.

After some mental workout and half an hour of lurking at Lois Lane professional Instagram, he found another target, one of their more outgoing and slightly less professional coworkers, Cat Grant. Being responsible for gossip column, her personality seemed to match. And… gold mine! Not even a dozen photos down, and there is a photo of her, Lois Lane and several people in informal context. And a black-haired man timidly hugging her…

Tim squinted at the screen, because he must have seen it wrong. Lois Lane’s husband literally looked like slouched Superman in glasses with gelled hair. His vision must be a bit blurred from a long time staring at the screen. That’s it.

Because no way, no way Superman’s secret identity was Lois Lane’s husband. And only a pair of glasses was standing on the way of every supervillain and their dog finding Superman’s family. And no way he, 12-year-old Tim Drake, discovered it in a span of an hour with unprotected Internet connection. He didn’t even need any hacking! What the hell!?

He wordlessly threw his arms in the air in extreme indignation. How is it passable!? How the whole Justice League was not exposed!? Just to prove a point, Tim found in two clicks that Clark Kent covered dozens of Gotham events in recent years, which, coincidently, Brucie Wayne was attending. Oh gosh.

And he was sure that with proper research the web of connections was much more prominent. He bet if he wanted, he could find Flash’s, Green Arrow’s and half of League’s identities simply by in-depth studying people around Clark Kent and Diana Prince. Well, it was not totally true (he hoped), but this logic worked for the trio.

He even found evidence of interaction between Diana Prince and Bruce Wayne on behalf of some art museum in Gotham, of course he had. Holy Superman and his glasses.

After he was finished with his internal meltdown on the topic of secret identities, he decided to go big rather than go home and sent an email to Clark Kent too on behalf of Wayne Foundations. And Wayne Foundation received a “confirmation” for media coverage of the event from Daily Planet. And to not make it a gossip party, as Vicki Vale certainly will do, it is better to send a journalist with more suitable portfolio. And if Clark Kent was the obvious candidate? Oh, how perfect!

Tim was slightly creeped by how fast the new course of action was put into place. It felt so easy to rearrange events to his liking. It was for a good cause, but also frighting a little. He busied himself with trying to figure out if he can slot Diana Prince into his plans somehow, but the appearance of Wonder Woman, even in civvies, will attract too much attention.

Instead he “invited” Commissioner Gordon with make-up excuse of surveying the security of the event and possibilities of improvement. Tim couldn’t tell the nature of relationship between Batman and Commissioner, but after years of collaboration they couldn’t not have one. Even if he didn’t knew who was under the cowl, Bruce Wayne knew Commissioner. So Tim decided, the more the merrier.

It was a true pity he couldn’t do anything to lure Mr. Pennyworth into attending. Butler always stayed out of gala salas. Encouraged by his rapid progress, Tim searched for more people who could possibly support (stage an intervention) Mr. Wayne in his grief. And hopefully notice that Batman became suicidal and stop him. With every person Tim’s chances increased, so he teared through the Batman’s and Bruce Wayne social standings without mercy. The results were depressing, because he didn’t find a singular civilian friend who was close enough to console Mr. Wayne.

He found another possible candidate, and he noticed her only because her surname was familiar to him from nighttime. Dr. Thompkins’ clinic was low-key famous in Crime Alley in a good way, and Leslie Thompkins was listed as Bruce Wayne parents’ close friend. The paparazzi were noisy and often without moral boundaries, so her name was mentioned here and there. Attended Thomas an Martha Waynes’ funeral, was one of Bruce Wayne caretakers, was referenced in a couple of documented Mr. Wayne speeches, usually in ‘thanks to…’ section.

The information was scattered in time, so if he didn’t know about Dr. Thompkins in Crime Alley he wouldn’t make a connection, but he was nearly 100% sure that it was the same woman. He couldn’t find any way to contact her online, but he can… write a letter? On a paper? He had no idea how often and how Mr. Wayne interacted with her, though, so it was riskier.

But also will pay out more, because hello, Batman’s mentor/authority figure! And she was a doctor! She was probably more equipped to deal with suicidal Batman than Mr. Pennyworth.

So no easy email from Wayne Foundation. Two days before the gala. Maybe the same excuse as with Commissioner Gordon? Could he request her medical expertise without raising suspicions before too late?

He couldn’t remember her appearing in any of Wayne-hosted events. So they communicate in private. And she should be on good terms with Mr. Pennyworth. They are vaguely the same age? And basically raised Bruce Wayne? Should he forge the letter, proper letter, as from the butler? But no, the plan could be exposed by just one phone call, it is not a faceless department of a big corporation. Old people use phones too, right?

Tim sighed. How inconvenient. If he wanted Dr. Thompkins to visit near the time of the gala, he needs to make it personal. But he didn’t know their interpersonal relations! Okay, maybe rough guessing?

So nostalgia was a pretty common feeling, right? But he can’t just make Doctor schedule the visit, she has a lot of work in the clinic. Tim doesn’t want to intervene with her job!.. Only Batman had a severe concussion, doesn’t he? The one he aggravated just yesterday.

Tim narrowed his eyes in thought. After quick search for common treatment and symptoms, the outline of the plan started to appear. Even if Superman brought Batman to the clinic and not to the Mr. Pennyworth, the concussion should checked for complications fairly often. Hmm… And given Batman’s behavior, he won’t want anything to do with medical precautions. Why didn’t he think earlier of it?

Maybe Doctor couldn’t help with Batman beating criminals, but with Batman acting stupid and aggravating his injures to a point of collapsing in a random alley? Even if Doctor has given him lecture and it didn’t work, the incident is serious, so no harm to try again and add her weight into bombing Batman with points for Healthy Support System. The more people he can pull in in short period of time, the better.

Unfortunately, as all information in Crime Alley, the contact details for Dr. Thompkins or her clinics was distributed by hand, so to speak. He can probably get it, but then again, there is no reasonable explanation to why Batman or Mr. Pennyworth would go through the clinic and not pay a visit or call personally…

The next best bet is to deliver information to Doctor and let her make a decision to act. Huh. It could actually work.

Tim left Internet café, carefully blending in with the crowd. He hurried home to hammer out the finer details. Sometimes cruder approach was the right one. So Dr. Thompkins should have heard about ‘Ghost Robin’ of Crime Alley by now, right?

So he can use it and snitch on Batman. Nobody questioned his motives too hard, people were used to all kind of crazies and half of Rogues were obsessed with Batman, so his word would be enough to warrant a home visit.

She also was prone to relay his words to Batman sooner or later, but it would be after seeing what Batman is doing with his life, so he can dismiss the personal consequences. Now to how to word this for the best possible impact…

                                                                                                ***

Tim was not proud of it, but the next day he ambushed the elderly woman right before clinic’s opening. Trying to catch her after working hours would mess with his already shaky sleep schedule and it was such a cliché for criminals to come at their victims in the deepest of the night after business closes for the day.

He didn’t doubt there was some type of security on Dr. Thompkins building with a direct connection to Batcave, and that’s why he was waiting near the main door. No way he was going inside where he could be trapped without clear escape route. The door and windows were reinforced, he would need something like bazooka to break out.

So, five minutes before night shift, Tim in his full costume, with replaced yellow jacket and everything, was stewing in his nerves waiting for Doctor to come.

A couple minutes passed. Tim felt a tingle at the back of sculp. Someone was very pointedly watching him. Dr. Thompkins herself was staring him down across the street, unimpressed. Tim repressed the sudden urge to fidget. They spent a few moment locked in a staring contest, Tim refused to break an eye contact even though goggles. Finally, the woman quirked one brow and crossed her arms on her chest, wordlessly demanding explanation. She slowly made her way to him, stopping right on another side of the door.

Dr. Thompkins cleared her throat, purposedly, and Tim cracked under the pressure, folding like a deck of cards. At least he practiced his speech, even if words were leaving his lips faster than he preferred. “Good eve- I mean, hello, Doctor.” Tim cringed internally. He couldn’t be overly polite, otherwise he would tip the Bats that he is from Bristol, but he also couldn’t be rude to Dr. Thomkins, he should be showing respect! “I came to give you a warning.” There, better.

The woman straightened further and her impatience morphed into tension. Yeah, it grabbed her attention, all right. “A warning, young man?” She echoed warily.

He took a deep breath to recenter himself and smoothly continued, “Precisely, Doctor. It’s about Batman. He is killing himself. I hope you’re aware.” Keep it short and sharp.

Dr. Thomkins started to look alarmed at his remark, hands tightening on her set of keys. “What? Where is he?”

“Not right now,” he amended, “but he went to Crime Alley just yesterday with a concussion and passed in side alley less than a couple hours later. Superman flew over and collected him.”

“What do you know? Who are you?” her voice gained a sharp edge, not losing an inch of her composure.  

“I am sure word got around about me. I just… run around. But I am not important. You don’t believe me, that’s fine, but I recommend checking on Batman. My… associate,” he skirted around the detail of associate in question being 6-year-old kid, “saw Batman yelling gibberish at the wall and then passing out in the most dangerous street of Crime Capital City.” He stressed the last part, trying to emphasize the sheer severity of the situation.

The woman was silent for a moment, still tense, evaluating his words. With no immediate danger she settled on “Why tell me this?” with healthy dose of skepticism underneath.

Tim had an answer ready. The learned mantra easily fall from his lips. “Gotham needs Batman” and Batman needs Robin. “And he was seen in your clinic plenty of times, so hopefully he will listen to- to you. He can’t continue that path. Next time he goes out this, he is going to get himself killed.”

Dr. Thomkins zeroed on his slight pause like a shark and didn’t say anything for a moment, tapping her feet rhymingly. Finally, more curt questions came, “Okay, why tell me this? What do you expect me to do?” He could accurately sense a disbelieving tone, and didn’t let it sting too much. Tim knew from the moment he put robin-like cloths on that nobody else was up to the task, but it would be so nice if they at least tried.

But he was ready for this too. “Check on him. Lecture him. Make an ultimatum. Doctor, Batman is suicidal. I get it, it was hard on him to lose a partner-” his carefully crafted empathy speech was cut short.

Doctor’s words cracked like a whip. “Don’t. Don’t you dare speak about things you don’t understand, young man. I am not calling police on you only because you seem to be attempting to help, even if in backwards convulsed way. And you have an excuse of a foolishness of youth. Listen to me instead. You’re already toying a line, running at night without any regard to your safety and masquerading a costume of a dead boy. Reopening a wound over and over again, reminding a father that he lost his son.”

Tim couldn’t do anything, say anything, just stand there and let woman’s words sink in. It hurt like shards of glass on vulnerable flesh, echoing his own midnight thoughts on the matter. She wasn’t wrong, but- but she wasn’t right either. He did understand. He lost Jason too, in a way.

He swallowed unshed tears and spoke quietly in slightly trembling voice. “I- I don’t care what you think of me or my story. Call police, I wouldn’t be here in a several minutes anyway. It’s just. If somebody doesn’t remind Batman that he can’t join his second Robin on the other side, he will follow. Soon. I try to keep other people away from his grieving, but I can’t keep him from himself.”

Tim let his honesty bleed through the words, nearly desperate for her to believe him long enough to make a trip to the Wayne Manor and see for herself.  

Doctor didn’t respond for a long moment, a lot of unpleasant phrases on the tip of her tongue, no doubt. Finally, after a small eternity, she rubbed her eyes and tilted her head to gaze at Gotham’s darkening sky.

“I am doing this once, young man. I can believe that you mean no harm. But as proverb goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I don’t want to see no you, neither Batman suffer. So I will check on him and you will stop this nonsense, you hear?”

Tim let silence stretch. He can’t make this promise. He got what he came for. The last thing he heard before disappearing around the corner was harsh call from Doctor. He had a sinking feeling that more than just Batman were falling apart at seams after Jason’s death. Batman was just the most visible one.

Stalking through the shadows, Tim was feeling off-kilter. He relied his message, but didn’t expect such level of animosity. He planned for some hostility due to the whole ambushing by unknown thing, but not to such degree. Tim grimaced at the thought. He was growing too lax. In Crime Alley, nobody cared if he was the ‘true’ Robin or not. They welcomed or judged based on his actions. He grew used to unspoken rules. Often cruel, but pretty straightforward.

He was cautious around Batman, but he needed to crank his awareness up a few levels. He can’t have a repeat of the incident. If the vigilante wasn’t concussed, Tim would be doomed. And from now on he would account for the hostility from Batman’s allies as default in his plans.

…He needed to get back to the sewers blueprints ASAP.

