Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, Tim. I've always thought of you as the smart one.”

Tim grunted in pain and dragged a hand in front of him, leaving a smear of blood on the floor.

“You always seem to have a plan.”

He sucked in a deep breath and then pulled his body forward. It moved an inch.

“You always seem to know what to do.”

He sucked in another breath then pushed his legs, moving his body another inch.

“I’ve read about the cases you’ve solved. They’re very impressive, I must admit.”

Tim scrunched his eyes closed in pain. He breathed out and forced himself to move forward another inch.

“Did you know that Ra’s is also quite impressed with you?”

Tim faltered. What did Ra’s have to do with this? He dragged himself another inch forward. A few more and he could reach the overturned table. The one with the hidden emergency button.

“Yeah, it’s true. Believe it or not. He told me himself.”

A heavy combat boot landed on the blood-slicked floor and Tim crawled another inch in panic.

“You must be wondering how I know him. It’s quite a story, actually. We met through his Lazarus Pit.”

Tim crawled forward another urgent inch.

“It wasn’t pleasant, let me tell you. I freaked and tried to kill everyone around me. I probably did. Memory’s a little fuzzy.”

He was almost there…

“But after a while, I started to get my memory back.”

He could spot it now. The tiny disguised button at the edge of the table leg.

“That’s how I know that you’re crawling towards an emergency button to call for help.”

Tim froze.

He laughed softly. “Come on, Tim. How do you think I got into the Tower without raising any alarms and comfortably walked through the maze of halls without getting lost?”

The black steel-toed combat boots covered the distance Tim had been struggling to cross in three steps. The owner of the boots crouched down, squatting to reveal a red helmet.

“For someone so smart, you certainly aren’t open-minded.”

Hood grabbed Tim’s wrist and twisted. Tim screamed, his throat aching with how much he had already screamed before.

“Otherwise you would have known to consider me as a suspect. Even as a ghost.”

Hood dropped his hand and pushed the table further away.

“Or a zombie. I don’t mind either way.”

Tim sobbed, too aching to move.

Hood reached up and pressed the latches under his helmet. Slowly, he lifted it, then threw it into the distance.

Bright and glowing green eyes met Tim’s teary blues, making them widen in surprise. “Jason?” Tim whispered.

Jason smiled. “Hi, Tim.”

----------------------------------------------------------

“Tim, I am going to fucking kill you.”

“No, you can’t. You love me too much.”

“No, I am seriously hating you right now.”

“Is it cuz I’m currently beating you six feet under the ground in Mario Kart?”

“No, it’s because you are currently cheating and beating me six feet under the ground in Mario Kart.”

Tim laughed and twisted the joystick on the controller, making the turn. He pressed down on the left trigger, releasing his army of power-up mushrooms.

“Motherfuck—” Dick screeched and hit the mushroom.

Luigi crossed the line and Tim flung his arms in the air. “I won!”

Dick threw a chip at him. “You mean you cheated.”

Tim pouted. “Hey, I’m just a broken little guy playing Mario Kart. You can’t blame a poor invalid with broken bones tryna win.”

Tim faced him with a wide smile, but a solemn face reflected back.

“Oh no,” Tim said. “I know that face. That is your guilty face. I don’t like the guilty face. Why do you have a guilty face?”

Dick sighed. “Tim, I—”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” Tim covered his ears. “La la la la la la la, can’t hear you!”

Dick lunged and brought an arm around his neck, trapping him in a (very light) headlock and rubbing his head with his knuckles.

“Ow ow ow! Dick!”

“You little shit.” He finally released him. Grabbing the bowl of salt and vinegar chips with edible glitter, he placed it between them on the bed.

“I’ll stop if you stop apologizing.” Tim reached in and grabbed a handful.

“You can’t blame a brother for being guilty for not being there.”

“No, I can’t blame a brother for not being there at all because, if you didn’t get the cue, Jason kept me from actually calling for help.”

At the mention of The Name, Dick flinched. His hand reaching for the bowl of chips froze and his jaw clenched.

Immediately, Tim knew he made a mistake. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

Dick pursed his lips in a tight smile and shook his head, casting sad eyes on him. “It’s okay. We all cope with trauma using dark humor. Let’s play another game. It’s my turn to choose now.” He picked up another controller and started setting up another round.

Tim watched him, just like how he was watching Bruce, Alfred and Barbara. None of them had gotten over the whole finding him three-quarters dead floating in a pool of his own blood on the floor debacle either. Especially not when they saw the letters 'JASON WAS HERE' spelled with his blood in the backdrop on the walls with his body right in front of it. Tim had only further confirmed when he woke up that it really had been Jason who had attacked him.

Bruce immediately threw himself in research, trying to figure out how Jason was still alive and how it was that he was Red Hood. Dick trailed along with him, though he often dipped out to do his own research and then come back with findings—which were always minor. There wasn't enough information or footage about Red Hood, even with Oracle's virtuoso skills. Even Alfred was hithering and tithering everywhere, lost between grief and care for the crazy workaholics under his roof.

And Tim… Well, he was traumatized, to say the least. Being beaten up like that certainly didn't raise his self-esteem either. In fact, it only stated just how bad his skills were that he couldn't survive more than five minutes in a fight. Even if he was lacking a weapon and facing off against a Lazarus Pit-enhanced former Robin.

But besides that… he worried. He had tried so hard to rid Bruce of his vampire bat tendencies lunging for blood and get his sweet fruit bat side back. Gotham needed a bat that helped the city, not one that destroyed it. Before the attack at Titans Tower, the family was getting back together again. Slowly but resolutely. Dick was talking to Bruce again, Alfred was smiling more often, and Barbara had grown twice as snarky like she used to be. He didn’t want the flimsy thread holding them together to unravel again.

But he didn’t want Jason to be left out either. He wished there was something he could do to get him back in the family. To build the family back again but this time wholly.

----------------------------------------------------------

“B, if you don’t end this very clearly boring and uneventful patrol in the next five minutes right the fuck now, I swear I will peel my fucking skin off.”

Oracle laughed, “Bat 1, Birdboy is being dramatic again. Now you know that is time to end patrol.”

Batman sighed heavily through comms.

“Hey,” came Nightwing’s indignant voice. “I thought I was your Birdboy.”

“You’re a birdman, Dick.”

Robin groaned. “Batman, seriously. Who the FUCK authorized New Jersey to be ninety-fucking-eight degrees at NIGHT?”

“God,” Batman gruffly replied.

An exaggerated gasp jarred Robin’s comm, making him clutch his ear. “Did Batman actually just jest?” followed Nightwing’s voice.

“I do not jest.”

“HA!” Oracle screeched. “You just did!”

“I do not jest,” Batman grunted again.

Nightwing snorted.

Robin sighed and dropped to his knees. He pitched forward and spread his arms out, lying on the stone of the roof. It was slightly cool. Barely an improvement, but he was taking anything he could get now.

Dimly, he wondered if Mr. Freeze had a rival this summer.

Just as he was considering the pros and cons of simply falling asleep on the roof, his ears caught a scuffle.

Robin went rigid.

Subtly, he tensed his fingers, ready to snatch his bo staff in a second’s notice. He strained his ears, trying to catch the origin of the scuffle. When he heard it again, he moved.

In a split second, Robin had his staff in his hand out defensively and in a fighting stance, ready to take down whoever was attempting to creep up behind him.

But instead, he faced a barrel of a gun pointing at his nose.

“Well,” Red Hood beamed. “This was easier than I thought.” At the same time, Tim's comms buzzed and disconnected.

Tim was having a heart attack.

Wait, no. His heart was just moving quickly enough to look like it was still.

Tim was having a heart-speeding attack.

He needed to call someone. He needed to call Bruce, or Dick, or the cops, just— anyone! He couldn’t face Hood alone so soon. Not when it had barely been two days since he was allowed out of the house. Not when it had only been a week since his injuries were healed. He really didn’t want his arm broken again. Eating was a bitch with it. Typing was even more of a bitch.

“Honestly, Robbie-boy. Didn’t the old man teach you not to let your guard down?” The hammer of the gun went down. The safety of the gun (and the safety of Tim too) clicked off. “But then again,” Hood tilted his head with amusement. “Failure is the best teacher. I would know.”

Tim swallowed. The green and red of Titans Tower crashed into his head and now his breathing was fucked too.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

Tim swallowed again. “Why? You've jammed my comms and you’re going to beat me up anyway.”

Even through the helmet, Tim could tell that his comment made Hood grin.

“You’re right, I am.”

The bullet cut through the air, along with Tim’s collar.

----------------------------------------------------------

So the bullet hadn’t actually hit bone. Still, it hurt. Like— like— like a bullet wound. He couldn't think of a good enough metaphor.

Yes, he was currently on drugs.

He was also currently crying on Bruce's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, chum. You're okay. I promise you're okay."

"Semi-okay," Dick piped up. "Since you still have three gunshot wounds, a black and blue face and yet another broken arm."

Tim could feel Bruce's glare though he couldn't see it.

"Sorry," Dick muttered. "Either way, you will be alright eventually. Hood didn't hurt you too much. Unlike last time," he added under his breath.

Tim broke apart from Bruce's hug and sat back on the hospital bed. Bruce still kept a hand on his shoulder as he rubbed away the tears from his eyes. "I'm okay now," Tim said hoarsely. "Thanks. It's just the pain meds."

Bruce smiled tightly and let his hand fall.

Tim exhaled and laid back on the white pillows propped up for him. "My parents are gonna freak, when they hear about the almost-kidnapping cover story."

"If they even hear about it," Dick said quietly off to the side.

"We had to explain the injuries to the media somehow." Bruce took back his place on the chair beside the bed. "You are still a public figure."

"Yeah." Just then, a long, wide and embarrassing yawn which Barbara liked to call "a kitten yawn" overtook his body and the fatigue settled over him.

"We'll leave you to rest, yeah?" Bruce suggested.

Tim nodded with bleary eyes.

The two left the room, but not before Dick fluffed up the pillows and Bruce tucked the blanket around him. Tim was too high on morphine and too tired with sleep to even protest. Despite the sleepiness, he couldn't rest. His eyes were closed, but his other senses and consciousness were wide awake and functioning. Enough to hear the conversation happening outside the slightly ajar door.

"Why would Jason even do this? Twice?!"

"He told Tim in the Tower that it was to send me a message."

"And he told him now that it was to teach you a lesson, which is it?"

"Both, I think."

A troubled huff. "This doesn't sound like him. It doesn't sound like him at all!"

"It's what Lazarus Pits do. They twist you. You might come back out healthy and better, but you come out changed. Different."

"No longer yourself."

"Precisely."

An extended silence. Then, quietly, "Is there a cure?"

Bruce didn't reply immediately. When he did, the tremor in his voice was as clear as the pain Tim was feeling.

"No."

-----------------------------------------

Tim hadn't fully healed yet. In Bruce's opinion, that is. In Tim's opinion, he was the paragon of health. In Dick's opinion, he was stupid. In Babs's opinion, he was reckless. Alfred had agreed with Babs on that one too.

But in Tim's opinion, he was awesome. And that was the only verdict that was valid.

Which was why he was dressed fully in his Robin suit and already sitting in the Batmobile when the others came down in their own gear.

"No," Bruce said immediately.

"Yes," Tim rebuffed.

"No," Dick also said.

"Yes," Tim pressed on. "Come on! Penguin? With that many goons? You won't stand a chance without me!"

"We'll manage," Bruce said gruffly, opening the car door.

"No, you won't. I've seen you try that before and you nearly died."

"And I've seen how definitely not healed those stitches are. You're not going."

Tim turned to Dick.

"I agree with him."

Tim scowled at Dick. "Well, I'm not moving." He folded his arms.

Bruce sighed. "You can do comms, Tim. Just don't go out tonight."

"Bruce. I knew what I was signing up for when I knocked on your door with evidence that you were Batman. I knew this would happen. This has happened. Multiple times! It's not like I haven't been shot before."

"Tim—"

"Is it because of Jason?"

They both halted.

Tim peered at them. "It is, isn't it? I've been let out with half-healed stitches before with enough pestering, but because it's Jason you don't want me out now."

Neither of them replied.

"I don't see how that's fair."

Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tim, I'm not going to—"

"Wait, B." Nightwing cut him off. "What if we let him out, but with the condition that at least one of us stays with him? You know how we Robins are. He's gonna go out anyway."

Tim cast hopeful eyes at Bruce.

Bruce stared at Tim, considering, but finally gave in. "Fine. But you stay with either me or Nightwing at all times."

"Deal!" Tim crowed happily.

For the first half of the night, Robin flew with Batman across Gotham. Busting criminals, kicking rapists in the nuts and all that jazz. For the second half, he spent the night with Nightwing. Having dance-offs on rooftops and screeching song lyrics at muggers and all that oomph.

It was in the second half of the night, that something happened.

Robin was just about to nick a chocolate pretzel off Nightwing's snack bag when something nicked his neck instead.

Tim touched the side of his neck—a dart. He glanced quickly at Nightwing, who was holding an identical one. Tim blinked once and Nightwing reached out to steady him. But slipping through his gloved hands, Tim pitched forward off the roof.

---------------------------------------

A big as fuck tsunami of pain crashed into his body along with consciousness.

Tim cried out. Or, well, he tried to. All that came was a hoarse ‘mew’.

Red Hood had managed to kidnap him right under Nightwing’s nose with tranq darts shot at both of them. Robin was the only one who was nabbed, though. He had then taken his sweet time re-breaking his bones, re-opening his stitches and adding more wounds to his already exquisite exhibition. He clocked out in the middle of Hood demonstrating strangulation techniques on him.

He laid still in the same grimy and empty alleyway where it all had happened. The slow travel of the smog and clouds above his head caused a nauseating feeling in his stomach. He couldn't puke now. He could barely move and would choke on it.

He needed to call for help. He needed to—

Beep.

Tim froze.

His thoughts immediately went to bomb??

Beep. A small red light.

Swallowing the agony and dread, Tim turned his head—the muscles in his neck protesting with the movement—with great difficulty.

A small, black device with a red button lay beside his head. Tears formed in his eyes so quickly that Bart would be jealous.

Beep.

It wasn't a bomb. It was a communication device for emergencies.

Hood didn't want him to die. He wanted Bruce to see a Robin covered in blood. Another Robin covered in blood. That was his message to Batman. His lesson.

No more Robins, Tim recalled Jason's words to him now.

Beep.

Jason hated him. He hated him because Tim stole Robin from him. He stole his name. And this was the consequence.

Was he so bad of a vigilante that his predecessor had woken up from the dead to let him know?

Beep.

The salty tears released and spilled on the floor, mingling with the red. Soon enough, he could hear Bruce and Dick's worried voices in the distance.

"We're here! This is where the tracker stops! Where is he?"

"It says around the corne—"

Beep.

Tim knew the exact moment when they found him.

The clouds parted to let a sliver of moonlight shine on the red of his suit and his blood, and Batman gasped in horror. Batman never gasped in horror.

Bee— The device switched off.

"Robin!" Dick cried out and ran forward, but Bruce got there before him.

"Nightwing, wait!" Bruce ordered. "Don't move him now in case there are any injuries to his spine. Call Leslie, Alfred and Oracle. I've already signaled the Batmobile to stop here. Tim? Can you hear me?" his voice shifted to a softer tone. "I'm here, chum. It's okay. We're going to take you somewhere safer."

Tim couldn't move his tongue. He felt numb. Out of focus. Distant.

Dissociation, he thought. That made sense.

"I don't think there are any spinal injuries. Nightwing, help me take him to the car."

As Bruce slid his hands under his knees and shoulders, Dick held his head and hand, squeezing the latter tightly.

Just before he was lifted, he gazed up at the rare clear patch of sky again and saw a streak of white shoot past.

A shooting star.

Please, please make everyone okay. Please let us be whole again. Please let Jason—

His thoughts were cut off with a scream tearing its way through his vocal cords to escape his body. Bruce lifted him up and quickly carried him to the car.

Please let Jason come back home.

Even as he made the wish, he knew. There was only one way to do that.

Chapter Text

Talia Al Ghul.

Occasional lover of Batman. Daughter of the Demon. Leader of the League of Assassins. One of the hardest women on Earth to reach.

Hardest, but not impossible.

It took nearly all of Tim’s recovery time plus a phone which somehow self-destructed to find her and get her number.

Tim <16:32>: Hey
Tim <16:32>: I have a question
Tim <16:32>: Why does ur phone number have the alphabet in it?
Tim <16:32>: Is it cuz ur rlly doing the whole “arab” thing and putting algebra in it?
Tim <16:33>: Cuz i spent 3 hrs trying 2 solve the equation only 2 realize that it wsant an equation but a keysmash
Tim <16:33>: Is it rlly a keysmash?

Talia Al Ghul <16:33>: How did you get this number?

Tim <16:33>: Not easily i can tell you that.

Talia Al Ghul <16:34>: Why isn’t the self-destruct defense working?

Tim <16:34>: Cuz i disabled it. You do know that ur talking to ME right?

Talia Al Ghul <16:34>: I have no business with children.

Tim <16:34>: Oh :’(
Tim <16:34>: Not even superhero children??

Talia Al Ghul <16:35>: Timothy, if you do not delete this number and wipe it from all records and never contact me ever again, I will hunt you down.

Tim <16:35>: Really??? That would make my job so much easier then, because ive spent AGES tryna look for you

Talia Al Ghul <16:36>: What do you want from me, Robin?

Tim <16:36>: A cure
Tim <16:36>: For the Lazarus Pit

Talia Al Ghul <16:38>: Jason went through with his plans then.

Tim <16:38>: Yeah. and im not rlly liking em yknow
Tim <16:38>: They suck
Tim <16:38>: MAJORLY
Tim <16:38>: As major Lex Luthor’s baldness

Talia Al Ghul <16:38>: Why should I help you?

Tim <16:39>: So you DO know a cure!!
Tim <16:39>: Oh boy, B’s gonna b sostoked!!
Tim <16:39>: You should help me cuz ik u care abt jason too
Tim <16:40>: He was Robin, ofc u care. Everyone cares abt him! He’s just that likeable
Tim <16:40>: Help me help u help me help us, talia. I swear you wont regret it

Talia Al Ghul <16:40>: It is a big risk, Timothy.

Tim <16:40>: YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW???
Tim <16:41>: MY ARM’S BEEN BROKEN SO MANY TIMES NOW I DONT THINK IT WILL EVER FULLY HEAL
Tim <16:41>: I’VE BEEN BEATEN UP SO MANY TIMES THAT BRUISES ARE ALL THATS ON MY SKIN
Tim <16:41>: IVE BEEN TAKING RISK AFTER RISK EVER SINCE IVE BECOME ROBIN TRYING TO DO THE BESTI CAN
Tim <16:41>: AND NOW WITH JASON OUT FOR MY BLOOD DO YOU THINK ITS ANY EASIER????
Tim <16:42>: Robin was
Tim <16:42>: is
Tim <16:42>: my idol
Tim <16:42>: I think i cna handle risk

Talia Al Ghul <16:50>: Very well.
Talia Al Ghul <16:50>: Meet me at Gotham Harbor in the toilets this coming Saturday.

Tim <16:50>: …
Tim <16:50>: Ew?

Talia Al Ghul <16:51>: Not many will suspect a meeting there, Robin.

Tim <16:51>: ugh fine
Tim <16:51>: Meet ya there then!

Talia Al Ghul <16:51>: Oh, and Timothy?

Tim <16:51>: Yeeeees?

Talia Al Ghul <16:51>: How rich are your parents?

Tim <16:51>: Idk? Pretty rich ig

Talia Al Ghul <16:52>: Then you can afford a new phone. Good luck.

Tim <16:52>: Wdym by a new ph|

“This doesn’t even— How the fuck—” Tim scrambled out of bed and ran to his window and chucked the phone out.

A few seconds later, it burst in a small explosion of flames before plunging down and falling on one of Alfred’s rose bushes, taking the whole bush down.

“Shit,” Tim whispered, nervously biting his bottom lip and rubbing his still-broken arm. “Alfred’s gonna loose his shit.”

----------------------------------------------------

The only hard part of the first step in his plan was getting past Bruce. He would never agree for a meeting with Talia, even if it was for a Lazarus Pit cure. He needed an excuse. And distance. Bruce would know in seconds that Tim was lying if he saw him face-to-face.

Which was why he decided to call him from Drake Manor on his weekly trip there to make sure the manor was still up since he spent every day in Wayne Manor instead.

As the phone rang, Tim sat on his bed, bouncing his leg nervously like a rabbit.

Finally, it connected. “Hey, bud. Are you alright?”

Tim smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just wondering… Bart and Cassie and Kon are getting together for a hangout in the city with Cissie and Traya for old Young Justice times’ sake. I was wondering if I could go over to the Tower this Saturday?”

He waited for a response, picking his cuticles in the meanwhile.

“No.”

Tim smiled. “Thanks, B! You’re the— Wait, what?”

Bruce sighed. “I said no.”

Tim’s jaw dropped. He was so sure that Bruce would… “WHY?”

“It’s too dangerous, Tim. Red Hood is looking for every opportunity to attack you, and your arm’s still broken.”

“But I can defend myself! And I’ll have the gang!”

“He still managed to get you from under Nightwing’s nose.”

“But, B!”

‘It’s final, Tim. In fact, no more patrols either. You can’t look after yourself right now. I’m sorry, you can’t go.”

Tim shifted from surprise to anger. “I can’t look after myself?” he said slowly.

“No, the previous times proved that. I don’t want to watch you bloody and broken again, Tim.”

His fingers dug into his palm.

He hissed again slowly. “I can’t look after myself?”.

Bruce paused, realizing what he had just said. “Oh. I didn’t—”

Tim cut him off. "Then I quit. I'm not going to be Robin anymore."

"What—"

"I'm not your soldier, Bruce. And you don't own me. Not as a father, not as a friend, and definitely not as a mentor now. I quit."

"Tim, wai—" He hung up.

As soon as he hung up, he realized that it was at that moment, he knew he had fucked up.

A silent and hoarse scream pulled itself out of Tim's throat as he threw the phone on his bed and ran around his room in panic.

"What did I do? What did I fucking do? What the fuck did I do? How the fuck did I do it? Why why why the fuck did I do it? What did I do?"

He paused to wince at his arm and readjust it in the sling before continuing his chant again.

"Tim, you absolute fucking moronbitch. You stupid ass cheesehead. You complete fucking pus bucket. What the shit did you do?"

He leapt onto his bed, ignoring the surge of pain that brought up his arm to his shoulder, and buried his face into his pillow and screamed. No words, just horror.

Why had he said that? No, seriously, why? Had he gone crazy? Had Jason blasted him with a mind-fuckery canon? Had his own brain gotten fed up with him? If so, he didn't blame it.

Ohhhh, why the fuck did he say that?!

Jason was literally just out there, capturing him and beating him up just to Amazon Prime him to Batman with a "strongly worded letter to follow". Instead of thinking about how much that would be impacting and hurting Bruce, he had… quit???

Tim groaned and punched his pillow. He accidentally hit his sling and cried out in pain.

Rolling over to set his arm in the right position again, he looked up at the ceiling and gasped, "I gotta get out of here."

No doubt Bruce would be driving over to Drake manor this very instant to yell at him talk to him. He couldn't let that happen. That would mess up everything! He had a plan. A little set back because of his utter moronity, but still a plan! He knew a way to bring all of them together. The only way to bring all of them together.

He quickly got up and started packing. Nothing too fancy now, just a couple shirts, pants and underwear, a jacket, a hoodie cuz no one could live without those, and a whole load of cash. According to his calculations, it would take approximately five more minutes for Bruce to get here on high speed with one of his fastest cars. Plenty of time for him to vamoose and cover his trail.

He left his Robin suit where it was in his closet. It would be awfully easy for a Bat to find it.

He took one more glance around his room. It would be hard leaving all of this behind forever. He couldn’t come back if his plan succeeded. And he wasn’t going to stop until he succeeded.

He sighed and hoisted his bag with necessary gadgets and clothes on his shoulders, his grapple gun at his side.

Then his eyes landed on his camera. His old camera that started it all. His old camera that held memories from both his days as a Vigilante Stalker and a Vigilante.

Fuck.

“Hurry hurry hurry,” Tim urged himself as he grabbed the camera and shoved it into his bag and started looking around for the memory chips. “Where are they?”

He flung clothes, books, stationery, junk food wrappers all over the place, turning his room upside down. By the end of it, Dick would have a heart attack and immediately ring the Rogue Kidnapping alarm. But he didn’t have time for that. Bruce would be here in three minutes.

He searched under the floorboards, his bed, his drawers, his closet, his bookcase, his shelves. Okay, in hindsight, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to not clean his room just because he had another in Wayne manor.

Finally, he found them. In the shoebox lying in the depths of his closet. He grabbed the box and managed to shove it deep enough inside his bag.

Once securing everything, he leapt out of the window.

Tim landed on the branch just outside and creeped towards the trunk of the tree, careful of his injured arm. Then he steadied himself and was about to jump off when he heard a yell.

“Tim!”

“Fuck you!” Tim screeched in panic, his mind confused between “fuck” as an exclamation and “you” as a surprised reaction at seeing Bruce running towards him.

Well, wasn’t this simply peachy?

—--------------------------------------

"I quit," Tim said and hung up the phone.

Bruce had messed up. He had messed up B-A-D. "Tim, wai—" The line clicked closed.

Bruce still held the phone to his ear for several more moments, still reeling from the shock.

He had been so concerned and worried about Tim quitting Robin Jason's way that he had never even stopped to consider him quitting Robin Dick's way. But it made sense, didn't it? Bruce was so emotionally unavailable to be a parent or even a mentor that if a Robin didn't die, they would eventually quit.

Bruce groaned and put his head in his hands.

Dick was going to eat him. But he supposed Alfred's wrath was even greater.

With that threatening thought, he pedalled his legs to the garage and got on the nearest car.

Within minutes, Bruce parked his car and didn’t bother getting the keys out or switching it off. He turned the handle of the car door and started running.

He knew that Tim would be sneaking out through the window. It wasn’t any strategy that would make him do that, it would be purely habit. Bruce knew Tim. He had worked with him long enough to carefully catalog everything the teenager would do. He knew which things for Tim were habits and which were him using strategy.

Sure enough, when he reached the side of Tim’s bedroom in the ridiculous and dead yard, he saw Tim creeping on a branch near his bedroom window.

“Tim!” Bruce called out, slightly in joy for arriving just in time to catch him.

“Fuck you!” Tim yelled back.

And that… Well, that was just rude. So of course Bruce automatically shouted back, “Timothy Jackson Drake!”

Immediately, he regretted every single decision leading up to this moment.

You don't own me. Not as a father, not as a friend, and definitely not as a mentor now.

And Bruce had just called him by his full name. If Bruce could fuck anything up even more, he would be incredibly surprised at why God decided to hurl all the bad possibilities his way.

The two froze, gaping at each other with wide eyes.

“I—” Tim opened his mouth but changed his mind and fired his grapple at another branch.

“Tim, please wait!”

Tim didn’t listen. He disappeared into the leaves. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” his voice came out from the shadows. (Despite the situation, Bruce was extremely proud of Tim’s abilities to hide in the shadows, having improved enough to confuse him). “But I have to go. Everything will be alright soon now, I promise.”

And then he was gone.

-----------------------------------------------------

Bruce grimaced and played the camera footage.

Dick, Alfred and Barbara watched apprehensively as Tim snuck out of his window then encountered Bruce running towards him.

"Tim!"

"Fuck you!"

"Timothy Jackson Drake."

Dick facepalmed. Barbara sighed heavily. And Alfred narrowed his eyes with anger.

Bruce hrrned, purely out of nervousness.

Dick spoke, "If you manage to fuck this up even more then—"

"Tim left his Robin suit."

Barbara sighed again.

"And… why would he leave his Robin suit?" Dick asked, his face showing that he clearly knew the answer but was hoping for it to be otherwise.

"He… quit."

Barbara's next sigh turned into a groan.

"He quit?" Dick said coolly.

"While the Red Hood has already beaten him severely three times so far?" Alfred asked.

"I…" Bruce cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I benched him."

Dick's eyes flashed in anger. "You benched—" He stopped and took a deep breath.

"Bruce," Barbara finally spoke. "Remind me again what happened the last time you benched Jason?"

Bruce gritted his teeth.

"He went and got himself killed and is now crashing around Gotham in a bloodlust as a "gift" for you," Barbara answered the question herself.

Bruce hrrned again.

"Remind me what happened the last time you benched Dick?"

Bruce pushed down the urge to groan.

"Discowing. The fucking. Discowing."

"Hey, it wasn't that ba—"

"Yes, it was, Dick! Yes, it was."

"How do you plan on fixing this now, Master Bruce?" Alfred interjected.

Bruce rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. "Go and talk to him?"

"Go and—" Dick burst into laughter.

"Good luck with that, B," Barbara scoffed as she wheeled away. "Meanwhile, I'm going to try and bring Tim back before he dies. And I'm doing it my way."

Alfred huffed. "I suggest you sit quietly and let me tend to your injuries from last patrol. After that, a shower and a full night's rest sounds good."

Bruce knew that was an order. If he protested now, who knew what horrors the butler would unleash upon him?

He left the computer and walked to the med bay with Alfred, leaving Dick still wheezing on the Cave floor.

Chapter Text

Tim sprawled on the grimy floor, whimpering like a girl on her menses.

To be clear, Tim was not on his menses. He didn’t even have a uterus. He was whimpering because cleaning fucking sucked. He was whimpering in sympathy for Alfred because the safe house he currently resided in was as dirty as fuck since he hadn’t visited it for two years.

And also because he was alone again and his still-broken arm was throbbing with pain. Fuck, Jason was taking the Cain instinct way too literally. For that metaphor, he would have to be Jason’s brother first. With all that was happening, that fantasy was going to be a fantasy for the rest of his short, lonely depressing life.

Damn it, he hated this. He hated himself. He hated Ra’s. He hated Lazarus Pits. He hated Jason too, just a bit. He didn’t have to break his arm a third time. He could have broken another arm. He had two for a reason.

Tim turned to the side and just cried.

-----------------------------------------------------

Tim hadn’t really known just how much effort it took to living alone.

Well, he did, but he had everything he needed in Drake Manor. Food, heating, lighting, luxuries and like a hundred rooms. He didn’t need to work or earn money or anything. He just had to order groceries every month and check in with his bank accounts every once in a while and that was it.

Now, he was really and truly by himself. A true Adult. He should probably get a job too.

…

Yeah, no.

Tim sighed and finally got up from the floor. It was time to rob a bank.

-----------------------------------------------------

Robbing a bank wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He just needed his laptop, wi-fi and an ATM machine. Besides, he was robbing his own account. So that technically didn’t count as crime, did it?

Okay, if Tim completely boiled it down, he was only taking out all the money from his account and transferring it in cash. The only “crime” bit was doing it without letting his parents know. They may not care about him, but they definitely cared about his bank account.

Within minutes, Tim was scrambling to stuff as much cash as he could with just one arm in his jacket and garbage bag. He looked like a bloated money man. He looked like—

Oh God. He looked like Kingpin from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse. How disgusting. How vile.

Tim tried his best to sneak out of the ATM and into Gotham streets with a money-filled garbage bag and jacket, trying his best not to look like he was quite literally stuffed with cash. As he shuffled through the streets, he made a big mistake.

He took a shortcut through an alley.

As soon as he took one step in, a muzzle of a gun was pressed to his forehead.

Tim went cross-eyed, looking at the gun.

"Give me all your money," the mugger hissed.

Tim blinked.

"Don't act clueless. You look stuffed with cash. You steal it?" The mugger grinned. "Didn't mama teach you stealing's wrong?"

Tim scowled. "Hypocrite." He kicked the guy in the nuts, twisted his wrist, snatched his gun and ran away. That guy chose the wrong kid to rob.

He quickly ran over to his bike (which he still had since he used that to drive from Drake Manor) and jumped on it. He needed to be out of the streets before the Bats spotted him. He wouldn't be able to face them now. He didn't think he would be able to face them again. (He did seriously think about going to Dick, Babs and Alfred to say goodbye, but had to talk himself out of it.)

Back at his crusty, dusty, rusty and musty safehouse, Tim opened the vault hidden behind a secret (cobweb-covered) wall opening. It was the reason he had chosen this safehouse in particular. After shoving all the cash in, he slammed the vault close and pressed the fingerprint scan on the odd brick to seal the covering closed. He turned around to face the rest of his new grime-covered home. How delightful.

---------------------------------------------------

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. Tim was living off chicken nuggets, noodles and coffee for the past day and a half. He had to order the food in a nearby park then collect it there and walk home since his address didn’t technically exist. Plus, if he spent too long inside the prison cell-like home, he was sure to get diseases. He was also bored. Terribly. Buzzfeed Unsolved could have only so many episodes.

He also removed the sling from his arm. It was mostly fine now. He still had the cast on, of course, but he didn't actually need the sling. It had been months, he was pretty sure his arm had healed all it could now. Besides, it wouldn't do to show up in front of Talia with such a plain weakness in sight.

As soon as midnight struck, starting the next day, Tim all but ran out to his bike.

He drove through the streets, hair on his arms standing upright in tension. With every blob-looking shadow he passed, he nearly jumped out of his skin (metaphorically).

Finally, he arrived at the docks. With some difficulty because driving a bike with a broken arm gave you a sort of thrill at every bend that spelled ‘CERTAIN DEATH’.

It took a while to locate where exactly the toilets were. Gotham wasn’t the best in terms of public facilities. Not when they kept blowing up every other weekend and business day.

He entered the hallway leading to the toilets and paused.

…Should he go to the female toilets or the male toilets?

Tim winced.

The two male and female figures on the doors stared back at him with blank faces.

In the entirety of his short life, he had been in the women’s bathroom twice. The first time was when he was two and had spilled juice all over his shirt and his mother had taken him to the bathroom to clean it. The second time was when Killer Croc threw him through a wall. It was a very ouchy experience.

It looked like the men’s except without the urinals. And the toilet cubicles had bins in them specially for pads.

He hadn’t been awkward those times because he was… well, he was two and later, in the middle of a fight. Now, he was nearly an adult. He wouldn’t mind entering the female toilets if not for the fact that there would be a female in there. And even though Talia wouldn’t exactly be using the toilet when he entered, it would still prove to be an embarrassing affair.

Just as Tim turned into that sweaty-man-pressing-button meme, his eyes caught another sign. ‘Unisex Disability Toilet’.

Oh thank goodness. Tim dashed to the door and wrenched it open.

He got in then shut the door and leaned against the door, breathing heavily.

And standing in front of him, was Talia Al Ghul, in all her deadly glory.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” she sniffed.

Tim nodded. “Talia Al Ghul.” He locked the door. “I presume you have the cure?”

“No.” She folded her arms. “But I have instructions. And you will get them after you tell me what I’m going to get in return.”

Tim considered the devastated faces of Bruce, Dick, Alfred and Barbara, he considered the feverish nights where they spent trying to look for him, he considered the times he stumbled in on them quietly crying, he considered the looks of pain they held every time he arrived bloody and beaten.

He considered how happy they all were before Jason’s death.

And suddenly, there wasn’t much to consider at all.

“Anything you ask me, I’ll do,” Tim replied with a shaky breath.

Talia narrowed her eyes. “Anything?”

Feeling much like making a deal with the devil (oh wait-), Tim agreed, “Anything.”

Talia tilted her head, examining him up and down. Then she unfolded her arms and threw a USB at him (which she pulled out from nowhere whoaaaa, was she a magician too?).

Tim caught it with one hand then brought it down to stare at it.

“Everything’s in there,” Talia said. “Meet me at the top of the LGU building same time next week. Pleasure doing business with you, Timothy. ”

Tim smiled and unlocked the door. “Ditto. Thanks for the universal serial bus.” He saluted and turned the handle of the door.

They both stepped out at the same time.

Talia turned and regarded him one final time. “You’re a curious person, Timothy.”

“Thanks?” Tim frowned.

Talia hummed. “If you don’t show up next week, I will hunt you down and plant your head on a pike with your blood dripping down from your neck.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Nice picture. You should be a writer.”

Talia scoffed, then turned on her heel and walked out, disappearing into the shadows.

Chapter Text

Tim was not autistic in a sense where he didn't know how to behave with people.

Tim was autistic in a sense where he paid more attention to his special interests and hyperfixation than people themselves. This used to annoy his parents quite a lot because he often lost track of time and ended up accidentally ignoring them. Take note of the use of past tense because they weren't around to get annoyed at him anymore. (Though they still managed to get annoyed at him somehow from continents away.)

This was another case of the "hyperfixation" because by the time Tim finished micro-examining every single databyte in the USB, an entire day had passed and he had not yet eaten nor gone to the bathroom nor slept. In fact, when he keeked up from his screen, the time was exactly the same as it had been when he first plopped himself in front of the screen. 1 o' clock in the morning.

Tim thought things were completely normal because he got up, stretched, and made his way to the small kichenette to grab a cup of coffee. It was only while he was waiting for the elixir from heaven to heat up, did he check his phone. And see the date.

"Nineteenth of September?! Wasn't it the eighteenth?" Because he had to visit Talia on the eighteenth.

As Tim processed the information, the coffee machine beeped.

Tim slowly grabbed a mug and poured it full.

"Huh," he said to himself. "Interesting." Maybe there was some merit in Babs's suggestion of getting himself checked out for neurodivergency.

In any case, it was worth it because A) Alfred didn't need to know about this and B) he knew exactly what he needed to know.

Plopping himself down in front of his laptop again on the bed, Tim started to type up a report of his findings.

Thia rwport will be used to keep record of the findings given by Talia Al Hhul (see: File C31) on the properties of the Lazarus Pit (see: File O89) amd the manipulation of those properties in order to cure the victim Jasom Todd, AKA the former Robin, AKA Red Hood (see: Drake File #3).

Tim rubbed his eyes tiredly. He might actually go to sleep after this. Maybe.

The Universal Serial Bus (USB) handed to the author contained text, images and video defining the Lazarus Pit, explaining its proprties and inner workings, the experimentation done with it on members of the League of Assassassins, the findings, and the hypothesis of a possible "cure" for it. The file on the Pit in the Batcomputer addressed the Pit as a means for Ra's Al Ghul (see: File C30) to revive himself and "escape" death in order to prolong his life and live as an immortal. Not much was knowm of it until now.