Dr. Thompkins’ words opened a whole new can of worms he didn’t feel like touching today. There were tons of things he was putting off to think about, what’s one more? Tim took unsteady breath and pushed forward. One step in time.

There was light in Manor’s windows. His parents were back. Oh crap. His parents were back.

With his worry about Batman he forgot about Mother and Father coming back after several months of absence! ..Well, put like this, it was slightly more understandable. Still, he cursed under his breath with what he heard from Nic. What now? He couldn’t just enter through the front door. Even if his parents were asleep, it was too much a risk. How stupid, he couldn’t believe he made such a beginner’s mistake. Pathetic.

So his best bet was to climb through window, change cloths and pretend that he was in his room this whole time. Depends on when his parents got home, he still could avoid his secret being exposed.

Thankfully, he took care of the security when he was starting out and knew where to step exactly to avoid motion-detecting alarms. He didn’t quite have a skill to scale to his window directly, but he could enter from library on the first floor? The light was off on that side of house, and the library was near the stairs, so it was his best chance.

Near silent on his feet, he opened the window with a little help from the switchblade and slipped inside. Crouching under the windowsill, Tim intensely listened to the house sounds. His parents most likely were in the kitchen, he could hear muffled conversation. Not wasting more time, he creeped to the second floor.

There was nothing out of the order in his room, so there was a chance his parents hadn’t checked there yet. After hastily changing into pajamas, he stuffed his streetwear and backpack into the furthest closet corner. Next, he went to his laptop. ‘Criminal’ laptop, because he left his normal one in the living room together with his homework and- oh no, with sewers plans. He could only hope his parents didn’t go through his documents. It would be a disaster.

He used Father’s credentials to open the online banking card history. He was in luck, his parents used it to pay for some food in the airport before flighting back to Gotham. A little bit of calculation, and he figured that they should have arrived more or less in the afternoon. Shoot, they are probably worried sick about him.

But it doesn’t sound like they are yelling or involving authorities, so if he just… will show up in the morning, he could smooth it out? Maybe?

To hell with consequences just this one time, he is emotionally hurt and exhausted. It is nothing there to do right now anyway. His soft bed is calling to him with siren’s song, and he surrenders in a blink of an eye.

                                                                                            ***

Saturday’s morning begun with an explosion. Metaphorical one, sure, but it wasn’t much different for Tim. He shoot off his bed still half-asleep right as he heard a till-tale single cough. For him hearing it was an equivalent of a shout.

Mother would never step down so low, after all. She has never needed to raise her voice to get his attention or to reprimand him.

Still not fully awake, he sat in bed with ramrod straight back. Mother was standing in doorframe, observing him with a sharp look. She was dressed to the nines, her brown hair in high ponytail and crimson on her thinned lips. It was her business attire. As sharp as he remembered.

Tim swallowed. When Mother was in business mode, it didn’t bode well for those around her. Whatever was going to happen today at the gala, Mother had her own plans. Coupled with strange interest from CEO son earlier this week, he had a bad feeling. Again.

“Good morning, Mother. How was your travel?” Tim asked in monotone, result of vicious pushing all swelling emotions down. He couldn’t afford anything short of perfect picture of Drake heir right now.

“Pleasant. Bhutan was fully worth waiting for special archeologist permission. The findings from there are valuable addition to our collection.” Mother was still watching him, likely silently judging his bed hair and bleariness in eyes.

He tried not to fidget. Mother didn’t say a word, and Tim tentatively made an attempt to carry on like nothing was wrong.  “This… sounds lovely. I am looking forward to see your and Father’s presentation. I hope you wouldn’t mind sharing your stories with me?”

Mother’s intense eyes finally left his face and drifted to the state of his room. It was being kept tidy, thankfully, seeing how he barely spent any time here. “We will.” It sounded in equal parts a promise and a warning. “And your father and I would love to hear about state of your affairs, Timothy.”

He was nodding along before he could think. The small, childish part of him was jumping and screaming in joy at his parents’ interest. The bigger, logical part was still brimming with enthusiasm, but knew better than to be too obvious about it. It was not proper to be visibly excited at such trivial question from parents, after all.

Then it clicked. Mother knew that he was not at Manor when they arrived and later. That was she wanted to talk about. It dumped the mood slightly, but he was confident in his ability to misdirect. His time as ‘ghost’ Robin has done wonders to his abilities to dance around the subject. He got away with nobody directly asking for his name.

“Now, get ready and clean your mess down in the living room. We have a busy day ahead of us. We are taking you with us to our main office. You obviously need a remind on basics of the discipline. The gala is tonight and far too important to have you skip it.” Mother’s tone turned frosty by the end. Tim couldn’t help but shrink into himself a little. “Timothy. I expect you to be on your best behavior. We are back mere hours and you are absent late at the night? Our son is better than this, right?”

Tim felt all words and excuses melt on his tongue. He just nodded. Mother, satisfied for a moment, inclined her head and left the room with final “You have half an hour.”

He was frozen at place, fragments of thoughts swirling in mind. Explanations and ways to please Mother popped in one after another, but Tim consciously haltered the process. He should get ready first and not fail a simple task. Clean himself, get into the suit, complementing his parents’ colors, tidy the living room. Right.

Tim shot off the bed, getting to his closet. This time to look at his formal wear, not street wear. He hasn’t worn a suit in ages. Wrinkling his nose, he picked on the gray fabric. Classic and safe. He was still of that age when it is not expected from him to follow the color code or theme of party. And he hasn’t gotten around to a visit to atelier for approximately… what, a half year? Wow, time flew fast.

The side effect, unfortunately, was the slight tightening of said suit. He put some height and muscles with the amount of parkour and running he was doing at nights. At least his attempt at healthy diet worked! More or less.

He was not comfortable, but he could move in cloths without restrain, so there was that. Tim checked the level of battery in the phone and pocketed it. He had fifteen minutes to clean downstairs and eat something.

With everything going on with Batman and revelation of Superman, Tim didn’t have it in him to care about upcoming gala. He made everything he could for Mr. Wayne, now was time to sit back and watch where it goes. He couldn’t even properly appropriate his parents’ return. Maybe he will recover a little during their visit to Drake Industries and come to enjoy gala.

“I am just so tired, Robin,” he whispered softly, “but Batman will pull through, eh? With a little help. Everything will be fine. Now I know better.” He owned this much to Jason. He would have wanted someone to give Batman a kick in the butt to collect himself and continue to live, right? Jason seemed like a type to not let Batman cook in his mourning. So Tim would do his best to carry on Jason’s legacy as best as he can.

Tim went down and calmly collected his laptop and scattered documents. Father was sitting at bar top in the kitchen, engrossed in phone conservation. Tim silently nodded in greeting not to interrupt. Father absentmindedly waved back. Tim clutched the paper stack with the sewers plans hidden to his chest. Carefully not changing pace or face expression, he passed Mother on the sofa on his way back to the second floor.

He was not going to give even a single hint to things he was doing but was not supposed to do in this household. He was Tim Drake, perfect Drake heir and it was going to stay this way till the end of his parents’ stay in Gotham.

With ten minutes to spare, he ate some fruit and a couple of granola bars, polishing it with yogurt. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long time before they stop for the lunch. Mother regarded him with inquisitive look, but the only comment he got was about the need to schedule him a trip to their family tailor.

Tim joined Mother on the couch, waiting for Father to be finished with the talk. She was seemingly focused on the journal, likely from their journey. Tim didn’t dare to draw attention to him. Thankfully, suffocating waiting ended after a few minutes. All three of them headed towards the door, Father pocketing his phone and briefly mussing Tim’s hair.

He almost lost his footing from surprise and violent surge of want. When he regained composure and looked up to Father, he found man grinning down at him. Warmth bloomed in Tim’s chest.

“Well, now we have a little time! Tim, lad, how is old dear Gotham? Standing? Bet you charmed your way into the thousand young ladies’ hearts! Look at you, so grown up!” Father chuckled good-naturally, opening a door of waiting car for Mother, who gave man a reproachful look at the last words.

Tim waited with response until they were seated at the back of limousine. He also used a few extra seconds to think his words through and not burst with excited muttering. Only important bits, Tim, not about the latest debate in Detective Club or updates to the Central Library collection. He figured the perfect formula for keeping Father’s attention the longest at the age of seven.

“Gotham stays tall and proud, Father. Just like the last time you left it,” ‘inside joke’ for an opening, “The school and extracurriculars are fine, don’t worry about it,’’ reassurance that his grades and social standing, as small as it is, are intact, “And you know how it is. Rogues attack, Batman fights, I stay far away from both of them!” The last one was a blatant lie and was supposed to convey that he was staying safe. Ha.

“And how was your journey, Father? I still haven’t heard about your findings you present today at the gala?” Tim easily redirected the conversation.

Father, who was nodding along with content, frowned at the question. Tim froze, momentarily running analysis. What had he said wrong? Interest in his parents’ travels and artifacts always worked before.

But then his wrinkles smothered after a moment and he chuckled, wiggling a finger at Tim, “Nice try, son!  But it’s a surprise for you too! We can tell about the trip, though. You won’t believe how long it took to cross mountains-” Tim listened with one ear to a regular tale of his parents’ travel. It was familiar in a sense – he knew enough of his Father to mostly predict how his adventures go.

The worrying part was-

They didn’t speak a word about the ‘surprise’. He guesses that part right. Maybe it was nothing and they just didn’t want to repeat themselves before the gala, but it didn’t warrant the brief grimace on Father’s face when he was asked about this. And worse, it should have been expected. Tim asked them every single time as far as he can remember. So it definitely attracted his attention.

It was different. A deviation from the norm. Probably not something he should worry about in a grand scheme of things, but there was something causing the difference. Probably the source will be revealed at the gala, but with everything else Tim was suddenly feeling unease.

Conversation revolved around the travels with mostly Father talking and Mother adding cutting remarks here and there. Tim hummed and asked clarifying questions. The ride was smooth, not counting his overthinking.

They arrived at Drake Industries main building – one of glass skyscrapers in Diamond District. Father told him they have things to do and if he will behave, he’ll got to see ‘something cool’ in labs. Tim was intrigued. And a little excited to have a chance to see his parents do real business.

But when they arrived at one of the last floors, Tim was just. Left with the secretary in a front office with vague orders to stay put and entertain himself. Secretary and Tim eyed each other cautiously. Tim was sure that she was a lovely lady, but she probably thought that he would disrupt her work with childish behavior. Babysitting was not in her job description and Tim didn’t need a babysitter. He was even a little insulted that his parents decided he needs supervision now from all times.

He wanted to see how they managed the company! Isn’t it the whole point to having a hair? It would be a good experience too! He huffed to himself and dropped in visitors’ area on sofa. Secretary lady sent him questioning look and offered him a candy from large bowl on her desk. At least the sweets were properly chocolate. He fished out his telephone and prepared for a long hours.

The first couple of hours passed relatively quickly, Tim napped in the visitors’ corner, obscured from immediate view via giant potted plants’ wall. But when he caught up to his lack of sleep and his brain was fully awake, he found himself restless. Thoughts kept bouncing around his skull and multiplying and threatening to make him process a lot of things that he didn’t want to process.

That’s why he needed something to narrow his focus on. Researching and making plans is always more productive than overthinking. Nic managed to beat the worst habits out of him, namely hyper obsession with the same thing over and over. Running at nights around Crime Alley required to be able to act whatever he had all the info or not. Sometimes, Nic stressed, the ‘okay’ action is better than inaction because time run out.

It was hard pill to swallow, but he was slowly learning. So he tried to redirect his anxiety into actions. He scanned the office. But the space stayed free of  anyone, sans secretary. It should be a quiet morning for employees then. He could… go speak to secretary lady?  He wouldn’t be distracting her too much, right?

Oh, and he had a perfect topic! His business management project. The more feedback he got on unionization idea, the better, right? How his history teacher worded it… Ah, ‘the more varied expert pool gets, the more credibility the project lands’? Something like this. Man likes to rent about his students’ work to other teachers in-between classes.

Tim went to get attention of the secretary lady. He cleared his throat. She blinked at him and visibly softened, “Yes, sweetheart? Do you need something? Are you bored? I am afraid Mr. and Ms. Drake are not done yet.”

He knew that Mother and Father weren’t done yet. They were not here. He was not stupid. Urgh. Why everyone outside of school treated him like a baby? Not that she got a lot of chances to interact with a lot of people outside of lessons and nighttime…

“I was hoping to get your opinion, ma’am? I am working on this project, theoretical for now, but I am interested in social aspects of business management, and…” he swiftly explained his plan in general terms, speaking faster and faster with every word. Sue him, but he was enthusiastic about the prospect! He didn’t quite rumble, but needed to consciously slow down in a couple of places.

The lady stared at him with huge eyes and slightly open mouth when he was finished. Tim stared back, a bit in a loss on her reaction. She didn’t have a professional opinion, maybe? But online everyone complained about corporation exploration of workers’ rights, and he was led to believe that every employee had a thing or two to say on the topic?.. Than what… Oh! He was at his parents’ company!

“I am sure that Drake Industries offer amazing packages, my curiosity is purely theoretical, more in… industrial size. I am not accusing my parents of exploring workers, don’t worry!”

Chapter Text

“I am sure that Drake Industries offer amazing packages, my curiosity is purely theoretical, more in… industrial size. I am not accusing my parents of exploring workers, don’t worry!”

For some reason, it didn’t reassure the secretary lady. If anything, it made the situation worse. She was gaping at him for several long moments before snapping out of whatever she was thinking. Hm, usually he understood people’s reactions at least vaguely. That was new.

“Uh… S-sure! Just give me… a minute to organize my thoughts, dear. And I’ll return right back to you.” The lady looked a little frazzled, so Tim decided to give her space and retrieved to water dispenser. She agreed to give him feedback, it was the most important thing.

After a couple of minutes of sipping his water, he glanced back. She looked alright, so he stepped closer. The secretary got her bearings and gestured for him to sit near her behind the front desk. Tim curiously obligated.

She took a deep breath and slowly begun, “So. You have done very thoughtful job, well done, sweetheart. From what I can see, you got the idea right. Theoretically  proposed solution is functional, but uh… in your study case is difficult to realize. Um… Let’s see, nothing is exactly wrong, but all things you propose need budget… Money. Usually, unions don’t have much of those and aren’t so active. I feel like you confuse unions with non-profit organizations that protect employees rights. Those are usually bigger and have more resources to do all the things you described. But if we are speaking about particular case of one big corporation and… hm, extreme measures as you described, it is just workers protest and then maybe negotiations with Board of Directors?” she commented thoughtfully.

Tim hummed. Of course, she lacked details that didn’t translate from Crime Alley specifics, but she rose good point. Working girls won’t have a budget to implement changes. They went into their profession for money in a first place. He kinda dismissed it in his rush. But hey, there is an idea. As there were non-profit organizations for protecting employees, he can outsource the kick-starting the whole deal? And as for money… He had an outline of idea. He was practically sitting on unused funds.

Potential investment, he told himself.

“So in my case it is impossible to unionize workers and lead them to the self-regulation?” Tim clarified.

The secretary stared some more, then sighed and massaged her temples. “It is more than that, dear. You are clever, but consider that the problem you are trying theoretically to solve is systematic, especially in big corporations and for minimum wage workers. I would say there is much more to the issue, so uh, continue good work in studying?” she looked to the ceiling, lost for a moment in her own thoughts, “The fastest way to meaningful changes is always from the up, kid.”

Then her eyes fell back to his form and her voice gained previous soft tone. “Honey, it is very noble of you to think about social problems, but grow up a little first, all right? You are still a kid. Even if Drake’s kid.” The last part she muttered to herself, and Tim had a feeling she wasn’t planning to say it, judging from the click of her jaw.

After this the lady became nervous and he figured it wasn’t  much left to discuss. He returned to the sofa to mull over her words. He was aware that his youth was a disadvantage that he can’t fully compensate for no matter how clever or resourceful he was.

He unlocked his phone and started to type notes. To his surprise, not long after his parents exited the glass doors from meeting area. They finished earlier than he expected. His parents’ sour expressions clued him into the possible reason.

“Urgh, useless! Nothing can be done correctly here. There was one contract that needed to be signed in person and it is not ready- Ugh. Come, son, we are going directly to Wayne. It is better to be some big misunderstanding.” Oh, it was an interesting twist of events. He silently followed a bit behind. He bet it was all connected. The mysterious artefact, Father’s unwillingness to speak about it, the problem in Drake Industries.

Mother was uncharacteristically silent too. She had her calculating expression on. Tim was pitying whoever was a cause for it. The ride was tense and short, with Father’s fuming and Mother’s icy silence.

Tim wistfully contemplated just how much longer his day just became, trailing his parents through the lobby of Wayne Tower. The status of CEO of Drake Industries cleared them path all way up to infamous Lucius Fox. Man might be the Head of R&D department, but it was an open secret in high society that he basically was a reason why Wayne Enterprises stayed on the top despite ‘Brucie’ Wayne. Tim knew better, but public – not.

His parents barely waited until Mr. Fox was done with his current meeting and didn’t leave his assistant much choice except to let them into his office. Tim was uncomfortable, looking at man’s carefully blank expression as he listened to Father’s rant about ruined plans.

Apparently, they needed to sign paperwork to officially hand the artifact over to one of the Wayne Foundations. And something went wrong on Wayne Enterprises’ side, so they didn’t receive the contract. And without it they couldn’t make it the main focus of upcoming gala. Tim… didn’t quite follow.

Mr. Fox waited Father out and calmly stated, fingers interlocked, “Mr. Drake, Mrs. Drake. My apologies for caused stress. I am sure there is a misunderstanding, our lawyers should have contacted you about this matter? I am not directly involved in our collaborations with Drake Industries, but I was told that that you were informed about ongoing inner investigation. There were some disruptions in financial documents. We are trying to see if it was mistake from our side. We would appropriate a screening from yours side too. Wayne Industries work on joint project with your Medical subsidiary as I am sure you’re aware. It would look unprofessional to make another transaction, even if accepting a gift. You know how easily it could damage reputation. Both of ours reputations.”

Father was red in face with indignant anger, but didn’t have a rebuttal. Then Mother clicked her sharp nails on the table and coldly required the state of investigation. Mr. Fox evaded with ‘confidential information’ excuse. They fired shots at each other for a bit with Tim watching verbal spar in fascination from sidelines. Business vocabulary flew back and forth, questions being misled, the same thing essentially being repeated in circles in different sentences.

Some parts were hard for Tim to grasp, but overall this was entertaining as hell! Eventually, after a lot of mutual CEO-levels posturing Mother pulled her triumph card. Lucius rightfully tensed, when her cool tone changed to borderline pleasant, “Lucius, we understand and care a great deal about proper paperwork, of course. But this thangka,” Tim perked up at unknown term, “is already at the gala avenue. The material it made of is delicate, we don’t have means for long-term storage. It is better to present it at the gala as we planned and simply file paperwork later, isn’t it? Besides, it is more than just our token of appropriation to Wayne Industries. It is valuable part of cultural heritage, unique in its nature. Do you want it to get stolen at the first night, Lucius? In Gotham?” Mr. Fox shook head with hint of resignation. Yea, nobody could argue with Mother. If she wanted to get something, she was going to get it.

Mother’s smile was small, sharp thing. Not demonstrative like of many socialites in the parties. She didn’t need to project power to the world, she simply was powerful.

Tim marveled at his Mother’s perfectly constructed offer. Like a path in a maze with a singular exit, no matter where you try to go.

“Precisely. Wayne Foundation rumors to have excellent security, and we would like for this piece to stay in exhibition. For scholars to study, for public to learn about. Take our opinion not as from fellow businesspeople, but as from archaeologists with years of travels. You wouldn’t find nothing even remotely similar. And it was set to be one of the main items on the gala’s program, wasn’t it? Just imagine how everyone would be disappointed that some minor hiccup in logistics prevented them to see the new exhibition object closely in person. Imagine how donations would drop. And you have our explicit permission to keep the tapestry with Foundation till your little investigation is done, of course. It is a gift. We simply don’t mention the little delay in ownership transfer. It is confidential on both ends, anyway.”

Mr. Fox was watching his Mother like animal watches sated predator. It doesn’t pound at the moment, but is dangerous nonetheless.

“Right… And you are confident, Ms. Drake, that you don’t have no other place for temporary storage?”

Mother tilted head and lifted one brow. Father didn’t bother to hide smug grin. Mr. Fox muttered something  sounding suspiciously like “not my circus, not my monkeys” and declined in his massive chair.

“Lovely. See you at the gala in a few hours, Lucius.”

They didn’t linger for long, exchanging polite goodbyes. Mr. Fox looked tired. Tim hoped he would get some rest. Running a company for Batman must be hard.

He was left reeling a bit at what just happened. Specifics escaped him. They… were playing hot potato with unique artifact, potentially priceless showpiece? And he didn’t know his parents were familiar with Mr. Fox on personal level. Mother even called him by his first name!

They walked out, accompanied by security guards till the lobby. Mother suggested getting lunch, which was excitedly seconded by Father. They have chosen some fancy restaurant not far from the Tower. Tim was feeling surprisingly, even for himself, disappointed. He got out of the habit of dining in elite establishments, he supposed. Whatever running in Crime Alley or learning to cook himself, he hadn’t have anything fancy for a long time. Half of names in the menu were mystery for him.

He looked helplessly to Mother. She should have intercepted his confusion, because she huffed a small laugh out, the first sign of her extremely good mood, and ordered for him, when the waitress came to their private booth. Place remained him of ‘Fun&Gun’ and there was some mental dissonance between being in similar place and being ‘Tim’, not ‘ghost Robin’.

“So, Timothy,” Mother started, when they were left alone again, “how are you doing in school?  And in your other extracurricular activities?” The second question seemed pointed. Tim folded a little bit into himself. He didn’t want to ruin her good mood, but he also didn’t feel previous enthusiasm anymore.

“I do all my homework in time and gain extra credits where I can. I have study group and Detective Club. The last cases was about Batman and Wonder Woman. Very educating. I also picked up the project on business management.” Mother was silent, but her eyes glimpsed with interest. Father focused on him the moment he spoke ‘business management’.

With both parents’ attention on him, Tim let himself rumble. The topic of school run dry quickly, he didn’t even like it. He switched a little, speaking about his friends. Zack and his band became upperclassmen, Suna and Shian Feng – buddies in study group, glacially mentioned Nic and Emi – PE teacher and guidance consultor. Even Donna Maria became guest speaker of the last hosted event.

Mother and Father didn’t bother with visits to school beyond the primal one, and Tim felt safe enough to open a little to them. He was bursting with desire to tell someone about his amazing friends, but nobody from adults was around and in school he didn’t have close relationships at the first place. And there were his parents! Father even mentioned a while ago that he wished Tim had formed more connections outside of family. Social score points!

He faltered, when Father asked his friends’ background. He can’t outright lie about it, Mother kept tubs on everyone influential in Gotham. So he just said they were either middle-class or on scholarships. He clumped his mouth shut, when Mother’s brow twitched in displeasure and Father sighed and gently advised him to try to find friends of ‘equal standing’ too.

Tim totally forgot about social side of ‘Drake heir’ role. He didn’t have any peers his age in socialite circles and he wasn’t expected to mingle for at least another year outside of occasional gala where he was playing nice with kids in the same positions for a couple of hours.

The mood subdued, he asked how was their trip instead. The lunch was spent on retelling of Bhutan sightseeing and accomplishing stories. They still avoided speaking any details of brought artifact, but Tim’s dropped spirit didn’t care anymore why.

The conversation was carried by Father’s gushing about Bhutan and being one of a very few archeologists allowed into country. Tim listened half-heartedly, memorizing a few of easier stories for the gala. He knew song and dance, no need to cause Mother additional stress. He wasn’t sure he could handle her additional stress, already on the thin ice from yesterday.

After the lunch, Father left them to finish up things in Drake Industries, and Mother with Tim has gone for a brief shopping. They were in Fashion District’s antique shop, looking for new additions, when Mother spoke, “So, dear son of mine, will you tell me where you were last night?” Her gaze didn’t even stir from the trinket in her hands.

Tim bleached. “I-I...” panic sank in. He couldn’t tell her, but also couldn’t lie. “Mother, I...” He fell silent. He didn’t have anything to say. He averted his eyes to a nearby wall.

Mother set a trinket on the shelf with distant unpleasant click. Tim gulped. It was obvious by now that he was keeping secrets. Big secrets. And he couldn’t be found. His breath hitched. Mother’s eyes finally focused on him, analyzing, assessing, taking apart.

“Hm. Not perfect, but expected, I suppose. Though I was certain teenager rebellion would come later.” She remarked, looking straight at him, but without any visible negative emotions. Yet.

Tim was distracted from his looming panic attack by unexpected laugh tearing out of his throat without his permission. He just thought about his actions and hormones.