The Llazarus Pit is named after a Christian lore of a man revived from the dead. Despite the lore, it doesn't necessarily revive people completely from the dead. It still has restorative powers that can turn a weak man person healthy and freshly rejuvinate anyone close to death, making it a perfect cure for cancer but Ra's Al Ghul's villainy and his league of assassins keep from anyone accessing it.

However, it was confirmed by Talia Al Ghul that Jason Todd had been brought in (somehow alive, to be further looked into) and his frail form— No. Robin cannot be frail. But this author is, in fact, currently frail and very tired and can't keep up with formality and fuck. No one's gonna see this report anyway what the hell.

I'm discoing this.

So Talia brought Jason's somehow-still-alive body and then pushed him into the Pit to revive him. Probably pushed him. Maybe she lowered him down with a crane. Idk. Fact check later.

The point is, the Pit fully revived Jason and he was not only fully healed, but bigger, buffer, stronger and faster. Maybe I should take a dip in the Pit. But it's prolly not worth it cuz it manipulates your brain. The USB said it was sumth to do with chemicals in the brain or something. They found through experimentation that the Pit had otherworldly mystic energy/aura in it. It somehow flows from the Earth's core to the surface like lava, but because of some mystical intervention along the way (note: ask Zatanna or Dr. Fate about that), it bubbles into some youth+health juice combo deal.

I wonder if it tastes like Mountain Dew. Well, seeing as it comes from the Earth'ds fucking core and the person who uses it goes through intense burning pain, it probably tastes like really shitty and painful Mountain Dew. I think I'll settle eith Red Bull or Monster. Not Prime. Prime sucks.

What the armPit basixally does is that its chemicals flood your body to rejuvinate it at an otherworldly pace, but it also tries to rejuvinate your brain. Not in a sense where you get smarter (unfortunately, but then again, you wouldn't want a smart Ra's either so ig it is fortunate), but in a sense where that otherworldly aura increases the volume of your brain just a teeny bit by adding a layer of itseld in it.

So: there's a brain, chilling. Then the Lazarus pit enters and whooosh, there is a green layer over it, "increasing" the "strength" of the brain too. I think I might draw a picture actually.

I'm not good at art, but this is good enough!

So that extra layer is literally just chemicals thinking themselvws to be part of the brain. It interferes with your emotions and memories and shit because of the chemicals touching tjose part of the brain—amygdala and hippocampus and whatnot. It is also why the eyes appear green.

And there didn't used to be a cure for that, cuz Ra's liked how his disgusting crusty armpit brain was. But he did want to see how he could "increase" the strength of his brain. So he decided to start science experomens with it using his assassins as test subjects. Talk about workplace abuse and lack of ethical considerations. Would NOT want to work there lol (note for future self: don't join Ra's Al Ghul under ANY circumstances. Creepo.)

Anyways, they found that certain chemicals can be used to change the Lazarus layering of the brain. But these chemicals need to unique in composition just as how the Pit's liquid is unique in composition.

These are the following things present in the USB that they tested plus some I can recall off the top of my head:
Green kryptonite
Red kryptonite
Blue kyrptonite
Yellow kryptmite
Black krpyjahabxbkfow
Pink akrkjfjwiabs
Purple akjfbfnqka
Stupid fucking rainbows these bitches be gay
Fear gas (eugh)
Cuddle pollen (...)
Joker venom (HELLO?????)
Rage toxin
Erbium
Mercury
Bananas. Fucking bananas. I cant even— i cant even explain like. Bananas. I have to make banana smoothie for Jason. (Mixed eifh a bit of red kryptonite and a bit of i think pink kryptonite and maybe a touch of cuddle pollen for it to— yeah, i think i'll expand on this a little later)

Liquidifying these little fuckers and combining them together can slowly chip away at the Lazarus layer around tje brain. But its very important to time the injection of these liquids and the measurement of them too. Because these liquids affect the Lazarus liquid in the body and brain, but also the body itself. Severely.

Carefully.measuring tjem and injecting only little amounts into Jason on tbe neckwill make sure that the Lazarus elixir in Jason's body only will be affected. Because fhe Lazarus probably keeps common colds from affecting Jason (mot severe colds though, they probably affect him in the way common colds would). The Lazarus would try to fight the liquids, but it also depletes the Lazarus liqiid levek in his body, but especially his brain.

Becaise the brain is easiest to get for the liquids than the body because the Lazarus liquid has firmly bonded with Jason's body. It is only layered in the brain. Its separated in the brain becaus… i dont fucking know. This thing's confusig as hell and im so fucking tired like. So tired. Jason bette rbe happy for all im foing for him and Bruce and Dick and Alfred and bSrba an

Tim tipped forward and fell asleep on his keyboard.

---------------------------------------

When Tim woke up, he woke up to 76 pages of the letter 'f'.

He also woke up to the sound of his phone ringing.

Tim rolled off his laptop and groaned, patting around the bedside table to find his phone. Feeling the phone case in his hand, he raised it to his ear.

"Hello?"

The phone kept ringing.

"Oh right." He accepted the call. "Hello?"

The line crackled. "Timothy."

Tim shot up like a bullet. "Dad! Uh, hi!"

"Timothy, why is it taking so long for you to answer your phone?"

"Sorry, I was asleep." Tim grimaced, checking the time. Nearly noon.

Jack grunted. "How are you faring from the kidnapping?"

"I'm okay," he lied. "The hospital patched me up really well thanks to Bru— Mr. Wayne."

"Don't forget to convey me and your mother's gratitude to him again for that."

Tim sighed. Gratitude for Bruce but no gratitude for his safety. "I'll do that, dad."

"There has also been a suspicious alert pinged to me from your bank account."

Tim froze. "Oh?"

"I can't make neither heads nor tails of it! The message is scrambled with random letters and numbers, but the message is from the bank."

He must have made a mistake when blocking the alert from reaching his parents, his sleep-deprived brain had been too thick and heavy to focus on the screen. "I'll inquire it with the bank, dad."

"I have half a mind to call them myself for this sick joke—"

"No need, dad!" Tim put hurriedly. "I can handle it. I'm supposed to be an independent person, right? I'm sure I can find out why they, uh, sent that message."

Jack grunted in affirmation. Then his tone shifted. "It's currently the school holidays for you, right?"

Nope. "Yup."

"Well, you might have to spend them by yourself. We met Ali Ben Styn, a renowned and famous celebrity, and he invited us to travel to Egypt for some new site diggings of a unique statue molded into a mountain. It is a rare opportunity, Timothy!”

Tim squinted at the familiar name, but he kept quiet for the sake of the excitement in his dad’s voice. “That’s cool, dad. So… when will you be back?”

“That is to be decided, Timothy. We musn’t rush these things, you know.”

Yeah, he knew quite well. Which was why he hoped, for once, that his parents stayed out of the country for a few more months. He had things to do and with his parents in town, it would become infinitely harder.

“Okay, stay safe.”

“You too.”

The line beeped closed. Tim sighed and lay back down, sprawling over the bed, phone loosely held in his hand.

Not for the first time, he wondered whether this… this plan, Operation: Bring the Waynes Back Together, was sound or not. For one thing, he was certainly suffering even more alone than with the others.

But no, he shook that thought away. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. Because Tim wasn’t supposed to even be in this plan. He was irrelevant to the plan. He was just plain and simple irrelevant actually. He had been since he was born.

It was a fact of the world. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Tim was irrelevant.

He shifted his head and heard the crinkle of paper. It was only then he realized that he had several sheets of paper spread over his legs instead of a blanket. That was weird, he hadn’t remembered printing anything.

Then he turned his head and saw seven mugs of coffee on his bedside table. Yeah, he definitely didn’t remember that either.

He sighed and went to wash up.

-----------------------------------------

It was while he was in the shower that his phone rang again.

He hadn't expected his parents to call back so soon again. So when he heard the ringing, he yelped and slipped in the shower, banging his head against the wall and falling on top of the soap and shampoo, the steam clouding over him.

He lay there for a few moments, cursing his life, before finally picking himself up and stumbling to the pocket of his bathrobe to dig out the phone. He held it up and read the caller ID.

Barbed Wire.

Tim immediately switched off the phone.

As quick as possible, he dropped his phone on the sink's table, quickly slipped the bathrobe on, then grabbed the phone and escaped from the bathroom. He practically flew to his laptop, quickly entering his password and pulling up his online-defense app. Plugging the phone into his laptop, he opened up the problem.

Fuck, he underestimated Barbara's determination. He should have known that she would abandon even the mission with the Birds of Prey to look for him. Damn it, now he was paying the consequences.

He tapped the enter key and immediately the black screen filled up with a green code. Tim winced before opening the emergency protocol on his laptop. Before he could click on the button to delete everything, a word popped out of the text.

WAIT.

Tim bit his lip in sympathy.

NO SERIOUSLY. TIM, PLEASE.

Tim squeaked.

IF YOU CLICK THAT BUTTON I AM GOING TO GET VERY MAD AT YOU.

Tim groaned.

AND I’LL RUIN YOUR FAVORITE COFFEE MACHINE TOO.

Damn Babs. But this was better for everyone.

I’M SORRY, he typed then clicked the button.

Immediately, his laptop went into shutdown, deleting all data and forcing Babs out. Good thing he had everything on a USB. And print, he thought looking around at the blanket of papers still on his bed.

While his laptop did that, he quickly saved all the important files into Google Vault and rebooted his phone too. He knew for a fact that his parents wouldn’t contact him again for at least a couple months. Maybe more if Ali Ben Styn was still the same flaunting man as he was when the Young Justice had met him.

After that was done, he popped outside to get some breakfast.

------------------------------------------

He walked along the streets, nodding along to Young Blood by Noah Kahan.

“And if you want, I could tell the truth,” he sang to himself. “That this life takes a toll on you.”

He entered the cafe and walked to the counter, still humming to himself, when the lyrics suddenly made him stop.

I spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul,
And in the morning I'm bullet proof.

He wasn’t Robin anymore. He didn’t have the bulletproof armor that will make Hood’s attacks at least survivable. He needed armor. He needed… he needed another armor. He needed to design another costume.

“Um, are you going to order or not?” the guy at the register asked.

Tim looked up, eyes still wide. “Oh. I— yeah, um, can I have a sandwich and black coffee please?”

“We’ll get it to your table.”

“Thanks.” Tim dazedly walked away. The song came to an end, but he quickly pulled out his phone and put it on loop. He needed it for his next moves forward.

Digging out a pen from his pocket, he grabbed a napkin and started drawing. He got lost in this hyperfixation again. The waitress had to tap his shoulder to get his attention for his order. He quickly paid and tipped, then went back to drawing, taking sips of coffee in between.

At the end of the hour, he held up the finished design on the napkin to the light, examining it.

It had the key Robin components. The suit wasn’t a top and a bottom like the Robin suit, it was a one-piece. More like Dick’s suit. There were straps around the arms and thighs for serum storage so he could inject them into Jason. The mask included a domino mask, but also another mask that covered his mouth. The color scheme was dark, more midnight blues and blacks so he could blend into the dark better. There were dimmed red and green highlights because apparently the Lazarus Pit really played on the color blindness thing and it would help him throw off Jason’s eyes on him.

The song played in the background as he inspected the design.

Keep your time, keep your mind, keep it humble,
Start your life in the middle of the jungle.

A voice spoke behind him, “That your supervillain costume?”

Tim turned around to find an old woman with erratic white hair sitting behind him, eyes on the napkin with his design.

You,
Young Blood.

“Um.” He really did not know how to answer to that.

She grinned then tapped her nose. “Won’t tell,” she promised. “Just try not to get hurt too much.”

Tim smiled at her. “Thanks.”

You,
Young blood.

He was probably going to get hurt. A lot. But it was going to be worth it.

Young blood.

Chapter Text

He made the costume in two days. He thought it would take much longer to make his costume. But he had miscalculated the amount of free time he had.

Of course, he had also miscalculated the fact that he had to sleep sometimes too. Which was why he was currently staring grumpily at the spot of drool on the pant leg of his costume from when he had taken an impromptu nap.

He dropped off the costume in the nearest laundromat (along with the rest of his dirty clothes… which were very little. Boy, he forgot how much of a blessing it was to have Mrs. Mac and Alfred look after some of his things). When he got home, he dived into the list he had created of all the toxins and chemicals and shit he needed for the serums for Jason. It was quite a long list. So he supposed he better got cracking.

---------------------------------------------------

That evening, after he dried his costume impatiently with a hair-dryer, he slipped into it and decided to take it out for a test run. As soon as he jumped off his first building, he felt something tear.

Landing on the next rooftop, he touched his backside and felt the tear right at his butt crack.

Oh baloney capers.

That wasn’t good.

So he had to go back inside and stitch that up and make a couple other adjustments.

When he took that out for a test run, he reported no other tears, happily.

He smiled down at the cars and people on the ground that was coming up fast. “WHOO!” he yelled elatedly and fired his grapple gun at the last minute, jumping back up before he fell splat.

For an extra measure, he backflipped before landing on the rooftop.

Grinning widely, he let out a relieved sigh. This was great. The plan was going swellingly.

--------------------------------------------------

In order to gather all the kryptonites and toxins, Tim needed to become a thief. The materials were rare, highly dangerous and expensive which was why he couldn’t just walk into the nearest gas station and order 50mls of pink kryptonite.

So he needed to steal instead.

Fortunately, the criminals of Gotham loved smuggling. And smuggle they did, pretending to walk nonchalantly along the streets carrying dangerous goods.

Tim knew how and where to get a few of the resources thanks to the intel he had gathered and recorded as Robin. He loved past-Tim so much for being so convenient and strategic.

“Heads up!” he crowed before kicking the criminal’s face.

The guy fell with an oomph, but he recovered quick, scrambling to his feet and facing him. “Whaddaya want?” he spat.

“You have something you shouldn’t, but it’s also something I need.”

The man snorted. “What? You think a scum like me has money?”

“I didn’t mean money.” He tilted his head at his coat pocket.

He looked at it, at Tim, then back at it. Then he lunged.

Which… Tim was already expecting, so he easily dodged his attack and tripped him with his foot.

The man fell again and Tim kicked him in the face, making him cry out, “Little fuck.”

“Tsk tsk. Didn’t mama and papa teach you not to swear, you fucking bitch?” He kicked him again, causing his nose to bleed. “But then again, I suppose their teachings don’t matter when compared to Scarecrow.”

Tim crouched down, twisting the guy’s arm painfully. The man howled.

“How is it being his goon? Good dental care?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a package wrapped in shitty Dora the Explorer wrapping paper. He snorted. “You wrapped fear toxin in a kid’s wrapping paper?”

“Don’t know what yer talking about,” the guy said with a strained voice. “That’s just a gift fer my daughter.”

“Liar.” He twisted his arm further and the man cried out again. “I saved your daughter from you, you abusive prick.”

He let go of his arm and got up, carelessly unwrapping the paper. Sure enough, he held up the thick vials of fear gas powder. All he needed to do once he got home was liquidify it and it would be usable.

The guy had gotten up again and was about to swing at him, when Tim punched him in the face with his fist, not taking his eyes off the serum. The man dropped again with a moan.

He tilted the vials upside down, examining the contents. Yep, this would do great.

“Thanks for this, man.” He picked up the wrapping paper and clumsily wrapped it again before pocketing it in his utility belt. “You’re gonna be doing a family a great service. For once.”

“You can’t just fucking mug me, you son of a bitch!”

“Uhhh, I think I just did.”

“Uhhh, I don’t think so.”

Both of them turned towards the new voice belonging to the black and blue figure dangling from the fire escape.

“Nightwing!” the Scarecrow goon yelled. “Shit.”

Tim was frozen. Yeah. Shit.

“What are you doing mugging people, kid?” Nightwing swung down and landed in front of them. He squinted at him and Tim tensed.

He stared at Dick. He looked… a little disheveled. Mostly his hair. Probably from the swinging around Gotham. Though it wouldn’t usually look like that if he had gelled it.

Nightwing tilted his head at him and Tim thought he was outed for sure. But then he only grinned and said, “I don’t think this is the path you wanna walk on, kid. That’s a cool costume though.”

It was all Tim could do to not sag in relief.

“Yeah!” the man piped up from the ground, clutching his arm and blood streaking down his nose. “This kid was beatin’ me up! Caught me off guard! You gotta get him back real good, Nightwing, he—”

“Oh shut up,” Nightwing rolled his eyes. “I know you, mister. Well, I don’t know your name but I do know your face.” He shoved the man with his foot before quickly clicking cuffs on him. “Robin had to save your own daughter from you a few weeks ago. He couldn’t catch you then, you’re a good runner. I’m here to finish his job.”

“Wait, no!”

Tim took that as his cue to run.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, his muscles screamed at him, urging him to go faster. Tim pumped his legs harder.

This was bad. This was so very bad. Why did Dick have to patrol this specific area tonight? His first night out to collect the materials needed to help Jason and he had to run into Nightwing. He supposed he was lucky he didn’t run into Batman instead.

Just before Tim turned a tight corner, a figure landed in front of him and punched him in the face.

Before he could even process his thoughts, his tongue already moved to form the words, “Ow! Dickhead!”

Nightwing froze. Tim did too, his eyes going wide at Dick’s reaction.

“What?” Dick whispered.

Oh no, Tim put too much annoyance in his tone. Dick would recognize his annoyed voice anywhere. Even if it was muffled with a mask.

“Ti— Robin?”

Tim fired his grapple gun.

His feet left the ground, but Dick managed to tackle him before he could make his escape.

The air flew out of his lungs and Tim couldn’t move with Dick’s weight on top of him.

“Robin!” Dick said with such strong worry dripping from his voice that Tim instantly felt guilty. “What the hell are you doing?”

Tim still hadn’t caught his breath enough to reply.

“You ran away just so you could mug people? Are you turning into a villain? Is this what this costume is? Do you hate us now?”

The last question sounded too much like a puppy whine and Tim groaned in frustration.

“Get off me, Dickhead!”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on! Are you in danger? You know we can help you if you are, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

God, he wished he didn’t have to do this alone. He would do anything to have someone help him with his plan. Things would be so much fucking easier if he had someone with him. But that wasn’t how the world worked. That wasn’t how Tim’s world worked. Tim was alone and he would always be.

He reached into the pocket near his thigh where his hand was trapped and opened his eyes, pleadingly looking at Dick. “I’m sorry,” he said before crunching the marble in his hand and throwing the gas that leaked out into Dick’s face.

Immediately, Dick’s hold on him loosened. Tim threw him off and got up, looking down with guilt.

“Tim… wait…” Dick coughed weakly. “Don’t… go…” His eyes closed and he tipped forward.

Tim caught his head and put him down slowly. He ran his hand through Dick’s hair once. Dick didn’t move, the chloroform gas rendering him asleep.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “But it’s for the best. You’ll see.”

After pressing the panic button on Dick’s suit, Tim turned and ran the hell out of there.

------------------------------------------

The vials at least weren’t damaged during his scuffle with Nightwing. He transferred the contents safely into a sealed and air-tight metal box. Grabbing his pen, he crossed off fear gas on the list of resources he needed to collect.

Tim stared at the list as the lyrics to the song on his playlist played through his earbuds.

And oh, poor Atlas
The world's a beast of a burden
You've been holding on a long time
And all this longing
And the ships are left to rust
That's what the water gave us

Tears formed in his eyes and Tim covered his face and groaned. Why did lyrics have to hit so hard?

Lay me down
Let the only sound
Be the overflow
'Cause they took your loved ones
But returned them in exchange for you
But would you have it any other way?
Would you have it any other way?
You couldn't have it any other way—

Tim took off his earbuds and stormed into the bathroom. There, as the hot water dripped down his back, comforting his muscles, he cried his heart out then cursed it for being so emotional.

------------------------------------------------------------

Tim was more careful the next time he went out to steal some more shit for Jason’s serums. He didn’t run into anyone else, fortunately, though there was a close call once when he nearly got sighted by Batman.

For the next three days, Tim hunted down people and stole the things he needed from them. Or, if they weren’t criminals, he used his Alvin Draper disguise to buy it.

On the day of the meet with Talia as per their deal, he had arrived home just after traveling to Lexcorp to steal green kryptonite from him. His arm was starting to smart again after the narrow escape.

He now had a good bunch of things from the list. Soon, he could get started on timetabling the doses and creating them and tracking Jason so he could start curing the Lazarus Pit from him. Soon, the whole Wayne family would be back together again and everyone will be happy.

With that comforting thought, he drifted off to sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------

Tim woke up to adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew exactly why.

He was late. He was late to meet Talia Al Ghul.

“FUCK!” Tim jumped off the bed with a scream.

Two minutes later, he had his helmet and was running outside and starting his bike. Fortunately, he had slept in his suit so he didn’t have to change. Although, he did wish he snagged a jacket before running out.

He drove through the roads as fast as he could. There was barely any traffic around at this time as it was the most dangerous time where crime ran rampant. It was also the times where the vigilantes would be patrolling and on the lookout for any suspicious activity. So Tim slowed down enough that his engine wouldn’t rumble too loudly.

The LGU building was just a game-designing office at the edge of the city with very strict access as to who got to go in and out. Usually, strict access meant mafia corporation, but no. He, Batman and Oracle had checked it out several times. The owner was just paranoid. Which was fair, given the city they lived in.

Tim parked his bike behind a garbage bin behind the building. He cast his eyes up and found a ledge where he could grapple up. He shot the gun and flew up. Landing on the narrow ledge, he grabbed hold of the wall and steadied himself before shooting the grapple gun again.

After two more shots, he flipped on top of the building. And he didn’t fall even once!

Extremely proud of himself, he smiled down at the dimly-lit streets. In fact, he was so absorbed in feeling proud of himself, that he completely missed Talia’s disgruntled figure behind him.

“You’re late. I was about to come and hunt you down as per my promise.”

Tim swiveled around to face her, then immediately took a step back in surprise.

She had her arms folded, lips turned downwards in a displeased frown, wearing her usual green and black robe-like dress. But that wasn’t what Tim was surprised at.

He ogled at the little baby standing beside the Demon Head’s daughter wearing the same disgruntled frown and unamused pose.

“Where the fuck did you get a baby from?” Tim blurted before he could stop himself.

The baby growled. “I am not an infant.”

Omg, it even sounded like a baby.

“You said you would honor your deal, Drake,” Talia said, drawing his attention back towards her. “This is your deal.”

Tim blinked. “What?”

The baby stepped forward, tilting his nose up. “I am Damian Al Ghul,” he declared with an adorable flourish.

“I am the son of Batman.”

And suddenly he wasn’t so adorable anymore.

“W— what?”

“I managed to get Damian out of Nanda Parbat with much difficulty,” Talia continued. “I thought I would keep him with me for a while longer but…” She sighed. “I realized it is not safe for him there. Ra’s made me collect the beloved’s DNA and mingle it with mine to create him so he could train a weapon. I do not want Damian to be an object for him to use.”

“So I am to be the heir of the Bat instead,” Damian piped up. “And you are to take me to my father.”

Talia nodded in confirmation. “This is the deal I am willing to strike with you, young Timothy.” She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Keep Damian safe with Batman, and in exchange, I’ll try to keep my father in ignorance for a while longer and give you a way to get Jason Todd’s mind back.”

Tim stared.

“You said you would honor your deal,” Talia reminded him. “You said you would do anything. Here is the thing you must do. I can keep the Demon Head ignorant for a long time as he doesn’t personally visit Damian often. He has time to train under Batman’s guide and I trust you as his sidekick to—”

“I’m not Robin anymore!”

The wind died down and so did Talia Al Ghul’s voice.

Tim saw Damian’s faltering expression, then Talia’s, then at himself in his new suit and groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m not Robin anymore,” he repeated. “Bruce wouldn’t let me help Jason. So I ran away.”

He rubbed his face roughly and looked back up with guilty eyes. “I have a plan. And I’m not going back until it’s done.”

Chapter Text

There was a point in everyone’s lives where they wondered what they had done to end up where they were now and whether they could go back and change it. It was sort of like the ripple effect. If time-travel was allowed, Tim would be gearing it up to go into the past and stop past-Tim from eating that couch mnm or kicking the ball that crashed into Bruce’s study or whatever had rippled the water in such a way that he was here.

The ‘here’ in question was narrowly dodging blows directed at him from a spitting mad daughter of the Demon’s Head.

“I should have known better than to trust a pathetic little plebeian!” Talia raved as she kicked a leg his way.

Tim dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way, panting. “Dare you to say the last three words really fast.”

“I don’t know why I wasted my time with you in the first place!” Talia ran towards him furiously.

Tim yelped at the raging mama bear storming his way and clambered up the platform with the TV antennae. “Let me just exp—”

Talia screamed another insult and Tim winced as he jumped the other side of the platform.

He glimpsed back to see Talia already on the platform—

When a tiny kitten figure collided into him, throwing him to the ground.

“What the—” He barely caught the fist that was about to smash his nose.

He blinked and spotted Talia’s (and Bruce’s apparently) baby baring his teeth at him. “How dare you deceive my mother!” the baby snarled.

Tim scowled. “I didn’t deceive her, you brat.”

“Liar!”

“If you two would just listen to me—”

Tim was flying.

“Damian, wait.”

He now was no longer flying. He was on the hard stone floor of the rooftop of the building, head pounding, looking up at the grey Gotham smog slowly floating past, pretending to be clouds. He rubbed his eyes.

Did the— did the baby just throw him?

Tim winced and slowly shifted to get up.

No baby could throw anyone like that, Tim decided, looking at Talia and her offspring glare at him. Damian wasn’t a baby. He was a brat.

“Talk,” Talia said, her arms folded and a glare burning holes into Tim’s sockets.

Tim cast a glance at Damian before rubbing his head where it had unfortunately hit the stone hard. “Right,” Tim wheezed.

Deciding that standing was too much of an effort, he planted his butt on the ground instead. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned back up to them. “I want to help Jason,” he explained. “That’s literally all I want to do. I want to help him so that Bruce and Dick and everyone won’t have to be so lost in their grief. So no one has to keep hurting. So Jason can be happy again too and not have to worry about Pit-infused bloodlusts. I want— I want things to be okay again.”

“Jason?” Damian questioned. “Do you mean the other killing machine Grandfather was training personally?”

“What?” Tim looked to Talia in confusion.

Talia didn’t say anything.

Note for later then.

“I worked behind Bruce’s back to find info on how to help Jason get rid of the Pit’s clutch on him, and in the process, I quit being Robin and ran away so I can still keep it from Bruce and the others.”

“Why not tell him?” Talia growled.

“Because it’ll break him again if he finds out about the Pit’s properties and its hold on his son! He believes there’s no cure.”

“But there is,” Talia said. “I gave it to you. Why didn’t you tell him then?”

Tim turned away in pity to avoid seeing the hurt on Talia’s face. “You already know that he doesn’t trust you.”

Silence struck for several moments on the rooftop.

Then, “Why did you neglect to mention all of this to me when we originally met?” Talia asked, shaking whatever sorrow she had and replacing it with anger once more.

“Seriously?” Tim asked with incredulity. “You’re a villain!” He flung his hands in the air. “I wasn’t gonna reveal my plan to bad guys.”

Talia slapped her forehead in exasperation. She very much looked like she would rather be slapping Tim.

“Look,” Tim stepped forward, palms up in a consoling gesture. “There has to be another way to figure this deal out. I can’t go back to Batman or he’ll tie me up and unleash the butler and Grayson’s puppy eyes on me until I change my mind. And that can’t happen, not when I have a way to bring Jason back.”

Talia scoffed and turned away. She walked over to the edge of the building, looking longingly down, as if picturing Tim falling down to an imminent death.

He turned to look at Damian. The kid seemed to be in an unguarded state of shock. Biting his lip and studying the ground below his feet.

Tim felt a twinge of guilt at that. In his process to bring one family back together, he had broken another.

Damian snapped his head up, catching Tim watching him. He threw him a scowl before stalking to his mother’s direction. He said something in Mandarin, Talia didn’t reply back. She instead put a hand on his shoulder, letting it rest there. Damian put his own hand on top of hers, looking down with her.

Tim stared at the intimate gesture. It was so familiar, he couldn’t help flashing back to the quiet nights with Batman.

Batman would be looking down at the city, the smog making the lights and buildings blurry and their edges smooth. Robin would appear at his side, talking about one thing or the other, and Bruce would put a warm hand on his shoulder, listening to the endless spiel about one thing or the other, happy to just listen to his kid.

He did it with Dick. He did it with Jason. And… after a long while, he started doing it with Tim too. Hesitantly at first, but more and more often until it became a habit.

If Damian really was Bruce’s kid… who was to say that Bruce couldn’t do the same thing with him?

Tim gazed up at the sky, devoid of any stars that night, too thick and covered with smog and smoke. He realized then, that his plan needed a change. A big change.

“I have an idea,” Tim said, taking a step forward.

The two turned to him, twin glares on their faces.

Tim took a step back. “I can take Damian in,” he offered. “You already know that my folks are rich. I can more than take care of myself and him. I just… it’s really dangerous with Jason around too, right? He’s out looking for blood. Robin’s blood. He’s broken my arm three times already and if he came to know that Batman now has another son who is his actual son… who knows what he’ll do. But when Jason’s back, I can take him and Damian to Bruce. After all, what’s better than presenting just one son?”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

“You can’t actually be considering this, Mother,” Damian asked.

Talia sighed.

---------------------------------------------------------

Tim flicked the light switch of his humble safehouse. “Ta daaaa,” he said unenthusiastically.

Talia and Damian both froze at the sight.

Tim looked around. There were takeout boxes and empty packaging papers cluttered around the cramped living room. The adjacent, open kitchen counter was painted with various spills, mostly from coffee. The stove was an utter mess, dishes were piled as high as mountains. A good layer of dust, garbage and torn bits of paper coated the floor with grime covering the walls. Tim also knew that the two other rooms in the house, a bedroom and a bathroom, were in even worse shambles.

Talia gagged and clutched her mouth to keep from hurling.

Tim rolled his eyes and dropped his bike helmet on the couch on top of a pile of papers. Of course the Al Ghuls would have had nothing but luxury their whole lives.

“Let me give you a tour,” he said in the same unenthusiastic voice. “Over there’s the bedroom, I can change the sheet tonight if you like, I’ve kinda been procrastinating. Over there’s the bathroom. I did wash the toilet, by the way! Granted, it was a few days ago, but I did wash it! And I have a schedule on how often to wash and clear things! As you can see, this is the living room and kitchen, nothing fancy and a bit messy but—”

“No,” Talia said suddenly, her voice strained.

Tim frowned. “No what?”

“No way is my son living here. I’m giving you a new apartment,” Talia said with an air of finality in her voice.

And Tim was… was about to argue more. But the prospect of a newer, fancier and more comfortable apartment which he didn’t have to pay for stopped him. “Say what?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Tim didn’t knew how Talia did it, but she found a fully secure place to stay in just a couple hours. She grabbed Tim’s laptop and started typing furiously while Tim tried to get to know Damian.

“What did you mean before about Jason?”

Okay, maybe he was trying to get to know more about Jason through him, but hey, he really did not want to fuck up and say the wrong thing to a mini-assassin with an assassin mom.

Damian tutted and rolled his eyes. Rude. “Grandfather took in Todd to use against Father.”

“In what way?”

“That is for Grandfather to know.”

Right. “What about you then?” Tim set up the coffee machine.

Damian raised an eyebrow in question. Wow, he looked a lot like Bruce when he did that. The likeness was simply uncanny.

“What’s your deal?” Tim asked. “Like, your backstory and all.”

“I was raised to be the best and a worthy heir to the mantle of the Bat and the League of Assassins.”

Tim covered up a snort. “You do know that those two things don’t mix, right?”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again when he found no response. He grumbled, then turned to him. “I don’t have to listen to you!” he said, like a baby grinch. “You’re a deceiver. A liar. A weakling.”

“Hey!” The coffee machine beeped that it was done and Tim started pouring coffee into a mug. “And here I was about to offer you some coffee.”

“It smells foul.”

“You truly are the son of the devil.” Tim had sniffed haughtily and turned away to drink his coffee in peace.

So now he stood with his mouth agape at the simply luxurious hotel-like apartment Talia had provided.

The walls were covered in beautifully designed creme wallpaper and even a vase on a table in the entrance hallway. The floors were clean and smooth white tiles with grey swirly designs, the living room and bedrooms had plush carpets that would give for such an awesome floor time experience, there were no appliances missing so Tim didn’t have to go shopping. The only thing he needed to add was food for the shelves, though little sachets of coffee, tea and sugar were already lined up in a cute little container in the kitchen.

“You have it till your little mission is done,” Talia snapped.

Tim blinked and closed his mouth. “Right.”

“I…” Talia hesitated, casting a glance at Damian that Tim only figured out was nervousness two hours after she was gone. “I do not wish to leave Damian here alone,” she admitted. “I want him to stay with his father.”

Tim bit his lip guiltily. “I’ll… make sure he does get to him eventually. Promise.”

Talia sighed. “I made a mistake,” she said. “I never meant to corrupt Jason’s mind.” She regarded Tim. “You have a huge responsibility on you now, Timothy. Are you sure you will be able to handle it?”

Looking after a baby brat assassin while trying to cure a criminal who chopped off heads for fun of his bloodlusts at the same time? Psh, it was a real piece of cake.

Still, he nodded.

Talia turned to Damian. Recognizing that she wanted a brief moment with her son in private, Tim slunk off to drop what little stuff he had in a bedroom. Oh, he got to have first dibs on bedrooms, how exciting!

Looking back and forth between the two rooms facing each other, he chose the one on the right. That one seemed to have a bigger closet.

He quickly secured his safe with the money first. As he put down the rest of his stuff on the bed, he heard Damian’s voice from outside.

“But why would you leave me with him!”

“It’s for your own safety, habibi,” Talia tried to console.

“But… 母亲, what about Father?”

Talia then said something too quiet for him to hear.

She was right. Tim had a big responsibility now. He had to look after a child, and even if that child was as much capable as an actual adult, he was still a child.

The door opened and Tim took that as his cue to go and see Talia out.

Damian had his head bowed and arms tightly folded around himself in more of a hug than anything. Talia spotted him as he appeared from the bedroom. “If he gets hurt, I will kill you. Twice,” she threatened.

“Noted,” Tim said, taking those words seriously.

“Damian, you must listen to Timothy now,” she told her son. “Unfortunately, he has become your guardian due to messy circumstances. Behave well.”

“Yes, Ummi,” Damian mumbled begrudgingly.

“Stay safe,” she said, facing Damian but meaning it to both of them. “I will be back.” It was a reassurance for Damian and a threat for Tim.

With that, she shut the door and left.

Chapter Text

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Tell me about it.” Tim sighed and set down the bowl.

“What’s this?” Damian asked, glaring at it.

“Two minute noodles,” Tim replied, sitting down opposite to Damian on the table.

Damian sniffed at it. “You can’t have made noodles in two minutes.”

“I didn’t. It’s store-bought. I just put it in hot water.”

Damian wrinkled his nose. “I’m not eating peasant food.”

Tim resisted the urge to sigh again. Honestly, if this was how Bruce was when he was younger too, he greatly pitied Alfred. “Just eat it. It’s all I can get in a short amount of time.” When Damian made no move towards it, Tim added, “Or you can go hungry. Your choice.”

Damian didn’t reply.

Tim gave no mind and dug into his own bowl. He was hungry, tired and stressed. He had given food to the baby brat and one of his shirts (which the kid took with much begrudgery when Tim reminded him of his mother’s orders) and that was all he could do for now as he had more important things to take care of, like—oh, solving the Wayne family’s issues. A few moments later though, he heard Damian pulling the bowl close to him.

"Where are the chopsticks?" the boy asked.

"Sorry, no chopsticks for now. A fork's all we have."

Damian humphed in distaste again. He picked up the fork and glared at it.

Tim twirled his fork in the bowl, twisting the noodles expertly around it, and ate.

Damian narrowed his eyes at him and did the same. A little wonkily, but it stayed on the fork. "I'm only doing this because Mother ordered me to listen to you."

"Duly noted."

"But she didn't say that I couldn't listen to you either."

"Double duly noted." Tim picked up his spoon to drink the soup.

Damian stared at the noodles for a few moments more, before finally eating it.

Immediately, he coughed and spit the morsel out in a napkin. "It's undercooked! And lacks spice!"

That was it, Tim gave up.

Fifteen minutes later, Damian watched with a close eye, as Tim scraped the last of the "improved" batch of ramen noodles into Damian's bowl. The only "improvements" were various different spices and hot sauce that they bought from the nearby 24-hour store, boiled into the noodles.

Damian snatched the bowl as soon as Tim scraped the last of it out of the saucepan and grabbed a pair of chopsticks he insisted on buying.

“These don’t seem very healthy,” Damian commented before taking a mouthful.

Tim hummed as he sipped his coffee, reading through his notes on his ipad.

“These look very high and processed with salt too. Do you really eat it every day?”

“What makes you say that?”

Damian leveled him with a deadpan look, pointing at the cupboards with his chopsticks. “There are four six packs of them in the cupboard and you bought two more on our second trip to the store.”

Tim shrugged and went back to his notes and coffee.

“No wonder you look so out of shape.”

“Whatever you say,” Tim mumbled, squinting at the typo he made and trying to discern what he said in his sleep-deprived state yesterday.

There were no more comments from the kid after that. Tim briefly looked up and saw him tipping the bowl to drink the leftover soup with relish. Tim smirked before going back to his plans for tomorrow.

When Damian was finally done, he put the bowl down on the table loudly, making Tim lift his head from typing on his ipad.

Tim blinked at Damian.

Damian stared at Tim.

The two faced off for a few seconds, before Damian tutted, breaking the silence. He took the bowl to the sink and plopped it in.

“Right. Thanks. Uh…” Tim checked the time. “Okay, it’s officially 4am now. I’m gonna leave at eleven-ish to gather some more toxins and such for Jason. Wanna tag along?”

Damian folded his arms with a scowl.

“Or you can just stay here. Your choice.”

Damian didn’t reply.

Tim rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. You can just be silently angry at me too. Whatever suits your mood.” Brat.

He took his ipad and empty coffee mug and disappeared into his room, eager to sleep on a comfortable bed once more.

----------------------------------------------------

Tim got up at half past ten.

He smashed the off button on his alarm and stared at the ceiling, blinking away sleep. He smacked his lips. The designs on his ceiling were a little weird. What’s more, there was a whole lack of any grime or mould. In fact, it sparkled with a modern and lavish look, recently dusted.

And then everything came crashing back into him.

He shot up like a rocket, remembering the tiny assassin living in the apartment across from him and the threat Talia spat at him.