“Funny to you, hah? Timothy, I will be honest with you, you are old enough to understand,” Mother looked amused for a moment before slipping back his into business mode, “I know we, Jack and I, are not the best parents. We probably shouldn’t have had kids. But…”

“…You needed a hair.” Tim finished mechanically. He has heart this in different forms all his life. “I understand, Mother.”

She sighed, shaking her head a little at the interruption. “I doubt you do. But this is not a point of this conversation. You started your puberty and you will have impulses and illogical surges. It is fair to give you a warning. I will not tolerate the backlash from the public.” Her tone turned icy, freezing Tim inside. He didn’t move a muscle. He guessed he deserved it.

“But. I can’t expect you to behave all the time, you are an adequate child when we are in Gotham. So, I propose a deal.”

Tim was intrigued despite himself. Mother was treating him like adult. Was it a new way to make him talk? Even if yes, it was half-way working. He liked how Mother was speaking and trusting him.

“You don’t want to say to us where you were. Typically in such situation it would follow with appropriate punishment, but you are special.” His mom was smiling. She was smiling at Tim! Wow. It felt great. He readily smiled in response. “Smart. Cunning. Self-sufficient.” A blush started to creep into his cheeks. When was the last time his parents complimented him?

“For some time I hoped you will turn out like me,” her face became thoughtful and voice tinted with nostalgia, “Your grandparents also travelled a lot, they owned the net of antique shops and were searching for new things all over the world. They raised me similar to what we are doing now, but for different reasons. Partly, I was taking preemptive measures. You see, I am what society calls highly-functional psychopath.” She was looking expectantly at him.

Tim’s knew he was staring in a rude kind of way. He didn’t know a lot about psychopaths, mostly false things from movies. But his Mother was neither impulsive (the furthest thing from it) nor violent. But what did it mean for her?

Mother was incredibly patient with him, likely has predicted his shock. Question slipped unprompted. “Why did you tell me now?”

“Because you are not like me. The main thing you should understand, Timothy, is that psychopaths can’t form emotional bonds. We don’t have empathy.” Came ready reply. “The way you spoke about your friends and teachers… You have a big heart, dear son of mine. You didn’t inherit my psychopathy, what is rather common in psychopaths’ children. But presumably, it is often coupled with upbringing.” Mother was not smiling anymore, was looking seriously at him.

“I selfishly wanted you to turn out like me, and I don’t feel apologetic for it. But social expectations and logic dictated that the best for you would be the opposite. That’s why I removed myself from your upbringing situation. You either display psychopath traits or not,” Mother shrugged her shoulder in a display of carelessness, “In both cases I would not be the direct reason for it. It was the least I could do for you.”

She was speaking so casually, it left Tim reeling. She breezed past several life-changing truth bombs and carried on with the conversation. He was grateful that she didn’t need any input from him just yet. His brains simply didn’t compute. He barely managed to not stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed. It would be very rude.

Mother smoothly continued, picking another vintage thing to inspect, “Now that I know you are more like Jack, I could adjust your training accordingly. And…” she wrinkled her nose, thinking her words over, “I suppose now we can stay home more. Honestly, it’s high time for Jack to pay more attention to Drake Industries.” Mother tapped her long nails on wooden trinket almost absentmindedly. Some small part of Tim’s mind noticed and filed it as an evidence of something big going on behind the scenes. The larger part was screaming at him about his parents coming back home.

 “I... I am glad you shared with me this, Mother. Could you tell me your plans?” There, neutral and not overly enthusiastic question. Perfect.

Mother sighed as if she saw straight through him. Maybe she did. But instead of reprimanding, Mother lifted her hand and plopped it on his head. The first seconds he didn’t understand. Then he did.

She was petting his hair. She was petting his hair!

Tim let out a small embarrassing sound. Mother’s facial expression didn’t change, she was still focused at shop’s assortment.

“O, Timothy. We will need to remove this weakness from you. We talk later. Now it’s time for the gala. Remember to be on your best behavior. We count on you, dear.”

Weakness?.. But Tim was over the moon from implied trust. The newly obtained knowledge that Mother was, apparently, the psychopath, made it even more precious. She was telling him it not out of some familial instinctual feeling (he is self-sufficient enough to not need it anyway), but out of logic. He is trustworthy. Mother thinks he is trustworthy.

He immediately felt bad for upsetting her by hiding where he went at night. But it’s not like he could just tell the truth. And technically… Well, as Mother said. She removed herself from his upbringing, regardless of reasons, so could she really take an issue with whatever he was doing now in his free time?

He caught the rebellious thoughts by tails and stuffed them at the back of his mind. It was nothing, he was just out of control a bit because of the whole “actually, my mother is psychopath” thing.

Mother brought the last trinket she was inspecting to the register. The old friendly-looking cashier greeted them heartily and made small talk. Tim kind of remembered him from the childhood – he visited his shop semi-often with Mother, when Tim was too little to be left alone and parents didn’t call nanny beforehand. The cashier didn’t look further aged even for a day. Heh, one of the fondest earlier memories. He briefly wondered if Mother choose this location for the talk intentionally.

After short, but pleasant trip down the lane of memories Tim spent the whole way to the gala in elevated haze. Everything was perfect for once. Mother was acknowledging him and trusting with sensible information, Father was in a good mood after straightening their issue with the artefact, Batman… Um, that was work in progress. Active progress!

But he kept Mother’s words in mind. If the gala goes perfectly, then Mother would see that he is capable and worthy of being treated as mature! And Father too. And he even had a project to keep himself occupied!

Surveillance on Batman sounded ambitious, but then again, everything he did sounded ambitious to most, but he was Drake heir. ‘This’ was expected from his level of upbringing. That wasn’t the merit his parents could claim, exactly, his inner Jannet Drake’s voice whispered in the same even tone as all other suggestions and lessons. Tim shook his head slightly. Mother gave her reasons, he would process them later, but yeah… The fact still stood true, resurfaced clearly with blatant admittance from Mother.

The gala was held in the venue between Wayne Tower and police station in Old Gotham. The security supposed to be good, but Tim wasn’t worried anyway. Batman, Nightwing and Commissioner were in attendance. He trusted them way more than ordinary police and security guards. He just hoped the last weren’t hired from outside of Gotham. He heart enough rants from parents about busted galas and museums openings. Honestly, who even trained them?.. Tim’s eyes widened as they pulled into a parking spot assigned to Drakes. He just stumbled upon brilliant idea. A bit of a stretch, but didn’t goons have the same skillset as guards? Just how much more effective the security of events would be, if he convinces guys like Nic to change jobs?.. An interesting opportunity to research for later.

The business center was decorated nicely inside. The stuff greeted them, offered welcoming drinks (alcoholic for adults, chill apple juice for Tim) and accompanied them to the main sale. Tim looked at scattered people in fancy suits, full tables and walls covered by draped fabrics. Then his gaze reflectively traveled up to check on the Bats. And up. And up.

The place had high ceilings and huge chandeliers hanging from them. Tim huffed under his breath. This was just so waiting to become either murder weapon or escape means. And those voluminous fabrics on the walls looked nice, but could hide literal hoards of goons. Tim flawlessly excused himself at the buffet table and separated from his parents to discreetly run a hand through the layers of textile. His fingers disappeared into it’s depth, then his wrist… It stopped at the wall only closer to his elbow. Tim’s eyebrows rose. It could even be called impressive, how in Gotham event organizers still used such obvious constructions just one step away from Rogue traps. He was too deep in the thought, mentally calculating  how many gangs could be hidden flat to the walls in the room, when someone cleared their throat near him. He had too much control to jump in surprise, but couldn’t suppress a flinch.

He yanked his hand out and sheepishly turned to whoever interrupted his musings. He almost berated himself for losing the sight of his surroundings, but seeing who was next to him instantly changed his mind. It was near impossible to notice Nightwing, if he didn’t want to.

Tim was stuck between anxious wariness, childish admiration and feigning, left speechless. Amusingly smiling down on him, Dick Grayson the Officer stood next to him in all his blazing glory.

“Hi there. You are Tim, Tim Drake, right? You surely have grown, buddy.” He let out an empty laugh, effortlessly starting a conversation.

Tim could only nod, still staring at one of his idols so close, acknowledging him, and in bright daylight (metamorphically). But Nightwing wasn’t deterred.

“Ah, I don’t know if you remember me, the last time we met was… several years ago? Despite us being neighbors. Man, those ‘rich man’ mansions have endless lawns, like Minotaur labyrinths, am I right?” Dick winked, fully taking advantage of his public personality. Charming, but slightly air-headed. It was a precise balance between Brucie imitation and officer’s competence on galas.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Grayson. I recall our meeting, of course.” Tim, still hung up on his family revelations and awed by Nightwing speaking to him, defaulted to the polite Drake Heir™ mode.

Dick visibly grimaced on being called Mr. - most likely an exaggeration for Tim’s sake -  and huffed good-naturally, “Please, call me Dick. I have enough of ‘Mr. Grayson’ nonsense from Bruce’s associates.”

“Dick,” Tim amended, “how do you find the gala so far?”

“Urgh,” his face soured, “lovely. I am here for work today. At least Commissioner Gordon suffers too. What about you, Timmy? Whatcha thinking?”

Tim hummed, trying to figure out the best answer. He was secretly pleased being called a nickname just for him and he wondered if Dick knew. He decided to give him the truth. It was harmless, anyway.

“I don’t know. The atmosphere and decorations are nice. My parents looked forward to it.”

Dick perked up visibly at the mention of his parents. Well, this is to be expected, the whole event was centered around the artifact Mother and Father were going to present. 

“Oh yeah, I have heart from Lucius that they are gifting something to the Wayne Fund? Everyone is crazy about it, even I am kinda interested now to see what is all commotion Is about, you know?”

Ah. So this was Nightwing, fishing for the information. But he needed to go spend time with Bruce Wayne, who still didn’t show his face on the event, by the way. Tim took a deep breath and told Dick what he knew. Which wasn’t a lot. But he made sure to wave the morning visit to Mr. Fox and the cagey reaction to his own interest in the ‘artifact’ into his carefully constructed story.

Nightwing might need details to investigate whatever was going on with that ‘gift’. Tim hoped nothing criminal, but better safe, than sorry. Dick was smiling and nodding in right places and they slowly drifting towards the buffet. Tim didn’t mind. They had a nice view of entrance doors from there. Tim really hoped that Mr. Wayne was just late as per his ‘Brucie’ cover. No way he was going to miss such important event, right? He eavesdropped on enough one-sided conservations with Agent A at the ends of patrols to know that Batman almost never stands down, no matter how reasonable it would be. That was what made him so terrifying. In all senses of the word. Terrifying to the criminals, but also for those who cared for him.

Personally, from the start of his self-assigned mission Tim lost count of how many times Batman pushed himself past any sensible limits. Heck, on  the contrary, one hand was enough to count times when Batman did stop before he physically couldn’t. Just as the thought passed his mind, the man of the hour showed at the doors with a bang.

All conversations stilled and heads wiped around to look at Mr. Wayne. He beamed at his audience and in two seconds had the absolute attention of the whole room. He let traces of fake hangover to show, playfully rebutting fired barricade of questions. Dick stiffed near him, gripping a flute of something unalcoholic  to the point of white fingers. Uh-oh. Dick was furious with Mr. Wayne. Angrier that even Tim was. Well. At least he was feeling strong feelings towards Mr. Wayne?

Sensing the beginning of catastrophe, Tim turned his gaze to the crowd. Commissioner was rolling his eyes, standing sentinel near the entrance, Mr. Wayne business associates were scattered in groups around the sale, and Dick was standing still, face fixed with the emptiest gala smile he ever saw on person. Ouch.

Mr. Superman Kent was nowhere to be seen, but it was expected, press usually was allowed inside closer to the event’s main program happening. Doctor Thomkins was also absent. Tim tried to not feel upset. He already did what he could. He did.

Mr. Wayne clearly was not at his best, but still played public like a flute. The closer he got to the buffet, the higher Dick’s shoulders hitched. Leaving the trace of gossip and flattering left and right, Mr. Wayne reached their spot. Dick stared at him with hard eyes, not intend on speaking first. The suspicion that he miscalculated somewhere grew. Rapidly.

Other people started to notice the standoff and subtly (for now) gathering around. Mr. Wayne reacted instantly to the change of atmosphere and reoriented himself. He naturally changed what was probably aborted pat on the shoulder to the picking a wine glass from the table. Tim thought it was a wise action, seeing how Dick was practically oozing the bloodthirst. Coupled with the best replica of Dick Grayson’s magazine smile it was concerning.

“Bruce. Fancy seeing you here.”

Tim tried to blend into background. He didn’t know exactly why Dick was angry, but he could guess. Both Mr. Wayne and Dick probably could use a closure, and all psychological sites agreed that it was healthy to talk about their issues, but Tim didn’t want to be in the middle of the dialogue. Even if he was the one to plan it.

“Dickie, sport! You came! But I thought you are in ‘Haven this month? No matter, I am happy you found time to spend with your old man.” Mr. Wayne grinned and flailed hands, movements purposely sloppy from the ‘hangover’.

Dick didn’t look impressed. He deadpanned, “Yes, Bruce, I was in Bludhaven. Working. And that’s what I am doing right now. GCPD can use a hand in gauging the security of the event.”

Mr. Wayne looked genuinely confused, but it was no telling how real it was. Wait. Tim furrowed his brows. GCPD? But Dick should be here on behalf of Wayne Enterprises! Sure, he was in the uniform, but Tim thought it was just his desire to be perceived more professional and to help him differentiate from ‘Brucie’-like character!

 “Oh, I am so proud of you, champ! Way to go. That’s my boy! They grow up so fast.” Mr. Wayne addressed the crowd, wiping the fake tear from the corner of his eye. The audience laughed dutifully. Mr. Wayne didn’t let Dick to insert a word with, “Then I won’t bother you! Continue your good work, Dickie. Oh, I see Jack and Lucious are in desperate need of a drink. No talking business today!”

And with that Mr. Wayne swept more glasses and was gone in a blink of an eye. Masterfully executed retreat, if Tim ever saw one. Dick was clearly geared towards conflict, but Mr. Wayne easily side-stepped him. Tim couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. Mr. Wayne resolve to have zero emotional confrontations was truly impressive.

Dick was silent for a moment and then curtly excused himself to go speak with Commissioner. Looking at his retrieving back, Tim couldn’t help but feel sorry for Nightwing. Whole his being emitted tiredness with heavier steps and the lack of upbeat aura, usually radiant around Dick.

Tim felt a sharp pang through his chest. Right now Dick was barely a ghost of the first Robin, bright colors and endless energy traded for grieving mentor and broken bonds. Tim averted his eyes.

He stayed near the long table, munching on the snacks. He needed to force the confrontation, even if his heart was aching for Dick. Tim didn’t let his resolve waiver. If he didn’t do it, Batman could die as soon as tomorrow. Drawing strength from Mother’s teachings, which felt both a curse and a blessing, he observed the sale with the same keenness he used at night.

Father, busy with Mr. Wayne. Mother, in the middle of the attentive socialites’ flock. Superman, not yet on the scene. Commissioner, speaking with the nice librarian lady. Wait…

Tim zeroed into the couple. He sensed the opening and took it. He moved towards them even before conscious thought. With quiet steps and purposeful stride Tim crossed the sale. The hissing voice reached his ears.

“…believe what Wayne PR is doing, Barbara. Can you talk to Grayson about this? It’s impossible to catch Wayne alone today. And that man has a memory of goldfish anyway.”

The nice library lady, Barbara, snorted, but shook her head. “No way, I- Oh, hi there.”

Tim smiled politely, not reacting visibly to an overheard bit. He will think about it later. “Hello, Miss! Commissioner. Apologies for interrupting your conversation. I just wanted to thank you for your hard work in the Central library, both on Drake Industries’ and my personal behalf.”

Tim stayed formal, took his time trying to puzzle what he walked into. Commissioner nodded back in greeting with curious look in his eyes, and the lady relaxed and smiled at him widely, “Oh! Wait, you are the boy with the city history project! I can’t believe I didn’t connect dots right away. Your name… Mm…”

He hurried to provide it. “Tim Drake, Miss. I think I didn’t introduce myself back there. My parents donate their latest founding to the Fund, I hope it will add value to the library exhibition.”

She bobbed her head in understanding and extended her hand. “Barbara Gordon. We all are with you on it. Oh, I am not sure if you were introduced, but this is my father, James Gordon.”

They continued to exchange pleasantries, Tim’s mind firing on full gears. So nice library lady is Commissioner’s daughter and Dick’s close friend, he finally recognized her from his older social media posts. Cool-cool. Also Dick didn’t speak with the Commissioner, the last one was frustrated about it.

Tim mentally squinted at the new facts. Something wasn’t clicking here. He resolved to finish the conversation first and then dissect it. So he flashed his best gala smile and retrieved back into the mindset of the Drake heir.

“Yes, my pleasure to be formally introduced, Mr. Gordon! I see now that intelligence runs in the family.” The honeyed words easily fall from his mouth, Mother’s and Father’s hours of business-talking ringing in his ears.

Getting the expected ‘aww, such a sweet polite boy’ reaction, Tim went for a critical blow. “Would you like me to introduce you to my father? I don’t want to impose, but if it makes your job easier, since, you know, he is the main donor of the event…” Tim trailed, mumbling half-intentionally. He didn’t know if it helped or not that his nerves were real.

Commissioner’s gaze sharpened in a blink and darted around the room, gauging the situation momentarily. Tim knew what he would see: his father speaking with Mr. Wayne, who just happened to be the main target for both Commissioner and Tim. So the man readily grabbed the excuse to get closer with both hands.

Miss Gordon left to get more drinks (or to find Dick), while Tim led Commissioner in the crowd. His father was engaged in the conversation and was gesturing animatedly between Mr. Wayne and one of his CEOs. Oh-oh. Father would not take kindly to the interruption. But Tim couldn’t frame it as beneficial to parents, he had no time to think!

Mildly panicking inside, Tim glanced back to the Commissioner. He looked very focused. Tim cringed at elaborated scenarios running through his mind. None of them had both his objectives met: attract attention to Batman destructive tendencies and keep his parents happy with him. The best he could now is pretend that it was not his idea to insert himself into the discussion, probably.

Luckily, Commissioner took the lead and politely greeted everyone in the lull in between remarks. Tim didn’t like the glares businessmen sent his way. Like he was somehow beneath them. Even Mr. Wayne, who supposed to have semi-working relationship with Commissioner as Batman, was looking vaguely disapproving. Tim deliberately didn’t tense and slid to stand at his Father’s right. He still was in that age where children were mostly overlooked, when they weren’t a subject of conversation.

Father gripped his shoulder a tad too strong and Tim repressed the sudden urge to dodge and shake aggressor’s hand within skin of his teeth. The street reflexes were doing him disservice right now.

“Commissioner, what a… nice surprise to see you around. I hope you are finding the party enjoyable even being on duty.” Father’s voice was perfectly modulated to carry on hint of demand without sounding rude. Was among the first things he perfected under Mother’s watchful eye.

It isn’t a party .

Tim clicked his jaw shut.

Chapter Text

Father gripped his shoulder a tad too strong and Tim repressed the sudden urge to dodge and shake aggressor’s hand within skin of his teeth. The street reflexes were doing him a disservice right now.

“Commissioner, what a… nice surprise to see you around. I hope you are finding the party enjoyable even being on duty.” Father’s voice was perfectly modulated to carry on hint of demand without sounding rude. Was among the first things he perfected under Mother’s watchful eye.

It isn’t a party.

Tim clicked his jaw shut.

“Yes, quite. I am sure the artefact you found is spectacular. But as Wayne Fund representatives insisted,” he casted a vicious glare towards Mr. Wayne for a second, “I am here, indeed, in official capacity to evaluate the security measures. I am sorry to distract you from your conversation, but do you mind walking me through the transportation process and Drake Industries’ security details on this particular item? I would be very grateful. It shouldn’t take much time.”
Father sounded exasperated, but not angry. So he didn’t mind Commissioner’s attention, at least shortly. But Tim didn’t listen to further explanations.

Because the reason Commissioner was angry was him. He orchestrated Nightwing’s and Commissioner’s attendance. But man didn’t know that. But why think Mr. Wayne did it personally? It is more likely to be PR department all alone. That what he calculated. Maybe Commissioner was generalizing? Like Mr. Wayne = Wayne Enterprises? It was unfortunate, but not like he could do anything right now.

Grip on his shoulder relaxed somewhat, but stayed firm. Tim took his time to observe others, using the position of “unseen child” to his advantage. Father, bored, but willing to indulge. Mr. Wayne, polite interest and drunken looseness in body language. Father’s CEO, tense and fidgeting. Commissioner, sharp and listening. Other audience, both amused at the new entertainment and disgruntled at losing the former.

“…and, of course, we transported it right to the event revenue after that. A couple of guards, discreet vehicle. You know how it goes, Commish. We employed the best security agency out there. Let me tell you, it was no easy fit to find an appropriate container.” With dismissive wave of hand, Father moved to telling more exciting stories of their travels in Asia. Though, oddly enough, Commissioner smoothly moved to Mr. Wayne, flashing him all his teeth. Tim was hesitant to call it a friendly smile.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Drake. By the way, your son is a delight to speak with. Very polite young man. And on the topic of children – Mr. Wayne, may I speak with you about Mr. Grayson?” The man was quickly and efficiently separated from the conversation, practically drugged to the side. Mr. Wayne looked as mystified as Tim felt. They slipped through the crowd which seemed to become interested in a new topic far too quickly for Tim’s tastes.

“Oh, yes, our Timothy is a brilliant boy. Our future. And so independent. He makes Janet and I so proud.” Tim twitched in Father’s grasp when conversation turned to him. He was delighted to hear the praise, was drinking every word, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. He knew this song and dance, now somebody will murmur their agreement, then someone with children will make backhanded remarks about their own “not so gifted” son or daughter and he will be forced to recite his latest academic achievements like in parent-teacher conference, but all backwards. He didn’t even feel disappointment anymore. After first three times it happened at galas he got desensitized to it.

So he smiled pleasantly, flustered at the command at socialites' compliments and told about his straight A’s and research interests. At least he was truthful about his enthusiasm with Wayne Fund exhibition and trips to the library. After some scripted remarks someone brought up their son and fake-complained about how he was not up to such a “child prodigy” as Tim.

He personally hated it. He may be a few points above average on the traditional academic learning, but out there was so much more! It was so frustrating, always being compared to other children, even older ones, and be deemed better just because he happened to have nothing better to do with his time than study (and follow Batman and Robin). And then others got envy and didn’t want to be friends with him, not that he had great social skills to start with!
Of course, the child on ration today was actually here and even went to the same school as Tim. And of course, his father called him to come closer, nevermind if his son was busy or not. The boy came. Tim cursed mentally with the Crime Alley passion. He recognized that one. They were in the study group and the boy tried to wheedle out of him details about the artifact that one time.

That did not bode well for him. The guy was a few years older, miles taller and had the most annoying chin he has ever seen. Tim didn’t even remember his name, only surname – Martin, and only due to his father being the CEO of Med subdivision. Now when he squinted at the man speaking, yea, he could the resemblance. The same mulishly stuck out chin.

“Martin here hasn’t so many vast interests, but he is pretty consistent with violin through the years. Gonna teach youth good tastes in classic music from the beginning, you know how it is.” The Old Martin finished whatever he was saying.

Tim was more appalled by a fact that the guy’s name was, apparently, Martin Martin, then by the fact that he played violin. Judging by poorly hidden long-suffering look in his eyes, it was a miracle he didn’t contradict. Maybe he was breaking violins for stress relief in private, who knew.

“Oh, and he studies with Timothy here regularly, right? What smart boys they are.” The man went on a new angle and Tim narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the wording, the man deliberately tried to paint them way closer that they were. What purpose?..

While he was deciding if it was worth speaking up and enduring more blatant fawning in an attempt to butter up to Father, the conversation died on its own, focus on the new person entering their semi-circle. Tim almost choked on saliva – it was Superma- no, wait, what was his civilian persona… Lois Lane husband!

“Good evening, everyone. I am Clark Kent, from Daily Planet, Metropolis. I hope I am not imposing, but I would love a few comments about how your evening is going, gentlemen.” Tim turned red. Mr. Kent, got it.

He was silently freaking out over the fact that Superman spoke to him on the same day as Nightwing (the best gala ever!) and that he made them attend. It was making him feel both light-headed and heavy-hearted. Strange mix.

But he wouldn’t change meeting Nightwing as Dick Grayson face-to-face for anything. And Superman. Who was currently furiously taking notes on something Father was saying. Huh. He liked journalist way better than police officer. Interesting.