He threw away the covers and ran out to peek in the other bedroom. He was relieved to see that the kid was still there, soundly sleeping, a frown on his face.

“Drake,” the kid hissed, voice quiet in slumber.

Damn, he was angry at him even in his sleep. It was probably the safest if he didn’t wake him and let the Demon’s brat get as much beauty sleep it needed.

Tim walked into the living room and set up a packet of ramen on the stove and clicked the coffee machine on. He then headed into the bathroom to freshen up. The food and coffee was ready by the time he was ready.

He poured the noodles into a clean bowl and coffee into a clean cup. He had approximately six more cups and bowls before he would have to do the dishes. Satisfied with escaping the dishes for now, he grabbed a sticky note and pen from his room and wrote a quick note to the kid and stuck it on the fridge.

Out 2 collect joker venom, pink, purp and black kryptonite, and erbium. Make urself sum more noodles if you like.

It was probably not a good idea to leave a ten-year-old assassin all alone at home, but he didn’t have time. He needed to collect everything and start preparing his witch potion and get started on his mission to bring a family together!

With that, he quickly finished breakfast, packed his bag, and was out. The brat still hadn’t woken up.

He was up by the time Tim came back a little while after midnight though.

As soon as he opened the door, a knife whizzed right at him.

Fortunately, just because Tim left the Robin costume didn’t mean that he had left the skill sthat went with it too. He caught the knife and glared at the brat.

“I’m hungry,” the kid piped up, marching up to him and snatching the knife back casually, as if he just hadn’t nearly murdered him.

Tim gritted his teeth and inched his way in, squeezing through the narrow space the kid gave him and into his room to drop off the very delicate and erosive materials. The kid followed him. Tim put away the things in the safe, covering the lock when entering the password.

“Okay.” He swiveled around. “Time for another trip to the store then.”

They went to the 24/7 store nearby again. Damian glared at any of the few people who were in there, sticking close to Tim. Tim led him to the bread section first.

“You have any preference for bread?”

Damian scanned the aisle. “These are not freshly baked,” he stated. “Like the noodles.”

“Yep.”

The kid sighed again. “Whatever.”

Tim picked white bread, and wholemeal for extra measure, recalling the kid’s comment on the “unhealthy” food options. “Wanna choose fillings for sandwiches?” he offered.

Damian scoffed and wandered off in the direction of the salamis.

Tim grabbed jars of strawberry jam and nutella and a couple sticks of butter as well as coleslaw (there were no vegetables in the store) before Damian appeared with arms full of different sliced meats.

“No comment of why there isn’t a live cow instead?” Tim raised an eyebrow.

“The cashier didn’t find it funny,” Damian muttered, looking away.

Tim held back a snigger and pushed the cart to the self-checkout.

He prepared chicken and coleslaw sandwiches when they arrived at the apartment, making a point to add hot sauce to one for Damian.

“I only have a couple more things to get,” Tim said through a mouthful of sandwich. “Then tomorrow—or, I guess, today technically—Jason will be ready to receive his first dose of Lazarus-receding serum.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. (Ugh, mini-Bruce.)

“Yeah, the name needs a little workshopping,” Tim admitted. “You go to sleep though. I’m gonna be up for a while making the first dose.”

Damian swallowed his mouthful before asking, “What am I supposed to do?”

Tim shrugged. “Whatever you want. As long as you don’t leave the apartment and break anything or murder me. You can watch TV!”

Damian’s shoulders sagged a little, but he said nothing as he took another bite of the sandwich.

“Look, it’s kinda dangerous—”

“I can handle myself!” the kid snapped, faster than a Venus Flytrap.

“I know that,” Tim quickly said. “You didn’t let me finish. I was saying it’s dangerous for others. You’re a mini-assassin. A killing machine, as Ra’s undoubtedly trained you. You need to train to land softer punches before you can fight. We don’t want to kill anyone.”

Damian opened his mouth to say something else, but Tim cut him off quickly. “Batman is very strict about his no-killing rule.”

Damian closed his mouth. He looked away, scowling at something in the distance. “Mother did mention that.”

“There we go. Now, finish your sandwich, brush your teeth and go to bed.”

“Tt. I never see you brushing your teeth.”

------------------------------------------------------------

After a whole night of testing and swearing, the morning rose to Tim successfully holding the first dose of Lazarus-killing disinfectant up.

Tim grinned at the syringe. “Jason, here we come.”

Damian was asleep like the day before when Tim prepared to go out to get the last bit of rage toxin and two bunches of bananas. He bought some apples and kiwis too, to make the kid happy with his health-nut tendencies.

He arrived by late afternoon and found Damian sniffing at a newly opened jar of Nutella. No wonder no knives had greeted him when he entered.

“You ever had Nutella before?” Tim asked, closing the door behind him.

Damian frowned at the sight of him, but answered the question by shaking his head.

Tim grinned. “Kiddo,” he said. “Let me introduce you to heaven.”

A shopping cart later, they were back at the apartment. Tim slathered a helping of chocolate on a toast-to-Nutella ratio on the two pieces of bread. He handed one to Damian and clutched his, waiting to see the kid’s reaction before digging into his own.

Damian stared curiously at the simple treat and sniffed it once. “What is it?”

“Chocolate. Hazelnut.” A doubt entered his mind just then. “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”

Damian shook his head.

Tim relaxed. “Good. Are you allergic to anything else though?”

“Such weaknesses have been pilfered from my body.”

“Okay then.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Go ahead. Take a bite.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re behaving suspiciously.”

“I’m just waiting for you to try a new food, that’s all.” Tim sat back, holding up his own. “I’ll take a bite first then. Dick and I love snagging it from the kitchen cupboard and dipping pretzels in it.”

Damian didn’t say anything as he watched Tim bring the toast closer to his mouth.

Tim bit into the still warm toast with the Nutella slowly melting over it and closed his eyes in delight. Gosh, trying new foods after the same old noodles and takeout for the past few days truly was ethereal. He chewed, savoring the flavor, and swallowed.

He opened his eyes and turned them to Damian. “Your turn.”

Damian examined him with a critical eye then turned back to his toast.

“Best eat it while it’s warm.”

Damian hesitated for a second longer before he closed his eyes and bit into it.

Immediately, his eyes opened in the same thrill as Tim’s. Only, amplified more because he got the high of eating it for the first time. He chewed his bite, licking some of the Nutella off his lips, eyes growing wider and wider.

Tim couldn’t help it. He started cackling.

Damian swallowed his food, reaching for a knife he somehow still kept on his person despite wearing Tim’s shirt before asking, “What’s funny?”

“Nothing!” Tim smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

Damian set his eyes on the toast again.

Recognizing that the kid wanted to savor it in his own time, Tim went to make some more toast and Nutella. Maybe he could make french toast with Nutella tonight. As a reward for getting Jason his first dose of Lazarus-Buster, if they made it.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Tim had called out that he was going to deliver the first dose of chemicals to Damian before leaving, but heard no response. Thinking that the kid was in the bathroom or something, Tim wrote a sticky note and stuck it to the fridge again before heading out with his suit, equipment and syringe.

He swung through the rooftops, hyperaware of the syringe in his utility belt pocket. Through his data of trying to track down Jason’s whereabouts in the past week, he had four approximate locations of where he would be tonight.

The Red Hood was experiencing some minor rebellion within his goon circle and was looking to blast out one of them to keep the rest in line. There were four men who were getting a little restless. Tracking their locations was easy enough. And thankfully, they were all going to be at different locations in a time-chronological order, so Tim would have the chance to scope out the area to see who Red Hood was going to go after.

He stopped by the first guy’s location. The guy walked down the street towards the bar a few blocks over. There would be a crowd there and as much as Hood was fond of blood, he made a point to leave innocent blood out of it. And there were too many innocents in a populated bar like that. So Tim crossed the first guy off the list and moved on to the next one.

The second guy was a scruffy, shifty rat-looking man. His nose almost twitching as he walked across an empty park. He had a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He glanced around at the park, taking whiffs of the cigarette and occasional sips of beer.

Tim observed him for a while, but the guy just seemed to take laps around the park. He sighed from his place in a high-off treetop and crossed the second guy off his list. Creeping along the branch, he jumped off and landed nimbly on the grass.

He was about to wander off to the third guy’s location when something eerie crawled up his spine. A certain shiver of fear.

After being attacked and getting beat up bloody three times, your body had a way of recognizing danger before your brain did.

His arm started throbbing with phantom pain.

Tim slowly turned around, eyes darting across the dark shadows of the park. The moon was a gibbous tonight, its light shining even through the ever-present sheen of smog in the sky.

And it caught on a glint of red in a far away corner, close to the rat-man.

Tim’s breath got caught in his throat sharply. He couldn’t move.

Inch by inch.

The man took a long drag from the cigarette.

Drop by drop.

He dropped the cigarette just as a huge shadow consumed him.

Grunts and screams.

Yellow bursts and rings of gunshots cut through the park. Soon, the screams of pain started too.

He never stopped hurting.

Red. So much red. A puddle, a pond, a pool. The same color as the helmet of the man. Towering over the scene. Looking down without a single spec of remorse.

He was going to die.

Rat-guy gurgled and his chest stopped moving.

“Tim, STAY AWAKE!”

Tim snapped out of his flashbacks, suddenly very aware of the syringe in his pocket. He needed to get close for this. The shot had to be administered at the back of the neck.

He put up his face mask then stepped out of the shadows. His footsteps were light on the grass, but not light enough. Hood’s head twitched in his direction and Tim nearly flinched at the acknowledgement, but continued with his plan.

He hid the syringe in a pocket on his wrist glove, continuing to stalk towards him.

As he got closer, Red Hood turned completely around, facing Tim.

The panic—a sentient and live monster—surged up. Tim stopped dead in his tracks, fighting the monster as it forcibly bubbled up.

He clenched his fists, taming the monster as he forced himself to keep moving.

A good distance between him and Hood set them apart, but compared to his guns, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Hood tilted his head curiously, unafraid. “Hello,” he said pleasantly, the modulator in his helmet crinkling his voice to a petrifying rumble. “Who are you?”

Tim didn’t answer, continuing to advance, shaking his wrist and enclosing his fist around a smoke bomb that popped out of the slot on the arm of his costume.

“You look young, kid. Lost?”

Tim kept advancing, closer and closer. He started circling too.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a child assassin. I’ve had enough of those already.”

Did he know Damian?

Tim shook his head. It wouldn’t do to get distracted now. Just a few more careful steps and he could release the smoke bomb.

Hood continued to examine him, entirely unconcerned at the potential threat. But then again, Tim was trying to ignore the air that they both knew that he, in fact, was the real threat. It was a smoke-bomb-and-a-syringe versus guns fight.

“I’m giving you only a few seconds to scram, kid.” Hood said, losing some of the unconcerned air. “Don’t complain when I start breaking bones.”

Tim couldn’t entirely hide the wince. It made Hood even more amused.

Tim stopped a few feet away from the Red Hood, breathing heavily but trying not to make it obvious.

They faced off, eyeless masks staring into each other, daring the other to move first. They stood still for several moments.

For so long, in fact, that the blood from the dead rat-man spread and touched one of Hood’s boot, coating the sole.

Hood sighed. “Look, kid—”

Tim threw the smoke bomb.

The area immediately erupted into smoke and he could hear the brief surprised exclaim from Hood. He dived into the smoke, the domino mask providing adequate thermal vision.

Spotting Hood’s tight and still posture in between the smoke, he ran towards him, silencing his footsteps.

Within the few moments of the stare-off between him and Red Hood, Tim had been rapidly searching for an opening. His domino mask had shielded his eyes from the crime lord when he found a small opening between the jacket and the helmet that he could inject the serum in.

As soon as he got close enough, he leapt up, ready to lock Hood in a headlock.

But before he could even land, Hood’s hand shot out and enclosed around his neck.

Tim’s eyes popped and before he could even register what was happening, his body slammed against the ground. Thankfully, the ground was grassy and soft, but that still didn’t stop the pain that rung through his head like a hammer to a church bell.

Tim was immobilized for a few seconds, needing time to recover from the fuck-strong strength of Hood’s blow.

That few seconds cost him, however, as his mask was pulled down.

Before Tim could move, Hood lowered his mask, revealing his face, bar the bit covered by the domino mask.

He thought the domino mask would at least hide him. Just a little bit. But, he supposed as Hood sneered down at him, one would know the face which they’d spent months staring at and beating into the ground.

Tim twisted his body weight and snapped his hand at Hood’s elbow joint at the same time, breaking from the hold and rolling away to a safe distance. He stood up just as Hood’s low chuckle rolled through the park.

“Well, well, well,” he said gleefully. “Hasn’t the Robin gotten a new costume. More true to its animal counterpart I suppose.”

I’m not Robin anymore, Tim tried to say, but his voice had abandoned him ever since Hood’s hand touched his throat. The throat where he still had the scar from Titans Tower.

“Your costume’s not gonna save you, birdie,” Hood sneered.

Tim swallowed.

“However.” Even through the presence of a modulator, Tim could hear the smile in his words. “Since you’ve so neatly brought us this opportunity for another message to Batman, why not indulge in it?”

Enough, you’re wasting time, Tim.

He shot forward, heading for a headlock again. Hood seemed disinterested in his guns at the moment in favor of playing and using brute force instead. He dodged the blow aimed his way and slid behind Hood.

Trying again, he leapt and successfully landed on his back, locking his arms around his neck.

Hood roared and shook, trying to get rid of him.

Tim held on, refusing to let go.

With another yell, Hood moved back. Tim’s eyes widened at the sight of a thick tree rushing his way.

He braced for impact.

He collided with the hard wood—(damn, trees weren’t as soft as they used to be)—breath knocked out of his lungs with the force. Tim groaned and slumped, but Hood caught his arms and rammed his back into the tree again on purpose, using Tim as a cushion against the collision.

He rammed his back again and again and again.

Tim felt his ribs creak and protest painfully, against the repeated blows.

Tim groaned. He gasped, but failed to catch even a single breath against Hood’s relentless attacks. He knew, a couple more strikes and his back was broken, just like Bruce’s with Bane.

This was it.

This was the end.

He barely started fixing the Wayne family and now he was going to die for it.

And then, Tim could breathe again. And he took full advantage of that, sucking in breaths faster than a vacuum cleaner. He kneeled on his hands and knees, wheezing, vision blurring a little.

When he looked up, he found a white and black-clad small figure leaping and bounding around the huge brickhouse of a man, managing to dodge every blow and land a couple himself. The little shadow held its own very well, with as much fierceness as his father.

Just then, Damian caught his eye. “Do it, you fool!” he yelled, kicking Red Hood in the helmet.

Tim quickly got up and brought out the syringe. He charged forward, approaching Hood’s back safely thanks to Damian’s unexpected distraction. He raised the needle and clambered on Jason’s back once more. He jammed it at the back of his neck, pressing down on the trigger.

Red Hood roared with fury.

Tim left the syringe in and leapt off before he could get caught again. Grabbing Damian’s arm, he started running towards the nearest exit where his bike was parked. Jason was still screaming with fury behind them, but Tim didn’t look back.

He didn’t look back when he jumped on the bike with Damian. He didn’t look back as he revved the bike to its top speed. He didn’t look back as he turned corners and raced through the roads. He didn’t look back when they arrived at the bottom stairs of the apartment building.

In fact, when he did look back, it was after the door was locked and he knew he was safe.

He leaned his head against the door, breathing heavily, ignoring the intense pulsing of his back. Once his breathing got in control, Tim slowly turned around to face Damian.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Chapter Text

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Tt. Saving you from death,” Damian rolled his eyes, crossing his arms again. He was wearing the same white and black ninja-suit now, changed from Tim’s t-shirt.

“And who was going to save you?”

“I can handle myself.”

Tim groaned exasperatedly. “Damian, you’re a fucking kid.”

At that, Damian lost his temper. “Why do you keep referring to me as a child! I’m a trained assassin! I was meant to meet my father, instead I’m stuck with you!”

“You’re stuck with me because you’re a kid! If you don’t listen to orders, what do you think—”

“You didn’t give me any orders!” Damian yelled. “You’ve been ignoring me the entire time!”

“That’s because you barely even talk to me!” Tim yelled back. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what you want when you don’t even answer my fucking questions?”

“Because I’m not meant to stay with you!”

“TOO BAD!” Tim screamed. “I just want to get Jason back and Talia just showed up with you when no one knew and now I have to look after an entire kid and—”

Tim stopped.

His hands were shaking. More from panic than anger. The reality of the situation had finally settled down.

Now I have to look after an entire kid and I’m only fifteen.

Damian was breathing heavily, defensive in his stance.

But Tim could see it.

He could see the minute shivers in his shoulders and hands. Damian was shaking. And not out of anger. Out of fear.

Oh.

He was his primary caretaker now. Damian had just been put in an unknown situation with a stranger he never met—or even heard about before.

The realization hit him, hard as a truck. Tim felt dizzy.

He stumbled and flew a hand out to steady himself, but something crashed instead. He looked down and saw pieces of the vase scattered all around him. He was too numb to care though. He was basically Damian’s parent now. He had a whole child to take care of. And he was only fifteen!

But that didn’t matter. Not in these circumstances.

God, he was the shittiest parent in the entire world out there. He fed the kid two-minute noodles and had him live on borrowed clothes. Fuck being a shitty parent, Tim was being a shitty person.

Someone with at least a little compassion and sense would go and buy clothes and a healthy choice of foods. But Tim did nothing. Too obsessed with his fucking mission.

Too obsessed with Jason to even consider that Bruce might not want his unknown son to appear half-thin and malnourished at his doorstep.

“Drake.”

Damn it, Tim had really fucked up, hadn’t he?

“Drake!”

Tim snapped his head up, not fully processing the sights and sounds around him. He was too dizzified to respond.

Feeling himself being led somewhere, he followed compliantly, trying to get his brain to focus. He was pushed down and something soft appeared under his butt. A sofa. He was sitting on a sofa.

A tug twitched his leg.

Tim winced as something sharp jutted through his foot.

“What are you doing?” he asked Damian.

“Your leg is bleeding,” Damian replied, not looking up. Another jolt of pain shot up his foot. That was when Tim noticed the small glass pieces wedged into his foot.

It didn’t look deep thankfully, but blood still caked his foot. He might limp for a day or two.

He didn’t understand though. “Why are you…? After I just shouted at…”

Damian caught his meaning. He still didn’t look up when he answered. “My mother left me here and ordered me to listen to you. You’re the only person I know here.”

A wave of guilt slammed into Tim again. “Damian.” He gently nudged the kid away. There were only a couple glass pieces stuck so he took them out then fished a roll of bandages from his belt, wrapping his foot himself. He couldn’t make a kid do that, he was a kid.

And— and kids needed food, right? They needed stuff to eat. And clothes and a phone in case of emergencies. Oh, and stuff to keep them entertained.

Look at him, he and Professor Utonium would get along pretty well.

He ordered takeout this time, Chinese, and sent Damian away to wash up as he brushed the vase pieces from the floor. He handed Damian another shirt before dressing in his signature hoodie. The takeout arrived and Tim paid using cash.

He was planning on skipping dinner tonight, but he couldn’t let Damian get leftovers by himself. That was shit parenting. That was—

Tim gasped and the fried noodles fell back onto the plate from his chopsticks.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“Drake?” Damian glanced up from his plate.

“Nothing,” Tim mumbled, quickly gluing his eyes back to the food.

Jack and Janet weren’t good parents either. They were somewhere in Cuba right now, preparing for their next flight to meet Ali Ben Styn in the Middle East. Leaving Tim. All alone. In a big house. To fend for himself. That was not good parenting at all.

He couldn’t do the same to Damian, he wouldn’t.

Damian’s going to be taken care of the proper way, Tim vowed to himself, like how Bruce did with me.

---------------------------------------------------------

First thing in the morning, Tim dragged a curious Damian to the nearest Target.

“Why are there so many people?” Damian hissed, hovering close by Tim’s side. “And why are they wearing such skimpy clothes?”

“It’s called self-expression, squirt.” Tim squinted at the sign boards, scouring for the kids clothing section. “And today, you’re going to be discovering your self-expression— aha!” Spotting the side of the store he was looking for, he grabbed Damian’s arm and pulled him along.

Damian snatched his arm back, hissing like a vicious cat. Tim let it go. God help Bruce when he would finally meet this kid.

“Here it is!” he threw his arms at the rows of different shirts, shorts and pants. “Go forth and express yourself!”

Damian stared at the clothes in horror. “Why… why are they dyed with such noticeable colors?”

“Also for self-expression purposes. But mainly because normal people don’t really care about blending with the shadows for a surprise element to execute the best method of attack.”

“They should,” the kid mumbled, reaching out to touch a green pokemon shirt.

Tim hummed. “You should see the girls section.”

Damian did see the girls section. He vowed to set fire to the girls section after finding out that all the pockets were fake. (“WHERE WILL THEY STORE THEIR WEAPONS?!”)

All in all, Tim was having fun at Damian’s utter disappointment in the clothing industry. However, it was a hassle trying to find clothes that Damian did want.

“What about this one with the Trolls movie on it?” Tim held it up.

“No.”

“This hoodie with Dalmatian spots?”

“No.”

“Oh, look! This one’s all black!”

“Its text spells out ‘Daddy’s Little Misfit’. No, Drake.”

Tim hooked the shirt back on the stand. “Well, you need some normal clothes.”

Damian faced away, arms folded and nose in the air.

Tim sighed. “Fine, your highness. How about I choose some without cartoon faces and cutesy texts and you go look for pants and shorts?”

Damian tapped his chin, considering. “Fine,” he conceded. “Don’t you dare disgrace me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tim muttered under his breath.

He picked out two pajama sets, a couple button-ups with checkers and stripes, one black with a Nike logo, a denim shirt, a couple plain blacks and whites, one that said ‘I love my mom’ and a hoodie with a Mickey Mouse logo on it.

Mickey Mouse clothes were must-haves for every kid.

He added the green Pokemon one as well. Pokemon was also another must-have. He rendevouzed with Damian at the shoes section and raised an eyebrow at the collection of black jeans and shorts.

“I’m not paying until you add at least two sweatpants and comfortable sleep shorts to the trolley,” Tim ordered.

“Tt.” Damian rolled the cart back to the pants section.

By the time Damian came back, Tim had selected two pairs of sneakers of different colors and one red converse.

“Hey, Dames—”

“Do not call me that.”

“You sure you don’t want this pair?” He held up a glittery blue-lined pair of white shoes.

Damian growled, “I will end you.”

Tim laughed as he hung the pair back. “You wanna get some boots too? I mean, combat boots are a given, there’s another store I’ll visit tomorrow which has a quality good enough for us vigilantes to wear, but other than that— ooh! Cowboy boots!” Tim thrust them at Damian’s face.

Damian glared.

Tim pouted. “You are no fun.”

“I was unaware that ‘fun’ meant ‘lack of dignity and composure’.”

“You’re well aware now!”

They rolled to the toys section next, which then quickly turned into a chase with shopping carts around the store with Damian screeching insults at Tim when he suggested Damian get a baby doll to play with. However, one section caught the kid’s eye.

“You like art?” Tim asked.

“What?” Damian quickly snapped his eyes away.

Tim smiled. “Come on, I know a better store.”

They paid for the clothes and took their trollies to a little shop in the corner of the shopping square called ‘Artist’s Corner’. As soon as they entered, Damian’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and his jaw dropped open.

The store was a warm, homey little thing with rows and rows of supplies such as paints, brushes, pencils, sketchbooks and various, various other things. Tiny boards with handwritten, neat cursive labeled each section. The walls held colorful bursts of artistic paintings of the abstract kind, bright colors popping out. Homey and cute crafts like mobiles with paintbrushes hung from the ceiling and books on how to draw, sketch, paint, whatever it was stood stacked on a shelf near the front. It was truly an artist’s corner.

“Here,” Tim handed Damian some cash. “Get whatever you want. I’ll be waiting in the technology store opposite to here.”

Damian took the money with a trembling hand.

Tim turned to go, but felt a tug at his shirt. He turned around and saw Damian looking unsure.

“What— what—” Damian cleared his throat. “What do I have to do to earn it back?” he asked.

Tim frowned. “Why would I ask you to earn—” Oh. League of Assassins. Right. He sighed and crouched to the kid’s level. “I don’t want anything, Dames,” he said softly. “It’s well and truly yours. You don’t need to earn anything to follow your passions.”

Damian let go and turned back to the store.

“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah? Then I’m introducing you to a whole new world called caramel popcorn and chocolate milk.”

Damian didn’t answer. Tim resisted the urge to ruin the moment by ruffling his hair and left to find a good phone for Damian to use. And get his own checked out after Babs had hacked it.

Damian ended up really enjoying the caramel popcorn and chocolate milk, which Tim was ecstatic about. He would buy more and stock it up in the shelves, but unfortunately, there was such a thing as budgeting and inflation. He got Damian a new phone with a charger, of course, but it needed to be Bat-checked and Bat-proofed by him first, which was a three-day process. They headed to the bookstore next because, why not?

“Here, Dami, you will find entire worlds of stories!” Tim gestured around.

“Do not call me that.”

“And of course you are not going to be leaving until you get all the modern classics,” Tim ignored him. “Like Percy Jackson! And Harry Potter! Oh, and Nevermoor, obviously.”

Damian let himself be led around the store, listening with feigned boredom to Tim’s commentary. His ennuied bluff was called out when Tim caught him reading the blurbs of the Heroes of Olympus books.

After a whole day of shopping, Tim decided that it was not yet time for Damian to visit a public restaurant, so he ordered takeaway from an Indian place nearby before they headed home.

It was a good day, Tim adjudged, unpacking the day’s spoils. He caught Damian staring uncertainly at everything spread out on the table and living room floor.

“What’s up?” Tim questioned.

Damian swallowed, hands clenched by his sides. “Why?” he spoke softly.

“Why what?” Tim tilted his head.

“Why all… this? And without a fee?”

Oh, kiddo. Tim approached him and laid a light hand on his shoulder. “Damian… I know life’s different from where you were raised, but you’re not in the League anymore. Talia said so, didn’t she?”

Damian nodded.

“You’re here now. In Gotham. Soon, if things go well, you’ll be living in the manor with a whole family.” Tim smiled. “You’ll see. It’ll take some getting used to, but you deserve nice things from time to time that doesn’t come with a price.”

Damian picked up a shirt. He thumbed the cloth, then tured to him. “At least I don’t have to wear your foul-smelling clothes anymore.”

Tim frowned. “What do you mean by foul-smelling? I washed them!”

Chapter Text

They got into a routine.

After Tim frantically researched about the needs of children for an entire night, he came up with several lifestyle changes.

One, they started eating more regular meals every day. Three meals and two teas.

Two, after much arguing, he managed to enforce a bedtime of 11 for Damian and 12 for himself.

Three, they visited the park nearby to do daily training exercises to keep fit and scaled the nearby buildings for their more extreme vigilante-version.

And four, he introduced at least one new thing to Damian everyday. Day one was movies. Day two was Chess. Day three was Snakes and Ladders.

Today, it was Uno.

Damian glared at the hand he just got given, looking every bit like how Bruce did the first time he had joined Dick and Tim in playing Uno.

Tim spread out the hand he had swapped from Damian while he wasn’t looking, whistling innocently. “Ready?” he asked.

Damian grunted.

Tim put down a red skip and a +4.

Damian’s glare hardened. He reluctantly picked up 4 cards.

“Yellow,” Tim smiled.

Damian silently put down a yellow 7.

Tim gasped and also put down a yellow 7. “We match!”

Damian put down a yellow 3.

Tim put down a yellow Uno reverse and a +2. He sneaked a look up at Damian.

Damian’s eye twitched. He picked up two.

Then immediately slammed down a color change card. He looked Tim in the eye with victory and hissed, “Blue.”

Tim beamed. “Okay!” He hid an extra yellow under his blue 9 and put both of them down at once.

Damian didn’t notice. He put down a blue 3.

Tim prepared himself for what he was about to do. He rolled his shoulders, took a sip of coffee, then put down another +4.

Damian’s eyes widened. “You’re cheating,” he stated.

Tim made his eyes grow round and innocent. “Me? Why on Earth would I cheat? And that too in a game that’s definitely not designed for cheating.”

Tim could hear Damian grind his teeth together as he picked up 4 cards. “Red.” He smirked.

That smirk was gone however, when Damian put down a red skip card, then a blue skip card, a blue Uno reverse and then a +2.

Tim’s jaw dropped.

Damian’s eyes gleamed. “Your turn, Drake.”

Tim glared. It was on.

The game of Uno turned into the game of who could cheat the best. Tim drew on all the dirty tricks in the box. Cards up sleeves, doubled cards as he put down two instead of one, hiding cards under his lap.

Damian did the same tricks and others he came up with on his own. Using Tim’s coffee sips as distractions to somehow add more cards to the pile he held on his hand, peeking at his hand using his phone camera, and just straight up holding his sword to his throat.

“Retract your +4!” Damian demanded.

Tim glared at him over the sharp steel hovering over his throat. “Never,” he hissed.

“RETRACT IT OR I’LL CUT OFF YOUR FINGERS WITH MY SWORD!” Damian yelled.

“FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID SWORD!”

Damian screeched and launched at him. Tim blocked the sword and kicked it away, leaving a split second to put up his hands to block a kick from Damian.

The two fought viciously, throwing cards at each other and breaking all the vases in the living room. Chaos reigned that day.

They didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day after that.

The fifth thing Tim improved in their lifestyle was planting key dates each week for laundry and groceries. Friday was laundry day and Sunday was grocery day.

“We’ve run out of bread and Nutella,” Tim sighed, pouting at the empty jar.

“You need more healthier options, Drake,” Damian tutted from the couch as he read Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters.

“Says you, squirt. You had more than both of us.” He threw the empty jar in the bin. “We can go and get, ugh, fruits and veggies today. It’s grocery day anyway and we need to restock on coffee as well.”

“I still think it smells foul.”

“You’re bullshitting and you know it!”

--------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Dames?” Tim nudged him with the trolley.

“Stop calling me that.”

“You wanna get some strawberries? They taste amazing with Nutella.”

Damian was surprisingly good at picking out the best and freshest batch of fruit and vegetables, so Tim had assigned him that job. Alfred would love him because their cart was currently full of lettuce, broccoli, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, apples, bananas, grapes and a quarter piece of watermelon. Damian was truly a health nut.

He was also vegetarian, Tim just found out. He had just been going along because he wasn’t allowed to not have meat in the League of Assassins.

That was just depressing. So he had gotten iron supplements ASAP and cut down on the meaty things he had in the trolley and got a bunch of tofu and plant-based patties and such.

Damian dropped a batch of strawberries in the shopping cart. “Now we must get some chilis. Preferably green, but red will also do.”

“We got both here. Over in the frozen section.”

They started wheeling to the frozen goods. Tim stocked up on puff pastries and a frozen pizza for emergency food purposes. Much to Tim’s distaste, Damian wouldn’t budge from keeping the peas out of the trolley. Everytime he sneaked the vile vegetable out, Damian would sneak it back in.

To Damian’s distaste though, Tim got a large jar of ground coffee and several boxed capsules of more coffee. They both agreed on muesli and nut bar snacks though.

Tim had always hated shopping, but shopping with Damian was a fun experience. It was slightly funny to have an overjudgemental 10-year-old sniffing haughtily at a closed box of Ritz biscuits and deeming it too salty.

They were in the candy and chocolates section with Tim pleading his case with Damian to buy KitKats over MnMs, when a certain someone’s voice in the next aisle caught Tim’s ears.

“Wait,” Tim pushed a finger to Damian’s lips.

Damian snarled and tried to bite it. Tim quickly retracted his hand.

“Shh!” he hissed harshly, leaning against the aisle to listen.

“—And he didn’t even have the decency to answer any of my questions back! Just ran off without an explanation!”

Dread settled in Tim’s stomach like sand. That was Dick! He was here.

“What else do you expect, Dick?”

And that was Barbara!

“I don’t know, some maturity, I guess. Especially when Tim ran off without a word. And I’m still reeling from the night when I was able to corner him.”

“That means he’s still in the city though, right?”

“He might have gone elsewhere, after my run-in with him. Unless someone’s keeping him here. Gotham’s a big city with even bigger underground holes. If only he would fucking listen.”

“He never listens, Dick. You know how he is, silent when the time for talking arises.”

Were they… talking about him?

Tim gulped, oh God, they were mad at him. They were mad at him for running off without a word and thought him as immature. He was so worried about avoiding them that he hadn’t even considered how mad they would be!

“We gotta get out of here,” Tim whispered to Damian, putting up his hoodie. “Now.”

Damian recognized the urgency in his tone and didn’t protest as Tim hurriedly pushed the cart towards the self-checkout section. They snagged a counter and worked quickly to scan everything and dump it back in the trolley.

“What happened?” Damian asked as they worked.

“That was Dick and Barbara in the next aisle. We have to hurry before they see us.”

Tim fished out his wallet to pay, but just as he inserted the cash into the machine, Dick and Barbara’s voices drifted towards them.

“I wish I could see Tim again just one more time to actually talk to him about it.”

“The kid’s a mean genius. He shut me out of all his devices and I haven’t been able to find even a single hole since. And nothing in the security cameras either.”

The two arrived at the self-checkout with Dick pushing a trolley full of mainly cereal and Barbara on her wheelchair beside him.

Tim froze, a deer in headlights. The machine beeped and his receipt started printing out. Tim closed his hoodie around himself further and helped Damian quickly dump everything back into the shopping trolley.

He chanced a glance and peeked behind him and saw Dick… looking right at him.

Tim’s eyes widened and, his flight instincts kicking in, he grabbed the trolley handle and made a dash to the door.

“Hey!” he heard Dick calling out.

Pushing a couple carrying shopping bags out of the way, Tim grabbed Damian’s hand and broke into a run with the cart rumbling with the amount of load on it.

“Quick, quick, quick!” Tim panted, pumping his legs faster.

“Hey, wait!” Dick’s voice shouted a distance away and Tim’s heart nearly flew out of his mouth as he screeched in panic, “We gotta gooooooooo!”

He skidded to a stop near the trolley line, handed a few bags to Damian, took some bags himself, then started running again. Damian kept up the pace a couple steps behind him, panting slightly with the weight of the load he was carrying. Tim was panting too, breaths coming out in shallow puffs than heavy ones and panic building and building inside his chest.

They ran through the streets, dodging people and jumping over dogs, until he dived into an empty alleyway.

He dropped the shopping bags and leaned his back against the wall.

The wounds from the night he fought Jason ached loudly, like cymbals crashing repeatedly into broken bones.

His heart knocked against his chest hard and fast. His breaths paired with the quick pace. His ears buzzed and he couldn’t even see right, his vision was blurring and spinning like he had been hypnotized by Mad Hatter again.

Dick was mad. Barbara was mad. Bruce and Alfred were probably mad.

They were mad mad mad.

They were angry at him.

Furious.

Damn it, he shouldn’t have run away. They were so, so mad at him. What would they do when they found him? What would they—

A hand slapped his face with a sharp smack, cracking his head to the side.

Tim slowly reached up to touch his face. What…?

Tim blinked and glanced down. “Did you just fucking slap me?” he asked incredulously.

“You were spiraling into a panic attack,” Damian explained matter-of-factly. “The only way to get you out is to shock you out.”

“I’m— I’m not—” Tim shut his eyes and sank to the floor, hugging himself.

He breathed. Inhale, hold, count, then exhale, breathe. He repeated the cycle once, twice, three times, four.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found Damian staring at him weirdly.

“Do Talia or Ra’s slap you when you’re having a panic attack?” Tim asked.

Damian scowled. “Everyone does that.”

Rage suddenly filled Tim’s lungs, rendering him unable to breathe for an entirely different reason. “No one should slap a child when they’re having a panic attack. No one should slap anyone when they’re having a panic attack.”

“How else do you get out of one then?” Damian scoffed, folding his arms and rolling his eyes.

“There are other, better ways,” Tim snapped at him.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out again.

No sense in being angry now. Damian grew up that way. But he won’t have to face that here with Tim, and with Bruce too if his plan worked.

“What do you do then?” Damian enquired, genuine curiosity present in his voice.

“Breathing techniques,” Tim immediately answered, opening his eyes. “Hugs or physical touch works sometimes, but not always and not for everyone.” He swallowed down the memories with Dick and Bruce with their comfortable and safe arms wrapping around him. “And weighted blankets, or just some weight on you.”

Damian frowned. “Like a rock?”

Tim choked on his spit in surprise. “Did someone put a fucking rock on you while you were having a panic attack?”

“No, it was endurance training. I can now handle over a hundred pounds on me.”

Tim closed his eyes and breathed again. God, this was so fucked up. “Right. Well. No. Rocks aren’t meant to be put on anyone while they’re having a panic attack. They’re not meant to be tortured by having it on their chest period. What I mean by weight is like a blanket. Or— a pet!” Tim sat up straighter. “Ace is Bruce’s dog, but he sometimes climbs on me and provides a heavy but comforting presence when I’m panicking sometimes.”

Damian was still frowning at him.

Tim sighed. “Okay, we’ll talk more when we get home. But for now, let’s just… take these groceries back before they get lost.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Have you ever had a hug, Damian?”

Damian huffed, looking up from his book and accepting the bowl of grapes Tim handed him. “Of course. Mother wouldn’t be a mother if she doesn’t show some sort of affection to her child.”

Tim pressed his lips in a thin line at the answer. That didn’t sound suspicious at all. “Comforting physical touch isn’t supposed to be a chore or a task to be completed. It’s important for a child to receive.”

Indulging in physical touch isn’t just about its benefits, Dick said.

“Indulging in physical touch isn’t just about its benefits.”

Having a hug just for pleasure is a perfectly normal thing to want, Bruce told him.

“Having a hug just for pleasure is a perfectly normal thing to have.”

You can come to me for a hug anytime, Tim, Barbara smiled.

“You can come to me for a hug anytime, Damian.”

You can have one right now, Alfred opened his arms.

Tim sat on the armrest of the couch beside Damian. “Do you… would you like a demonstration?”

Damian didn’t say anything, staring at him blankly.

After a minute, he twitched his head in a nod.

Tim smiled and plopped himself on the other side of Damian. Slowly, carefully, watching out for signs of discomfort, he wrapped the boy in a hug. Trying his best to channel the comfort the others had put into their hugs, Tim squeezed Damian gently.

Damian’s breath hitched. He felt a tingle of pleasure when the kid slowly raised a hand to rest on top of Tim’s arm.