“And so, Bhutan is a unique place! And I am not saying it lightly. As someone dipping into archaeology and with almost 100 digs under the belt, it was on another level! Virgin nature in mountains, very exclusive access to their sites… But you will understand once you see what we found. Actually, it is the first of its kind to be deported outside of the country. You won’t believe which pretzels we twisted ourselves and our team into to get it all way here! Man, one-time opportunity per life. Tell you what. You are lucky to be here today, Mr. Kent. You will see it with your own eyes in a few minutes.”

Mr. Kent nodded furiously, scrabbling the details away. Father was happy with the media coverage and particularly with journalist’s humble attitude. Huh, Superman was better in acting and psychology that he thought.

The crowd erupted in cheers, warmed up for the main event. Tim, still superficially watching Superman, noticed his wince at the noise. So superhearing had high sensitivity issue.

Superman shook his head minutely and grimaced slightly. Everyone was watching the big box being wheeled to the middle of the sale, people’s eyes following it like pulled by magnet. Tim was watching Superman.

He managed to forget about his own Father holding him in place, until the hand slipped away. Tim automatically fell one step behind, literally slipping out of limelight. He wasn’t needed anymore, so he stepped back. With a breath of relief. Now he could finally go find out what’s the matter with Batman and Commissioner.

He sidestepped the Martin father-son duo, who gave him twin annoyed looks. Then he accidentally locked eyes with Superman. Eh, Mr. Kent. Whose attention probably was drawn by stupid Martins shuffling to the side.

Tim froze and defaulted to an empty gala smile and a small nod. Thankfully, he didn’t keep attention of the journalist on himself, Mr. Kent frown face turned to withdrawing figures of Martins. Everyone was trying to find better spot to observe the spectacle, so nobody noticed as he split off from the crowd. He moved toward the buffet table, Mr. Wayne and Commissioner were heading in its direction for their private talk.

Keeping glancing to the sides, he gradually became more confused though. They were nowhere to be seen. Actually, he can’t find Miss Gordon and Dick either. Did they all get to hide somewhere? It wasn’t weird for Dick or Mr. Wayne, who frequently leaves galas behind for vigilante work with various excuses, but Commissioner was on duty, he said so himself.

And just as his parents were going to present the highlight of the evening. The bad feeling crawled up his throat.

“Dear ladies and gentlemen! Let’s welcome the Drakes, the power couple of philanthropists and archaeologists, who made an impressive donation to the Wayne Foundation Fund…” the host cheerfully begun to the obvious cheer of the socialites, but Tim didn’t hear much more, as he frantically searched for Mr. Wayne. Did he really leave for the Batman business? With healing concussion, nonetheless!

The only exit was through the huge double doors they entered, but he would notice the commotion. And logically, he couldn’t just ditch the Commissioner in such short amount of time without suspicion, could he? That still left back doors for stuff, he supposed. There were no windows, and besides absurd endless draperies there weren’t many hiding places. No columns or crooks like at private venues.

He hid his uncertainty by biting into mini-sandwich, justifying his presence at buffet table. He couldn’t leave the saal, parents would need him soon for publicity photos. And he promised Mother he would behave. He can’t just leave, not knowing where Mr. Wayne disappeared to.

It was frustrating, but he knew when to retrieve. The event host and Father were finishing whatever speech they prepared with grand gestures, and everyone held their breath for a moment. Security lifted the box with fanfare. The crowd erupted with noise. Tim listened curiously, coming closer. Not the most cheerful one. They didn’t like the artefact?

There… was no artefact. The case was empty. Tim could only guess that there was supposed to be some kind of painting or canvas, where now was empty space. Mother and Father were not pleased. The poor host stuttered at their glares and sent security to search, contributing to the beginning of the chaos. Guests were left unsure how to react: in Gotham, when something that big is stolen, usually everyone knows immediately. By being held hostages.

Tim is just grateful no Rogue was here tonight. It was probably Catwoman, only she has enough audacity to steal right from the gala without anyone noticing. He sighed. They were not going home anytime soon and any good mood Mother may have surely evaporated. Fantastic. Couldn’t Catwoman choose to do it a couple days later from the exhibition?

Murmurs in the crowd were climbing in volume, and Tim dragged his feet to the center of the sale. Father was red in face, threatening left and right with the lawyers, and Mother zeroed into Mr. Kent, telling him something in calmer voice. Man looked a bit pale and uncomfortable, as if he was held prisoner. Well, even Superman can’t refuse Mother.

Tim snuck closer, dreadfully waiting for an explosion. Father had strong temper and he was steadily growing angrier as security didn’t find anything. The host practically escaped his parents to make a nervous announcement that since there was no threat, the gala would continue. And they have police officers present, so it would make their job of finding fresh leads easier.

“We humbly ask for your coordination and remind you about the possibility of donations. Again, apologies for the disruption, please, enjoy the rest of the evening!” Typical Gotham. If sky is not falling down, gothamites just blink and move on.

Tim didn’t risk coming too close to the cluster of security guards with fuming Father in the centre. So he gravitated towards Mother. Her sharp eyes slid to him for a moment and then returned to Mr. Kent. Tim followed silent acknowledgement and tucked himself against her side. Mother placed her elegant hand on his shoulder and squeezed, sending a small happy thrill through him. Her touch was rare and thus more precious because of it. Tim treasured it.
But the situation itself was far from salvageable. He didn’t see Mr. Wayne, Commissioner and Dick still, which means people started to notice too. Maybe Superman heard something, and that’s why he was so pale. Tim frowned. Mr. Kent didn’t even try to get closer to Mr. Wayne! And Dick was very angry with him for some reason. Commissioner looked like he was gearing up for the lecture, when they were leaving. Nobody from his list spoke with Mr. Wayne in needed manner. In supportive, that’ s it.

Tim huffed in irritation near silently. So much for that plan. At this point he would have more luck with Wonder Woman. The only hope left is for Dr. Thompkins. And the whole stolen artefact thing made everything so much more difficult! He didn’t want more attention. Well, at least it will keep Dick in town longer, since he was one of the officers on the scene.

He brightened a little at the realization, while background chaos abruptly shifted towards backdoors. Mr. Wayne and Commissioner appeared out of it, anxious and grim-faced respectfully. They didn’t seem surprised at hearing the situation, so they saw something. But where was Dick?

As answering his question, Dick bursted through the main doors, agitated and panting. “The security system is down, we need to evacuate! Commissioner Gordon, the observation room is-” he cut himself off, noticing every pair of eyes trained on him, but not panicked. After brief assessment of the disarray of the gala and the number of security guards, he added somewhat hesitantly, “I see Commissioner is already informed?”

Everyone around was watching the exchanges with hungry interest, eyes trained on the loudest participants. And the next few minutes were like a train wreck in slow motion – you have enough time to mull where it has gone wrong, but unable to look away. Father still shouting. Commissioner interrogating Dick on where he has been. Mother trying to salvage their public image. Mr. Wayne confusedly explaining his absence. Host attempting to follow the evening program.

His head started to spin. So much going on. Tim concentrated at Mr. Wayne, the reason he even cared for this gala as much as he did. The man didn’t look good. Behind makeup and fancy suit even ‘Brucie’ looked exhausted down to his bones. His excuse was simple – he needed privacy to talk to Commissioner, so they went somewhere. No, they didn’t see anything. Yes, they were together all the time. Yes, he is totally devastated that the most valuable donation to the Fund was stolen.

The gala didn’t last long after that despite Tim’s predictions. The crowd got their part of excellent material for gossip as did journalists, security guards didn’t have much success figuring out what happened with downed cameras and alarm system and the gala was in ruins. Dick looked miserable when they were leaving, thunderous Commissioner cornering him about his whereabouts.

The trip back home was surreal in so many aspects. Mother was sitting with him in back silently, still maintaining skin contact, Father was an epitome of rage, promising hosts, security and police all kinds of retribution. Tim, blankly staring out of the window, sliding from one thought to another, slowly spiraling down the loop of hazy possible scenarios.

He didn’t quite remember how he got into the bed or how he fell asleep. The gradual slip into unconsciousness felt infinitely stretched in time. His thoughts coming into clear focus was accompanied by sleepiness in his eyes and softness all around his body.

It was like a switch being flipped. One moment he was drooling into the pillow, and the next he was sitting upright so fast that he almost got whiplash. Disoriented, he waited the dizziness out. Looked at the clock. Double-checked. But no, it wasn’t a dream. He overslept, and Mother didn’t come to punish him for it. Yesterday's events rushed to him, stacking on the top of each other.

Oh. His misstep wasn’t a priority. He left his room to check, and his suspicions were confirmed. Mother and Father weren’t home. A combination of relief and bitterness cursed through him. They allowed him to rest after disaster of the gala, but also left him behind. As always.

He started nibbling at the lower lip. He needed to estimate the media coverage, but hesitated. It was undoubtedly a mess, but it would not change either he checks it or not. After short pause, he found an article by Daily Planet. He felt like it was safer to start with Mr. Kent story. Less ‘shocking value’ and more facts.

The article was barely published an hour ago, thankfully not taking the first page. The digital version didn’t even generate that many views. Stuff about the gala itself, short description what artefact was supposed to be (complicated Buddhist mandala on silk, Tim noted with mild interest) and witness quotes. None from Mr. Wayne, but a lot from Mother. Hm, she used the loss of the artefact to its maximum. Promotion of both Drake’s philanthropy and archaeology inclination. Also it emphasized the collaboration with Wayne Foundation on the matter of returning the artefact. Huh, good move.

Tim very much doubted that they would ever see the canvas again, but it was a good PR statement. He went to Gotham sources. They were more chaotic. People were not surprised something was stolen, the fact that Commissioner was present gained more attention. There were even some memes made. Tim winced. Yeah, it didn’t look well for police.

The other negative press went, as usual, to the whole ‘socialite nonsense takes attention from important issues’ thing and to Father’s temper. Tim rolled his eyes. Of course, and nobody ever loses control over their emotions. Father may have overreacted, but it didn’t give people the right to dissect his moment of distress under the microscope.

Overall, for Drake Industries the situation was a very minor PR issue, but for his parents personally it was probably very upsetting. They put so much effort into that artefact!

He was also worried about Mr. Wayne. The gala was supposed to be his subtle intervention and it ended up adding more stress to his already twice full plate. And it seemed like he estranged Dick even further than before! Some gossip column captured their mutual avoidance at the gala and hostile conversation after.

His brows pinched together. Why?..

Oh, Dick should be under a lot of duress. He was probably not pleased with being in the spotlight because of the investigation. Plus Mr. Wayne’s all-encompassing grief.

Tim pondered Dick’s situation. He could see where he had approached wrong. If Dick was grieving as strongly as Mr. Wayne, he didn’t have an emotional capacity to help Batman. Dick’s easy smile fooled even him. So try to keep them together and look into other members of support system?

Maybe he should double down on ‘ghost Robin’ and be more visible. Give Batman and Nightwing excuse for bonding, even if at work, and reason to talk about Jason. From his psychological guides he remembered that it’s healthy to confront the trauma. Acknowledge the pain? He couldn’t imagine Batman doing it in healthy ways. Not if he was breaking down in the middle of Crime Alley while being as defenseless as drunken everybody.

Tim needed to harden his resolve. He was a little bit apprehensive of Batman and Nightwing paying more attention to him, but it’s not like anything less direct worked. He was running out of people to throw into Batman. He will wait a couple more days to see if Dr. Thompkins has checked upon Batman and get accustomed to the sewers meanwhile.

It was fortunate for him that Mother and Father were distracted by the investigation and Drake Industries (he didn’t hope much for their attention anyway).
He made himself a cup of strong tea and took several fruits to the living room. No time better to start puzzling through sewers’ blueprints. He brought his ‘nighttime’ laptop with him and sank into pile of blankets and couch pillows. It was the only place in the house where parents allowed him to mess with furniture. The only place that felt alive, besides his room.

He opened saved files and dutifully checked for any viruses and dove into work. One hour later he felt himself relaxing. Tim didn’t even notice how tense he was before he was already curling in his little warm nest. It was surprisingly nice. He guessed the articles about stress-relieving didn’t lie about making your environment comfortable. Maybe if he tries more advice from the Internet himself, he can find what works for real and then offer to Batman.

Hm, is Batcave comfortable? He didn’t think so, judging from the name. How can you be comfortable in a cave? But it’s not like Mr. Wayne can place his base of operations elsewhere except under the Wayne manor. Tim knows there is a whole system going under both their houses, red about it in the old article during his childhood obsession phase with Batman/Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne as a child found the hole somewhere in the manor backyard and fell through it. He was found a day later and authorities took an opportunity to remind Gotham’s public about the danger of local underground. Literal underground, not criminal one. Heh. That’s a pun. He should remember it to tell Nic and Emi later. They would love it.

So Tim was pretty sure that Batcave was under the Wayne manor. Mr. Wayne probably spent a lot of time there too, while not on patrols. And Tim would bet his inheritance that he didn’t even try to make it comfortable, if not the opposite. Hm. If he successfully attracts enough attention, he could switch to showing up in early mornings in Crime Alley, so Batman would get at least some sunlight. But it’s for long term, now back to blueprints.

It was unexpectedly easy to visualize the accessible system in his mind. It wasn’t a lot and the bits he had were somewhat straightforward. He noticed straight away that they used exactly the same plans for all service spaces and the same patterns for parts of tunnel. Another budget cut?

So there was a chance he could navigate the parts he didn’t have a map for with a little bit of practice. Perhaps he can draw his own. He yawned. Scolded at his body demanding more sleep. His sleep schedule was not that broken! Worked some more.

He was pulled out of his productive haze by the sound of the accentuated steps. Mother was home, only her heels made that distinct pointed click-click-click sound. Like charging revolver.

“What a trainwreck. Timothy, when you will eventually take over the company, don’t repeat your father’s mistake,’’ she eyed the slight disorder in the living room disapprovingly, but didn’t comment, “Don’t mix business and personal life. Such messy habit. In business there is no space for sentimentality.”

“I understand, Mother,” came a reflexive reply before Tim could process his mother standing in the middle of their living room and coaching him instead of scolding for inappropriate posture.

She was silent for a moment before tilting her head and surprising Tim even more by ignoring his pyjamas outside of bed and food outside of the kitchen.

“Timothy, I think it is time for me to take over your education. It would be rather embarrassing if you turn out like Jack on business side of life. You may not be exactly like me…’’ her sharp blue eyes pinned him to the couch. Never before did it occur to Tim to compare his own mother to a criminal mastermind, but she was exuding the same feeling of danger and power.

He was not afraid, but he was paralyzed under her gaze. All his Crime Alley instincts screamed about upper predator. He forgot about Mr. Wayne, Dick and Robin. Only her words were important right now.

“But I decided that I still can teach you. So far I haven’t had significant concerns regarding your behaviour even if I would prefer the absence of secrets. They tend to crawl into the light in the most inappropriate time,” she sighed like it was just minor inconvenience, not life-changing information in one of the longest one-on-one talks with her son.

“But I should have accounted earlier for consequences of your independence. In good faith I cannot demand perfection after being absent in your life for long periods of time. You may spend your free time as you see fit as long as it doesn’t meddle with our image and company. Also I will personally take over your business education. Today’s incident showed pretty clearly that we need to pay more attention to the company anyway.”

Tim was having surreal experience. He couldn’t decide what to feel. It all was so far from his comfort zone and expectations that he could just sit there and dutifully nod at each mind-blowing turn of conversation.

Mother elegantly landed across him in the armchair and continued, “So let’s make a deal, Timothy. You will do everything in your power to become a proper successor and I will not pry upon your extra activities. As Jack likes to remind me, ‘every boy should have his fling to become a man’.”

His heart was pounding against his rib cage threatening to escape. Tim gulped and let his body and silence speak for him. If he tried to say something out loud, he would only embarrass himself with squeak. Thoughts buzzed around in his head like a swarm of particularly angry Gotham bees.

Mother wants to spend time with me, she is here, they are staying, I can be good they are here shelikesmeenough-

He forced his face to be as blank as possible and took a deep breath. He was feeling as he was about to vibrate out of his skin, but he tried to still his limbs anyway. Judging from Mother’s minuscule twitch of fingers, she noticed.

“And for your own sake, Timothy, stop being so emotional. It is exhausting to watch. We will work on your self-control first thing tomorrow,” Mother said partly to him, partly to herself. “But now let’s review what has gone right and wrong at the gala. It was a shame to lose such an outstanding piece of art, but at least it wasn’t completely ruined.”

What?

Chapter Text

Tim was officially unsettled. Mother was unsettling. She was also brilliant and ruthlessly opportunistic. He guessed it all before, but now he was presented with iron evidence. In one week Mother managed to cram into his head all Drake Industries relevant documents and outlined her preferred business strategies for the future. Which was. A lot.

He was left reeling and reevaluating his mental image of Mother once again when she succinctly and somewhat gleefully explained her ‘gambit’ at the gala. Someone was stealing money from DI and Mother used investigation of disappeared artefact to jump-start inner investigation in company which quickly led to Phil Marin, now former CEO of Drake Medical Inc.

According to Mother, she knew what was up the moment they discovered problems with the ownership transfer of the canvas. Wayne Enterprises always had strict policies about partnerships, so to hit a problem in paperwork meant some suspicious records in a joint project. Which was spearheaded by Mr. Marin. His active interest in the artefact was a nice bonus for Mother to speed up his arrest and pile up charges.

With one move Mother gained positive publicity, put a stop to money theft and attracted attention to their case. Now WE and DI were tided up closer than ever in public eye and Mother and Father were celebrated as renewed philanthropists.

But it should never have come to this. He listened dutifully to Mother’s recommendations. Mr. Marin was Father’s school friend, held some sentimental value to Father. Unacceptable weakness in business, Mother said. No personal attachments to employees. Powerful acquaintances are acceptable as long as they can be useful. Networking is a given in his position, public image always should stay pristine.

“A good name is better than riches,” Mother said one afternoon, driving him from school back home, “Never underestimate power of reputation, Timothy. Take Bruce Wayne. The most influential man in Gotham, old money, funds dozens of charities. According to paparazzi, bumbling fool and air-headed playboy.”

She was much more contemplative lately, often speaking at Tim rather than to Tim, but he cherished it all the same. Parents were home. They were in Gotham partially for him. He was not going to disappoint Mother.

“It is obvious to any person with slightly above average intellect that he hides something,” Tim stared at her with wide eyes. Did she know about…? “If he were such a fool in reality, WE would never be as successful as it is. But he at least has good people-reading skills, to hire Lucious Fox. And he manages his reputation very carefully, he is still painted in positive light even despite presenting as playboy and idiot. He made sure to be underestimated, though I don’t know and don’t care what for. If needed, you can find out in future for blackmail.”

Tim exhaled a breath he was holding. So Mother didn’t know. Even if she came close for a civilian. Oh crab, could he still be considered a civilian?..

“I understand, Mother. Mr. Wayne also adopted two kids, which would be impossible if he were truly a womaniser. And he always acts clumsily around people who would be detrimental to his brand, but whom he can’t avoid outright.” He started to show a little extension of his knowledge, which Mother liked.

“Well done, Timothy. Good observation skills. Always be informed about what is going on in your social circles,” Mother praised. Her icy eyes were focused on the road, but Tim was the centre of her attention. She was doing it occasionally during last week, he felt strong elation every single time. He hoarded those moments jealously, never knowing when it would stop. “We need to pick up some things on our way home for our trip to Metropolis. Now that everything died down a little, we will go to discuss a business deal with Luthor Lex for a couple of days,” she wrinkled her nose, a seldom display of emotion from her. “Despicable human being, but he holds some power in the corporate world despite being outed as a supervillain. Timothy, if you ever do something illegal, don’t get caught.”

Tim nodded, uneasy feeling in his stomach. Both from the prospect of being left alone again and Mother’s comment. At least he will be able to explore sewers and that lead from Joker’s old lair. He has gone out for a couple of hours one time, trusting Mother’s word about not interfering, but he couldn’t risk coming home smelling literal sewage.  

He needs to check on everything, things are still on edge after the last violent clash in Crime Alley. Two-Face was still free, and Emi and ladies finally agreed to try his idea, and… He halted that train of thought. Bad habit, spacing out in the presence of Mother. Like not paying attention to a predator.

The routine of waving goodbye to parents was a painfully familiar one. They packed, Father chuckled about leaving the house in Tim’s hands, Mother reminded him to be on his best behaviour. They left. Tim was alone again.

Alone, but not as lonely as before. Not anymore.

Memories of Emi and Nic and all his street acquaintances rushed to mind, helping to battle a reopened wound in his chest. It was like a flimsy bandage, slapped on a bleeding heart. Tim mentally scolded himself. Why little trip to Metropolis was affecting him so strongly? It’s not like with archaeological digs, when Mother and Father can go on and on for months. For once, they don’t have enough luggage with them, they need to tend to DI in nearby future, Mother promised lessons with him upon her retu-

Oh.

“So that’s what it is,” Tim whispered to the ghost of his hero, “I want them to spend time with me so badly? I am so needy, that’s embarrassing, Mother was right. Good thing I never tried to become a real Robin, right?” he huffed quietly, making his way through dirty alleys towards spotted earlier sewage hatch.  

And it was brutal truth, wasn’t it? Good thing Tim was used to Crime Alley and new broken harsher Batman. Mother’s teachings would serve him well. No sentimentality in field. Masks and calculation and damage control.

The night was dragging itself around slower than usual, with no human contact to distract him from sewage exploration. The maze of bad-smelling water and unidentifiable garbage left him with only Gotham giant rats as company. Tim was still wary of them, but they seem to understand silently proposed arrangement: he buys them food and they don’t try to eat him.

As a matter of fact, rats were even a bit helpful in his endeavour. He had a brilliant idea to follow one into side tunnel to discover a hole in the molding wall that little animal used as shortcut. Tim squinted. It looked suspiciously Killer Croc-shaped.

Tim crouched to take a closer look. Wow, villain’s fist was twice as big as Tim’s head. He hoped he would never have a run in with that particular Rogue. On brighter side, he was able to squeeze through the opening, coming out in different side tunnel.

Thanks, rats.

He adjusted his mental map, having long been trained out of bringing any kind of notes with him. Less shit to identify him the better. He froze.

Oops. Didn’t mean to swear.

“Guess Crime Alley finally rubbing on me, Robin. I wonder if my accent changes while I am out? Nic didn’t say anything about rich nonsense lately,” Tim was a little excited by the prospect, really. It would make blending in so much easier, if he wasn’t putting all effort into speaking like a non-Bristol kid.

Five more gaps and one unaccounted space in-between walls later Tim was bored. He already missed laser-like focus that Mother’s lessons or stalking Crime Alley brought. He didn’t feel like he was doing something productive even if he was, technically. Even finding something that looked suspiciously like an abandoned cult homebase deep in sewage web didn’t move his melancholic mood. In Gotham cults and sects sprang up every other week like mushrooms after rain and were dissembled just as quickly. In that sense organised crime didn’t leave them a chance. Usually.

He could probably turn it into his own hideout. It could be useful if Batman or Rogue cuts other escape routes. And Killer Croc reputation will discourage the rest. Good plan, now he needs to carve time for it.

 Tim hummed a tune of old spooky lullaby about owls when he noticed the tail. He raised both brows at one particularly fat rat trailing him from short distance away. First five minutes he thought of it as coincidence, next five minutes he observed how the rat ate it’s body weight in protein bars he tossed over his back and now he was at loss.

He stopped, the rat stopped. He changed directions, the animal did the same. Tim was a bit worried despite himself. He red a bit (a lot) about city rats behaviour after visit to Joker’s old lair. And sure, Gotham rats were huge and unnaturally intelligent, but it was still unusual.

He squinted at the rat. The rat looked back at him with beady black eyes. Unblinking. The sound of leaking water was the only one in sewage.

Plop-plop-plop.

Maybe it was time to head home. He was nervous. He hit his night quota of Gotham bullshit weirdness. He found this nice isolated exit out of the sewers near the Memorial Bridge stop with a direct bus going back to Manor. He could probably just… ignore the stalking, giant animal. As not to start questioning his leftover sanity.

The animal didn’t seem to catch on his decision and silently followed him all way back. The rat even peeped at him indignantly when he placed one foot on the first rusted step upwards. Tim frowned. This particular rat was somewhat… different. It was fatter and came closer to him than others. Also, it gazed at him with patient expectation. Tim inquiringly squinted at it and slowly crouched in front of the animal. Maybe, it was sick?..

Sick animals would sometimes seek help from humans, if desperate. He just hoped not to lose a hand while he checked it. The rat sniffed his fingers as if satisfied and let his slightly trembling hand closer.

Oh-oh. The animal was sick. In a sense. It was she and she was pregnant.

Tim stared at the content animal wide-eyed. The rat lied at the bottom of stairs, fixing him with piercing black eyes. The grey creature seemingly knew what it was waiting, but Tim didn’t. He wanted to escape this hypnotising stare, but it she made high-pitched chirp the moment Tim moved.