They stayed in the hug for a long time.

Chapter Text

“Damian,” Tim said slowly.

Damian tensed, as if it were a threat.

“What are you doing?”

Damian slowly turned around from Tim’s open laptop.

Tim glared at Damian, hands on his hips.

Damian’s eyes widened for a brief second before they scrunched into his signature scowl. “I could ask the same thing,” he retorted.

“Excuse me?”

Damian picked up Tim’s laptop and thrust it into his face, pointing at the timetable Tim had typed up. “We’re due to deliver another dose to Todd in three days. Yet, you haven’t even prepared a single vial.”

Tim took the laptop from him and exhaled a tired breath. “I know.”

“You’re extremely peculiar, Drake.” Damian said, starting to circle him. “The first two days, we were eating those horrid crumbs you called noodles and I was spending the day, stinking in your shirts. Now everything has been flipped upside down.”

Tim tracked his circling, holding his laptop.

“There have been enforced sleep times, the fridge and shelves are always stocked, I have more clothes than I need for a stay of a few months and we’ve been eating six times a day.”

“Five,” Tim grumbled, correcting him.

“Point is, you’ve changed, Drake.”

Tim sighed. He put his laptop back down on his desk and leaned against it. “I have you to look after, Damian. I’m adapting to a different set of responsibilities.”

Damian tutted. “And in the process, you’ve been neglecting the other responsibilities.” He jerked his head towards the safe where all the chemicals and things for Jason’s doses were stored.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. Small-pint… did have a point. He couldn’t leave much gap between the Lazarus Weed Killer doses or all the hardwork would be undone.

“I want to go on the mission with you,” Damian piped up. “I know you have several dates planned out and recorded for the doses, but you’re just fooling around on your laptop.” Damian smirked. “Like a fool,” he added.

Tim opened his mouth to say no when Damian cut him off.

“Individual children have individual needs, Drake,” Damian drawled. “My need is to be stimulated and the best way to do that is with your missions.”

Tim huffed. “Fine. I can’t leave too much of a gap between the injections, but it’s dangerous.”

“I’ve dealt with danger before,” Damian said tersely.

“So have I. But we’ve never dealt with it together as a team.” He grinned. “I think it’s time we did actual training together.”

--------------------------------------------------

Gotham was home to many broken and run-down places because lack of money for infrastructure did not pair well with the frequency of rogue attacks. This resulted in highly dangerous environments that were closed to the public, like the half-exploded mall in the north. Or the bar that never stopped emitting black fumes in the east-south. Or the kindergarten with a large crater hole in the middle (all personnel had managed to get out thanks to Bart being present as he and the Young Justice gang were responsible for the meteor crashing towards Gotham in the first place).

But Tim’s personal favorite was the Spiky Playground. A broken up car dump with piles of high tires proved a fun and effective training ground. The broken cars, sandy floor and the abandoned magnet cranes were perfect to clamber around and do whatever flipsy shit they wanted. So the next morning at dawn, they took their trip to the dump.

“Welcome to Spiky Park!” Tim declared with a big grin.

Damian looked around with disgust.

“Oh, don’t give me that face, it’s actually really fun!”

Damian squinted at it. “Batman… trains you here?”

Tim shrugged. “Sometimes. We have more than enough equipment in the Batcave, but Nightwing, Spoiler and Batgirl like coming over here sometimes.”

“Spoiler and Batgirl?” Damian asked.

“Oh, you don’t know about them?” Tim started walking over to an empty circle with broken cars bordering it, leading Damian there. “Spoiler’s out of contact for a while. She and her mom had to stay elsewhere for a bit so Cluemaster can’t find them. Batgirl’s on an undercover mission from Batman in some country. You’ll meet them soon enough though.”

They stopped in the middle of the car-circle.

“You ready?” Tim asked.

“Ready for what?”

Tim struck quickly, leaving only a second for Damian to dodge. “Ready for a spar, of course.” Tim grinned. “The extreme and extremely fun version.” He struck again, a fist towards Damian’s head, but Damian blocked it.

He tried trapping Tim’s arm in a hold to break it, but Tim slipped out, retaliating with a karate chop towards his neck.

Damian moved back and responded with a kick, which Tim sidestepped and made a grab for his leg. Damian was faster though, and he managed to move away.

The two exchanged fast blows, a look of concentration on Damian’s face and a grin on Tim’s. Damian might have League moves, but God did he resemble Bruce so much in terms of how he used those moves in a fight. The determination, the ferocity, the expressions of focus too. To spice up the fight more, Tim flipped onto a car’s roof. Damian used a blind spot to slip under and climb from behind Tim as an element of surprise. Anticipating Damian’s lunge for his torso, Tim caught his arm halfway up and shot his grapple gun at a crane that hovered over the playground.

They shot up, landing on a crane’s horizontal yellow criss-cross metal stretch.

Damian wobbled a little when Tim set him down. He glanced down at the height

“High up, huh.” Tim beamed.

Damian puffed out an amused breath of wonder before facing up at Tim and smirking. He threw a kick which Tim dodged, both of then comfortably balanced on the tracks.

“This is completely different to League training,” Damian commented between blows.

“For sure!” Tim said. “It’s the Dick Grayson approach to training, along with train-surfing.”

Damian’s eyes glowed. “Will we be going train-surfing?”

“You will! With Dick!” Tim answered, running backwards along the metal structure. “He says it’s a Robin tradition for the eldest to take the others train-surfing. He did it with Steph too as soon as she landed in the boots, though her stint was only brief.”

Damian then decided to give Tim a heart attack.

As Tim kicked forward, he activated his ‘give-guardian-heart-attack’ powers that every kid had built into them and stepped off the crane to dodge the blow.

Tim’s heart lurched. He rushed forward, but Damian was already falling.

They were probably about 265 feet up right now. That fall would be lethal.

“Damian!” Tim shrieked, diving off the height to speed towards Damian, grapple at the ready.

He was too far away, he wouldn’t make it, Damian was going to—

…Comfortably roll and land on the sand?

Tim fired his grapple gun and stopped himself from falling. He slowly lowered himself down next to Damian.

“What the hell!” Tim yelled, clutching Damian’s shoulders. “What the hell was that for?!”

“Sparring,” Damian replied.

“You— you—” Tim let go and screamed into his hands. He clutched his shoulders again. “Never do that! Ever again!” he said, shaking him.

“Tt,” Damian rolled his eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Drake. Cease your worrying.”

“Cease my— cease my worrying?” Tim shouted. “Like hell am I going to cease my fucking worrying! Don’t you understand? Damian, you are a kid! A kid I’m supposed to take care of and keep safe! How the hell am I supposed to keep you safe if you keep pulling shit like that? Huh?”

Damian grew quiet.

Tim ran his hands through his hair. He wondered if this was how Bruce felt every time he or Dick disobeyed orders and ran into the field.

He turned back around to apologize to Damian for shouting at him, when he noticed something peculiar.

Damian’s chest was moving more rapidly than normal.

Though he didn’t exhibit as many symptoms, it didn’t take much to figure out what was happening.

Damian was having a panic attack.

And Tim had triggered it.

“Dami,”Tim asked, voice weighing with concern. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Damian answered gruffly, sounding breathless.

“Damian—” Tim reached out, but he slapped his hand away.

“I said I’m fine.” He jerked away from him. “I’m fine. I don’t need your— your care or— or—” His breaths grew dangerously shallower and shallower. “I can t— take care of my— myself and I don’t need— need—”

“Breathe, Dami, breathe,” Tim instructed calmly, ignoring the scribble of his own panic in his stomach.

Damian stumbled back, falling on his butt. He clutched his shirt, wheezing at his mouth and nose failing to comply to their primal instincts.

“Damian, you have to listen to me. It’s going to be okay.” Tim longed to pull him in a hug the way Dick did with him, but he knew Damian wasn’t as affectionate and comfortable with touch as him. “Dames, please.” Tim’s voice bordered on desperation. “Please listen to me.”

Damian shook his head, closing his eyes and turning away from Tim.

Think, Tim, think! What could he do to help Damian? Physical touch wouldn’t work, maybe… maybe some sort of weight…

Tim glanced around, but all there was were car tyres and rubble.

So weight was out of the question. What else?

Tim drummed his fingers on his head, looking around for ideas.

Damian was crying now, eyeing Tim with fear and—

And—

Oh, fuck it.

Tim crept closer to him, hands out in a calm and harmless gesture. If Damian lunged, if he attacked on instinct, there was no way Tim could fend him off. He advanced anyway. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Damian shook his head, almost involuntarily.

“I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. I’m sorry I did. You’re stuck with me and I’m the only older person you have to look after you. You’re a child, and you need—you deserve someone better. I’m sorry I can’t offer any better.”

Tim crouched in front of him on his knees, hands still out and voice still soft.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re probably more trained than me. Better than me at fighting. You knew what you were doing.”

Damian scrunched his eyes up and sobbed.

“It’s not your fault, Damian. You’re okay,” Tim whispered. “We need to help you calm down. Can you please give me your hand?” Tim held out his own gently.

Damian stared at it, struggling to tamper his panicked breathing.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Tim said gently.

Damian sat still, gasping.

“I won’t hurt you,” Tim repeated.

Damian lifted a shaky and hesitant hand. He stretched it out, closing his eyes in a flinch. Tim took his palm lightly, gentle as possible. “It’s okay,” he whispered, then started rubbing light circles over it. “It’s okay.” He rubbed the circles slowly, matching normal breathing. “It’s okay.” He did his own breathing, slow, steady, loud and clear. “You’re okay.”

Damian’s hand tensed in the light grip, shaking like a leaf.

“You’re okay, Dames. You’re okay.”

Damian flinched, but his breaths were getting uneven. Instead of a repeated pattern of wheezing, he took his time, trying his best to suck in deep ones.

“You’re doing great. You’re okay.” Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out an earbud. He placed it gently on Damian’s hand.

Damian opened his eyes, looking at the earbud. He glanced back at Tim who gave an encouraging nod. He pulled out his phone and placed it between them, displaying the contents. He tapped his playlist made exactly for calming down, and selected the first song on there.

The little kid watched Tim. He peered at the phone’s screen, then slowly put the earbud in. Tim did the same with another earbud.

Tim skipped roughly to the two-minute mark of the song, and it started playing.

Settle down,
Feeling lost,
Getting stoned,
Then kicking rocks.

Damian flinched at the sudden kick of the beat, but as soon as the vocals played, his shoulders unwound, just a touch.

If I get too close,
And I’m not how you hoped,
Forgive my northern attitude, oh I was raised out in the cold.

The vocals started full on and Tim could see Damian’s shoulder unwind a little more. He put the part on loop.

The singers sang together and Tim took Damian’s palm and started tracing circles again.

The sun rose above them, shining out the new morning and casting the shadows around them. Time had passed, but Tim and Damian were still seated in the same position. Facing each other, Tim on his knees and body posture open and Damian hugging his knees to his chest, looking down at the phone, a distanced look in his eyes.

It wasn’t until a while later that the silence was torn. “Were these the strategies you meant?” Damian asked quietly.

Tim smiled. “Yeah. Effective?”

He looked away. “They take a while.”

“But leave less scars.”

Damian didn’t argue.

----------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry for triggering you,” Tim said as they drove back home on his bike.

“I should be the one apologizing.”

“You can’t exactly apologize for a panic attack, baby bat.” Huh, where had that nickname come from?

“I’m not an infant!” He sounded so indignant that Tim couldn’t help but chuckle.

They were a few blocks away from the apartment when Damian spoke up again. “You didn’t really trigger me,” he said quietly. “It was more… what you said.”

Tim clamped down the urge to ask what and waited instead.

“Telling each other that one cares about the other isn’t a common occurrence in the League.”

Oh, baby bat. “Wasn’t a common occurrence for me either,” Tim said. “It only turned into one when I started living with Bruce in Wayne Manor. Somehow, they’re more… open. Especially Dick and Barbara.”

They parked in the same small space in the corner in the alleyway, activating the cloaking feature on his bike. They entered the apartment, tip-toeing through the stairs to keep from alerting the neighbors.

“Go ahead and take a shower,” Tim said, dropping his keys on the front table. “I need to update some stuff on the dosage timetables and make morning tea.”

Damian lingered, eyes on the floor and hands clasped behind his back.

“Dami?”

The kid bit his lip, unsure. Tim didn’t think he had ever seen the kid look unsure. “I…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“We covered this, squirt, you don’t have to apolo—”

“Not for that.” He raised his head. “I… I had plans before I met you.”

Tim tilted his head curiously.

“I… you were Robin,” Damian blurted. “Father’s current heir. We— we eliminate obstacles in the League. I was… I was planning on eliminating you, once your use was done.”

Tim’s eyebrows arched up.

Was he going to have to talk the kid down from murder?

“But then you said that you weren’t Robin anymore, and it made me… confused.” Damian shuffled his feet. Like a kid. “Since then, I’ve only become even more confused.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Tim smiled. “Damn, Dick would be so ecstatic to meet you.” He leaned against the table, arms behind him. “I’m glad you’ve… forewent your plans to, uh, eliminate me, because that would suck. How about I propose something else to you instead?”

“What?” The kid looked up in inquisitiveness.

“You train hard for the next few years, learn everything you can from everyone you can. Me, Bruce, Dick, Babs, Cass, and—God—even Steph. Then once you’re ready and older, I can pass Robin down to you.”

Damian’s jaw hung slack. “You— you’re jesting.”

“Nope!” Tim popped the ‘p’. “The Robin mantle’s passing has been cursed so far, why not break it? I don’t really fancy being bitter towards you or beating you up after you steal my mantle without me knowing.”

For the briefest moments, Damian gazed at him in unrestrained wonder, before it all snapped back behind a sheen of his usual fake ennui. “Like you could,” he snarked. “I saved you from Todd before and won today’s spar as well.”

“Oh, you’re on.” Tim pointed. “One day, you and I are going to go at it and see who wins once and for all.”

“It will be me.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high, small fry. Oh hey, that rhymed.”

Chapter Text

The plaster on the wall was cracked. Odd thing to notice when Tim had many, many, many other and more larger issues to worry about, like how the whole kitchen was splattered in red, but that was what his brain seemed to latch onto.

Damian glared at him from his side.

Tim winced in guilt. “Yeah, okay, that one’s on me.”

“It’s all on you, Drake. It’s all on me too.” He gestured to his Pokemon shirt sharply.

“Hey, the whole thing’s not entirely my fault. You were the one who turned up the heat while I wasn’t looking.”

“That’s because your whiteness, for some reason, likes the meat raw. Maybe I should have let you get tapeworms.”

“It’s not raw, you little brat, it’s perfectly fine.”

Damian punched him in the side, earning a slight wheeze. “Raw,” the kid pointed at him.

Tim scowled. “I’m not conceding. The lasagne recipe said—”

“And who in their sane mind would follow instructions from a stranger online.”

“It’s a certified cooking website!”

“And you’re a certified fool!”

“You’re a certified arrogant prat!”

“Stop quoting Merlin at me!”

“Not my fault you behave so much like fucking Arthur, heir of the Bat and League of Assassins.”

It was the last straw and it only just snapped. Damian tackled Tim with a shriek. Tim rolled to get the upper hand, but Damian rolled with him.

They kicked and clawed and screamed, only realizing just how much more of a mess they had made after stopping. Frozen in their movements, with Tim pushing Damian’s face, Damian yanking Tim’s hair, and the both of them clutching each other’s shirts, they looked around in horror at the lasagne pasta sauce coating the walls, floor and carpet. He hoped the vegetarian lasagna would go better.

“At least it’s not on the ceiling.”

“You said you knew how to cook, Drake.”

“So did fucking you.”

-------------------------------------------------------

It took them an entire day to clean everything up, not being able to risk giving away their location by calling professionals to clean everything up.

Tim still found sauce in the crampiest and narrowest of spaces though, and Damian loudly cursed, alternating between Arabic and Mandarin, when he somehow found more sauce in his bedroom.

“I think we should try baking cookies instead,” Tim said from the doorway of the kid’s bedroom. “At least the dough won’t make much of a mess.”

The next day, they spent the afternoon brushing flour from the floor.

---------------------------------------------------------

Tim was pretty sure children were not supposed to stare like that.

It had been five minutes and he was already gaining sympathy for why his parents didn’t want more than one child. (Hell, they didn’t want him either, but that was a story for another time.)

“Damian, Jason’s not due to arrive for another half hour.”

“Tt. Your lack of vigilance is what got you almost killed the last time, Drake.”

“Hey!”

Perched on top of the building (bringing back familiar feelings of a bat-eared cowl Tim was entirely ignoring), Damian and Tim kept a lookout for Red Hood.

It was medicine time, and this one contained the fucking banana smoothie.

Because why not. Why wouldn’t bananas cure the Lazarus Pit?

They were looking down at the gap between the building they were on top of and the one in front of them, keeping a lookout for Red Hood to pass so they could get the jump on him. Made easier by the fact that winter was approaching soon and the trees had shed their leaves, giving them easier access to peeking.

Hood was currently in a meeting with his inner circle. Once the members left, he would leave at least twenty minutes after, according to Tim’s borrowed monitoring data from Babs before he left.

Once he stepped out of the exit opening to the little alley, he would open a prime opening for Tim and Damian to drop down and jab the second Lazarus-battling injection in him.

Just then, the back door opened and a stream of different people spilled out.

“Here we go,” Tim whispered. “He’ll be out in a few minutes.” He glanced at Damian to see the kid glaring at him again.

Tim sighed. “What is it this time?”

“You forgot to pack the snacks. I’m hungry.”

“And you say you’re not a kid.”

“I’m not!”

“Shhhhh!” Tim slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!”

Damian growled and Tim immediately took his hand off.

They dozed, snapped and snickered down at people on the street for the next twenty minutes. Tim was actually starting to think that it wasn’t too bad. He and Damian were certainly starting to get along, except for the times the kid liked charging at him with sharp objects, but he would train it out of him soon. He actually kinda preferred the kid charging at him with murder than ignoring him like he did the first few days they had lived together. Which was… probably not very healthy.

In any case, the kid was actually fun to hang out with. Plus, he was spending a lot of time drawing in his room. Tim had snuck a glance while he was checking in on him during the night and…

Well, Damian had a talent. Tim was quite impressed with the colors and attention to detail he had. He didn’t think Ra’s would input art into Damian’s training regimen, so he must have kept it a secret. He hadn’t pushed. After all, he knew what it was like to have a secret hobby too.

No, not just the vigilante-ing, he meant photography. If his parents knew, they certainly wouldn’t approve of his “picture-taking useless disturbance”. Even if Bruce and Dick wouldn’t say that, he just… couldn’t show them. Photography was his thing. His hobby. Nothing constant liked to stay in his life except for his camera. His camera had been his best friend since he was five that little-him had found while playing hide-and-seek with his nanny in the attic. He hadn’t parted with it since.

“Drake!” Damian’s whisper-yell broke through his thoughts. “Look!”

Tim followed Damian’s pointing finger.

The door to the building had just opened. Tim tensed, ducking further behind the roof ledge. A few seconds later, Red Hood appeared, in all his blood-stained clothes glory.

Tim swallowed.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “On three. One, two, three, g—”

Damian jumped.

Tim’s eyes widened in horror before he quickly jumped down too.

Using the fire escape to clamber down, Tim landed in front of Jason and Damian at the back.

“I didn’t say go yet, idiot!” Tim yelled.

“You said to go on three!” Damian shouted back.

“Well, well, well,” Hood sneered with delight. “What do we got here?” He turned his head to Damian. “You’re new, but somehow familiar. Who are you, kid?”

“Your downfall,” Damian hissed, pulling out his Jian.

Hood laughed, a booming canon-like sound. “Adorable.” He wiped a fake tear from his helmet. “B hired a new one?” he asked Tim.

“No,” Tim replied shortly, tensing under Hood’s helmet facing his way.

Hood hummed. “Well, are we gonna fight or what?”

Damian moved first. With a yell, he leapt up and struck Hood’s helmet hard with his sword, making it emit a large crack sound.

Tim didn’t give him any breathing room, he shot forward, ignoring the squirming fear in his stomach, and grabbed one of Jason’s hands. Hood tensed his shoulders to struggle, but Damian appeared and kicked him hard in the head again, giving Tim time to grab his other hand and quickly cuff his hands behind his back.

Just as the cuffs snapped closed, Hood kicked back and threw Tim to the wall.

Tim grunted as the air in his lungs went bye-bye with the force.

“I can fight well enough even with both hands tied behind my back, kiddos,” Hood said, amusement clear in his voice even through the modulator. “Nice little challenge this presents.”

Tim put down his face mask in order to breathe better.

It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay. You just gotta distract him enough to let Damian do what he needs to.

Sucking in a deep breath, he rose up on his feet, legs wobbling. He raised his fists, assuming a fighting stance.

Hood tilted his head. Tim could practically see the eyebrow raise through the helmet.

“Round two, Pretender?”

Tim didn’t answer. Not with words anyway.

He sped forward and punched right. When Hood blocked that, he bounded back up with a kick. Hood swung and he changed courses and slid to the side.

He didn’t give up, ignoring the churning in his stomach and threw hits that all aimed for the soft spots that should leave Hood breathless.

To his credit, dying really hadn’t depleted Jason’s flexibility and speed. Tim really stood no choice against a Lazarus-Pit enhanced former Robin alone. Not without his bo staff and it was left back at the Batcave.

Still, right now, all he had to do was distract and survive. That was it.

Any time now, Damian, he hissed with annoyance in his head as Hood’s boot flew inches above his hair.

He couldn’t see the kid, it was like he had disappeared. But this wasn’t the right time to worry about that. He had to trust him, like how Damian had trusted him these past few weeks.

Jason suddenly twisted behind him to knee him in the back. Tim toppled to his knees. He flipped back over to get up, but a combat boot lodged itself in his stomach.

Tim groaned, breath escaping his body. That was going to bruise so hard.

“Even with two hands tied behind my back, I can still beat you, Replacement.” Jason kicked him again.

Tim wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

“You’re weak. Pathetic.” Another kick. “The lesser model. A disappointment.” A shove to the shoulder.

Tim’s eyes teared up. This distraction was going horribly. They had to revise the plan when they got back.

“I don’t know why Batman thought to pick you. You’re disgusting.”

Believe me, I know, Tim thought to himself, recalling Dick and Barbara’s angry rant in the supermarket.

Hood suddenly strained and broke through the cuffs.

He rubbed his wrists then grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up. “Look at you,” he crooned wickedly. “Crying already.”

Just as the gloved hand swung towards his face, Damian appeared.

The little bat leapt on Hood’s back and jabbed the syringe into his neck with lightning speed.

Tim grinned with relief through bloodied teeth.

Jason shouted in surprise and pain and shook his body, trying to shake Damian off. But the deed was already done, Damian flew off and landed by Tim’s side.

“Drake, hurry!” He grabbed his arm to help him up.

Tim coughed, clutching his stomach. “We gotta revise this distraction plan.”

“Later, our mission is done, we need to leave.”

Tim coughed again, but pulled out his grapple gun. He shot it up at a fire escape railing and held onto Damian.

They flew upwards, leaving Jason to scream in anger as the banana, joker venom, purple, black and green kryptonite spread through his veins. He would probably feel random bouts of hysteria for the next two to three days, but the hold on his brain by the Lazarus Pit would recede a little more by the end of the week.

They landed right on top of the roof they were on before and Damian was the first one to move, grabbing Tim’s arm and jolting forward.

Running all the way to where his bike was parked a few blocks over, they panted with the rush of a successful job done.

Hands resting on their knees, the two looked at each other in adrenaline-fueled delight.

“We did it,” Tim puffed. “And I only got a few bruises.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Damian blew. “But yes,” he smiled, “it was a good mission.”

Tim laughed and pulled the kid into his arms.

“Ow! Unhand me this instance, Drake, or I will eviscerate you!”

Tim only squeezed harder.

--------------------------------------------------

Take these words with you and bring them back to me,
I only lend but you hear me when I tell you,

“So the one person distraction works, but not to the extent we want,” Tim relayed his notes from his laptop, chewing on a gummy snake.

Damian scanned the table of the gummy snakes they both ordered according to color, then chose an orange one. “I think it worked exactly how it should.”

Tim shot him an unamused look. “With several bruises on my abdomen?”

Damian smirked. “It’s good character-building.”

“Oh, screw you. Maybe you should be the one distracting him the next time.”

“Maybe I should. At least I wouldn’t be so stupid enough to get pinned to the ground within the first few seconds.” Damian picked a green one.

Tim didn’t deign to answer that, taking a purple snake.

He didn’t know what it was that made his body so slow while around Jason, but it was interfering with his normal skills. If truth be told… he was actually kind of scared of the Red Hood. Jason used to be his role model, his idol. Tim used to be his #1 fan.

But now… after he had made clear just how much he hated Tim…

It was more than disappointment. It was the feeling he got every time his parents came back home only to ignore him some more and insult his appearance, his grades, his posture, how he held himself, everything from the sun, sky and stars about him. Now Dick, Babs, Bruce, Alfred, they were all mad at him too.

Really, the only person Tim had now was… Damian.

He watched the kid on the couch opposite to him now, biting a gummy snake and tapping his foot along to the song he and Tim were listening, using the shared earbuds.

He didn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but in the past few days, every time he spoke Damian’s name out loud a little voice at the back of his head whispered. And with each day it only grew louder and louder.

Little brother, it said, you’re my little brother.

He tried ignoring it at first, Damian was Bruce’s son. Tim wasn’t. He wasn’t adopted like Dick and Jason. He was just an outsider who had become a close work friend.

Still, there was time until Damian went to stay with Bruce and Tim had to leave. Till then, Tim could hold onto that little voice and not be alone.

I hope you'll hold me, walk streets with me only,
I close my eyes and I'll picture this moment with you.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Another week passed by and they got another injection of Lazarus Pit-Busting serum to Jason. And Tim only got punched once! It wasn’t really fair though. He only got hit because Damian was being a risky little shit and he got distracted by his stupid antics and got clocked in the face. The little rascal never failed to tease him about it every time.

A few days after, they had just delivered another dose to a confused and wary Jason. They were going to rendezvous after splitting up at the decided location.

Tim should have known that things were going too smoothly, because even an hour later, Damian never arrived.

Chapter Text

Tim didn’t truly know the meaning of feral until that night.

He tore through the streets, interrogating criminals and late-night bystanders, crawling through every rooftop and sidewalk of the path Damian was supposed to take when—

“No,” Tim whispered.

Damian wasn’t used to Gotham. He must have memorized the layout of the city before coming here, but he didn’t know the territories.

The territories of gangs and mob bosses which were unsafe for a vigilante to patrol alone. He had given specific instructions to the kid for which route he should take, but the kid must have taken a shortcut through…

Through Black Mask’s territory.

Tim grit his teeth. He was going to get Damian back, no matter what. That was his little kid brother who he was taking care of. He was fully responsible for Damian. If anything happened, before he could meet Bruce—

No.

Sionis had no right to even touch him.

He hurried over to the square, treading lightly and sticking to the shadows. It didn’t take long for Tim to pick up on the scent of a clue in the form of one of Mask’s men.

He followed the man to a warehouse. Once he slipped inside, Tim looked up, searching for a ledge to shoot his grapple towards. Finding one, he shot the gun and flew up, landing on the roof.

He silently crawled across the roof, cool wind tearing through his hair. Finding a broken hatch, he peered through to the half-cleared out warehouse.

The sight that met him made his blood boil.

Damian was tied up on a chair, hands and feet cuffed with zipties to each wooden limb. Black Mask was at a table a little distance away, examining a spread of various torture weapons.

“Did the Bats in this city gain a new child vigilante, kid?” Mask’s voice drifted up calmly. Tim just barely restrained himself from hurling through and punching the man in the face.

Damian didn’t answer.

“I’m asking out of curiosity and personal benefit, you see. Being a leader to such a large criminal corporation isn’t exactly easy. Which is why headstarts are such strong advantages.” He left the table and stood looming over the kid and holding up a pair of gloves. “I’ve been at the top of the predator scale in this city and to keep standing at the top, I must do two things.”

He slapped a glove on his right hand. Damian didn’t flinch. Tim couldn’t see, but he was more than a 100% sure that he was glaring at the criminal mastermind.

“One, pry information out of you.” He slapped the other glove on. “Or two, eliminate you.”

He grabbed Damian’s jaw in a tight grip and Tim nearly jumped down.

“The more easily you cooperate, the faster and less painful your torture will be.”

Damian didn’t speak.

With speed faster than a blink of an eye, Mask’s hand cracked against Damian’s cheek. Damian’s head jerked to the side, lolling a little.

“I know you’re not mute, boy. Speak.”

Tim’s nails dug into his palms through his gloves. Rage slowly grew and boiled inside him enough to warm him against the chill of the wind and he longed to jump down to Damian’s rescue. But there were goons everywhere in the warehouse. Tim would be outnumbered and Mask would kill Damian before Tim could get anywhere near him. He couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.

Fortunately, he had been keeping up to date with the patrol routes.

Tim blew out a breath. It was time to reveal himself to Batman and Nightwing.

----------------------------------------------------

Tim barely arrived at 1st Street in Chinatown when he heard Nightwing’s grapple gun firing.

Tim nearly chickened out, but firmly forced himself to climb on top of the rooftop, letting the dim moonlight shine on him. He knew Dick was angry with him, but Damian’s life was more important. He was doing this for Damian.

Taking deep breaths, he stepped forward into the open, standing in the middle of the tallest building in the area.

It didn’t take long. He watched as Nightwing’s figure paused in surprise, before hurrying in his direction. The grapple fired, the hook landing on the roof he was on and Tim flinched, closing his eyes.

For Damian.

When he opened his eyes, standing right there in front of him, was the person who taught him the meaning of hugs. The person who teased him, ruffled his hair, gave advice, patched his wounds, played video games with and showed him a snippet of what it was like to have an older brother. Dick stared at him, guarded confusion on his expression.

“Who are you?” he ordered.

Tim didn’t move immediately. Then, slowly, he reached up and lowered his mask.

The recognition was immediate.

Dick’s frown broke apart and his eyebrows creased together with surprise. “Tim?” he whispered.

Tim turned and jumped.

“Tim, no wait!” He heard Dick follow behind him.

He rolled onto the next roof and was up and running in a split second, keeping the distance between him and Dick. He could not afford to fail now.

“Wait, please! I just want to talk!”

He wished he could stop and talk, but it wasn’t exactly an option. Honestly, he was glad Nightwing was in Gotham right now. If he hadn’t been, then he would have to go to Batman instead and if Bruce was involved, he would be done for. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t outrun the Batman.

“Why did you run away? T— Robin! Please!”

Tim took a turn and dived down to a lower rooftop.

“Are you still staying in Gotham? Are you living somewhere else? Is someone hurting you? I promise we’ll protect you! We’ll keep you safe!”

Oh, Dick. Tim ignored the longing in his chest and fired his grapple gun, hopping to another rooftop.

“Why did you come? I promise I can help you, Robin!”

Tim ignored everything. He ignored the words, ignored the tears, and kept running.

“Robin, I— Yes! B, right here.”

Tim ran into an armored chest.

He stumbled back from the black bat and slowly tilted his head up to see Batman’s grim face.

Immediately, he spun the other way, but Nightwing appeared on the other side.

Without wasting another second, he leapt off the side of the roof. Something fired and Tim somersaulted to land on a fire escape, narrowly dodging the net thrown his way. He jumped down the fire escape and kept running.

Okay, so he got more help than he wanted, but this was somewhat good. He couldn’t outrun Batman, but Mask’s territory was close by. If he could lose both of them in this Rooftop Surfers game just before the warehouse and they saw Damian—a kid—tied up in a chair in front of Mask, they would free him and Tim could join the fight to smuggle Damian out.

Simple. Easy-peasy. Or, well, it would have been. If not for the Batmobile appearing right in front of him, cutting off his escape.

There were buildings boxing him in and Batman and Nightwing behind him. He was cornered. The Batmobile was fast, and though he knew Babs wouldn’t hit him with it, she knew how to control it and use the environment to trap him again.

“Tim?” Batman called out softly from behind.

Tim ever so slowly turned around to face his former mentor and brother-figure.

“Listen to them, Tim,” Oracle’s voice rung from the Batmobile. “I know Batman— Well, we all. I know we all did some shit that impacted you and we just want to know what it is so we can fix it and you can come back.”

“Was it my hugs?” Dick blurted. “Did I invade your personal space too much?” Dick asked with the most puppy-eyes broken look on his face. If it weren’t for the mask, he would be tearing up and— and Tim—

Tim couldn’t deal with this anymore.

He took a step back, a shudder rocking his body.

“Wh— N, it’s not— it’s not that. I like the hugs.” Tim turned red.

“Then was is it?” Bruce asked in a voice so soft Tim didn’t know it could come out of Batman’s gruff throat. “I know I did something, Tim, and I just want to fix it.”

Tim shook his head. “B—”

“Son…”

Tim froze.

“I’m sorry. Whatever I did or said, I’m sorry.”

Tim sucked in a sharp breath. He… he thought they were mad. He thought they were angry at him for running away. Why weren’t they mad?

“Tim,” Dick reached out his hand slowly so as not to startle him. “Please come home.”

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. He was meant to bring Jason home. He wasn’t even supposed to be there in the plan! It was a fact of the world. It was supposed to be just Jason and now Damian and—

Wait.

Damian!

“No— I—” Tim widened his eyes. “Look! A monkey!”

Bruce and Dick turned their heads at the same time Babs said, “Like we’re going to fall for—”

Tim climbed over the Batmobile, skin prickling with adrenalin and tension. He shot his grapple and launched, flipping before landing on top of another roof. Just one more flip, one more building.

It was better to keep the chase high so Babs couldn’t peg him down again.

The distraction worked only for a few seconds, but it was enough. Tim could already hear Babs’ angry exclaim of, “Dumbass fucking idiotic boys,” getting fainter.

He peddled his legs as fast as he could, Batman and Nightwing close on his tail. He kicked a toddler scooter abandoned on a roof in their direction and heard a yelp from Nightwing, slowing them down more.

He leapt to the next roof and threw a smoke bomb. Gray mist hissed out of the tiny container and covered the ledge where he had landed in smoke, blurring the edge of where the roof started and where the gap between the buildings ended. It made it harder for them to jump.

Sure enough, he heard Batman yelp as he misstepped and nearly slipped.

A whistling sound whizzed past his ear and he ducked instinctively just in time. Tim’s eyes widened at the dull-edged batarang that landed on the ground.

He fumbled, as his fingers gripped the grapple gun and fired it to the next roof.

Another projectile flew inches beside his shoulder. Tim gasped at the second near-miss. He pulled his hood up and ran.

He ran all the way to the warehouse, dodging projectiles thrown his way, ducking here and there, and kicking things back their way, not letting any of them get close. It was Home Alone: Vigilante Rooftop edition. And Tim was Vigilante Kevin McCallister.

They finally arrived at the base and Tim wasted no time in crashing through the warehouse.

Gunfire started up and Tim immediately ducked behind a large stack of crates filled with… whatever Black Mask was smuggling.

Well, wasn’t this a nice two birds and one stone situation? He could save Damian and have this illegal trade busted.

Batman and Nightwing reached the scene a few seconds later and the yells grew louder.

Tim crept around the crates and stuck close to the walls and shadows. He edged through the space, inching closer and closer to Damian.

A bullet nearly clipped his shoulder, but bounced off the wall near him. Adrenaline pumping hard through his veins and heartbeat pounding in his skull, he pushed off the wall and ran over to Damian.

“Hey,” he whispered a quiet greeting.

Damian turned his head, eyes growing into wide circles as they met his.

Tim smiled and started dragging his chair to a secluded corner.

Nightwing spotted him, locking gazes, but a gun swinging his way acted as distraction enough.

Tim snapped the zip ties that bound Damian to the chair. Planting his hands on the kid’s shoulders, he gave a quick once-over, checking his arms, legs, back, head.

“I am fine, Drake,” Damian tutted, jerking away from his hold with false irritation to cover his relief. “Just some minor bruises from his filthy hand slapping my face.” He stood up, brushing himself off.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him into a hug. “We have to get out of here,” he uttered.

Damian didn’t respond.

Tim frowned and pulled away to look at Damian’s unblinking stare pinpointed on… Batman.

Oh.

Tim watched as Batman knocked down two men with a three-move maneuver while dodging bullets being shot his way, then kicking Mask in the face, knocking him out immediately.

“That’s Batman,” Tim whispered to Damian, who was still staring in awe. “That’s your dad,” he grinned. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Damian nodded mutely.

Tim chuckled. “You’ll get a chance to fight with him soon. I promise.”

Damian nodded again.

He let Damian watch for a few more seconds before lightly tugging his sleeve and leading him to the exit.

“T— Robin!” Batman called, but Tim ignored his call and snuck out with Damian.

“Pull your hood up as far as you can,” he ordered while doing the same.

The pair snuck around the cameras, hiding from Oracle. Hearts still racing and hoods raised up, they sneaked through the cameras’ blindspots.

Tim would thank whoever was out there to listen if they managed to get home in one piece. Well, two pieces. Him and Damian weren’t really joined at the hip, but…

Considering what he had done tonight for the kid, he supposed the metaphor wasn’t far off after all.

Chapter Text

Black kryptonite, blue kryptonite, erbium and rage toxin. That was the next dose.

Cuddle pollen, mercury and yellow kryptonite. That was the dose after. And they had managed to get both into Jason in the last week and a half with minimal injuries. They made a surprisingly good team, though neither would admit it until their dying breath.

As a reward, Tim found safe spots for both him and Damian to hide in and watch Batman in action for a while. Tim’s past stalker skills were really handy in that.

He quite enjoyed those moments. Damian’s eyes were bright and wide as he watched his father he had heard so much about be his awesome self protecting the streets from harm. Tim was also happy to report that his disappearance hadn’t pushed him to become more violent like Jason’s disappearance had.

After the night when he had been cornered by Bruce, Dick and Barbara, Tim didn’t quite know what to think of it.

They weren’t mad at him like he had originally thought. They sounded worried. Immensely worried. Fortunately Talia had got them a secure apartment so they couldn’t find him and Damian here… but still.

Bruce had called him son. He hadn’t told Damian any of it, just that he lured them to the warehouse for aid in rescuing him (“I did not need rescuing, Drake! I could escape quite easily on my own! You only interfered.”). The kid had been quiet ever since then, so Tim took the liberty of finding where the Batman (and Nightwing when he visited) would be so they could watch them for a bit from the distance. Y’know, to cheer him up.

Winter had hit the city with full force a week later, freezing the lakes and covering the trees in snow. Gotham always had a certain chill, even in Spring. It was only during the Summer that it was properly, blisteringly hot, so the snow on Monday was a surprising occurrence.

“I hate snow,” Tim groused, watching the clouds’ white-colored period falling from the sky.

“You hate being outside in general,” Damian commented, not looking up from his phone. Tim had introduced him to the Batbusters app and he and Tim had been trying to beat each other’s top scores nonstop. Damian, much to Tim’s panicked surprise, was getting good way too quickly. So he had the app updated and doubled his efforts in keeping his top scores which were currently higher than Babs’ and Bart’s.

“Don’t tell me you like the snow.”

“It was one of the more enjoyable missions I was sent to in my youth.”

Tim snorted. “Youth.”

Damian shot him a glare which Tim returned with a stuck-out tongue. “And you say I’m the child.”

He left the window and joined Damian sitting on his bed. “What snowy missions did you go to then, wise old elf?”

“Tt. Endurance in the snow mostly, but I’ve also learned how to fight in the weather and use it to my advantage.”

“Oooh! Ditto! Bruce and Dick took me ice-skating after that.” Tim recalled the memory. He had never been to the ice before and kept slipping and landing on his butt, much to Dick’s amusement. The pictures were still there somewhere, he had yet to get rid of all of them.

“Hm,” Damian paused the game and looked up. “Father and Grayson taught you how to fight on ice?”

“After I got the hang of balancing on it, yeah. Robin training includes fighting on skates too, using the blades on your feet to your advantage, et cetera, et cetera. My winter Robin suit had a built-in skating blades feature in my boots.” He smirked. “I once pranked Kon—Superboy—with it. It was hilarious, since he’s invincible.”

“I haven’t been trained in the art of fighting on ice,” Damian admitted. “I was due to take those lessons next year.”

Good thing he got out before that, Tim thought to himself. They probably had a better version of training than the League of Assassins. “I can get you a headstart on teaching it to you, if you like,” Tim offered. “You’ll probably learn with B and D too, but you can practice the basics with me till then.”

Damian considered the offer, staring at the pause animation on his phone. Finally, he nodded his head once. “Very well. It will be good to learn as many skills as possible before I test in front of Father.”

Tim nudged his shoulder lightly. “Easen up. It’s going to be a fun thing. And Bruce really isn’t Ra’s. He won’t care that you don’t know how to skate.” He took out his own phone and searched up the nearest lake. “We’ll go once the weather has solidified the lakes.”

Three days later, Tim was taking Damian to a shoe shop to buy the both of them skates, since his were back at Drake Manor.

“You’re gonna have so much fun, Dames,” Tim gushed as they walked through the snow.

“Do not call me that,” Damian huffed automatically from inside his thick winter coat. Winter clothes shopping was much easier than summer clothes shopping since the clothes offered more coverage and darker colors. Still, it didn’t stop Tim begging a resolute Damian to wear a Pluto-themed sweater.

They stuffed their shoes in a gym bag behind a fir tree. The lake Tim had chosen was a smaller and less popular one, so they wouldn’t bump into Dick or anyone else he knew. Since it was school-time and neither of them were going to school (though Tim really was supposed to), the lake was devoid of any people.

A couple of playful squirrels skittered by in front of them, making Tim shriek a delighted exclaim of, “Scrat!”, drawing a weird look from Damian.

“Remind me to introduce you to the Ice Age movies,” he told him. “Okay, now, got your skates on tight?”

Damian nodded, eyeing the ice critically.

“Good. Just watch me first.” He stepped onto the ice, wobbling at first, but righting himself as he pushed off, gliding across the sheen of blue.

He made sure to skate slowly, letting Damian record his every move. His balance, how he moved his hands, how he pushed his legs to move forward, how he kept his posture slightly stooped and his hip-joints flexible in the turning. He made a full circle around the lake and stopped in front of Damian.

“Ready?”

Damian nodded, lips pressed together with determination.

Tim held out his hands for Damian to hold.

“I’m not an infant, Drake!” Damian snapped.

“I’m only offering,” Tim assured. “I needed to hold Bruce’s and Dick’s hands at the start too.”

“I don’t.”

Tim shrugged, dropping his arms and moving back. “Suit yourself.” He skated a little distance away and took out his phone. “This is going to be good,” he snickered to himself, pressing the record button.

Damian put one foot on the ice, then hesitantly dragged his other foot. Keeping his arms spread out, he stepped forward, wobbling a bit, then took another step forward.

“You gotta skate, not walk!” Tim hollered.

Damian pressed his lips into an annoyed frown and pushed.

Then he fell.

His foot slipped and his whole body tilted backward. He let out a surprised exclamation and tipped back completely and landed hard on his butt, moving on the ice with the momentum.

Tim cackled. “That was brilliant!”

Damian lifted his head and scowled. “Are you recording me? Drake!” he screeched and tried to get up, only to fall again.

Tim cackled harder.

“Delete that video or I will end you!”

“Come and get it, half-pint!” Tim crowed, skating further away.

“Drake! Come back! Right this instant!”

Tim blew a raspberry at him.

They skated for the next half an hour. Tim managed to keep Damian’s hands off his phone so far. The kid was persistent. He didn’t accept Tim’s help, but had figured out how to move slowly without falling.

Just then, a large crack caught Tim’s ears.

He skidded to a stop and turned Damian’s way, body tightening in panic. “Damian, stay. Right. There.”

Damian listened. He squatted down to stop himself with his hands, still learning how to brake with just his skates.

Tim searched for the break in the ice. A large crack, like a lightning bolt, stretched across a foot away from Damian.

“Damian, skate the opposite way!” Tim yelled. “There’s a crack in the ice!”

Damian twisted, and took a step, then immediately fell. The ice cracked more.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Tim took off. He skated across the lake, avoiding the crack and making sure to be as gentle as possible. He stopped at a distance.

“Damian,” he called out. “Don’t move.”

“Like I hadn’t already figured that out.”

“I mean it, Damian!” Tim was panicking.

Tim was panicking bad.

One wrong move and Damian could plunge into icy-cold water—or worse—get stuck under the ice. “Hold on!”

Tim edged a little closer, the ice fortunately didn’t crack more. He squinted at the frozen water, peering for any other cracks. He slowly moved to the right and circled. He skated behind Damian, then to his left, assessing the situation.

Okay, so the cracks were only in the front and behind Damian. The ice at the sides must be thin too, but not as thin as the rest.

Damn it, why hadn’t Tim checked the ice before stepping onto it?

“Okay, Damian!” he called out. “Don’t try to stand up. Try to even out your weight, lie on your stomach.” Tim got down and did the same.

The chill was harsh and unforgiving. It greedily invaded through his jacket to reach his stomach and chest. Tim ignored it.

“Try not to move too much,” he instructed. “Just start edging towards me slowly. Like this.” He blew out a breath and pulled himself forward.

Damian watched him, a look of unguarded fear on his face, and did the same.

The ice stayed still.

Tim nodded encouragingly.

Damian repeated the move.

Tim inched himself forward, he kept his body still and his palms light. Using the tips of his toes and his core, he pushed himself forward an inch.

He pushed himself forward an inch, the blood under him making it easier to slip.

Using the tips of his fingers, he kicked lightly, moving another inch.

Hood’s mocking voice was right behind him. “Pathetic,” it whispered.

“Keep going, Damian!”

The combat boots stepped in sync with him, a teasing laugh echoing in his ears. “So frail.”

“You’re doing great, Dames!”

“Unworthy.” The boot kicked his chest. Tim could hardly breathe.

Damian moved too quickly in his eagerness and the ice suddenly tensed, little white cracks shooting across the pale blue.

“Slow!” Tim ordered. “Slow, Dami. Go slow.”

Hood pressed his gun to his head, the emergency button was right there—

“No rush, Dami. Keep going.” The ice cracked more.

“Batman failed again, Robin. No one’s coming to save you.”

He was only a foot away. Tim reached out his hand. “You’re good,” Tim whispered. “You’re okay, you’re good. Take my hand.”

Damian’s eyes were wide as he snailed forward.

Tim’s hand was out, unwavering. And a second later, Damian’s hand was clasped tightly in it.

“Take this lesson back to Batman, Replacement.” The gun went off and Tim’s side burst into flames of agony.

Tim pulled Damian and the ice at his feet gave away.

Tim—Damian—Tim screamed—Hood laughed—the ice roared.

Another shot went off and Tim was airborne, Damian’s hand in his. The grapple line retracted all the way to the tree. But the shock of two bodies stopping with momentum snapped the branch and they both fell.

Tim’s vision was engulfed in white. He thrashed—blood, fire—heart racing. His limbs flew, trying to find a purchase somewhere until someone grabbed his arm.

Tim latched onto it and was pulled out. Out of the flashback and the snow.

He sat up and coughed out snow. The white flakes covered his hair and clothes, wetting them and his face too. His feet were soaked with ice-cold water. He turned and saw Damian leaning back on his hands, snow covering him entirely too and his pants soaked up to his shins. He was gazing at the lake.

Tim flitted his eyes towards it as well.

The whole center of it was collapsed with chunks of ice floating in the freezing water. The water splashed, rippling from the chunks of ice, making a whoosh sound. The ice bobbed up and down, a safe ten meters away from him and Damian.

“I think I’ll wait to practice skating with Father instead.”

Tim snorted, then choked as the snow entered his nose.

------------------------------------------------

Damian hadn’t stopped sniffling for the past ten minutes.

Tim sighed. “Damian, if you’ve got a cold because of the incident with the lake yesterday, you can just tell me—”

“I do not get silly and weak things such as colds, Drake,” Damian snapped.

“I’m just saying—”

“If you imply that I am weak one more time, I will skewer you with my sword,” Damian snapt.

The threatening effect was largely lost when he sneezed immediately after, exuding snot from his nose.

Tim slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

Damian stood still, frozen in the middle of the room, far from any tissue box.

“Do you—” A giggle escaped from his lips and Tim quickly cleared his throat to try again, “Do you need a tissue—” A snort escaped next and Tim couldn’t stop it. He started laughing.

He could tell Damian was glowering at him with all the fierceness he could muster, but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was a shortstack kid piercing his eyes at him with a string of snot hanging from his nose. And he burst into another round of laughter. His body shaking with the force of it and he ended up from the couch onto the floor.

-----------------------------------------------

Tim rushed to the kitchen.

“The chicken soup is the one thing I can really make cuz I used to make it when I got a cold. Alfred makes it too, oh damn it, if only I can find the fucking chilli flakes in this damn kitchen, oh—”

Tim rushed to Damian’s bedroom.

“Do you need a blanket? Of course you need a blanket, you have a cold, you’re cold, you need a blanket. You need to keep war— shit, I forgot to switch on the heater.”

Tim rushed to the living room.

“Okay, I turned it on, it should get warm now, is it warm now? Why does it feel cold? I think it takes a while to heat up, till then just cover yourself with the blanke— fuck! I forgot to get the blanket!”

Tim rushed back to Damian’s room.

“I got the blanket! I don’t think it’s enough though. It looks too thin, why didn’t you tell me your blanket was too thin— oh it’s because it’s a bedsheet, my bad. Wait, why are you sleeping with a bedsheet? Where’s your blan— oh, it’s on the floor right here. Hold on, I’ll get my blanket too.”

Tim rushed to his room.

“Okay, I got my blanket. It should be thick enough, let me know if it’s not thick enough cuz you need to stay warm and—”

“Drake,” Damian groaned, clutching his head from the chatter. “The air conditioning is in the wrong mode.”

Tim rushed back into the living room.

“Oh damn, you’re right! How did I not notice it? Ugh, silly me. Here, I changed it now. And here are the blankets, just make yourself comfy on the couch— ah shit! The soup!”

Tim rushed to the kitchen again and his stream of panicked chatter started once more. He knew Damian wasn’t listening, in fact, he knew the kid would appreciate if he would stop talking altogether—his last four threats at shutting him up communicated that perfectly—but it was a habit. A habit that he had acquired while living in a big, empty and silent house. He used to play the TV on the highest volume when he was little to drown out the silence of the rest of the house. He grew out of that habit, but not the one where he regularly talked to himself like there was another person in the room.

“La soup is ready, monsieur!” Tim declared with a grin as he brought the bowl out on a tray.

“Le soub,” Damian corrected, not looking up from his sketchbook.

Tim set the tray down and peered over. “Whatcha drawin'?” He managed to catch a brief look before Damian quickly snapped it closed.

Tim smiled. “That’s really good. The color combination of pastel blue and black really blend together well with your steady hand.”

Damian didn’t answer, ogling Tim with suspicion, knees curled up so the book was against his chest, hidden from his view.

“The real Gotham sky has a layer of smog over it though,” Tim said lightly, being sure not to sound critical, just friendly.

“I haben’t gotten to it yet,” Damian answered, sounding muffled with his nose blocked. He put his sketchbook by his side and pulled the bowl of soup close.

Tim watched him eat his soup. The kid obviously had a talent at drawing (he had a talent for everything apparently, except humility it seemed). More than that, he had a true passion for it. Most of the time, if he wasn’t training with Tim or trying to beat him at Batbusters or co-creating the next dose for Jason or “making sure the kitchen didn’t blow up” as he helped him with cooking, he was drawing.

Even as Tim pulled him into watching movies and shows with him, he drew on his sketchbook while occasionally looking up at the TV. He hadn’t asked about it till now, wanting to give the kid some space.

It wasn’t unlike how Tim snuck his camera with him during patrols, just to climb roofs and take pictures of anything and everything, fussing with the settings and toning the brightness, warmth, hue, et cetera up and down to fit the shot. He periodically brought his camera to Wayne manor too, just so he could sneakily take pictures of some rare good moments. Dick giving Barbara a sneaky kiss on her head. Bruce trying not to laugh as Dick got stuck in the Dinosaur’s mouth while completing a dare from Tim. Alfred calmly chopping onions while surrounded by screaming angry pots and pans of food in the kitchen…

Hey. There was a thought!

Tim rushed over to his room. He dove under his bed and pulled out the box with pictures and films he collected over the time. Sorting through them, he pulled out all the ones he took of the Gotham city lines.

“Here,” he put them down in front of Damian, plopping himself on the seat beside him.

Damian peeked over his sketchbook. “What is that subbosed to be, Drake?”

“Drawing references!” Tim declared cheerfully. He looked down at where he was fiddling with a thread on the blanket. “Drawing’s your thing, but photography’s mine. I kinda hide it from everyone else too. Dunno why. It’s like… it’s like it’s my thing, ya know? And I worry it’ll get taken away.”

Damian didn’t respond.

“Anyway. I don’t want you to feel like your passion’s gonna be taken away too. So I thought… why not fuse your and my passions together? I can take good reference photos for your drawings.”

Damian falteringly outstretched his hand for one of the pictures. He held it up beside his sketchbook, looking back and forth between it.

Tim respectfully, moved back, not forcing his way to look at Damian’s work so far.

“It’s… It will do, I subbose,” Damian declared haughtily, the haughtiness multiplied by how nasal his voice sounded.

Tim grinned. “Cool. I’m gonna run to the store and get some meds. You’ll be okay by yourself?”

Damian waved him away, going back to his sketchbook, glancing at the picture repeatedly to compare the work.

Tim smiled and stood to head out.

-------------------------------------------------

Tim grunted in annoyance as Damian smirked.

“What was the phrase again?” The little shit tapped his chin in mock thought. “Oh yes, how the tables turn, Drake.”

He snorted the snot hard, but it did nothing to clear the block in his nose.

Damian folded his arms, grinning at him smugly. “Oh, how the tables turn indeed.”

Chapter Text

Tim paced the living room, fiddling with his camera. He had taken some pictures on it while he and Damian were monitoring the older boy after delivering the Lazarus Cleaner dose last night. The dose held a stronger strain of rage toxin and they were following him around so the toxin wouldn’t take over and cause him to hurt an innocent.

“Drake?” Damian entered the living room.

“Hmm?”

“I wish to see Father.”

Tim clicked the brightness setting on the camera repeatedly. Was that a green glow Tim could see through the eyes of the helmet? “We can go tonight and watch him,” he answered absent-mindedly.

“No. I want to see him. In person. Out of the costume.”

Tim finally looked up. “What?”

Damian had an indiscernible look on him. Tim couldn’t piece it out. “I’ve been living with you for the past months,” the kid said. “This isn’t at all where I was supposed to go. I’m supposed to be with my father. I want to see him.”

Tim put his camera down on the table. He chewed on his bottom lip. The kid wasn’t wrong. Tim had messed up and Damian being here was his fault.

He deserved to at least see Bruce after being so patient all these months. He had only seen Batman so far, not the man underneath the cowl. The father underneath the cowl. Really, it would be criminal of Tim to deny the kid that right.

“Okay,” he sighed. “He’s probably at Wayne Enterprises right now. If you give me some time to find the safest way to sneak in without being pegged down, we can leave in the afternoon.”

Damian lifted his lips in a genuine smile. “Thank you, Drake.” He immediately dashed off.

Tim stared at the space Damian disappeared to. He didn’t think the kid had ever thanked him that way with such sincerity. Huh. He was changing fast.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t understand why I have to wear the hat, Drake,” Damian hissed in distaste as they snuck through the corridors and floors of WE.

“Because there is still a slight chance that he could recognize you from the night when you got kidnapped. Besides, it’s a cap, not a hat.” Tim spoke through his bushy fake mustache. “And you look cute.”

A second later, a fist poked his ribs, hard.

“Ow. Brat.”

Damian, after much complaining, threatening and begrudging, had finally agreed to wear the most child-like outfit as his disguise while Tim donned a cut-sleeve Metallica shirt and brown jeans with a bushy brown mustache and fedora hat.

It wasn’t his best disguise, compared to Alvin Draper, but it was a new one which Bruce and other employees like Lucius won’t recognize from a distance. He still kept close to the walls though, just in case.

“How many more floors to go?” Damian grumbled like the little kid he was.

“Bruce’s office is at the very top cuz he’s CEO. We’re still on the twelfth floor.”

Damian groaned. “What’s wrong with the elevator?”

“The elevator is full of people. We are avoiding people. And if it means using the stairs to go all the way to the hundred and twenty-fifth floor, then so be it.”

Damian stopped, making Tim stop with him. “Coward,” he mumbled and twisted on his heel, making his way straight to the elevator that was about to close.

“Damian, no—”

“Excuse me, please keep the elevator open!” Damian ran towards it.

A woman spotted Damian dashing towards the lift with Tim, in his weird outback uncle disguise, chasing after him and arrived at the wrong conclusion. “Here, kid!” She put a hand on the elevator doors, and as soon as Damian slipped in, she slammed the close button.

Tim was too late, the doors closed and Damian’s smug face sneered back at him. Tim scowled.

He crushed the second elevator button. The lift was currently on the fifth floor, slowly coming up. It stopped at the seventh floor, then the tenth, then eleventh, before finally arriving at the twelfth floor. Tim tore his way into the elevator, pushing through the people coming out and hit the button of the 125th floor.

Tim tapped his foot impatiently, sulking at the back of the large elevator and glaring at the digital counter that displayed the floor level. The lift stopped multiple times, letting people in and out. Bruce should really do something about this elevator traffic.

Finally, finally, Tim arrived at the 125th floor. Curse tall buildings.

He cleared the elevator at once, running straight through the maze of hallways, looking for the delinquent bat brat. The people walking past gave him looks, but didn’t push him out. Bruce liked to meet some potential employees himself sometimes, they were mostly previous rogues who Batman had recommended take up a job at WE. Using that to his advantage, Tim briskly walked through the clean blue and white hallways, hands in his jean pockets.

Tim passed a hallway. Then he paused and backtracked.

There, in the breakroom in front of the box of donuts, was Damian approaching his father.

“Excuse me? Are you Bruce Wayne?”

Tim nearly charged in and picked up the kid, before stopping at the last minute. Despite the efficacy of his outback uncle in winter disguise being unrecognizable from a distance, it wasn’t as good to fool a close inspection from Batman. Bruce would definitely recognize him if he broke cover.

Grinding his teeth, Tim hid behind the wall, peeking his head out to watch the interaction.

“Uh, yes?” Bruce replied, blinking down confusedly at the little kid in front of him.

Damian took off his Mickey Mouse ears cap and smiled up at him, a completely innocent and childish look that didn’t match his usual expression of frowning and eternal disappointment at Tim and the world.

“I’m a huge fan!” Damian ranted. It wasn’t so childish as much as it was copying Tim’s own ranting style. That little shit. “I’ve heard so much about you, you are an icon and you help so many people!”

“Thank you,” Bruce squinted at his face. “Do you need anything, son?”

Damian froze at the nickname. It wasn’t unusual of Bruce to call children things like ‘son’, ‘chum’ and ‘kiddo’. But seeing as how Damian really was Bruce’s…

Tim sighed in pity for the kid.

Damian cleared his throat. “Um, I’m not— do you have sons? Or children?”

Bruce blinked once, before he smiled. “Yes, I do.”

Damian cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Bruce chuckled. “No. I like them staying out of the media as much as possible while they’re young. Dick, my first, stays out because he doesn’t quite enjoy the cameras pointed at him all the time.”

“Who is Dick?” Damian asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. The entirely childish gestures Damian was displaying shot a sense of creepiness in Tim. Eugh, he preferred the kid threatening to drown him in acid than seeing him this way.

Bruce’s smiled grew wider. “My first son. He grew up in Haly’s circus and he is… he is the most cheerful person I have ever met. Never have I ever met anyone with such hope in them. Dick is a leader and the most compassionate person I have ever known. Of course, that compassion was often bested by Jason, my second. Before… before he… died…” Bruce’s expression faltered.

Damian bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Bruce grimaced. “I— yes. He was a brave soul. There are soldiers in wars who lose hope and their sense of life after seeing the horrors of the world, and rightly so, but Jason… Jason was always just so stubborn.” Bruce chuckled. “He stubbornly held onto his sense of goodness and justice.”

And Tim was going to bring him back, with his old self of goodness and justice and everything. He just needed more time—

“My third one is just as stubborn.”

Third one? Did he mean Cass?

It’s true, Tim mused. She is very stubborn.

“He knocked on my door while I was grieving for Jason and has never left since.”

He was pretty sure Cass went by ‘she’, and that she had never knocked on Bruce’s door. She liked to crash through windows more.

Unless… the third one meant— meant Tim.

Bruce let out a fond sigh. “I wish I had the words. He’s smart, smarter than me actually. Talented too and a fast learner.” Bruce looked down wistfully at his coffee. “I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him.”

“Is he dead too?” Damian asked softly.

Bruce looked pained. “No… just… he’s not…” He paused and squinted at Damian, getting a good look at him. “Are you from a class field trip?”

“Yes, but I got separated and saw you and decided to take up this excellent opportunity,” he lied smoothly.

And suddenly, Tim snapped back to reality, shock replaced with anger at Damian again.

“Do you need help finding your class?” Bruce offered, going to put down his coffee.

“No, I’m fine. I know where to meet them, thank you!” Damian beamed and rushed off before Bruce could respond.

Tim disappeared behind the wall. Damian walked past him, wisely not acknowledging him and drawing Bruce’s attention. He followed a few paces behind the kid to the elevator. Since he was trying not to walk too fast or look suspicious, Damian’s elevator left without him again and he took another one down.

By the time he exited the building, giving a nod to the people at the reception calling out a “Good day!”, he spotted Damian waiting by his bike.

Damian didn’t say anything as he handed Tim his helmet and climbed at the back. Tim put it on and started his bike. They rode home in silence.

I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him.

Tim clutched the handles tightly.

I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him.

A prickling in his eyes alerted him of tears knocking to get out, but he squeezed his lids shut, pushing the tears back.

I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him.

Fuck.

He really missed Bruce. He missed the patrols with the two of them covering the entirety of Gotham together. The breaktimes when they would munch on Alfred’s sandwiches and gaze down at the city as Tim chattered on about whatever came to mind. The times in the Cave where Bruce would praise him for a good eye on the case they were working on. The times outside their suits where they would have dinner together and Bruce would ask him about school, listening when his parents would never.

He missed Alfred. He missed his cooking that was as good and as warm as a hug. The times when Bruce would be away and he would drive him around Gotham, aiding him in his cases. The times when he would tell him off with the concern of a father for being risky and getting injured. The times when he would drive out his insecurities with a firm line praising his abilities and competency.

He missed Dick. With his big brother bear hugs that lasted as long as he wanted them to. His laugh at jokes he made while fighting bad guys together. His caring look as Tim came to him after a hard night or a hard call from his parents. His advice as Tim called him up when he needed help.

He missed Barbara. Her teasing voice in the background as he worked in the field. Her help ready whenever he requested for it. Her wit and humor that made it hard for Tim to keep a composed face while facing off a mafia boss. Her soothing words when he was panicked or in trouble.

He missed… he missed being part of a family. Even if it was pretend. He missed them all. They were as close to a family as he could get and— and he had left it all by running away.

He wished he could build the same fond memories with Jason as he had done with the others. His mission with Jason was just as much for him as it was for the others.

He didn’t know anymore. They were more than halfway to curing Jason of the Lazarus Pit’s hold on him. But would Tim still be welcomed back after causing so much trouble? Would they still bother after having Jason and Damian in the family with them? Would there still be a space for him to squeeze into?

He parked his bike in its usual place. Still not looking at Damian, he secured it and walked upstairs to the apartment.

It wasn’t until the door was locked did he turn around to finally look at Damian in the face. He was heading to his room, clearly unconcerned with what he had just done today.

“Why the fuck did you sneak off?” Tim asked sharply, stopping him in his tracks. “Without my permission,” he added with venom. Had he not emphasized how risky it was? Had he not gave warning after warning about the danger of having their cover blown?

Damian turned slowly, his usual glare plastered on his face. “You’re not my father,” he said. “My real father is Bruce Wayne. And I can go to my real father whenever I like, thanks,” he spat out.

Tim straightened in fury, clenching his fists by his side. “You know we’re hiding from them and you nearly blew our cover!”

“But I didn’t,” Damian riposted. “So I don’t see what you’re fussing about.”

“Talia said you’re meant to stay here because it’s too dangerous to send you to Bruce while Jason’s still running around like that! You can’t go to him.”

“I can go to my father whenever I like!” Damian shouted. “And I don’t need to listen to a weak replacement like you!”

Tim snapped.

The thread of patience broke and all the anger poured out.

“And what if he doesn’t like you?” Tim cried. “What if he meets you and thinks that he’s got enough on his hands already and doesn’t want to accept you? What if he thinks he doesn’t need another burden? What if he just doesn’t have enough love left for you? What then, huh? What then?” Tim’s chest heaved up and down, hands shaking by his sides.

Damian froze, unmoving for a second, before his nostrils flared and let out a shout, moving forward to strike.

Tim automatically raised his arms to cover his face, ready to block a hit, but it never came.

Damian struck the table instead.

The table in the living room. The table that held the camera.

The camera which Tim was using to keep progress of the mission. The camera which Tim had been using since he was eight to take pictures of Gotham’s vigilantes. The camera which Tim hugged sometimes while in bed, because it was the only emotional support he had.

The camera that Tim had a strong emotional connection with, because it was the only thing that was constant in between his parents leaving.

The camera, which was now on the floor, lens cracked and dented with the force of the strike.

Tim stopped.

Stopped moving.

Stopped breathing, stopped thinking.

Stopped.

He stared at the camera.

The broken camera which was his best friend since he was eight. Broken. Beyond repair. Gone. Forever.

He could do nothing but stare.

He had accepted that it was gone as soon as it landed on the floor.

He accepted that it was gone now, the big crack extending throughout the whole glass having cracked the inner lens too and the big dent at the edge glitching all the settings.

He couldn’t fix it. He didn’t have the materials. No one had the materials. Not to fix this camera.

This was a slightly older version from another country that he had found in the attic when he was five. It was the only thing he had in place of stuffed toys because his parents said that those were for babies. It was his camera. His. With memories of some of the best times ever, eternalizing it for him.

The silver camera that had felt heavy in his hands back then, but now was the most natural weight to hold. It was broken now. Damaged. He couldn’t fix it. It couldn’t be fixed.

It was broken.

Tim stood. He stood watching for a long time.

He didn’t know how long it was now. All he knew was that his camera was on the floor, gone, and Damian was somewhere else. He didn’t care where Damian was right now. His camera was gone. He didn't have a camera anymore.

He wouldn’t get to click the shutter again. Wouldn’t get to press his eye to it and look through the lens and feel like himself again.

The camera was broken.

Tim was broken.

He had no one.

He never had anyone. His parents left him. And the people who hadn’t left him, Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Barbara, he left them all before they could.

Everybody always left.

Why did he leave? To bring Jason back. To make them all happy.

What about making Tim happy? Tim didn’t have a camera. He wasn’t happy.

He didn’t deserve to be happy.

He was horrible. A horrible person. He yelled at Damian.

He yelled at him and told him that Bruce didn’t love him. That his own father didn’t love him. He projected his own feelings onto him and triggered Damian, causing him to lash out. It wasn’t his fault.

It was all Tim’s fault.

Tim was an even bigger jerk than his biological dad. Tim was an asshole.

His camera was broken.

Tim’s camera was broken and Tim was an asshole and Damian was crying.

---------------------------------------------------

It took a couple of hours for Tim to snap from his dissociative phase.

He blinked and narrowed his eyes against the evening sunrays that filtered through the window.

Forcing himself to move, he walked over and drew the blinds, encasing the room in partial darkness. It felt like moving through a swamp of molasses.

Still, he pushed through the numbness and made his way to Damian’s room. He knocked, but no one answered.

Creaking the door open, he stepped in and found a figure huddled under blankets.

Keeping his distance, Tim lightly sat on the bed.

Neither one of them spoke. He didn’t know where to start.

“Hey, Damian?”

Damian, of course, didn’t respond.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to rip the bandaid.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. “I shouldn’t have said that. None of what I said is true. At least for you. I was… talking about myself. And I said things that I was thinking about myself to you. None of it is true though, I promise.”

Damian still didn’t respond.

“If… if Bruce still remembers me and is proud even after I ran away, then he will definitely want you and will never leave you. You’re… you’re more. You’re his blood. He will definitely want you as his son. He will— he will want to be a father to you.”

Tim winced. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be here, with me. I’m just an asshole who doesn’t even know what he’s doing. You can… you can leave and go to Bruce if you want. I’ll drop you off too.”

He escaped Bruce with a broken arm once, he could escape again.

When Damian still didn’t reply, he sighed and mournfully left. He went to the kitchen and pulled out a couple packets of two-minute noodles. He didn’t have the strength to make anything else.

Lost in the numb motions of cooking, he didn’t notice Damian until after he set the bowl down on the counter and two hands grabbed it.

Damian looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I apologize for smashing your camera.”

It was worded to be formal, but the voice speaking sounded 10. The exact age Damian was right now. God, he was just a child.

Tim shrugged. “There are other ways to take pictures. I can go to a store tomorrow.”

“You had an emotional attachment to it,” Damian insisted. “And now it’s gone. I know what that feels like.”

Right, he grew up among assassins as Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson. Of course he knew what losing something important felt like. He probably heard the words Tim shouted at him before too, just phrased differently perhaps.

“It’s okay,” Tim said. “We’re even now.”

Damian bit his bottom lip, unconvinced, but didn’t offer anything more.

Tim picked up his own bowl and sat opposite to Damian, silently eating his own food. There was no taste to it. Just bland flavors, rubbing as dry as sandpaper against his tongue, even if it was only soup.

Tim was lost, he didn’t know how to be found again.

Half a bowl later, he couldn’t eat anymore. He threw it out, draining the soup in the sink and clearing the noodles into the bin. Deciding to do the dishes later, he set the cutlery and bowl in the sink before heading to his room.

Just before he left the living room, Damian spoke up.

“I want to stay with you.”

Tim went as still as stone. He backtracked to glimpse confusedly at Damian.

“I like you,” Damian said, shoulders tense, but expression resolute. “I’ve never met anyone who… I just…” He looked down and swallowed. “I’ve been waiting for a long time to meet Father. Mother trained and tested, trained and tested, trained, tested so much for so long and— and when I didn’t get it…”

“I understand,” Tim cut him off. “I really do. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. You deserve better.”

He shifted to face his back to the wall and rested his head against it, closing his eyes.

“You deserve so much better,” he said softly. “You deserve Dick and his hugs, you deserve Alfred and his cooking, you deserve Babs and her advice, and you deserve Bruce and his care. Not mine. I’m…” Useless. Alone. Unworthy. A replacement. A placeholder until Jason and Damian got back. Irrelevant.

“But I’m here,” Damian said tentatively.

“Yeah. You’re here.”

“And Mother wouldn’t have left me here if I truly didn’t deserve it. If you were truly that horrible. Even she has standards.”

Tim opened his eyes, meeting Damian’s.

“For the moment, I’m okay with putting up with you.”

Tim huffed in amusement.

Out of the blue, a thought popped into his head. “Have you ever watched Lilo and Stitch before?”

Damian’s brows creased. “What is that?”

Tim grinned.

--------------------------------------------------

He had been using one of Bruce’s Disney+ accounts that the man had just given to him during their first movie night that Dick had pulled both of them into with Babs and Cass. Tim had been incredibly awkward back then, but gradually, he eased up and managed to participate in the teasing and popcorn fights. When Steph joined, it became even more chaotic.

Now, he logged into his account, pulling up Lilo and Stitch.

Damian grunted as he dumped the last pillow on the floor.

“Perfect,” Tim declared.

He played the movie, then dropped the remote and dove into the pillow pool, landing face first and feet last. A few muffled grunts later, he popped his head out and grinned at Damian.

“Coming?”

Damian raised an eyebrow, but complied. Though he did a more dignified step in rather than the pool dive.

The titles finished and Tim gave a quick summary of how movie nights went. “So, unlike the previous times where I was watching a movie and you were drawing, movie nights are different. They involve pillow pools or forts, blankets, drinks and lots and lots of popcorn.” He gestured towards the four bags of microwave butter popcorn. “And it also involves having fun and being as loud as you can while watching the movie, but not during the serious or funny parts or it would ruin it.” Those were the findings he had collected from movie nights with the Waynes and Babs and Steph.

“Tt.”

“The reason I chose this movie is because it reminds me of you.”

“How?” Damian asked, turning his head to him.

Tim smirked and pointed at Stitch. “That’s you.”

He didn’t even know where the knife came from, but he laughed anyways as he and Damian rolled around in the pillows, fighting.

------------------------------------------------------------

They ended up binge-watching Disney classics, comfortably insulting each other, discussing plot points and laughing at the jokes (Damian smiled multiple times). He decided to bust out a packet of salt and vinegar chips with edible glitter too, out of nostalgia.

He may have the responsibilities of a parent basically, due to extreme and unfortunate circumstances, but… he’d rather be a big brother. A brother-parent, if you will. Like Dick. This was going to be temporary anyway. He better enjoy it till it lasted.

They dozed off in the middle of Little Mermaid. Tim woke at midnight to see Ariel get her legs back.

He swiveled his head around and found Damian snoring softly, resting his head on his shoulder, both of them shrouded by pillows and chips. Tim smiled at the kid and adjusted to wrap a tentative arm around his shoulders, making it more comfortable.

The movement probably woke up Damian, but the fact that he hadn’t even protested showed just how greatly he had eased up with him now.

Tim closed his eyes and dozed back off, feeling Damian doing the same.

Chapter Text

It was Damian’s birthday.

Tim got the message at four in the morning from Talia. An assassin had slipped it in as a note.

After the panicked scramble where he fell off his bed at the sight of a completely still dark figure standing over his bed, he grabbed the note. When he looked back up, the assassin had disappeared.

“Figures,” Tim muttered, glancing at the name on the envelope. “What about boundaries, huh, Talia? What if I slept naked? What then?”

He opened the envelope and unfolded the note, eyes flitting across the page. They fell still when he reached the end.

December 8th. Damian’s birthday. The day the little demon bat brat was born.

Panic immediately filled him, freezing him from head to toe. And not just from the winter chill. What was he going to do?

-----------------------------------------------------

In the end, he decided towards a trip to the arcade.

The kid had never been and Dick took him twice for his birthdays. Why not continue the tradition?

He fully summoned every memory of Dick’s habits on his or anyone else’s birthdays—as well as Pinkie Pie because Babs had pulled him, Steph, Cass and Dick into watching it for education when she found out none of them had seen it—he planned a day out for the two of them.

So, he burst into Damian’s room first thing in the morning screeching, “YOU’RE ELEVEN!” and popping a party popper he had bought just two minutes ago.

A knife whizzed past his ear, lodging itself into the wall and Tim gazed at it wide-eyed.

“Drake!” Damian scolded, confetti in his hair. “What is the meaning of this?”

Tim turned back, and picked his grin back up. “It’s your birthday!” he explained with glee. “Your mother left me a note! She also left you a note.” He handed the second piece of paper in the envelope to him.

Damian narrowed his eyes mistrustfully.

“I didn’t read it, don’t worry,” Tim assured.

Damian slowly unfolded the note. Tim waited until he was done and had set the note down on his bedside table with an expressionless nod.

Then he thrust the card he had bought into his face.

“Happy birthday!” he exclaimed.

The card was a simple birthday Batman-themed one with a funny cartoon of Batman in the front blowing a… a… Well, Tim didn’t actually know the name, but it was those things that came in the party favors which if you blew, it would make a funny little toot sound. Hmm, maybe he should have gotten one of those too.

“Drake, what kind of humiliation of my father is this?” Damian glared at the card.

“It’s a Batman blowing a toot toot,” he grinned.

Sighing disappointedly, Damian flipped open the card. As he read the words, Tim caught him suppressing a smile as the corner of his lips twitched. Feeling a burst of warmth in his chest, he squeezed the kid in a hug.

Immediately another knife was pressed against his throat, but Tim ignored it. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to yo—”

“I will end you. It’s too early for this.”

Since it really was seven in the morning and they had arrived at two in the morning after delivering a dose to Jason last night, he let the singing go just this once.

After a breakfast of donuts and coffee in a nearby shop (because he was determined to get Damian on a sugar high today), they set out to the arcade.

“You’re gonna love it,” Tim gushed. “There are video games, and food, and video games, and tickets, and video games, and prizes, and—”

“Video games, yes, I got it the first time, Drake,” Damian scoffed.

“You’ll love it!”

“Got that the first time too.”

“It’ll be so fun!”