Then one more. And more. She was chirp-hissing until Tim’s hand was tentatively back on her stomach. Where he felt tiny movement. Tim’s eyes became a size of two plates. He could swear she looked at him smugly-

And went into birth. She squeezed out the tiniest babies Tim has ever seen one after another like it was regular Friday. To be fair, slowly came staggering thought, maybe it was.

He didn’t know much about rats (cute rat videos didn’t prepare him for this) and even less about what to do. He just. Hovered over her, compartmentalising the process until she was done. The rat squeaked weakly, drawing his attention back from speed-running mental breakdown.

“You… Are you okay?” he almost face-palmed. Not even a full day alone, and he started speaking with Gotham rats, wow. Well… not that different from speaking to Jason-Robin. The rat chirped insistently. “I hoped you didn’t expect anything from me, I don’t know what to do.”

Tim got a feeling that she was laughing at him. Just in the ultrasound spectrum while he couldn’t hear it with his human ears. The little ones were twitching, searching for their mama’s heat and Tim was even afraid of looking at them wrong. So small and fragile, in brutal world of Gotham sewers.

His heart spasmed painfully at the thought of tiny life all alone in a dangerous and dark city. He almost stumbled under sudden emotion, but managed to regain his balance. Logically, rats did it all the time and just fine without Tim. But they also had high mortality rates… Why he even-

“Ah, that’s why you wanted me here? You want me to take you somewhere safe with your babies?” he carefully looked at the rat and her squirming brood. The rat looked back in approval.

“Oh. I guess, I can take you to that hidey hole we found? I mean, it is pretty safe…” he continued to ramble while slowly inching closer and closer to the family (he still was wary of Gotham rats, no matter how cute or docile they appeared to be). The rat didn’t mind, just chirped occasionally in his hold.

He eventually bundled her and a dozen of her offspring into his jacket with ultimate care and transferred to the potential hideout. Well, not his hideout anymore, it looks like.

“I will return tomorrow. Please don’t eat someone meanwhile,” he murmured to the rat with a smile, just half-joking. He wasn’t totally sure that Gotham mutated animals didn’t eat corpses in shady alleys, after all. A number of missing people and found bodies in GCPD base was suspiciously disproportional, he discovered in one of his night-long research binges.

The rat’s hiss resembled somehow a derisive huff. Wait, does it mean he has a pet now? Should he name her??

“…Robin.” He tacked at the end. It’s a good name, right? Besides, nobody except Tim would know anyway.

When he left Robin and babies in their new nest, it was with a small smile on his lips.

                                                                                                    ***

Tim fled from Batman at neck-breaking speed in the Bowery, Nightwing shouted something from the right, and the sewage hatch was closer with each laboured breath. Life was good.

Several small hatches Tim discovered in some alleys of Bowery were a true lifesaver. Possibly made because of (again) budget cuts, but they were perfect for his size, but were too tight for Batman or even Nightwing to follow. Well, maybe Nightwing could contort his way in, but Tim doubted it would be comfortable. And he was a very small fish to fry in Gotham pool, so the acrobat didn’t bother.

This evening he wasn’t even planning to confront Batman or Nightwing this early, but he couldn’t just leave them to their arguments! It was flattering that they even bothered to have strong opinions about ‘ghost Robin’, but he couldn’t let it to be fuel for their conflict. At least Batman stopped beating small-scale criminals into bloody pulp as his to-go outlet for grief.

Tim grimaced in the safety of dark underground tunnel. Yeah, it’s still work in progress. He hoped this time it would be a bit more permanent. And he had the right to hope, he overheard how Nightwing was shouting about crazy kids and doctor’s orders! So it meant Dr. Thomkins spoke with Batman! Nightwing also said to leave ‘the pretender’ (yes, it was a very accurate description of him) alone, if he is not mingling in their cases. Batman disagreed in low grunts and violent body language.

They both sounded very upset and angry, but hey, it was still a small step forward. Tim wouldn’t even interfere or let them know he was there, if not for the risk of spooking Emi’s girls from the club they were looking into. Tim didn’t know why Batman and Nightwing were interested in that particular nightclub, maybe a potential drug deal or whatever, but it was the first step for his business project! He was not going to risk Batman ruining months of his work! Tim wanted ladies to give it a try without Batman looming over their heads.

Tim finally caught his breath and wiped sweat from his face. He couldn’t contain a small smile, though. The combined info from Nic’s street connections and Zack’s teenage gang allowed Tim and Emi to veto the first safe nightclub to try and start prostitute union. It was on the boarder of the Bowery and Robbinsville, and after the recent annihilation of Crime Alley gang that was holding it, it was up to grab, metaphorically speaking.

So… Tim was planning to grab it. The brilliant idea was born after Mother’s smooth handling of the gala. Single precise shot and so many targets dead handled. Why start from scratch if he can use resources that are already there? Mother called it an opportunistic murder approach.

He just hoped Batman would not pay much more attention to the nightclub. Tim has big plans. If Emi liked it, of course.

Well, Tim annoyed Batman and Nightwing into following him through the scene of one of the minor crimes that he knew was happening today. It hopefully would occupy their minds enough.

He didn’t think it through all the way, he was hard-pressed to admit.

“Looney, are ye kiddin’ me. Ye ain’t goin’ to that hellhole as Robin. Anythin’ connected to the Big Bat is trigger to ‘em. Let us with Emi do it for yea.” Nic met him in his basement gym two hours later and was not very happy with initial plan. “Crazy kid, crazy plan, I get it, but no ‘ghost Robins’ today.”

Nic returned to his bench press. Tim was mulling over the alternatives. He wanted to protest instinctively, but objectively he was 12-year-old, almost 13-year-old kid. He knew street rules, but he wasn’t a street kid. Better to listen to more experienced Nic. So after short discussion Tim changed into unidentifiable black scrubs that Nic kept for him for one of the contingencies with Batman and Nic’s hoodie. It was ridiculously oversized, but it kept his face and hair hidden.

He was leaving some of speaking to Nic, the owner of club was ‘friend of a friend’ and so Nic secured them a private meeting sometime later this night. But as much as he came to like Nic and Emi, they weren’t business-savvy, so for this plan to work, he needed to discuss the deal nuances personally. Tim even prepared a contract. And it was a good contract if he said so himself.

Nic analyzed him with a critical eye, but didn’t say anything besides the usual grumble about crazy rich kids. Tim proved long time ago that he was capable of taking care of himself. And in Crime Alley age was secondary, which Tim rather liked.

They met with Emi in a back alley behind the club ten minutes before the meeting. Tim was barely containing his excitement. Finally he could do something tangible for his friends!..

“Jeez, why so edgy, kid? Taking after Batman?” Emi was looking at him doubtfully, “I actually liked this place, don’t scare the guy before we can even start.”

Tim snorted. They were funny. As if he could scare someone.

“Additional camouflage. Nic said I can’t show in my primary outfit.”

“Well, he is not wrong… All right, fine, I guess. You will just turn on mini mob-boss mode and creep him out anyway.”  Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Emi was already moving inside. “Okay, time to go!”

Swallowing an indignant whine, he followed older friends inside. It was time to test Mother’s teachings in practice.

They were led to small unassuming room, with a low table squeezed between two old sofas. Three of them occupied one and the owner occupied another. He was a tall, lanky man, vaguely the same age as Nic, with a posture and facial expression to match the usual Bowery crowd.

Tim straightened his spine, placed a prepared contract on the table between them and calmly began, “Good evening, sir. We have a proposal for you…”

                                                                                                   ***

It didn’t end up a disaster as Tim was secretly apprehensive. The guy, Dave, was gruffly blunt and terse, but he asked good questions and agreed to the deal after a little discussion. He was also tense and didn’t waver his gaze from Tim even once. Meh, all people around here were distrustful by nature.

“How do I call and contact you?” the owner asked slowly after all contract was signed and details more or less ironed out.

“No worries, sir, I will drop by while needed,” Tim answered, expertly dodging the first question. He was not planning on giving any name away. “If something urgent occurs, Nic or Emi could pass the message.”

The guy predictably stayed tense and eyed him for a couple of seconds before finally looking at Nic. “Okay, whatever. Just bring cash in time and I guess we’ll see.”

The dismissal was clear. Tim gathered all documents and left with Nic and Emi. The heavy gaze prickled his skin until the door closed after them.

Silence didn’t last long. Emi separated to give update to her girls and Tim after quick internal debate went with Nic back to his apartment/gym. He was too pump on adrenalin to go sleep and too excited about the first successful deal.

“So what do you think!? It went really well, right? He agreed!” Okay, maybe too excited.

Nic gave him side eye and tossed his clothes into his face. Tim didn’t bother to catch – just stuck his hands out to not let them drop to the floor. Nic sighed.

“Looney, ye are freakin’ somethin’. I don’t wanna ta think about yer adult version. Go home and sleep, ‘nough dealing for one night.”

Tim pouted a little, but went to the small bathroom to change. If Nic didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t anyway. He bid him goodbye and went home, as prompted.

…With a little stop. Good thing he had Robin now. He could complain about whatever he wanted about to her. So here he was, sitting near Robin’s nest and rambled, letting his mind loose.

“…I don’t understand why Nic is so hung on the whole ‘rich kid’ thing. I thought I was learning. And he talks about my management project as he talks about mob politics. And Emi is not much better,” he was on the roll, passionately gesturing to somewhere above, where his friends theoretically were. Robin made a high-pitched sound remaining an agreeable scuff. Tim gave her another piece of granola bar for being such a good conversation partner. “Exactly. Emi knows Donna Maria, so she shouldn’t be so awkward about it all the time. Hm, I still haven’t heard anything about Donna Maria. I wonder who she is… And why did she give me that pin.”

Tim fingered the little trinket on his jacket and smiled at the animal. She was nursing her little ones, but looking attentively at him, as if prompting to continue. It felt nice to speak without the filter and interruptions for once.

“Yeah, I found what two feathers mean, like man-woman unity thing. Maybe some deeper symbol, but I guess I will leave it alone for now. I can’t grab too many things to do at once. Mother said I should always prioritize, because my time is the most valuable currency I have. And she is always right. There is that Joker’s lead too… It worries me, you know. And I don’t have a lot. Such big crates of something, transported by water… I hope it isn’t a problem anymore, but I have found nothing matching in GCPD data and Batman is emotionally compromised… At least, Joker is locked in the Arham.”

Tim has fallen silent, again at a slight loss what to do with Batman. Dr. Thompkins talked with him, it seemed, but no noticeable progress, especially if he was still out with unconfirmed concussion. Today’s chase was also slower than usual. Batman didn’t lose the power or speed behind the movements, but… He was oddly out of synch with Nightwing and all jerky jumps and rough rolls with no regard to his own body.

He hummed in thought, popping one piece of granola bar into mouth and feeding Robin another. The cold floor near the rat’s nest in sewers was weirdly a good place to think. Support system. Batman needed it desperately, but just throwing people at him didn’t work, did it? Moreso, both Batman and Nightwing needed some way to heal and they clearly weren’t part of each other's way. At least, not yet.

So, somebody close enough to them to be allowed in the inner circle, but far enough to not feel devastating blow of Jason’s death. The thing is… Tim halted in his thought process. Dr. Thompkins was a good bet. A family friend, knows about both sides of their lives, a responsible doctor. And still her intervention made little to no impact. Even if Mr. Pennyworth can’t rein in grieving Batman. And he is the most trustful ally Batman ever-

Oh. He was again too naïve in his belief. If parental figure of Batman can’t break this tide, than why would others? He convinced himself that Justice League could be of help as his friends or at least sympathizing coworkers, but even if Superman couldn’t see how bad things were, than there is no hope for others. Well, maybe Wonder Woman could, but she is in Paris and on an isolated island most of the time, it’s near impossible to reach her subtly.

For now he will continue to distract Batman from beating people too badly and hope that inspiration will strike.

“Okay, thank you, Robin, for listening. I will go sleep. Need to catch up before a new school week. Stay safe and keep your babies safe.” Tim smiled at the answering chirp.

Would Jason be appalled that he named Robin the Gotham rat that forced him to sit with her during childbirth? Or would he cackle wildly and give him a pat on the shoulder?  

His smile turned sad. He hoped for the second. He didn’t even know Jason that good, but… He believed that Jason would approve Tim’s efforts in Crime Alley and the neighbourhood. Maybe…

Maybe he should do more for Jason’s legacy. Batman… He didn’t know what more he could for Batman. The vigilante didn’t want to be helped.