Damian sighed, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like Lord, save me from this fool as they entered the building.

“Hi!” A woman approached them. She lookied to be in her mid-twenties with a cerulean blue hijab wrapped around her head, wearing a black shirt and pants uniform with the arcade logo. “Here for a play?”

“Yep!” Tim beamed.

Damian glowered at her beside him. Damian glowered at everyone in public, so it didn’t matter, he knew he would get excited soon anyway.

“It’s his birthday.” He jerked a thumb in his direction.

“Ooooh!” the worker squealed. “Someone’s getting a birthday discount! Would you like to add a birthday cake to the deal?”

Tim shrugged. “Why not?” Everyone deserved a little splurge on their birthday. And he doubted the League of Assassins ever celebrated with birthday cakes.

“Done.” She tapped a few buttons on the register. “Pay here and I’ll get you two some coins right away. Once you’re ready for cake, you can head back over here and just show this receipt.” She handed him the script of paper. “And you’ll get a table assigned too. Have fun with the games!”

“You too!” Tim walked away.

“Drake,” Damian said, walking beside him. “You are aware that you just told her to have fun with the games too—”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Tim replied through clenched teeth, a fake smile on his lips.

The kid snickered.

Tim gave a tour around the arcade. He introduced his favorites and the ones which he thought Damian would like as well (Fruit Ninja was one of them). The place was all neon lights, colorful lasers, and several theme songs of the video games blaring as they walked past. It was a kid’s dream home. Even if this particular kid was more used to the blood of his enemies and the music of screams of pain. Once he got started, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Where do you wanna go first?” Tim asked, throwing his arms out, indicating to the place.

Damian raised an eyebrow.

Tim lowered his arms. “Fine. I’ll choose first.” He scanned the space, finger tapping his chin. “Oh! Why not start with the classics?”

He led Damian over to Mario Kart.

“Voila. The most competitive video game known to man. Also the game where I currently hold the highest score.”

“Which will be beaten by my triumph.” Damian took a seat on the right.

Tim snorted. “Yeah. Right.” He snagged the left side.

This was the one with the wheel and not the controller, which Tim was more apt at. However, considering that Damian was 11 and had yet to get his license, he was sure he was going to win.

He did win the first round.

He lost the second.

“H— how?” Tim gaped at the screen.

Damian smirked. “It’s clear your poor skills have dragged you down as always, Drake.”

Tim scowled at him. “Another round,” he challenged.

“Which I’ll win,” Damian immediately shot back, inserting his coin.

“We’ll see, brat.” Tim inserted his coin in the slot too. “We’ll see.”

Tim lost again.

“For fuck’s sake!” Tim yelled.

Damian chortled. “Another round, Drake?” He waved his coin.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You’re on.”

This time, Tim did win. Narrowly.

Before Damian could ask for another rematch, Tim quickly pointed at the Fruit Ninja screen, reminding him that there were other games to play.

“And win,” Damian finished his sentence, cracking his knuckles.

Tim scoffed.

After a few rounds on the games, their coin bowls were spent down to a half. Tim checked the time and seeing as it was nearly eleven, he called for a food break.

“Out of all the games, Cheese Vikings is admittedly the only superior one,” Damian commented.

Only because the kid had beaten the highest score on his first try, drawing looks from the other kids who were waiting for their turn around them.

Basking in the attention, Damian had played again and beat his own score in the next round. The kids had started screaming and cheering while he played his third go, until a small crowd of kids were chanting “Go, Viking, go!” around him.

Tim had stood back and watched, smiling widely. Damian was actually having fun, and for some reason, Tim was proud of that. He had dug out his newly bought camera from his bag and quickly snapped a picture. And it was a perfect one too.

It featured Damian, his hands moving fast on the joystick and buttons, the yellow light of the screen illuminating his smiling and joyful features. Kids his age surrounded him, cheering him on, and Damian was in the middle of replying back to a kid who had asked him to do the triple flip move.

“Hey!” the woman from before greeted them. Tim could see her nametag now. It spelled ‘Zaina’. “Back for cake?”

“Yeah.” Tim presented the paper with their order.

“Awesome. You’re becoming a sort of a minor celebrity quick here,” she told Damian as she handed the script to another member of her team. “Seriously, I’ve never met anyone as good at video games before.”

Damian smiled. ".شكرًا. أنا أحب الحجاب"

Zaina smiled. "شكرًا! أنت عربي؟"

Damian made a so-and-so gesture with his hand. .نصف عربي ونصف ﺍَﻟﺼِّﻴﻦ

“Cool!” A team member came and muttered something to her before disappearing. “We’ll bring the cake out to your table. Why don’t you take a seat?” she nodded.

Damian headed to the nearest open table and Tim followed. Not before exchanging a wink with her though.

“Having fun?” Tim asked once they were seated.

“Today has been going well so far,” Damian replied, as cool as ever.

Tim rolled his eyes before taking out his phone. He pretended to be fiddling around with it, but really, he was preparing for what was coming next.

“Cake!” Zaina called as she carried a black forest cake with black fondue and yellow icing with a bat on top.

“Another Batman one?” Damian asked.

Tim raised his phone and pressed record.

As soon as Zaina set the cake down in front of him, four more people popped out of nowhere, one from the seat behind Damian, one from behind Tim, and two on either side of Zaina.

Damian jumped, startled, arming himself with a knife on the table.

Then they started singing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Damian!”

Damian slowly turned his head to Tim, who was recording the moment with his phone, a smile more smug than the smuggest thing on Earth stretching his face.

“Haaaaaaappy birthdayyyyyyy toooo youuuuuuuu!”

“I will drown your fingers in acid,” Damian hissed at Tim.

That only made him smile wider as he started the cheers. “Hip-hip!”

“Hooray!” the workers echoed.

“Hip-hip!”

“Hooray!” Some other bystanders, especially the little kids, joined in.

“Hip-hip!”

“Hooray!” A good load of people cheered and burst into applause.

Damian sank in his seat, turning redder than the leather seats they were sitting on.

“Thank you for that,” Tim said to the employees.

“Our pleasure,” two of them, including Zaina, echoed. They burst into laughter, giving a friendly “happy birthday” before leaving.

Damian somehow sank further in his seat. “This day has been the worst in my life.”

Tim laughed. He pushed the cake further towards Damian. “Blow the candles and make a wish!” he urged.

“Why?”

“It’s birthday tradition, just do it!”

Damian rolled his eyes, but complied. The candles all went out with one swift breath—of course they did—and the smoke rose from it, flying upwards.

“Now cut it!” Tim handed him the knife. “Just two pieces. We can take the rest home.”

They dug into it and Tim hummed in delight. Damian, still pissed, angrily chewed the cake. But even he had to admit the lushness of the flavor. His angry chewing slowly petered to slow munches of relish.

“Good?” Tim asked knowingly.

Damian slipped the scowl back on and upturned his nose at him with a hmph.

Tim didn’t mind too much. He could tell that the kid was actually gratified after the red of the embarrassment faded.

They had the cake packed in a container. Tim carried the plastic bag with it instead of stuffing it into his bag and letting it get all mushed with the movement.

“Still got a bunch more coins to spend,” Tim said, shaking his bowl.

“Let’s go back to Cheese Vikings,” Damian pointed, some of the eagerness slipping out of his forever jaded mask.

“I think we should let the other kids have their turn, Dami,” Tim laughed.

“And let them beat my high score? Never. And don’t call me that.”

“We have other games to try, Dami. I haven’t even showed you Donkey Kong yet.” He nodded at it. “Or even Dino Blast Time.” He turned to the direction of the arcade boxes, then froze.

Dick Grayson was staring right at him.

Damian followed Tim’s gaze, frowning, until he spotted Dick too. “Oh,” he whispered.

Oh no, Tim thought. He immediately swiveled on his heel and made to run the other direction, but there were too many people.

“Excuse me,” Tim gasped, nudging his way past two parents. Damian followed his tail. “Excuse me, I need to pass. Excuse m—”

“Tim!” The voice was right behind him, and half a second later, a hand landed on his shoulder, tightly holding him in place. “Tim, is that you?”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and gulped.

“Tim…”

He felt himself be turned around and slowly opened his eyes to come face to face with the very worried and astonished expression of Dick Grayson.

“Dick,” he hiccuped nervously.

Dick’s eyes grew wider than the painted UFOs on the side of the arcade box beside them. “Tim, I—” Without a moment’s delay, he yanked him.

Tim flinched, tensing. Until he realized that he was yanked into a hug.

A Dick Grayson brother bear hug.

Tim couldn’t help it. He melted into it. That only confirmed his identity.

“Oh, Tim,” Dick sighed. “I missed you so much, baby bird.”

Baby bird.

That was where the ‘baby bat’ nickname had come from. Tim had taken inspiration from Dick without even realizing it.

“I missed you so much, please, I beg you. Come back with us. We can help. We can protect you.”

Tim felt his eyes welling up with blasted salty water. Why now? Why on Damian’s birthday?

The kid in question was fiercely glaring at them. “Unhand Drake at once!” he ordered, an edge of a threat to his voice.

“What—” Dick broke from the hug. “Who—”

“Let go of Drake this instant or I will break each and every one of your fingers.” Damian cracked his knuckles, really meaning it.

Tim bit his bottom lip.

“Who the hell are you?” Dick scowled at the kid. “I’m talking to my little brother—or as good as—over here. Scram.”

Tim would have gasped in shock at Dick calling him his little brother and collapsed with the speed his heart was already beating.

Instead, what happened was Damian replying to Dick by kicking him hard in the… well, you know. And it was after that that Tim gasped in a completely different kind of shock.

Dick doubled over, groaning and tears forming in his eyes.

“Come on, you fool!” Damian grabbed Tim’s arm and ran, having no problem pushing people out of their way.

A little girl started crying after Damian shoved her. Tim slid his bowl of game coins to her as an apology. Just before they stumbled out the exit, Damian handed his own bowl of game coins to a boy whose face was pressed against the glass door, licking it (someone should probably get his parents).

They ran all the way to the next block, then stopped to cross the road only for Damian to grab his arm when the light turned green and start running again. They only stopped once they were three blocks away. Diving into an empty alley, they sagged against the walls to catch their breath.

Tim dropped the plastic bag with the box of cake and sunk to the ground, breaths coming out in heavy puffs. “Damian,” he gasped. “What. The actual fuck. Was that?”

“A. Tactical. Escape, of course,” Damian tutted, hands on his knees.

“Wh—” Tim mopped his brow. “Damian. That was a dick move—literally.”

Damian laughed. An unexpected sound so alien and strange that Tim realized that he had never heard Damian laugh before. It made Tim giggle. Then that giggle turned into a snort.

“You laugh like a pig, Drake.”

Then that snort turned into a laugh that Tim couldn’t stop.

When they said that laughing was infectious, they really meant it, because soon, Damian was on the ground too, clutching his stomach, laughing along with Tim.

The sight again was so strange to see Damian do something as trivial as laughing that Tim’s hysteria kicked up again and—really, his stomach could not take it.

“Y— you— li— litt— little sh— shit.” Tim convulsed on the floor. “I c— c— can’t—” His stomach exploded into another laugh, causing Damian to collapse completely on the ground, punching his fist into the ground.

“D— D— Drake. S— stop, I— I can’t stop—” Damian clamped his mouth, but a stream of hee hee hee hee escaped before immediately cutting off.

Tim wheezed. “Did you— did you just hee hee hee hee— hee hee hee—” Tim broke into his own round of hee hees.

The two couldn’t stopped. Tim rolled around while Damian continued punching the wall.

“Mommy, what are those two boys doing?” someone said in front of them, but Tim’s vision was too blurred with tears of hysterical mirth to see.

“They’re drugged, Stella. Keep walking.”

And Tim couldn’t— couldn’t— he just couldn’t. He split into a fit of coughing snorts, sounding like an asthmatic dinosaur, which caused Damian to belt out a loud HAAAA hahaha.

They rolled on the dirty alleyway ground, laughing their stomachs out.

-------------------------------------------------------

“You’ve poisoned me, Drake.”

“If you call laughter poison, then sure. I’ve heard it to be the cure of all diseases.”

Damian huffed. “Whoever said that is a fool. Laughter cannot cure anything.”

Tim smirked. “I dunno. It cured the permanent grouchy look on your face.” He poked Damian’s forehead. “Look! No creases!”

His forehead immediately creased into a frown.

“Now all the hard work’s gone again.”

Damian elbowed Tim, pushing him to the edge of the sidewalk. Tim only laughed.

The sun was high up already, palely shining on the streets. Little flakes of snow had started up again, slowly covering the city. They both decided against lunch, willing to just finish the cake before it melted. They hadn’t bumped into Dick or anyone else, fortunately. After the bout of mania, they helped each other up and started walking home.

A few minutes passed before Damian spoke. “I never had any of this in the League of Assassins.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tim said grimly. “Didn’t think they celebrated birthdays with cakes and games.”

“We don’t celebrate at all.”

That’s just sad, Tim didn’t comment.

“Unless if you reach adulthood. You get graduated then.” Damian shrugged.

“Did your mother do anything?” Tim asked. “She was the one who sent me the note after all.”

Damian knitted his brow. “Not… exactly. She prepared my favorite dishes on the night of my birth date, but that was really it. Grandfather visited me on my first and fifth birthday though.”

Tim swallowed an insult. “That’s cool.”

“Not really.” Damian stared at his shoes. “This is more fun.”

Tim smiled, warmth swelling up inside him. “I’m glad. I had fun too. Except when you somehow beat me at Mario Kart.”

“What are you talking about? That was the best part.”

“Brat.” Tim nudged his shoulder.

“Plebian.” Damian punched his.

“Ow.”

They walked in silence for some more. Just before they entered their building though, Damian did something completely out of the blue.

Pulling, Tim into a brisk hug, he whispered, “Thank you,” then let go and ran inside.

Tim gawped after him in stupefaction. Miracles never ceased.

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Tim had a weird thought as he took a shower.

It wasn’t unusual. Tim always had weird thoughts in showers. Like the time he had spent forty minutes, clutching his head as the hot water ran down his hair as he thought about the unbelievable fact of Mercedes having three Es that were all pronounced differently. He also followed just-shower-thoughts on Tumblr.

That wasn’t the point. The point was that today, he had an especially weird thought.

I’m talking to my little brother—or as good as—over here.

I’m talking to my little brother, or as good as.

Dick really considered him his little brother. Even— even after finding out Jason was alive, even after him running away several times, he still— he had still—

Tim wiped the shampoo from his eyes.

Maybe he was delusional. Maybe it was the homesickness. Which was weird because they weren’t really his family, were they? He was just someone who pushed his way in. And once he delivered Jason and Damian back, they would be too preoccupied with them to focus on him again. Maybe right now they thought that Jason was a lost cause, so they were directing his attention to him. He was always needy anyway. They didn’t know Damian existed, or they would be focusing on him instead.

That was probably it.

It wasn’t that Tim was making every possible excuse to escape from the Wayne family’s loving arms. ‘Course not, he would give his entire wealth as well as his new camera and his collection of different staples he found lying on the floor of his school—which was at a good number of 243 by the way—to be a part of the Wayne family.

It was just that… Tim was supposed to be ignored. He was irrelevant. It was a fact of the world and nobody could deny facts of the world, could they? The sky was blue and all that.

Tim closed the shower, wrapped a towel around himself, did his regular mirror-face design with the fog, and left the bathroom.

He rubbed his head with another towel. When he pulled his towel down, he spotted his box of pictures under the bed.

Not quite knowing what his body was doing, he kneeled on the floor and pulled it out, opening it and shuffling through the pictures until he picked out one.

It was one of his best first ones. Back when Gotham still had blimps roaming around the city with their lights flashing into people’s windows and waking them up, one of the lights had actually done something good and beamed down at Bruce and Dick—Batman and Robin—while they were mid-air, leaping from the large gargoyle statue.

Eight-year-old Tim had clicked at just the right moment, catching the duo in their full glory.

Tim smiled down at the picture. He missed his camera. He had a new one with better settings and he knew it was technically his fault Damian lashed out the way he had, but… still.

Just then, another thought—a good, brilliant one, not a weird one—popped into his head and Tim gasped.

----------------------------------------------------------

Damian looked up from his sketchbook, sitting up on his bed. “Are you planning on assassinating me, Drake?”

“What? Whyever would you think that?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “What’s behind your back then?”

Tim pursed his lips. He stepped into the room, stopping in front of the kid’s bed. “I have a birthday present for you.”

“Is it a sword?”

“I— no?”

“Then I don’t care.” Damian turned back to his sketchbook, a smile twitching on his lips, implying the statement as a joke.

“Oh, ha ha.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Here, brat.” He handed Damian the envelope. It was the same envelope Talia had given to him, not having the time to go out in the dark and buy a new one. Honestly, if his parents didn’t automatically send him money every month as allowance, he would have gone broke ages ago. Fucking inflation.

Damian took it. “It says from Mother,” he read the back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” He snatched the envelope back, grabbed the blue airbrush pen he was holding, and wrote his name over Talia’s. “There. Happy?” He dropped the pen and flicked the envelope to him.

Damian sighed as he opened it.

When he laid eyes on the picture, he went rigid.

“It’s Batman and Robin in their early duo days,” he explained. “It’s the first clear picture ever taken of them. Even the newspapers couldn’t do it.” Because Tim’s small figure was extremely helpful in squeezing into narrow spaces to keep from being spotted.

Damian stared at it, gently brushing a finger over Batman. He looked up. “Thank you,” he said politely.

“Bappy hirthday, baby bat.” Tim ruffled his hair.

“You are most strange, Drake. And don’t call me that.”

Only later, when he was in bed, staring at the ceiling, did the insecure thoughts show up. What if Damian didn’t like it and was just being nice? Nice wasn’t really in the kid’s dictionary, but even Tim would feel inclined to being polite after a whole day where someone had dedicated to keeping him entertained. Damian, after all, had no real use of the picture. Maybe he did prefer a sword. Maybe Tim should have gotten him a lightsaber instead. He reckoned the kid would like it if he watched the Star Wars movies and saw what lightsabers could do.

Restless, Tim threw his blankets away and crept to Damian’s room.

Silently, he creaked the door open an inch, peeking through the slit.

Damian sat at his desk. The picture Tim had given him stood, resting against a book, the Happy Birthday card standing to the side of it. Damian was drawing in his sketchbook with careful lines, using the photograph as a reference. He cursed in Mandarin when the line went wrong, grabbing an eraser to rub it.

Tim smiled and shut the door, going back to bed.

Chapter Text

Things were starting to act up, in a negative sense, that is.

They were due to deliver the last two injections to Jason, and a few hours after the last one, the combination of all the chemicals that were delivered in the past two-ish months would come together and clear the rest of the Pit’s hold on Jason’s brain. It wouldn’t fully vanish, there would be traces that would have escaped notice or have lodged themselves too deep into the brain itself to be hunted down, but Jason would be entirely normal. The trace amounts would only come out during moments of high anger.

At least, that was what Tim had theorized. And he would have theorized more if not for the news.

“Your TV broadcasting has been interrupted for a Public Service Announcement and breaking news.”

Tim stopped stirring the pot and Damian stopped chopping the onions. They hurried over to the TV where the rerun of Young Sheldon had been playing.

“Gotham Media News Outlet brings to you a report from the Police Commissioner with the warning that the Joker has been sighted.”

Tim’s blood ran cold.

“I repeat, Joker has been sighted. The psycho mass murderer who has been terrorizing the streets of Gotham for years, evading the likes of even Batman, had escaped many months ago. After a mysterious incident involving Batman, Flash and Green Arrow, Joker had disappeared from the radar.”

“Wasn’t the Joker responsible for Todd’s murder?” Damian asked.

Tim didn’t respond.

“Reports say that he was spotted at Gotham Harbor. A patrol guard saw him, but before he could call for backup, the madman had hit him over the head with a baseball bat and ran away laughing.”

Tim clutched Damian’s arm tightly.

“There have been three murders in the past week, which the Gotham City Police Department thought to be unconnected, but further investigation now reveals a graffiti of the Joker’s smile in purple and green spray-painted in the places where the victims were killed. Gotham City PD advices all citizens to stay inside and travel safely with partners. The people are starting to wonder when the Joker will strike again and whether Batman can get there in time—”

Tim switched off the TV.

This was bad. That was very, very bad.

The Joker hadn’t shown his face for months. Now suddenly he had decided to appear again? Just when Tim was close to breaking through with Jason? Just when Tim was this close to bringing both Jason and Damian to Bruce and the others?

And Damian— what if the Joker caught hold of him? Somehow found out that Damian was Bruce’s real son? He would do something worse than beating him up with a crowbar and exploding him. Damian would be in pieces and all Bruce would have left would be a slab of stone spelling out his name. And it would be all Tim’s fault.

The Joker being out meant that someone always wounded up dead. He had to keep that someone from being Damian or Jason. He had to— he had to keep Damian safe. He was just a kid. Had only just turned 11 a day ago. He had so much to do and so much to see. So much time left to spend with Bruce and Dick like Tim had.

Fuck, Tim didn’t think he could live with himself if he lost the kid. If he dropped his guard for even a second and had Joker snatch him away in that second. And then Joker would take him away and find out that he was Batman’s son and torture him even more and then kill him and it would break Bruce and Dick because they didn’t even know Damian existed and would have love to get to know him and Tim— Tim would quite honestly kill himself with grief if Damian’s body ended up like Jason’s autopsy picture.

Damian couldn’t die. He had to be kept safe.

“Drake!”

Tim snapped out of his spiral.

“I would usually comment on how weak you are, but you really don’t have to disprove me at this intensity.”

Tim looked down at where he was gripping Damian’s arm tight enough to leave a light bruise. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Damian eyed him with worry. “Are you feeling okay? You look more whiter than usual.”

“Fine.” Tim stormed into his room. He opened his closet and dug through his bag full of gadgets. He pulled out a couple motion sensors, a thermal vision alarm, several beepers that would immediately start screaming if anyone other than him or Damian went in and out the apartment, and two mini trackers.

Damian had followed him in, still eyeballing him with worry. Tim ignored it and handed him one of the trackers.

“Keep it with you at all times,” Tim instructed firmly. “I’ll have one too so we can find each other.”

Damian inspected the tracker.

“Damian,” Tim said sternly. “Promise me.”

Damian glanced up. “Tt,” he said, but nodded in earnest.

Tim zipped up his bag and set to work in bugging the rooms.

--------------------------------------------------

Windows? Check.

Door? Check.

Front gate of apartment? Check.

Ceiling? Very sturdy, won’t break unless stuffed with dynamite. So, check.

Walls? The same as ceiling, check.

Tim scanned the tiny cameras he planted around the block and the apartment’s front and back gates. Nothing out of the ordinary so far…

Well. Except that guy who was doing the Rasputin dance in his underwear on the street.

Wait— could he be a cover for Joker to—

No. The guy just got punched by another guy for being annoying. It was just normal Gotham things.

Tim flipped tabs to the motion sensors he planted too. Hmm, nothing out of the ordinary there. No one was frolicking or carrying dynamite.

He flipped to the tab with the trackers. His tracker was right where he was and Damian’s was—

“Drake.”

“Gah!” Tim’s chair upturned and he fell on the ground, hitting his head. “Ouch.”

“Tt.” Damian loomed above him. “You are a disgrace to yourself.”

Tim blew a tuft of hair off his face. “Yeah, well. You don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”

“I did not. You were too engrossed in your computer to notice me. How have you survived so far with your poor awareness skills?” Damian paused, then smirked. “Oh that’s right. You didn’t. I saved you.”

“The last time with Jason doesn’t count, because that drunk passer-by got in the way.” Tim pulled himself upright.

“Did you find anything?” Damian nodded at the laptop.

Tim roamed back to the cameras tab. “No,” he admitted. “Joker must be planning something definitely, but I’m not sure what. Or when.”

“Wouldn’t he be likely to strike at Christmas?”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t always in the past. He likes being unpredictable.”

Damian hopped on top of Tim’s desk. “Is that why we haven’t gone to deliver the next injection to Jason?”

Tim shrugged. “It can be stretched out a little. Protecting you is first.”

Damian crossed his arms. “And how are you going to “protect me”—which I don’t need—by not eating?”

“Huh?”

Damian drummed his fingers on his arm. “We haven’t stepped out in a week. The stocks are depleting, the laundry is piling and you—” he poked him in the chest, “have not eaten a single morsel in the last two days.”

Tim scowled. “How dare you? I’ve eaten!”

Damian turned unamusedly to the several plates of food gone stale on the dresser where Tim had absent-mindedly put.

“Oh. Well, coffee’s survival enough.”

Damian eyed the six mugs of coffee, three of them still holding some levels of the drink, on the desk. “Yes, I see that. In any case, you and I are going to go to the kitchen. You will be cutting some cheese and I’ll be chopping some lettuce and tomatoes and we’ll both be eating sandwiches for breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Tim scrunched his brow.

Damian tapped the digital clock. “It’s three in the morning. Don’t tell me you haven’t been sleeping either.”

Tim sighed and rubbed his eyes.

-------------------------------------------------

Tim scrolled through his laptop as he bit into his sandwich.

“The I Spot The Smile Joker-sighting forum has several new entries,” he spoke through the mouthful. “Don’t know which ones are the right ones and which just suspicions, but there have only been three accounts of Joker sighting near our area.”

Tim clicked on one of them. “They’re quickly being disproved by other accounts though, so I think we’re safe at the moment since we’re not on the list of areas where the Joker graffiti had been.”

“When will we move to get Todd his dose?” Damian said after swallowing.

“When Joker’s in Arkham.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “That will take, what? Months? I’ve heard about the Joker, I studied his file before coming here. He will not want to be caught by Father so soon and so easily. We don’t have time.”

Tim lowered his laptop screen. “I know, Dames. But keeping you safe—”

“The clock is ticking, Drake!” Damian snapped. “Do you want all the hard work we put into curing Todd to become undone?”

Tim winced. He looked down at his sandwich. “I don’t want you hurt,” he said quietly. “If Joker manages to catch you, I—” He broke off. He honestly didn’t know what he would do.

Damian remained oblivious to the fear in his tone. “Tt. I’m an assassin raised by assassins my whole life.”

Tim remembered that positive reinforcement was important for kids. “I am so proud of you for not having killed me or anyone else.”

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Comment appreciated, but with or without you, I’m not letting our progress be undone. I will leave and you can either come with me or stay here like a coward.”

Whether he liked it or not, Tim knew he was right. He had put too much work into his mission of bringing the Wayne family together to abandon it now. “Little brat,” he pouted at the kid.

Damian smiled. “We’ll go to your “Spiky Playground” to train later?”

Tim leaned back on his chair, defeated. “Why not?”

Chapter Text

Tim knew there was no other way to go about this.

It was a quiet night in Gotham, or as quiet that Gotham could get. He didn’t know what the fuck that guy he passed on the street earlier was doing in a DIY glitter swimsuit in the middle of winter, but he hadn’t stopped and question it. He had more pressing problems.

The quiet night in Gotham was going to turn into a loud one soon enough. The second last dose for Jason was a fear toxin strain. And Red Hood on fear toxin definitely meant trouble.

Tim held his breath as he peered from the vent.

Jason was currently alone in the abandoned building. Tim had found that this was where Red Hood was meeting new recruits tonight. The recruits had left an hour ago, but Hood was still in, going through paperwork of all things. It made sense, but Tim hadn’t really thought much about the duties of a crime lord including paperwork. He thought it was mostly shooting and cutting off people’s heads and intimidating other crime lords.

He felt a buzz on his watch. He looked down and saw the message from Damian, In position.

Tim closed his eyes, his muscles tightening in preparation. Just two more, he told himself. Just two more then Jason’s back. Robin’s back. Then he’ll feel sorry for attacking you, then reunite with Dick and Bruce and Alfred, and Damian will meet his family too and this will all be over. Just two more, Tim. Two more.

Tim snapped his eyes open and leapt out.

They decided to try the distraction thing again, since Jason was catching on to their tactics and fight techniques.

Tim was probably going to get injured again, but there were only two more, just two more left. So it wouldn’t really matter much.

Tim landed right on top of the table with paperwork, the spreadsheets and forms flying and spreading all around the room. The table, somehow, didn’t break. It was quite a strong table. Either that or Tim’s malnutrition in the last week was paying its toll.

Jason wasn’t wearing his helmet for once, so Tim could see every line of amusement and weariness at his reaction to Tim’s arrival. “Back again?” He leaned back and intertwined his fingers behind his head, resting it. He gave a wry smile. “What concoction do you have for me this time?”

Tim didn’t answer, crouching on his table, ready for when Hood inevitably threw the first punch.

“You’re good at this, you know?” Jason continued. “I still have no idea what you’re putting into me. You sure you’re not trying to kill me, kid? Not that it matters, I don’t feel even an inch closer to death, and I’m pretty sure I would know.”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said quietly.

“No? Of course not. You’re Batman’s brat.” Then he sighed and reached down to pull out a gun. “I’m still gonna put up a fight. Maybe get lucky enough to actually catch you this time. We had such fun the first few times when we got to know each other.”

Tim resisted the urge to swallow, heart thudding at the reminder of his broken bones and blood.

“I got to know you very well,” Jason drawled, the wry smile stretching wider. “Know exactly which one of your bones were the most brittle, which part of you would bleed the most.” He pointed the gun at the scar on his throat. “And exactly what I would have to do to get you to scream for Batman.”

Tim couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body. Hood spotted it and his eyes gleamed green as he chuckled softly.

But Tim caught something else. When his eyes gleamed, they didn’t glow that neon green at the Tower. They were… they were dull. Rusted. Faded over. Which meant— which meant it was working.

It was all working.

He was so glad to have the mask and domino hiding his features, or Jason would have been incredibly confused with the giddy smile he had on.

Just then, Damian appeared out of nowhere and was about to jab the syringe into Jason’s neck again when—faster than even lightning—Jason twisted and grabbed him by the neck. “Tsk tsk,” he shook his head. “I was wondering where the littlest brat was.”

Jason squeezed his fingers and Damian gurgled painfully.

“No!” Tim tackled Jason to the ground, the office chair sliding across the room. He raised a fist and punched him hard on his jaw. At the same time, Damian kicked his foot right into Jason’s stomach.

Jason coughed, but his grip didn’t loosen. Instead, he caught Tim’s neck too, squeezing hard.

Tim rasped. He felt around his belt urgently, trying to find the right gadget by feel. His fingers caught on an oval-like device. Tim picked it and threw it against the ground, closing his eyes.

The flash bomb went off, blinding everyone in the vicinity with light. Tim’s domino provided extra protection and he recovered first. He stumbled around, blinking spots from his eyes to find Damian. Following the kid’s wheezes, he found him by the toppled office chair, clutching it and looking around blindly.

“Damian,” he whispered. “The syringe.”

Damian’s head snapped towards him and his expression shifted from frantic to solemn. He held out the hand which had his fingers tightly curled around the syringe. Tim took it, the spots almost cleared out and turned towards where Jason was stumbling around and slipping over papers.

He stalked over to him, being careful not to make a noise, heart in his throat. But just as he reached Jason’s back, he stepped on a sheet of paper, crinkling it and Hood had his gun pulled on him in a second. The trigger was pulled back and Tim barely dodged the bullet as he threw himself to the side.

The bullet bounced off a wall, but Hood didn’t stop there.

“I’m gonna get you, you fucking annoying ass little bird.” He started shooting blind.

“Take cover!” Tim yelled at Damian, too busy dodging to look back and see if the kid had followed his orders.

“Wait until I get my hands on your brittle little neck again,” Jason rasped. “So small. So easy to break.”

Tim ignored the way his hands shook as he ducked down and slid under Jason’s legs. It was all or nothing and Tim leapt up, shooting for a slam dunk.

LeBron James would have been proud because he landed a score in the basket. Just as Tim tackled Jason to the ground, he wasted not a single millisecond in stabbing the syringe into his neck and pressing his thumb down on the trigger, injecting the fear toxin Anti-Lazarus serum.

As soon as it was gone, Jason fell still.

Tim breathed heavily as he stayed in the straddling position, thumb still on the trigger. Had he done something wrong?

“Jason?” He slowly stood up, putting the syringe back inside his belt.

Suddenly, Jason shot up with a scream.

Tim yelped and scrambled back.

Jason clutched his head and yelled again. But Tim caught the very clear neon glow of his eyes. Hopefully that only meant that the strain was pulling the Lazarus Pit out.

As quietly as possible, Tim crept past Jason who was still clutching his head and panting in irregular breaths. He found Damian taking cover behind an upturned table. “Come on,” he breathed. Damian was still blinking confusedly, but latched onto Tim quickly. Tim put an arm around his shoulders, and supported the rest of Damian’s waist.

Damian was limping, but that wasn’t the priority right now. Because Jason had just then let out another blood-curling scream and lashed out at the table nearby, splintering it into pieces. He yelled and struck the table again. Grabbing a wooden leg, he slammed it against the ground and threw it towards a wall.

Tim hurried over to the exit and pulled the door open, pushing Damian out and shutting it just as another wooden leg smashed against it. Jason screamed again, this one more full of fear than rage.

“Sorry, Jason,” he whispered and shot his grapple gun.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey,” Tim slapped Damian’s hand away. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself, kiddo.”

Damian groaned and leaned back against the couch. “I can handle myself, Drake. I received the best medical training in the League.”

“And the worst patient training too, I see.”

Damian eyed him as he stretched the roll of bandages and wrapped it over the graze on his shin. The kid had admitted that because of the blindness, he couldn’t move as well and had only narrowly managed to dodge the bullets shot his way. Fortunately, the graze was the only serious injury and it wasn’t too harmful.

Tim had gotten his fair share of non-grevious injuries too. His arm was bleeding and a large splinter was stuck in his side from the table Jason had shattered.

“I’m not going to clean the blood you’re dripping on the floor,” Damian said, pouting as he folded his arms impatiently.

Tim recognized his concern though. “You can show your “extensive medical training” after I finish showing mine, cool?”

Damian humphed.

Tim looked back down on his work. He was, in fact, so absorbed in making sure that Damian’s injury was properly taken care of, that he didn’t notice the shadow that had slipped into the room.

He cut the bandage roll and was about to seal the wrapping when Damian went rigid.

A prickling sensation made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, and Tim felt the presence of someone else in the room by the curtains. He subtly raised his head up to catch Damian’s eyes which were also focused on him, shoulders forcibly relaxed so as not to alert the intruder that they knew its location. Tim gave the smallest of nods of his head. Then he sealed the bandage with tape.

As soon as the cloth stuck, Damian was up and Tim shot to the kitchen, grabbing two knives and throwing one to Damian and the other at the figure beside the window curtains. Damian threw his knife too and jumped forward towards the intruder.

Tim leapt over the table, ready to fight when—

Talia Al Ghul stepped out of the shadows, holding each of the knives they had thrown in both of her hands.

Tim’s eyes went wide. “Talia,” he uttered.

Damian’s face split open into a grin. “Mother!” he exclaimed, vaulting over the couch and into his mother’s arms. “Mother, you’re here!”

Talia hugged her son tightly, enveloping him completely in her arms. “Damian,” she whispered, the name filled with such longing and love that Tim looked away. “Kaifa haluk, ya habibi?”

“Ummi! ‘Ana wa Drake—” As Damian talked to his mother in Arabic, Tim walked over and flopped onto the abandoned couch.

Talia was here. Damian’s mom was here. They had only one more dosage left to deliver to Jason. And Joker was out loose in the city.

So many things were happening all at once, Tim felt… Tim felt lost. The world was going at a speed that he was struggling to catch up with. He needed a coffee. He needed four coffees. Or more, four mugs of pure caffeine shots which he could chug and hope to dissociate through whatever was going to happen next.

Damian was still blabbering, changing between Arabic and Mandarin, as Talia strode forward towards Tim.

Tim put an arm over his eyes, exhaustion pulling at his bones.

“Timothy,” Talia finally said once Damian had stopped talking.

“Hey Talia,” Tim greeted, not bothering to look at her.

There was a heavy pause where he could feel Damian looking curiously between them. “Drake is injured, Mother,” Damian supplied. “We went to give Todd his second last dose of the serum to kill the Lazarus Pit in his brain.”

“The Lazarus Pit cannot be killed, Damian,” Talia said. Tim heard the fabric of her qipao rustling as she sat on the chair Tim had pulled up to patch Damian’s leg. “What you are doing is not killing the Pit, but weakening its hold on Jason greatly.”

“The progress has been positive so far,” Damian said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. He was such a kid, Tim smiled.

“Of course, habibi. I was the one who gave the information in the first place.” Talia addressed him, “Timothy.”

Tim hummed.

“Sit up straight. I cannot get to your injuries this way.”

Tim sighed. He didn’t move, stalling for a few seconds before sitting upright with a grunt. Without waiting to be asked, he gingerly removed his top, discarding it to the side.

“The splinter—”

Tim yanked the three-inch piece of wood out of his side, emitting a brief shout of pain. He flicked the splinter away, then turned to Talia with wary eyes.

“Why are you here?”

Talia held his gaze, her resting bitch face mode on. “I came to visit my son, and aid however I can to speed up your process, so Damian can finally meet his father as he is meant to.”

Tim scoffed. “Like I haven’t been fulfilling those responsibilities already.” He tilted to the right so she could get to his side.

“Damian, fetch me a cloth and some water.” Damian went off with a “yes, Mother”. “May I remind you, Timothy,” she told him, a stone-hard tone to her voice. “It is because of your negligence that we are in this position.”

Tim remained silent. He was not used to being parented. It was weird.

Damian came back and Talia took the cloth and small bucket of water from him. She dabbed the wet cloth to his side with a kind of gentleness that Tim didn’t expect the daughter of the Demon’s Head to possess.

“Update me on Jason’s progress,” Talia ordered.

Tim pressed his lips together. Talia looked up from his injured side, eyes hardening as they both stared off.

Damian flitted his gaze back and forth between them. “I— I can do that,” he offered.

Talia glared at Tim some more before she gave a nod.

As Damian went off about how they had a timetabled system with dates on when Jason was to receive the dosage and what he needed at different times, Talia patched up Tim’s side.

“Where are you preparing these doses?” she asked.

“In Drake’s room.”

Talia looked up sharply. “What?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s the safest, best and most convenient place.”

The hand came out of nowhere. It slapped against the back of Tim’s skull, before going back to gently pressing medical tape to stick the gauze to his skin.

“What the—” Tim put a hand on his head.

“Foolish boy!” she scolded. “Do you have no care for yourself?”

“No?”

The hand smacked his head again.

“Hey, ow!”

Talia nodded at Damian. “Continue.”

Damian bit his lip, trying to keep a laugh in. Tim glowered at him. “Today’s dose was delivered later than usual because Drake was paranoid of getting hurt.”

Talia smacked his head again. “You very well know that the doses should not be delayed!”

“Hey— I calculated everything, okay? I know what I’m doing. Besides, the Joker’s been spotted and I’m not going to put Damian in h—” Tim cut off. He shot a quick glance at the kid, before looking away.

Talia didn’t comment. “Have you at least been living comfortably, Damian?”

Damian nodded. “It’s okay. Drake bought me new clothes and art— and a phone.” Tim bit the inside of his cheek at the misstep. “We’ve also been eating two-minute noodles.”

And the hand smacked him again.

“How dare you feed my child such horrendous meals!”

Tim put a hand at the back of his head again. “I cook too, but I can’t always cook, you know. I have better things to do like— oh, I don’t know, securing this place so that no intruder gets inside?”

Talia scoffed. “A poor job seeing as I got in easily enough.”

“That’s because I had you added to the security systems, genius. In case you ever decided to show up.”

Talia narrowed her eyes, picking up the bandage roll. “You know I was keeping Ra’s at bay. If I wasn’t, you would be dead, Timothy, and this little plan of yours would be nothing but a thrown away dream.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “I suppose I should get on my knees and present you with fruit as thanks?”

“I need no such thing.” She yanked his injured arm forward. “What I needed was for you to look after my son as he deserves.”

What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing?, Tim didn’t scream, even though he very much wanted to, the frustration rising in him like a bubbling pot.

“Drake left me alone in the house during the first few days too.”

The little shit.

Her hand went flying again. “How could you—”

Tim caught her wrist before it connected with the back of his head, glaring at her. “Stop. You don’t get to do that. I’m not your son.”

“You’re not anyone’s son now, are you?” she snapped back. “Your parents don’t even care. They arrived two weeks ago, thought you were at that boarding school, then left.”

Tim dropped her hand, eyes moving down to his socks.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “You… you were the one who planted that idea in their heads, weren’t you? A simple text message and you knew they wouldn’t care enough to question it.”

Tim didn’t bother to reply. She already knew the answer, the question was rhetorical.

He stayed silent as Talia wrapped her arm. She cleaned the graze with water, then applied a healthy layer of antibacterial cream. As she wound the bandage over his arm, she asked, “How long is this “plan” of yours going to go on for?”

“We have a little over a week left,” Tim answered, ignoring the slight hoarseness in his voice. “The last injection has to be given after six days starting from today and Bruce and Dick have to talk to Jason the next day, for maximum effect because he will be the most himself during that time before the rest of the unreachable and inconvenient shreds of the Pit permanently settle in.”

She finished sticking the cloth to each other and put the materials away. “I will help. You need it.”

Tim didn’t deny it. He got up and plucked a spare shirt lying on the other couch, slipping it on. He went over and shut the window, pulling the curtains over since the heat was escaping into the cold night. He shivered, hair standing up on his arms.

“Your help is definitely needed, Mother,” Damian told her. “Drake is rubbish at fighting.”

Tim snorted.

“I thought you had lived with him long enough to recognize that the story is opposite,” Talia responded.

Tim didn’t turn around, but he froze at her response. He could hear the first aid box closing and Damian tucking it back in the cupboard in the kitchen.

“I would never have trusted you to live with a poor fighter, ibni,” she explained. “Your grandfather was briefly interested in his skills at one point of time. You would have recognized at least the strategic thinking.”

No way was he being complimented by Talia fucking Al Ghul.

“Did you know that Ra’s is also quite impressed with you? Yeah, it’s true. Believe it or not. He told me himself.”

Tim shook the memory away. And just in time to hear Damian ask in a quiet voice—

“What did you mean earlier by Drake not being anyone’s son?”

Tim clutched the window sill tightly, teeth crunched rigidly against each other.

“Timothy is what others would call a latchkey child. He is and has been in a criminal case of neglect.”

Tim swiveled around to her. “Thick coming from you, assassin-mom,” he spat.

Talia ignored him, though Damian’s mouth formed a tiny ‘o’ at his comment.

“Neglect is when one’s guardians leave their charge all alone to fend for themselves. They ignore their physical, medical and emotional needs.” She cast a sideways glance at him. “It is considered a form of abuse.”

“It’s not,” Tim hissed, taking a step forward, fists gripped tightly by his sides. “It’s not as serious to be called that. Not for me. They don’t fucking hit me, they’re too busy to.”

“Timothy now suffers from people-pleasing and self-destructive tendencies, anxiety, trauma, touch-starvation, abandonment issues and a number of different things. Making him a perfect candidate to be one of Beloved’s sons.”

Tim’s nostrils flared. He marched forward, pushing a chair away from his way, making it skid across the room. He left the room, refusing to look at Damian’s reaction.

When he entered, he picked up the nearest object—his alarm clock—and threw it at the wall. It cracked against the stone before landing on the ground, shattered.

He stormed over to his desk and clamped his headphones down over his ears. His breaths quickened, and his heart jumped at a rapid pace. Moisture gathered at his eyes and Tim blinked as he clicked on his playlist—the same one he had used for Damian’s first panic attack with him.

It was only an hour later that he had managed to calm down completely. He fell asleep on his desk.

----------------------------------------------

Tim woke up to the smell of something delicious.

His nose comically went up, following the smell all the way to the kitchen. Tim stood at the doorway in his socks, watching Talia lay down a plate of vegetable congee and 饼 (where had she even gotten that??) in front of Damian. She spotted Tim lingering in the doorway and raised an eyebrow.

“I said I’ll help,” she said in lieu of a “good morning”.

“Didn’t think that meant you’d stay.” Tim approached the table.

“I have a few days until I need to get back to the League. Ra’s, fortunately, has not yet noticed Damian’s missing. When he does though…”

“Bruce has contingencies on when Ra’s decides to attack with his army.” Tim headed to the coffee machine first.

“Beloved has always been well-prepared.” Talia walked into the kitchen with him. Damian was busy eating the congee, eyes closed in the bliss that was homemade cooking.

“Yeah, well, that’s Batman for you. Speaking of, did Damian tell you that he watched him in action?”

“I did,” Damian called from the table.

“Yes, he did,” Talia confirmed. “It was good of you to take him.”

Tim poured the coffee into his mug. “Yeah, well. He is his son.”

“Indeed. He also told me about your obsession with coffee.”

Tim lifted the mug to his lips. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

Before he could open his eyes from the blink, the mug was snatched from his hand into Talia’s.

Tim stared at his hand. “What—” He lifted his head only to see the coffee tipped over, draining into the sink. “What the hell!” He snatched the empty mug from her.

Talia crossed her arms. “I’m pretty sure Beloved would appreciate seeing you whole. That drink is not good for you to have so often.”

“That drink—”

“I’m limiting you to three cups a day.” She walked over to where Damian was smirking at the table, mouth full of food.

“You can’t—”

“Watch me, Timothy.” She took a seat at the table and waved her hand at the chair on the opposite side of her. “Watch me.”

Tim glared at Damian. That little runt. Him and his assassin mom.

Tim was already tired.

Chapter Text

Talia turned her nose up at his notes. “Your strategy is abysmal.”

Tim rubbed his temples. “Thanks. Like my bruises couldn’t tell already.”

They had a spread of papers and notes that Damian and Tim had worked on to plan out fighting strategies before injecting the doses into Jason.

After criticizing every bit of his lifestyle, Talia was now targeting his fight strategies. Yesterday, she wrinkled her nose at Damian’s closet and took them both to another clothes shop with more traditional and “comfortable” clothes in Arab and Chinese styles. Tim balked at the prices, but Talia fortunately had her own money.

The day before that, she dragged them to a market to buy 拍黄瓜 (cucumber salad), 油条 (youtiao), knafeh, grape leaves, and a whole other bunch of things Tim couldn’t name. Then she spent the rest of the day preparing “proper consumable food”. (He had to admit, some of it was pretty good. However, he puked after trying some of the food like the stuffed grape leaves. The criticism from both, Damian and Talia, about his “white roots” had him writing out the pros and cons of murdering them in their sleep.)

Not to mention, she was still taking away his mugs of coffee, limiting him to only three a day.

Talia had officially taken over not just Damian’s life (which he was fine with), but his too (which he was not fine with).

Tim, out of politeness, had offered his bed to her, but when she entered his room and started critiquing the organized mess he liked keeping, he had immediately regretted it. So she alternated between sleeping with Damian (which was apparently normal in their culture) and the couch.

“Jason has been trained by the best of our League trainers, what hope do you have with a mere distraction strategy?” she sniffed, then crumpled up the paper and threw it back. It sailed through the air and landed right in the waste paper basket.

Tim was too busy fighting off a headache to be impressed. “What do you suggest then?” he asked resignedly.

Talia cleared her throat. She spread out another sheet of paper and started, “Firstly—”

Several hours later, Tim was swallowing ibuprofen like popcorn before flopping onto bed and knocking himself out for the next eight hours. No one could get him to sleep for a full eight hours on purpose like Talia Al Ghul and her irritating ass mother hen antics.

----------------------------------------------------------

One night, Tim awoke to a small figure peering down with almost-fluorescent eyes over him.

“What the—” Tim shot up and knocked his head against the wall. “Ow! Damian, what?” He rubbed the back of his head, wincing.

Damian watched him in that creepy owl-like way, unblinking.

“What?” Tim repeated irritably.

Damian looked away. His hands were behind his back and he looked… hesitant.

Tim frowned, sitting up properly. “Did something happen?”

“Mother…” Damian said quietly. “Mother explained what touch-starvation meant.”

Oh, was that all? Tim said sarcastically in his head. Outwardly, he just sighed and slipped back under the covers.

Perfect. Talia gossiping with Damian about all his faults and issues was just perfect. Now Damian would also know the big loser he was under his disguise. Needy, pathetic and alone. Always alone.

His parents didn’t want him, they never did, and he didn’t know what the fuck to think of what Bruce, Dick and the others had said about him. Now Damian wouldn’t want him either. Why would he? Tim didn’t want himself, so why would anyone else?

He turned away from the kid on his side, shutting his eyes close, not bothering to reply.

Several minutes passed and Tim thought Damian had left. But the bed creaked and Tim tensed.

A moment later, the kid had slipped under the covers with him. He tucked one arm around his torso rather stiffly. Tim, surprised, tensed up.

Both Tim and Damian lay there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do.

Then Tim sighed. He shifted to his other side and curled his arm over the kid, hugging him back. Maybe it wasn’t that Damian didn’t want him, but he didn’t want Damian to be touch-starved either.

Damian looked at him, eyes wide. Tim snapped his eyes close before he could say anything.

As they lay together, still awkward, but a little less so, Tim felt something.

A feeling, not unlike a snake, slithered up his spine before wrapping itself all around him. Then it squeezed, and it squeezed so tightly that Tim couldn’t breathe. He gasped breathlessly as the feeling burst inside his chest and something else—something tingly and warm—enclosed his body at the touch.

Tim sagged into the hold. Tears came, unbidden and unexpected, but Tim couldn’t stop them. He bit his lip as he cried silently.

He could feel Damian shift unsurely, but Tim didn’t move—couldn’t move. When Damian raised his arm, Tim caught it and opened his eyes.

His vision blurred with the tears so he couldn’t see Damian’s expression, but he begged nonetheless. Please, he said, stay.

Somehow, Damian caught on and he relaxed.

They stayed in that hug, Tim’s tears never ceasing before he drifted off to sleep.

Later in the night, Tim thought he might have heard the shutter of his camera, but the hug was too warm and Damian’s breath whistled comfortably against his neck. So he drifted back to sleep.

---------------------------------------------

Talia and Tim were bickering again.

"I'm fifteen," Tim snapped. "I'm not meant to be a parent in the first place. I'm too young to even think about having children!"

"You should at least possess some joint-survival skills," Talia argued back hotly. "Exposing Damian to that hideous drink? How barbaric! My son should never be exposed to such peasant drinks."

That was the last straw. Tim flared up and screamed, "YOU'RE THE PEASANT! COFFEE IS A DRINK FROM HEAVEN!"

"AT THIS RATE, YOU WILL BE GOING TO HEAVEN IF YOU DO NOT CUT DOWN THE CAFFEINE INTAKE."

"SHUT UP! I DO WHATEVER I WANT!"

Damian sat, flitting his gaze back and forth between them. Watching with great amusement. A big grin stretched across his face and his eyes shone with silent laughter at his uncorroborated big brother and his biological mother.

Talia growled. “When I left my son here, I never thought your poor skills would sink this low—”

"I so have good parenting skills!” Tim snarled. “Better than Ms. Assassin-Mom here— Hey Damian!" he called, not taking his glare off Talia. "We're going to the zoo."

Damian’s grin widened. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'll go book us tickets." Damian bounded off, leaving Talia and Tim to keep glaring at each other, sending high-voltage shocks with just their eyes.

The next day, a tired Talia and Tim were dragged around the zoo with Damian.

Tim had his coffee clutched to his chest and Talia wrinkled her nose at the elephant pooping and the zookeepers hurrying forward to clean it. “I still don’t know why you find these creatures so fascinating, darling.”

Damian, his face scrunched with delight now sagged, eyebrows lowering and lips turning downward.

Tim spotted it and glared at Talia. “Just because you don’t find something special doesn’t mean others don’t. You don’t see me questioning Bruce about his choice of lovers now, do you?”

Talia narrowed her eyes at him. “I could just pull out my Jian and cut your head clean off your neck right now.”

Tim took a step forward. “Then what are you waiting for?”

They stared off, electricity buzzing back and forth from their eyes, trying to shock each other with just a look.

Damian cut them off. “I think we should move to see the monkeys now.” He tugged their sleeves.

Tim looked down at Damian. He sighed and took a swig of coffee. “Alright, let’s go.”

While walking over to the monkey cages, they passed by the snakes section and Damian immediately demanded that they change courses and head over there.

“Come on!” the kid urged and grabbed Tim’s arm in excitement and pulled him over.

“Whoa!” Tim nearly spilled his coffee as Damian yanked him.

They entered the rooms. It was warmer there, but the snakes were still in brumation. They could see a couple of their bodies sticking out of the ground and the rocks.

One was even completely out, seeking water from the back of the glass cage. Eastern brown snake, the plaque read.

Damian pressed his face against the glass.“It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Simply beautiful.”

Tim smiled at the kid. He leaned against the wall beside the Anaconda, sipping his coffee.

As the snake moved to the other side, Damian did too. His eyes nearly sparkled as he watched the snake with enraptured and completely open excitement. When the snake turned to look at him, he let out a gasp, “Hello.”

The snake stuck its tongue out briefly.

Damian laughed softly. “My name’s Damian,” he introduced. “What’s yours?” His eyes flicked down to the plaque. “Darci,” he read. “What a nonsense name. I’ll name you Hamza.”

Tim smiled. He pulled out his camera from his bag. Flicking past the last picture taken of him and Damian curled around each other, he shifted to camera mode. Adjusting the settings, he pressed it to his eye and snapped a picture. The captured moment appeared on the little screen. It was perfect. He wondered if Damian would like to draw it out.

“It’s good for him.”

Tim startled and nearly dropped his camera. He turned his head to see Talia next to him, her eyes on Damian now moving to the next glass case.

“You were good for him.” She didn’t look at him. “He’s never looked this happy before.”

Tim tilted his head. “Thanks.” That was probably the nicest thing Talia had ever said about him. “Damian’s a good kid.”

Talia smiled. “He really is,” she agreed. “A kid. A good kid.”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. Was Talia really admitting that her son was a child and not a mini-assassin in training out loud?

Well, it was nearly Christmas. People did say that wonders never ceased to be during this time.

They got some fairy floss on Tim’s insistence before going to see the monkeys. The place was full of cheeky little bastards screeching at the people walking by. Some of them were somewhere else, huddling together for warmth even though there were heaters blasting warm air into the cages. The other visitors posed with the monkeys, making duck faces and peace signs as they took pictures.

Tim glanced down at his camera. “Hey, Dami? What do you say about taking a pic… ture…” Tim trailed off when he saw the frown on Damian’s face.

“Hey.” He nudged him gently. “You alright?”

“I don’t like it,” the kid said, sounding so down and forlorn that Tim felt his stomach squeeze in sympathy.

“What don’t you like?”

Damian gestured at the monkeys with his fairy floss. “Them! They’re upset in those cages!” He pouted (oh God, he actually pouted). “They should be outside and free.”

Tim bit his tongue to keep from smiling and upsetting the kid even more. “It’s not like that at all, Dami.” He crouched down to explain. “You see, for the animals at the zoo, they have all these rules and regulations for the zookeepers to follow so the animals don’t feel unhappy and are given the best care. A revised and nutrient full diet, best sleep conditions, clean cages. The zookeepers try hard.”

Damian turned back to the monkeys, expression still as desolate as ever. “They don’t belong in cages,” he said softly.

Tim looked at them too. “I suppose not,” he admitted.

“We should free them.”

Tim jerked his head to him. “What?”

“We should free them,” Damian repeated determinedly.

“Dames— do you know how dangerous that would be for the people if they were to get out?”

Damian shrugged. “Humans don’t matter.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. Well, that was actually a fair point. Humans were always the problem in terms of keeping the Earth upright.

“Please, Drake,” Damian implored, giving him The Look. You know, the Look which kids give adults to convince them to get something. “You know I’m right.”

Tim chewed on his bottom lip. “Well…”

“Look.” Damian grabbed his wrist and pulled him, making him nearly drop his fairy floss.

What was it with the Al Ghuls and hauling people around?

He dragged him over all the way to the back of the cages. “There’s the opening! And we can break the lock quite easily with either my sword or your weapons.”

Tim looked at where Damian was pointing. He wasn’t wrong. The lock seemed very breakable. Even after the Zoo Escape incident caused by Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn who wanted a hyena last year, the locks still looked like they could be broken very easily.

“I—”

“What are you two doing?” A hand caught Tim’s shirt and another took hold of Damian’s, tugging them back.

Damian crossed his arms with a frown. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“What he said.” Tim jerked a thumb over at him.

Talia let them go and sighed, “When did I become a mother of two?” she sighed.

“Three,” Tim corrected, tearing a piece of fairy floss with his teeth.

Talia crinkled her nose at his eating manners. But then Damian copied him, tearing a piece of fluffy sugar and chewing it with the same vigor as a kid does with sugar. Talia just sighed and shook her head.

“What do you mean by three?” she asked.

Tim shrugged. “You sort of raised Jason too. And we need to save him. You’re helping me bring him back.” He took another bite of fairy floss. “And we’re moving tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The last one.

The very last one.

After months of bruises, fights, stress and responsibilities, with this one dose everything would have paid off. And everyone would be happy again. Jason would reunite with the Waynes and lose his Pit rage—as evidenced by the slowly fading green glow of his eyes and how he wasn’t really aiming for them with his bullets unless triggered. Damian would finally get to meet his real father and brothers. And the Waynes would be together and whole again.

Tim couldn’t be happier.

Even now, he struggled to keep a grin from stretching across his face as he peeked from an alleyway. Damian was on one of the rooftops and Talia was inside the building opposite to where he was, reading to jump out the window. They had planned this ambush, revising, snapping and hurling insults, every day of this past week. Now finally, they were ready.

“ETA one minute, Timothy,” Talia’s voice buzzed through the comms she had distributed before leaving. “Be prepared.”

Tim sucked in a deep breath. He was prepared. He was ready. They could do this.

Sure enough, a minute later, Jason left the building where he had been doing some casual torturing, as part of keeping up the crimelord rep. His jacket and boots were splattered with blood and the metallic scent immediately hit Tim’s nose as soon as Hood stepped out.

He closed his eyes, pushing the memories away. Not now, Tim, he told himself, No time for that. This is it. The end.

Hood stepped out into the empty street, hands on his hip, a gun held in one of his gloved fingers. His head tilted up as if he was looking at the sky, his helmet gleaming eerily in the streetlights and adding a sick shine to the blood on him.

Hood paused, taking a deep breath. Then, he holstered his gun.

And Talia cried, “Now!”

Tim rolled out of his hiding place, landing right in front of Jason and Damian jumped out too using Tim’s grapple gun, landing behind him. The plan was that unless things got messy, Talia wouldn’t step in, in case her presence triggered Jason into one of his rages.

Jason glanced at Tim, then at Damian. He looked up and sighed heavily. “Again?” he drawled.

Tim didn’t bother responding. He fished the needle out of his belt.

Jason eyed it. “Really, kid. What are you even accomplishing?”

Tim didn’t answer, taking a careful step forward.

“Alright, if you don’t wanna answer that question then at least tell me who the other kid is.”

Neither Tim nor Damian replied. They took a synchronised step forward.

Hood tilted his head. “Oh… kay. Seeing as both of you have gone mute, why don’t I make it easier?”

He reached up and Tim tensed, muscles tightly wound around him in preparation for what Jason would do.

To his surprise, Jason unclasped his helmet and took it off, revealing a domino mask (huh, he was still doing the two masks thing since the Tower). “Come on, hurry up so we can all go where we need to.”

Tim narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Really, kid. Before I change my mind.”

Tim stalked forward cautiously. He exchanged a quick bewildered glance with Damian before stepping behind Jason.

Well, it was all or nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly stabbed the syringe into his neck and pushed the plunger, draining the rest of the liquid into Jason. The final piece of the cure.

A bolt of elation shot through him, but just as quickly it appeared, it disappeared when Jason whipped around and grabbed his wrist with the syringe.

Tim gasped and dropped the syringe as he squeezed his wrist. Tighter and tighter, bones grating together.

Damian immediately struck. The boy came forward with a hard and fast strike, breaking the hold and Tim immediately shot back, gingerly holding his wrist. “Ow,” he hissed.

Damian was with him in a second, holding the grapple gun. He shot it and Tim held onto the gun with him as they both flew upward to the roof.

They landed, but the job wasn’t done yet.

Because the last serum injection was a small combination of everything, they had to carefully monitor Jason and make sure that he didn’t hurt himself or other people. Or to see if the whole thing had backfired or not.

If it did…

Well, Tim was positive that it wouldn’t. And he had Talia’s word to back it up.

He had also made clear observations of each reaction while tracking Jason through cams. And he had made painful measures to keep things as accurate as possible since it was such a delicate operation.

He didn’t want Jason to die.

No matter what, he was still his Robin.

And he would still be Bruce’s son and Dick’s brother.

Jason was about to stride towards where they had disappeared, but then suddenly halted. He froze completely and his angry expression transformed into that of pain.

Tim winced as Jason let out a loud cry of pain and clutched his head. He fell to his knees, fingers twisting in his hair and his heavy breathing could be heard even from the roof of the building he and Damian were on.

Sorry, Jason, Tim apologized in his head.

Several moments later, Jason painfully stood up. He stumbled forward and nearly tipped over, but caught himself in time. One hand on his head and another stretched out to steady himself, Jason walked.

He walked and walked, staggering with sludgy and pained movements. As he walked, he muttered insults at Tim. He couldn’t exactly catch the sentences, just a word here and there, but it wasn’t hard to piece it all together.

Then, he stopped in front of a building.

Tim squinted. That must be where his nearest safehouse must be located.

“Timothy,” Talia’s voice appeared again. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Tim whispered quietly. “Damian’s with me too.”

“Something is wrong.”

Dread filled his stomach and he exchanged a worried look with Damian. “What?”

“Jason is not tearing the city apart, looking for you. This isn’t a normal reaction to someone injecting things into you for the past couple of months.”

Tim’s eyes widened.

Oh.

Oh fuck. He should have known that.

Suddenly it all made sense.

Talia was right, something was very wrong.

Just then, Jason screamed in pain. His eyes glowed a bright green, even through the domino mask and he collapsed right in front of the door of the building, where he lay unmoving and still.

Fuck.

Tim jumped onto the fire escape. “Stay here,” he hissed at Damian. He slowly and silently stepped down the fire escape’s stairs.

When he reached the end, he counted to ten before tip-toeing closer to where Jason was.

Heart in his mouth and hands trembling, Tim stepped closer and closer.

Inch by inch—

He was only a foot away from Jason, who was still unconscious but breathing.

Swallowing, Tim took a step—

Jason suddenly jumped up and tackled Tim to the ground.

His head met the concrete and he gasped. The moment cost him as Jason’s knees dug into his sides and his hands clamped down on his wrists, keeping him from getting up.

Jason grinned evilly. “Knew you’d fall for it.”

His grip on Tim’s wrists tightened and Tim yelped.

Just like before, Damian appeared behind him, sword in hand.

But, Jason was prepared.

He twisted, fast as lightning, and caught Damian by the neck.

He jumped off Tim, only to slam Damian to the ground, a knee digging into his gut and Damian’s own Jian twisted to hover above his throat.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

Tim stumbled as he stood up, teetering from side to side. He reached into his belt.

“Uh-uh,” Jason tsked mockingly. “One more move and the brat dies.”

Tim stopped.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Jason sneered. “You don’t think I recognized what you were putting into me? Those stupid little serums?”

What—

“I’ve lived with Ra’s himself, Timmy. I have antidotes.”

No.

“All your little serums have been counter-intuitive.”

No. No. Jason’s eyes were less green, he was getting less violent, it— it had to work! It—

“Jason.”

The three turned to see Talia standing on the opposite street.

Tim sagged in relief and Damian’s eyes lit up, but Jason froze completely. Enough that Damian managed to strike at the hand holding the Jian, grab it back and push Jason away to free himself. Tim reached over and snatched Damian, pulling him back.

“Talia?” Jason breathed.

Talia strode forward. The streetlights illuminated her full regal figure as she moved out of the shadows. When she arrived right in front of them, Jason took a step back.

“Habibi,” she said silkily. “Surely you must know me well enough to consider that I may have replaced those antidotes with placebos?”

“What?” Jason whispered.

“When I first arrived in Gotham to hand Timothy the information on how to concoct those serums, I broke into your safehouse to replace the antidotes.” Her head tilted down slightly.

“No.”

Yes! Tim’s face split into a grin. Oh, thank God for Talia.

“No.” Jason clutched his head. “NO!” He roared and attacked.

Talia immediately dodged.

Jason’s expression changed from scared to angry, the green actively glowing through his lenses once more.

Jason powered on, raging as he tried to land a hit on Talia. She smoothly dodged, an action made easy with the fact that Jason was too consumed in his rage to properly fight.

“I made a mistake with you, Jason,” she said while continuously dodging blows. “I let my father keep you in the Pit for too long. You were never meant to lose yourself so completely.” With that, she caught Jason’s fist and struck him in the face.

Jason reared back, stumbling from the hit on his jaw. He recovered quickly and charged forward with another cry.

Someone beside Tim coughed and he immediately turned towards Damian.

The kid was gently rubbing his neck. The scar on Tim’s own neck twinged.

“Damian!” Tim tilted his head up to look at the damage. Thankfully, there was none. “Are you okay?” He brushed his fingers at the back of his head, searching for a bump.

“I’m fine!” he pushed him away.

Tim gave in. He looked back at the fight to see Talia sucker punch Jason in the gut, causing him to collapse to his knees. But just as Jason jumped back up to push Talia away, Tim’s eyes caught something else.

A graffiti.

Joker’s purple and green smile graffiti.

Tim couldn’t breathe.

The world spun around him and he stumbled back a step. Someone caught his arm, steadying him. They said something, but Tim couldn’t hear past the pounding of his blood in his ears.

Joker was here. Joker was here. Joker was here. Joker was—

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered. A hand touched his back and the world suddenly came back. Talia and Jason were still fighting right in front of the graffiti and Damian was holding him up, brows furrowed with concern.

“Drake?”

“We need to get out of here,” he said a little louder.

He let go of Damian and approached Talia still trying to wrangle a furious Jason. “Talia!” he called. “We need to go! It’s not safe here, Jo—” He stopped himself just in time.

He couldn’t say Joker’s name in front of Jason. And he had to make sure that Jason didn’t see the graffiti either. Lest it triggered him to a flashback he couldn’t get out of.

Ah fucky pretzels.

Tim took a running headstart, before slamming into Jason right before he was about to throw a kick towards Talia. Jason changed courses after that and charged at Tim.

Tim ducked and slipped to the side as Talia stepped in and struck a punch on Jason’s nose.

In the blink of an eye, Tim rounded behind Jason’s back and kicked him forward, letting Talia pick him up by his jacket and throw him to the side, giving them some distance.

Jason stumbled, but managed to get himself on his feet, breathing heavily and growling with pure anger.

“I don’t understand,” Tim said, preparing himself in a ready stance. “Why is he behaving this way? This isn’t like Jason at all. He’s acting like— like a bloodthirsty animal.”

Jason charged towards them again and both Tim and Talia entered the second round of fighting, seamlessly melding together and adapting to each other’s fighting styles. Thanks to his and Damian’s previous training sessions, he had practice with the League’s style and could match his moves to Talia’s.

“The Lazarus Pit is an extraordinary healing boon,” Talia said, redirecting a blow Jason was about to throw Tim’s way. “But it comes with a price. Your health, with your subconscious mind as the cost. The more you are healed, the more it consumes your mind.”

She gasped as Jason managed to sweep her off her feet. Tim filled in and leapt up with a handspring and locked his legs around Jason’s neck before using the momentum to throw him to the ground.

He handspringed off again, sliding to a stop. “So you let the Pit get to him in hopes of making him a good weapon?” Tim spat.

As Jason laggingly got up, Talia took the moment to reorient herself. “No,” she said. “No, that was my father. He wanted a weapon. Someone who would weaken my Beloved. He kept him drowned in there for longer than necessary in hopes of making him perfect, but it has consumed his mind.”

Jason let out a bloodlust-fuelled shriek.

“During times like these, when triggered by something strong—in this case, me—it’s like he’s mind-controlled by the rage.”

Tim bit his tongue. No wonder his past meetings with the former Robin had been so violent. It was Ra’s’s fault.

His eyes floated to the graffiti again and panic took hold of his chest. They were wasting time. “Talia,” he said. “We need to get out of here and take Jason with us, if we don’t…” He trailed off as he turned back to look at them.

Jason was on his knees, teetering before falling, something sticking out of his neck. Talia was the same, stumbling before she fell too.

Tim barely had any time to turn for a retreat before something sharp stuck out from his neck too.

His fingers clumsily fumbled up and plucked out a dart. “Oh… shiver me… timbers…” His vision tilted and he fell to the ground, just like Jason and Talia.

The dart in his hand was white, green and purple. This was just perfect.

Tim closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

So a recap from what had happened in the last season of Mini Assassin and Depressed Emo Meet The World:

Depressed Emo (Tim) was having a pretty darn bad time, what with his idol coming back from the dead and playing swapsies, leaving him on death’s doorstep, before Batman and Nightwing managed to arrive just before Mr. Reaper, and take him back home.

Depressed Emo decided that he didn’t like having a bad time, and so came up with the ingenious plan of making a deal with the daughter of a demon—which he came to regret later when the deal got him looking after a mini demon-assassin all by himself.

However, that didn’t turn out too bad as the Mini Assassin was kinda cute in his own way and both of them had warmed up to each other. They worked together to cure the Big Bad Hood and turn him into a Big Good Hood. However, they came across a complication—as all shows do in the season finale.

The Joker was in town. And of course, he had kidnapped them.

So, now Depressed Emo was tied to a steel chair, with thick fucking ropes, a bag over his head so he couldn’t see the inside of what he could smell as a stinky warehouse, with a Big Bad Hood, who had severe trauma of being tied up in warehouses, and a pissed off Assassin Mom for who this was probably the first time being captured successfully. She was definitely going to be blaming Tim.

Things just didn’t go well for the poor Depressed Emo, did they? Honestly, never had Tim felt so sorry for himself until this moment. And all he wanted to do was make everyone happy. Turned out, for that, his happiness had to be damned several times over.

I get it, universe, he called out in his head, You don’t like me. Point taken. The least you could do is just kill me now, you know?

His wrists started to sting a little from the rope. He hoped he didn’t end up with a rope burn. That shit sucked. Worse than Lex Luthor’s stinking head oil that made Tim puke anytime he got even close to the guy.

He was missing his belt and hidden weapons and he was sure that his partners were missing their weaponry too. The warehouse was quite cold, which made sense since it was winter.

Fortunately, (maybe the universe didn’t hate him too much?) it hadn’t snowed today so it wasn’t as cold as it could have been. His thoughts still felt slippery, but better than ten minutes ago when he had woken up—the drugs ridding itself from his system. He could feel Talia’s and Jason’s figures on either side of him. He could tell that Talia was awake and was also cataloguing her surroundings. Hooray for assassin training.

Tim resisted the urge to sigh and alert the Joker that he was awake. Instead, he kept trying to find as much information about their location as the drowsiness shook off.

However, that plan was shot in the toe when he heard Jason’s gasp.

Great, he was awake.

Correction, he was awake in a warehouse, his limbs tied up and with Joker. Funsies.

Although, he should still be unaware that it was Joker who had kidnapped them. Tim planned to keep him ignorant of the knowledge for as long as possible.

As soon as Jason awoke from his slumber, he started panicking. Tim could hear the ragged breaths bordering on hyperventilation beside him. Damn not alerting the Joker, he needed to do something.

A panicked Jason was way worse than an angry one.

“Hey,” Tim said softly. “Hey, Jason, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Jason didn’t respond, his breaths getting faster and faster, turning into desperate wheezes. His body jerked in the chair, desperate to get out. The bag on his head wasn’t helping much either. The older boy really was in no position to listen, too lost in his panic.

Think, think, what could Tim do?

Physical touch was impossible. Music was also impossible. There was no way he could move to provide pressure or a reassuring hand. The only thing Tim had was his voice, but he was too lost in his panic to listen to him. What could he do? What could he—

A thought entered his head and Tim winced.

It was a fantastic and horrible idea at the same time. And he really, really didn’t want to try it out. But he had no choice. Taking a leaf out of Damian’s book was all he had left.

“Talia,” he hissed blindly towards his left. “Talia, I know you’re awake. I need to know… how did Jason calm down when he came out of the Pit?”

“I sedated him,” Talia replied back quietly.

“But you helped calm him down before sedating him, didn’t you? I know how the Pit works. I read the files.”

“...Yes. I managed to quell his thrashing.”

Tim took a deep breath. The next bit was going to suck. I’m sorry, Jason. “I need you to yell.”

“What—”

“I need you to yell Jason’s name and draw his attention away from his panic. Now.”

Talia didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then, he heard her shifting before— “!يا ولد” (OH, BOY!)

Tim felt when Jason snapped to attention.

“!استمع” (Listen!)

Talia couldn’t hear it, but Tim could. Jason’s whimper of fear. I’m so sorry.

“Jason,” he said gently. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re okay, I promise.”

Jason’s breathing was uneven and heavy. But Tim could tell he was listening. They might just have a chance.

“I know the situation’s sucky,” he continued. “Well, it’s more than sucky. Double sucky. But it’ll be okay, I promise. Will telling you what I can observe help you?”

Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t move or say anything for so long that Tim thought he had, somehow, fallen asleep.

But no, in a small voice, he eventually answered, “Yes.”

Tim blew out a breath. “Oh… kay. Uh, well, obviously Talia is here with me. But I promise that we’re not going to hurt you. In this situation, all three of us have been captured and we’re allies. Friends, yeah?”

Jason grunted in affirmative.

“Yeah. Um, we’re tied to chairs too. You’re on my right and Talia’s on my left. We all have paper bags over our heads—and pretty securely too, I must say. Just try breathing evenly, yeah? Just— just try. We’re out in the open and there’s puh-lenty of air. Our hands and legs are tied to a metal chair with rope and the knot is…”

Tim touched the knot, trying to figure out what it was through feel.

“Okay, the knot has no name because… it’s weird. It’s just some random knots tied together. Don’t rub against it, might get a rope burn.”

“Least of our problems,” Jason said gruffly.

Tim’s heart jumped. He was verbally responding at least! His rambling was helping! Of course it was. His rambling was awesome. Maybe he should consider posting podfics along with fanfics.

Stay on track, Tim.

Right, right. “We’re, unfortunately, in a warehouse. The unfortunate part mainly is the stink. I think my nose needs a trip to the car wash, along with my lungs. And— what’s the thing between your lungs and nose called?”

“Windpipe.”

Tim grinned. “Oh right, I’m such a dumbass. Of course it’s a windpipe. That’s where the… wind… goes…”

Talia sighed heavily beside him.

“Yeah… maybe I should actually go to school instead of hacking the attendance records.”

Jason grunted again. He did not sound amused. “Who got us?” he asked, sounding much calmer. Tim silently cheered.

“I’m not quite sure about that,” he lied. “It’s probably just some random goons out there who thought it was amusing or something. You can just blast them with your guns if you want, I promise I won’t tell anyone. But yeah, I’m not sure who’s got us—”

“I wasn’t aware—” A voice cut in. A very familiar voice. “—that birdboy was such a good liar!”

Jason went rigid beside him.

Fuck.

He knew that voice. And Jason knew that voice. He knew it very well. It was very literally embedded in his memories and the cracks between his skin.

The voice chuckled. It got closer and closer until it was right in front of them.

Jason wasn’t breathing at all. Tim wasn’t sure he was either.

The paper bags flew off their heads. Tim instantly squinted, only to realize that there wasn’t much light to begin with.

The warehouse was dark, only a couple overhead lights working, but Tim spotted the goons with smiley masks surrounding them carrying guns. There were some crates and boxes here and there, and peeks of moonlights slipping in through the windows which didn’t have wooden planks nailed to them.

But the main sight his brain focused on was the man standing in front of him—if he could even be called human. With his purple suit, green hair and skin as pale as a hospital tile.

The Joker. And he was happy. Which was not a very good thing for them.

The Joker’s smile stretched across his face in an unnatural way, teeth basically glowing in the dim-lit space.

The freak probably whitened his teeth specially for the kidnapping.

The Joker dropped the paper bags to the floor. Tim spotted crude drawings of white, happy faces on them. He shuddered.

That movement drew the Joker’s attention to him. And his smile stretched impossibly wider. “I know you,” he sing-songed. He brought his finger forward, pointing at Tim. “You got a little costume change, but I know you, birdboy.”

He booped his nose.

“And I know you too!”

His finger shifted to pointing at a pale Jason.

“I know both of you!”

He pointed at both of them with his hands.

The Joker laughed. His laughs echoed across the space in a deafening, sickening symphony. Tim wanted to cover his ears. He couldn’t imagine how Jason must be feeling right now. A quick glance to the side revealed that the older boy looked close to bursting into tears.

As soon as the laugh had begun, it stopped.

“I recognize the two birdies,” he hissed with glee. “Two Robins to be more specific.”

He reached into his jacket, eyes gleaming with a sort of hunger that drew a chill through Tim’s spine. Joker drew his hand back out and a knife twinned with the eyes, both gleaming in front of them.

A half-whimper left Jason’s lips before he could clamp it down.

It made Joker smile even more. Despite the “joyful” look, there were no crow’s feet beside his eyes. The pupils were dilated and crazy. Tim wanted to puke. Everything about the Joker was all unnatural.

Then Joker put a hand on his hip and tapped the knife against his chin. “I know the two birdies on my left… but not this one.” He pointed the knife at Talia.

The Daughter of the Demon’s Head glared at him, a snake’s venomous fury present in the stare.

“Who are you?” Joker tilted his head.

Talia didn’t reply. She raised her nose, sniffing haughtily.

Tim bit his bottom lip with nervousness.

When Talia offered no answer, Joker’s smile disappeared. “You’re no fun.” He tapped the point of the knife. “And I don’t like people who aren’t fun. Party poopers, they are.”

He edged closer to Talia.

“And you know what I do with party poopers?”

The knife sank into her side, earning a strangled gasp. Talia glared at him furiously.

“I kill them.” Joker’s smile returned with full force, as he held the blood-dripping knife to Talia’s throat.

Tim’s heart jumped.

“Wait!”

That was Damian’s mom. He couldn’t let her die. Damian would be devastated. (And Talia wasn’t too bad of a character either, he supposed.)

Joker didn’t turn to him immediately. Talia held his gaze, a promise of murder in her eyes.

When Joker did turn to him, the crazy green eyes bore into his.

Tim swallowed, but powered on. “You can’t kill her.”

Joker tilted his head, amused. “Why not, bird brain?”

“I— you don’t— she’s— she’s the daughter of Ra’s Al Ghul. And head of the League of Assassins. You’re done for if she dies.”

Joker took a step back from Talia. Only to take a step towards him.

“You make a valid point, bird brat.” Joker said, his nose almost touching his. His breath, sour from whatever the hell he ate as food, puffed over his face. Goosebumps rose on his arms. “But you know chaos is my schtick. Answer me a question.”

He held the knife against Tim’s cheek.

“Do you think Batman will mind if I kill you instead?”

Tim balked.

“Think about it,” Joker grinned, his sour breath now turned cold. “Batman may not mind the death of whoever this angry lady is, but you? You’re perfect! He surely wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Adrenaline pulsed through his heart. Tim couldn’t breathe. He struggled against his ropes.

“I’ve already killed the other one.” He absent-mindedly gestured in Jason’s direction. “Why not kill you too?” Joker chuckled. “I wonder if you will stay dead, Bird Boy 3.0.” The knife dug into Tim’s skin, drawing a red line.

“Don’t!”

Both Joker and Tim turned.

Jason had his teeth gritted, a look of pure fear struck on his face. But his eyes held determination and… and something else.

There was no green.

None.

One of the lenses of his domino was cracked. And the iris that peeped out was blue. Completely blue. Robin blue.

“Don’t hurt him,” Jason said in a cracked whisper. “I don’t know how I came back, but I did. And knowing Batman, my death again will devastate him more than you can imagine. Enough that…” Jason faltered. “Enough that he might even kill you.”

Silence rang around them. No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe.

Then Joker laughed.

He laughed loud and hard.

He laughed so much that he dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor.

He laughed with such intensity that Jason did tear up and Tim was dangerously close to doing the same.

Jason… Jason had… Jason had stood up for him. He stood up against Joker and pleaded for the madman to kill him instead of Tim.

They had given him the last dose hours ago.

The antidotes he had been taking were placebos.

He had calmed down to Tim’s voice, in a situation that was designed to be his greatest fear.

His eyes were fully blue, with not a hint of green.

He pleaded Tim’s case to Joker. He did something Robin would do. Not Hood, Robin.

He wasn’t possessed by the Pit anymore.

Jason was back.

Jason was back.

“Timothy.”

Tim faced Talia.

Talia looked back at him solemnly, her voice steady even as her side was coated in red. “I know. I’ve seen it too. But now’s not the time, habibi. Wipe your tears, be strong.”

Tim hadn’t even realized he was crying. Quickly, while Joker was absorbed in his fit of hilarity, Tim rubbed his tears against his shoulder, wincing when the saltwater burned the cut on his cheek.

Talia was right. They might have succeeded in the mission of ridding the Lazarus Pit plague, but they had a new mission now. Operation: Escape From Joker.

Tim sniffed and glanced around the warehouse, examining it for any weak points or escape routes. The creepy masked goons were covering the weaker points of the warehouse, but if Talia were to be freed, they would have a chance. And that’s all they needed.

He looked down at their bindings. The ropes were coiled from his ankle to his knees. Which was… weird but effective he supposed. The bindings on his hands were also a lost cause unless losing a hand was on the table. He didn’t want to consider that option yet.

A quick look determined that Jason and Talia were also in the same position.

Just then, Joker finished his laughing fit.

He wiped a tear and went face-to-face with Jason. “You were always my favorite birdie,” he sneered. “So much fun and better than the others. The first one was a flipsy little flying shit. Could never peg him down. And this one—”

He reached over and pulled Tim’s hair, yanking him and his chair forward, until it was balancing on its two back legs, a few feet/meters in front of Talia and Jason. Tim cried out in pain.

Some odd back corner of his brain was protesting his hair being ripped out. He didn’t want to look like Lex Luthor.

“This one’s too serious. Look at his face!”

The face in question was scrunched in pain and its owner was seriously reconsidering the plan with the chopped off hand.

Joker let go, and Tim managed to pull his weight back so he wouldn’t fall.

“But you, birdie. You have passion. You have zest.” He grabbed Jason’s face, squeezing it. “You have a sense of your own justice. Is that why you took on my name?” His smile stretched again.

Jason couldn’t help the whimper this time. Tim felt his heart lurch in sympathy.

Joker let go and moved back, circling them. “Now, the only query remaining… should I hit up the memory lane and beat you up with a crowbar again?”

Jason swallowed.

“Or should I do something different…” Joker stopped in front of Tim. “And beat him up with a crowbar and kill you?”

Tim froze.

“What?” Jason whispered.

Joker giggled. “Yes! I think that’s a great idea!” He twirled around and called out to one of the goons, “Oh Chucko! Get me my nostalgic sleep bunny, will you?”

The three goons looked at each other. Then they did the Spider-man meme, wondering who Chucko was.

Joker frowned. “Did I not assign the names before we left? Ughhhhhhhh, fine. You, the middle one. You’re Chucko now.”

The guy jumped up in panic and ran to a particularly dark corner then came back. He held a crowbar—foot-long, made of solid metal, ranked 4.5 stars on the torturing scale thanks to Jason’s recent review.

Tim should really stop using humor as a coping mechanism.

Joker snatched the crowbar from Chucko and kissed it. “Doesn’t it bring back such fond memories?”

Jason’s trembles beside him didn’t think so.

Joker stalked forward and pressed the crowbar to Tim’s cheek. “I’ve seen how the better Robin handled this, but I can’t wait to see how you’re gonna handle it.”

He pulled the crowbar back, aiming for a swing towards his face.

Tim closed his eyes.

A whistling sound flew in front of him, followed by a deafening crash.

Tim flinched. But nothing hit him. And a crash wasn’t exactly how a crowbar sounded like.

He opened his eyes.

The goons were going down one by one, knocked out with a kick or a punch or a hit from an escrima or a batarang. Batman melded perfectly with the shadows, becoming one himself. All anyone could see and hear of Nightwing was a thin blurry streak and a hum of electricity. The goons didn’t fire, sensibly holding in their ammo knowing that they would only hit each other.

That was when it hit him—Tim was so occupied with his own situation that he had forgotten that he had backup.

Joker was grinding his teeth, donning a look of dangerous fury. He watched the chaos for a few seconds before turning back to Jason and Tim. Then he shrugged. “Might as well have some fun while we’re at it.”

He swung the crowbar at Jason.

But at that moment, Tim’s bindings and ropes loosened and slipped off.

He didn’t wait. As soon as the cut ropes dropped to the ground, Tim leapt up and tackled the Joker.

The crowbar flew from his hand, landing somewhere far from Jason.

Tim raised his fist, and summoning every bit of his strength and adrenaline, clocked him right in the face.

He felt the crunch of his nose before he heard it.

But the Joker didn’t scream, he laughed.

Blood poured from his nostrils and Tim blinked in shock.

That second cost him when the madman pulled a tiny pistol out of his sleeve and pointed it at him.

Shit.

Before it could fire, Talia appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the Joker’s arm and broke it. That crack was even louder than the crunch before. And this time, the Joker howled.

“Disgusting,” Talia wrinkled her nose before picking him up by his broken arm and throwing him into the fray towards Batman, not at all minding the stab wound on her side. “Unworthy of my touch,” she commented as she dusted off her hands.

Tim got up and his eyes immediately landed on their savior. He darted forward and wrapped his arms around the kid.

“Dami!” he exclaimed.

“Unhand me this instant, weakling!”

“Don’t be such a sour grape,” He admonished and let him go, only to turn him around and check every inch of him for any injuries.

“Tt. This is getting old. I’m fine.” Damian pushed him off. “If anything, I should be searching you.” His eyes landed on the cut on his cheek.

Tim shrugged. “Just a cut and maybe a rope burn, nothing much.”

“Great reunion. Might try freeing me now?”

They faced Jason. Tim’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t freed him yet?”

Damian crossed his arms. “Did you so easily forget how you got kidnapped in the first place? Fighting him?”

Tim put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Damian,” he whispered with a grin. “It worked. Everything we did in the past few months, it’s all come together. It worked. Jason’s okay!”

Damian still looked hesitant, casting a nervous glance at Jason.

“Besides, him being tied up in a warehouse with the Joker is not going to go well for any of us.”

Damian sighed. He pushed away Tim’s hand and raised his Jian. Slicing the ropes in one clean swipe, he freed Jason.

The former Robin stood up. He stretched his limbs and cracked his knuckles. But Tim could see the minute trembles and the way his knees wobbled.

“Be prepared.”

They looked on to where Talia was pointing. Several goons were running at them, some holding bats, some holding guns.

Tim looked around at them. Jason, though he was trying to look brave, was in no position to fight several enemies at once without his weapons. Talia still had a stab wound and though she had torn a long strip from her robe and tied it around her waist, she was still losing a lot of blood. And even if she couldn’t die this easily, the wound would hinder her usual expertise in combat.

It was up to him and Damian.

He faced the boy in question and they exchanged a nod, Damian readying his Jian. Tim shifted into a fighting position.

As soon as the poor goons stepped close enough, they struck.

Trusting Damian to look after himself and Talia to hold her own, he focused on protecting Jason.

Jason was okay to punch a guy here and there, but he undoubtedly needed Tim’s help. His focus was pushed into keeping the flashbacks away.

Tim was only too happy to help.

He checked his and Jason’s surroundings, cataloguing who was to arrive first, who was most dangerous and who were both. When he got that info, he stepped behind Jason’s back.

Goon #1 carried a gun which was quickly dropped when Tim twisted his wrist. Goon #2, also with a gun, got a nasty surprise from his left when #1 crashed into him when Tim pushed him.

#3 tripped over the two and got a surprise kick to the face when Tim used him as a step to leap up and use the height and momentum to jump on #4, the weight and force knocking him clean out.

#5 was running at him with a bat which Tim snatched right out of his hands, hit him over the head, (his grip strength was less than a baby’s) then hit #1, #2 and #3 over their heads. #2 and #3 needed an extra bump to knock them out.

Jason had already punched #5, so Tim turned to #6. Administrating a hit on the hand holding the gun, then his head, then the hand again, then his head once more, the goon was properly dizzy and he left him to Jason to finish the job.

He turned to Goon #7, but his peripheral vision caught a #8 creeping up behind Damian.

Acting on instinct, he threw the bat with all his might towards #8, stomped on #7’s foot, held his hand up in the air as the goon accidentally shot the gun in shock, then used the gun to headbutt the goon twice, letting him drop to the floor too.

Tim dropped the gun, standing and breathing heavily around a pile of bodies.

Damian gaped. Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t see this at the Tower or the other instances,” he said.

Tim shrugged.

“I did not see that during our training sessions either!” Damian accused.

Talia replied for Tim. “I told you not to underestimate a child of the Batman, ibni. They are more than what they seem.”

“And I don’t want to actually hurt you or Jason,” Tim added.

Damian opened his mouth to reply, but Talia barreled over him. “We need to go,” she said, casting a look at where Batman and Nightwing were still fighting off the other goons.

“There’s an opening there.” Jason pointed at a smashed window where a knocked out goon was half-hanging out.

They started running there, when Tim stopped.

Something was not right.

His fears were immediately proven right when a beep sounded behind him, a distance away.

Joker was standing near the padlocked exit, holding a remote control of some kind. He wore a grin that reached his ears. Literally.

Traps. There were traps.

“Look out!” Tim yelled as loud as he could. “This place is booby-trapped!”

But just then, something went splat somewhere, something else crashed, someone screamed and several plinks like needles falling rang through the air. Tim swiveled around too late.

Talia gave him an unamused look, stuck inside some weird gooey and pink substance. “Thank you,” she said sarcastically. “Like I couldn’t already tell.”

A goon to his right was covered from head to toe in needles.

Nightwing was breathing heavily on the ground, having narrowly dodged a fucking purple and green axe that fell from the ceiling.

Batman was carefully holding a Joker Venom gas pellet that he had managed to catch before it broke and spread its gas everywhere.

Tim bit his tongue.

This was why the warehouse was dimly lit. To hide the traps.

“Tread carefully, guys,” Nightwing called.

Nobody moved. Not even the goons. They were all frozen in one place.

The Joker laughed eerily.

Tim glanced around nervously. Joker had just triggered the traps now. This place had turned into a fucking minefield.

Damian was hacking at the goo Talia was trapped in with his sword.

“I know what that is,” Jason realised. “If she stays in that too long, she’ll be stuck forever.”

Damian bared his teeth and hacked at it harder.

Tim looked over at Batman and Nightwing. They were surrounded by a dozen goons who were still up, but no one seemed to want to make a move yet.

Just then, Batman caught his eye. Tim’s brow raised as he gave a slight nod.

Batman hesitated before nodding back.

Tim took a deep breath, before shuffling around, to face the laughing Joker.

They had been in a similar situation before, but in Ivy’s lair. Tim and Bruce had both gotten sprayed with cuddle pollen in the end, but the strategy had worked. And the night spent cuddling as Tim used the opportunity to feed his touch-starvation wasn’t so bad either.

Tim had a plan. He always did.

He would get everyone out. He had saved Jason, he got Damian to meet Bruce and Dick, now he just had to keep them alive.

He took a step forward.

Joker’s eyes landed on him.

He took another slow step forward.

The Joker still chortled.

He picked up a gun.

The Joker stopped.

Tim’s hand shook as he pulled out the case and counted the bullets. He clicked off the safety and pointed it at the Joker.

The Joker grinned. “I never expected things to turn so fun.”

“Kid, what are you doing?”

“Dr— Robin, what are you doing?”

“Robin?”

Tim ignored them.

He forced himself to be calm and take a breath. His hands still shook, but it was okay. Batman had said it was okay. Bruce trusted him. Even after all this time, he still trusted him. It was okay.

It was okay.

He lined up the sights. His hands were steady.

Tim closed his eyes and fired.

Bang.

The Joker dropped to the ground.

Tim immediately threw the empty gun and grabbed the grapple that had slid his way. He picked that up instead, aimed and fired it at the remote the Joker had been holding.

He caught the remote and Batman slammed the Joker against the wall.

This was why Tim liked using the distraction technique that Talia had criticized. It was effective.

Remote in hand, Tim scanned the multi-colored buttons on it. Which one was the one to deactivate any active traps?

Joker groaned as Batman punched him. He coughed out blood before screaming, “Don’t just stand around there!”

The goons geared into action and started shooting.

A bullet grazed Tim’s shoulder as he ducked down to dodge it.

He hugged the remote close to his chest and ran towards Jason, praying that he wouldn’t trigger any traps.

Jason’s eyes went wide as he saw him approaching and pointed above him.

Tim immediately rolled and the ax that dropped from the ground and narrowly missed him.

“Behind there!” Tim pushed Jason behind some crates. Damian was helping Nightwing fight off the goons and Talia was ducking behind another stack of crates, pressing the wound on her side, but looking more furious than in pain.

The bullets bounced off the wooden crates and Jason seemed to flinch with every one that shot too close.

“Jason,” he whispered.

The man flinched, but faced him anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Jason looked at him weirdly. “You’re… asking me that… after everything I did to you? Are you fucked in the head or something?”

Tim gave a small smile. “Babs did say I’m autistic.”

Jason huffed.

Tim hunchedly shuffled over to Jason’s other side and gave him a little nudge. “Look there.”

He pointed at Batman who was fighting Joker who had somehow acquired a bat (not the good kind) and two goons with guns off at the same time.

“And look there.”

He pointed at Nightwing who blocked a bat from hitting his head, then dislocated the goon’s arm, making him drop it.

“That’s Bruce and Dick,” Tim said softly. “And right now? They’re fighting for you, Jason. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how frequently they’ve been looking at you to make sure you’re alright.”

Jason stayed silent, watching them.

“They miss you. I never “stole” your place, I took it. I took it because this city needs more heroes and we thought you were dead.”

“I was,” he said quietly. “I somehow woke up in my own grave and had to crawl out. Talia found me and took me to Ra’s.”

Tim flinched. “That must suck.”

“Yeah. It did.”

Tim looked down at the remote. “I never stopped thinking of you as my hero.”

Jason snapped his head to him.

“Even after Titans Tower and everything else. You were still my Robin. You are still my Robin.”

Jason stared. “That’s not autism, that’s a fucking concussion.”

Tim smiled and lifted his head. “Maybe. But I don’t think concussions last this long.” He put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Please,” he implored. “I just wanted to help you and Bruce and Dick. Please come back home.”

Jason didn’t reply.

Tim searched his face. There was no anger, and his eyes still didn’t hold even a trace of green.

He was officially free of Pit-possession. But that didn’t mean he was free of the trauma.

Tim gave a reassuring smile. “You’ll get there,” he said.

Then he stood up and ducked out of the hiding place.

The final step of Operation: Bring the Waynes Home was done. He had to talk to Jason after delivering the last dose and make sure that his words nudged him back to his proper mind, and that he wasn’t still confused.

Now that that step was done, it was time to complete Operation: Escape the Joker.

Tim stepped into the middle of the warehouse.

The shots had dwindled in frequency now. Nightwing, Batman, Damian and Talia had taken the goons out of the picture. (Though Damian and Talia had both opted more for permanently rather than temporarily taking a few out…)

The thing about Tim was exactly as Joker and Ra’s had said.

He was the “boring” Robin and the Robin who always had a plan in his head.

All this time while everyone was fighting, Tim was also thinking. He was thinking about Joker and what his intention for the night was. He was thinking about the remote control and what the buttons meant. And he was thinking about the smile. About how he wasn’t really as upset as he should be when Batman had arrived at the same spot as all his Robins in a single warehouse with booby traps.

It was impossible that one of the traps did not hold a bomb.

Tim watched the buttons as he walked across the warehouse. The buttons weren’t painted those colors, they were glowing. When he walked right, the buttons glowed bright. When he walked left, towards where Joker was standing, the buttons went dim.

That meant that the bomb was on the left with the Joker.

With that revelation, Tim ran.

“Batman!” Tim shouted. “Batman!”

He dodged an attack from a goon and swept his foot under him, toppling him to the ground.

“Batman, wait!”

Batman stopped from where he was about to lunge towards Joker. “Robin.”

Tim waved the remote. “There’s a bomb!” he said. “And it’s on him.” He pointed at the Joker.

The Joker stared at Tim’s pointing finger and chortled. “I remember why you weren’t as fun—"

The Joker unbuttoned his jacket and threw it away to reveal a bomb attached to his purple shirt. The timer said 2:15.

“—Because you were too smart for your own good.”

Batman’s jaw tightened.

“B.” Tim tugged his cape. “You need to get everyone out of here.”

“You—”

“I know this bomb. I know how to deactivate it,” he lied. “You need to get everyone out of here, please.”

Batman looked down at him. And Tim saw something soften in his expression. He saw fondness, real fondness. Because that was the look he had given the Robins before him, and it was the look he had been giving him too. He just hadn’t recognized it.

Bruce put a warm hand on his shoulder.

Then he brought out two batarangs and threw them at Joker. The sharp steel cut through the madman’s shoulders, pinning him to the large crate behind him.

The Joker screamed, but there was a sick smile on his face. Masochistic ass.

Batman handed him another batarang. “Be safe.”

Tim smiled. “I will,” he lied again.

With that, Batman grabbed the two goons on the floor and ran to tell the others to evacuate.

Tim watched as Dick and Jason shared a nod before grabbing two goons each. Damian took one look at Bruce carrying a man and reluctantly dragged one and threw him out the window. Talia took one look around, then stepped out with her blood-covered self. The goo had hardened enough that she was brushing it off in chunks.

Tim smiled. That was it. The Wayne family. Together.

Tim’s smile hardened. He turned back to the Joker.

The madman was giggling around the blood in his mouth. The timer now showed 1:45.

Tim pressed the batarang to his throat. “How do you turn off the bomb?”

The Joker continued giggling.

Tim grabbed one of the batarangs digging into his shoulders. “How. Do. You. Turn. It. Off.”

Joker chortled and the blood in his mouth bubbled out. “Remote,” he said through a bloody smile. “Can’t turn it off.”

Tim examined the bomb strapped to his chest and the remote.

They both looked motion-sensitive. And he couldn’t just take the bomb off. The wires were tangled in such a mess and their rubber lining had been cut off so if he made one wrong move—even if he knew which wire to cut—he would be blasting everyone in the room.

Everyone…

Tim let go of the Joker. He was still weakly giggling in time with the blood dripping from his shoulder, but he wasn’t a problem anymore.

He laughed because he knew what was about to happen. He laughed because he thought he was going to make the Batman suffer one last time.

Tim knew better. Batman might suffer, but he had worked hard these past few months to make sure that Bruce wouldn’t.

He glanced at the remote he was still holding. The buttons were completely dim. It was an omen, he supposed. An omen for him. This had all happened because of him in the first place. Because he took up Robin, he ran away from Bruce, he made the deal with Talia and he didn’t tell her about his situation and ended up with Damian.

It all started with him and it might as well end with him too.

The warehouse was completely empty now. The others were gone, assuming Tim had dismantled the bomb.

The timer blinked 1:18. He knew he didn’t have enough time.

He never did.

Tim started walking over to the other side of the warehouse. He tapped into the comm Talia had given him as he did, “Hello?”

Tim waited until he heard someone respond.

“Drake,” Damian was the first to reply. Tim could catch snippets of chatter in the background. “Have you deactivated the bomb?”

And oh, wasn’t that unfortunate. Tim had forgotten to prepare a lie before calling them.

1:10.

“Damian, is everyone out?” he stalled.

“Yes. They are all here.”

“Good. Good.” Tim took a shaky breath. “Hey, Talia? Can you give your comm to Bruce? I need to tell him something.”

There were some scratching noises, but a second later Bruce’s voice appeared.

“Tim?”

1:00

Tim swallowed. He had one minute to tell the people he loved goodbye. One minute to make sure that they didn’t grieve too much. One minute to make sure that Operation: Bring the Waynes Together ended smoothly.

“Hey, B,” he said. “So, uh, there’s a complication.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know how to deactivate the bomb.”

Silence met the statement.

Tim hurried to fill it, every second counted now and he needed to say everything he wanted to say, “I’m sorry. The bomb is just too delicate and I’m holding the remote. If I drop it or leave the area, the motion sensors will go off and everything blows. So I’m holding on to it for a bit longer so I can tell you what I need to.”

“What?” Bruce was incredulous.

“Drake, what is the meaning of this?” Damian sounded angry, but underneath, Tim could tell he was scared.

“Is this a prank? Tim, are you running away again?”

Tim laughed at Dick’s last statement. “No, Dick. It’s the real thing unfortunately.”

0:45

“I’m sorry I ran away before. I was trying to bring Jason back.”

“Tim, you still have time—”

“Drake, stop this nonsense at once!”

“B, thank you for letting me stay at Wayne manor and giving me the best time as your Robin.”

"I—"

0:38

“Dick, you’ve been the best big brother I’ve ever dreamed of. Thank you for that and the hugs.”

“Tim—”

0:32

“Jason, our first meeting wasn’t as rough as you thought. I still remember the ice cream and the wind rushing through my hair as you saved me from falling off the fire escape.”

“Kid…”

0:24

“Dam—”

“No, hold on a second. Tim!” Dick’s panicked voice blared through. “You can still escape, please—”

Tim smiled. “Even if I could, I’m still holding the remote. As soon as I leave, this place will blow. And I still have things I need to say.” Tim was really rushing his words now. “Tell Babs that I appreciate our hangouts together. And tell Alfred that he’s the best.”

0:14

He was running out of time.

“Talia? Take care of Dami?”

“Yes.”

“Damian—”

“Drake!” The kid sounded furious. And rightfully so. He was the one who would be most affected by his death. Tim was the only person he really knew.

0:10

“Damian, I’m so sorry for doing this.”

“You, imbecile. Stop your blabber and start running!”

“You know I can’t.” Tim smiled gently.

0:05

He didn’t have time. He needed to say something.

“Drake! I demand you stop being stupid and get out!”

Tim chuckled.

0:03

There really was only one thing he could say.

Something he should have said a long time ago.

“Drake, please. Please don’t— don’t leave—”

0:01

“I love you, little brother.”

The timer beeped.

The warehouse exploded.

Damian screamed. “DRAKE!”

Chapter Text

Eigengrau filled Damian’s vision—the blackness behind his eyes.

Spots of colors and stars splayed out like disco lights at a club. Not that Damian should have been to a club, he accidentally wound up there, which was how Black Mask had kidnapped him back then. He vowed never to step into a club ever again, or tell Drake.

A strange buzzing was whining in his ears and Damian frowned. Several pains also made themselves known across his body. He shifted his head and a strike of agony shot through his head. What—

And then it all came back.

Joker.

Warehouse.

Todd.

Father.

Bomb.

Drake.

Damian snapped his eyes open.

Dust still flew around the air, infiltrating his lungs. He coughed to clear it, to little avail. He sat up, regardless of the headache and the moaning muscles.

Drake.

That blabbering idiot had failed to escape the warehouse before the explosion, babbling nobly about sacrifices and nonsense about not being part of the plan. Whatever that meant.

That bumbling fool better not be dead or Damian was going to somehow make his death a living hell.

He stood up, nearly slipping over some rocks and rubble, as his vision blurred. The warehouse was in shambles, pieces of rocks and broken infrastructure scattered everywhere and thick smoke clouded the area. Explosions were never usually conducive to making the terrain hospitable.

Someone groaned and coughed to his right, and he saw Todd pushing a slab of thick rock off Grayson, who was conscious.

“You alright?” Todd asked, the question directed at both Damian and Grayson. Damian didn’t stop to hear a response nor give one.

“Drake!” he ran right to where the rubble had gathered the most. Behind him, he heard Grayson gasp, “Tim.”

Damian arrived at where Drake should be.

He started flinging the chunks of the now crumbled stone walls behind him, digging through the rubble furiously. He threw the away the rocks, broken rods and pieces of wood away as they uncovered. With everything he threw back, and every empty space he uncovered, his desperation only grew.

“Come on, you pathetic, stupid—”

Several people joined him in his search, clawing through the rubble with the same desperation. He even saw his mother from the edge of his vision, watching him then slowly uncovering the rubble alongside him.

Another handful.

Another.

Another.

He dug and dug and dug, his heart thumping faster and faster, almost to the point where he nearly vomited.

He swallowed back the bile and blinked away the moisture in his eyes, biting back coughs from the smoke. He could not get distracted.

Drake could be suffocating beneath a large slab of stone this very moment.

With that thought, he urged his muscles to go faster, and lift weights of gigantic slabs of concrete and stone.

Then, he moved a rock.

Underneath was a pale and limp hand.

“Drake?” Damian moved another rock. “Drake!”

He pushed away a large slab to reveal—

“Joker.”

Damian turned to his side to see Batman looking over his shoulder.

Batman had his jaw clenched tightly, hard eyes staring at the villain’s severed hand and scraps of purple clothing.

He looked tense, shoulders set tighter than a knot.

Batman.

His father. The person Drake was supposed to introduce him to.

Damian turned away from Batman and Joker. He chose a spot and kept digging.

He didn’t know how long he had been going on for, but his body was covered in a sheen of sweat, despite the snow gathering around him. Water dripped from his forehead and he struggled not to let it roll into his eyes.

“Damian,” said a gentle voice behind him.

Damian ignored it and kept going.

“Damian, habibi.”

Damian paid no heed.

“Habibi, please. You must stop.”

“I have the stamina of a hisan. I’ve trained since birth for it. I do not need to stop.”

His mother sighed. “Baobei, you must consider that Timothy might not be—”

Damian stood up and moved to another spot and started digging there.

Just then, Todd shouted from a distance. “I found him! I found Tim— oh God.”

Damian shot up and in his direction. He shoved Todd out of the way and knelt to see—

No.

“No!”

A ray of moonlight that slipped through the crack in the clouds, to shine on the boy’s unmoving figure.

Drake was pale.

His face was mottled with bruises and red scrapes, his suit torn all over and, in some places, burnt. He had been completely buried under the collapse, all his limbs trapped under heavy rocks.

Damian started desperately shoving the rocks off, hoping to alleviate pressure from his body. The others followed his lead. They uncovered most of his body…

Only to find an unmoving chest.

“He’s not breathing,” Grayson said from somewhere behind Damian, voice wobbling. “Why is he not breathing?”

Batman put two fingers over his neck. Everyone held their breath, waiting. Mother moved behind him, a hand on his shoulder. He jerked it off.

“I—” Batman stuttered. “I can’t—”

“For fuck’s—” Todd slapped his hand away and pressed an ear to Drake’s still chest. No one dared to breathe, again. Todd’s hands started shaking. “You’re not dying,” he whispered. “You’re not.”

He lifted his head, then he lifted his body and took him to a spot, clear of rubble and smoke. They followed him numbly, but agitated impatience and grief underneath skin itching to be released.

Drake’s body went willingly, arms spilling out of the hold and head bouncing with the steps.

Todd laid him down then opened his mouth. He stuck his finger in, checking that there was no obstruction in his mouth. Then he put a hand on his chest and another hand over it and started compressions.

The routine steps of CPR. Damian knew them better than he knew basic mathematics.

“You’re not fucking dying, kid. You hear me?” Todd whispered as he worked. “You don’t get to die like this. Not like this. Okay? You’re not dying.”

He pumped his chest repeatedly, performing CPR. Drake’s body shook with each push, lifeless.

On the thirtieth thrust, Damian dove forward before Todd could and grabbed Drake’s chin, tilting it up, pinched his nose and blew into his mouth, filling his air with lungs. He did it again, then let go. “Keep going,” he urged.

Todd didn’t hesitate, starting the compressions again.

On the second mouth-to-mouth, Damian was getting desperate again.

“Come on, Drake,” he hissed before blowing air into his lungs. He gasped up, then blew again. Todd restarted the compressions. “Come on.”

On the third round, Damian screamed. “Wake up!”

Drake didn’t respond, his head lolling to the side.

Damian blew into his lungs twice and Todd started over.

“Tim.” He heard Grayson sob.

He looked up and found his mother’s eyes gazing at Drake’s body with sadness and Batman’s expression blank and devoid of any emotion at all. Damian wished he had that luxury. He couldn’t stop the tears that fell from his tear ducts, rolling down his cheeks, taking the dust stuck to his face with it.

“Mouth-to-mouth, brat. Now,” Todd ordered, panting.

Damian dove in. “Drake, please,” he whispered.

On the fifth round, Todd stopped.

“Why did you stop?” Damian asked icily.

Todd didn’t respond, arms shaking as he stared down, his hair shielding his face.

“Why did you stop?!” Damian screamed.

He lunged forward and pushed, sending Todd toppling backwards. His face was struck with tears, a look of pure anguish having taken over his features.

Weak.

Damian took over the compressions. He had counted 20 on this round. He started from there. “Come on,” he said. “Come on.”

Once delivered, he administrated the mouth-to-mouth, then started again.

“I’m not giving up, Drake, come on!”

His compressions got stronger and faster out of the adrenaline taking over his body.

“Get up, you lazy bastard!”

More sweat gathered around his forehead and the tears dropped freely onto Drake’s skin.

“Drake, get up!”

Someone put a hand on his back, Damian shook it off.

“Get up!”

“Damian,” Batman said.

“Drake, you promised, you liar!” Damian pounded his fists against Tim’s still chest. “You promised you’d be here for me!”

“Kid—” Grayson choked.

“Drake.”

“Damian, please—”

“TIM!” Damian screamed. His arms collapsed under him and his head dropped onto his brother’s chest. “Tim,” Damian sobbed. “I need you. Please. I need you.”

2-minute noodles, music, Nutella and pillow forts.

“Don’t leave me.”

Smiles, laughter, nicknames and hugs.

“Stay with me.”

Panic attacks, gentle words, arcades and cakes.

“Please. I’m sorry, come back. Please.”

“You can come to me for a hug anytime, Damian.”

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Then once you’re ready and older, I can pass Robin down to you.”

“I don’t want you to feel like your passion’s gonna be taken away too. So I thought… why not fuse your and my passions together?”

“I love you too, little brother.”

The memories broke the dam where he had been holding his grief back, and it flooded his head.

Damian couldn’t stop the sob that tore from his throat, nor could he stop the one that came after it. His head rested on Tim’s chest as the tears soaked his suit.

Two hands curled over him, hugging him close. Damian didn’t move away from Tim, neither did he jerk away from his mother’s hold.

He couldn’t move at all, sobbing his heart out over the person who had taken care of him and shown him the meaning of safety and gentle love these past few months. The person who took his feelings and interests into regard and accommodated. The person who showed him more kindness than ever before. The person who he had somehow come to call brother in his head.

The person who was gone. Dead. Out of his life like every other good thing he ever had.

“Darling, it will be okay,” his mother whispered in his ear, hugging him tight. “It will be okay.”

Damian soaked her words in, even though he knew that the opposite was true.

Timothy Jackson Drake was the strangest person he had ever had the virtue to meet. He had changed something in Damian forever. He was never going to be the same, never going to look at things like ice-skates and Uno without thinking of Tim.

He couldn’t live without him. He needed him. He needed Tim.

“It will be okay, Damian.”

Damian sniffed, sucking in a breath of air before it released in a chest-hurting sob.

“It will be okay.”

Damian turned his head as he sobbed, his ear resting against Tim's chest.

“It will be okay.”

Thump.

“It will be okay.”

Damian froze.

Thump.

He pushed the arms holding him away and properly tilted his head, ear pressed tight against his brother’s chest.

He heard something, he was sure of it. Damian held his breath, not daring to even blink as he waited.

“Damian?”

“Shh!” he hissed sharply.

He closed his eyes, minimizing the distractions, using all his training and control to focus his listening into one spot on Tim’s chest and—

Thump.

Damian shot up. He looked at the people watching him with curiosity and confusion.

Damian blew out a silent disbelieving breath. “He’s alive,” he whispered.

Immediately, Todd pushed him away just as he had done to him before and pressed his ear against Drake’s chest himself. Batman’s hand flew back to his neck and Grayson held his wrist, all feeling for a pulse and a beat of the heart. Damian closed his eyes.

Thump.

“Tim!” Todd and Grayson shrieked at the same time.

“Send for the ambulance to the Tristate area nearby. I’m taking Tim there,” Batman spoke into his comms. Then he slid his hands under Drake, picking him up and closely tucking him into his shoulder. “Nightwing, have Tim’s civilian clothes ready for changing. Hood, I need you to keep him still in the backseat. Talia—”

He stopped and swiveled around, facing Damian and his mother.

His mother lifted her head. “Go take care of Timothy,” she said. “We will talk later.” She put a hand over Damian’s shoulder, and this time, Damian didn’t shake it off.

Batman nodded. He turned back, approaching the Batmobile as Todd and Grayson fretted and fussed with Drake’s body on either side of him.

The light of the Batmobile glowed brightly on the breathing body, and Damian watched as Drake’s chest moved up and down. Slowly, barely, but it moved nevertheless. His face was pale under the dust and cuts and burns.

But just then, his eyes flickered.

Damian sat rigid as Tim’s eyelids opened a crack and his pupils focused on him, the headlights of the car illuminating his eyes.

Damian caught his gaze. Tim smiled.

His eyelids fluttered back closed as he was shifted onto Todd’s lap in the car, but not before Damian let him see his own smile back.

Chapter Text

Beep.

He heard a drip of an IV.

Beep.

He smelled the remnants of hospital food.

Beep.

He could feel the scratchiness of the gown and the smoothness of the sheets on him.

Beep.

He could taste how parched his throat was, the dehydration sitting heavy on his dry tongue.

Beep.

Tim’s eyes snapped open.

White lights pierced his eyes, even though they were dimmed, he still had to shut his eyes first.

After a few seconds of peaceful darkness, he let his eyelids lift up a crack.

Just a crack, a dawn in the night of his consciousness. As he slowly opened his eyes more, he realized that the scratchiness didn’t just belong to the hospital gown.

Tim twitched his fingers, then his toes, trying to get the feel of his body back.

Once he thought he could manage, he raised his head to look down at his body.

It was covered in white.

Tim panicked.

“Bruce,” he croaked.

There were bandages wrapped all around him—his arms, his legs, his torso, his chest.

“Bruce!”

Tim couldn’t move.

He couldn’t fucking move.

He was paralyzed. He couldn’t move.

“BRUCE!” he sobbed.

The door slammed open and several figures entered, talking all at once.

Tim groaned at the muddle of noises. “Bruce.”

One of the hazy figures pushed forward and knelt by his side. “I’m here!” A second later, a hand started carding through his hair. “I’m here.”

“Bruce,” Tim cried, vision blurring with tears. “I can’t move. I can’t move.”

The hand continued swiping through his dark strands and Tim leaned into it—desperately chasing comfort.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce’s voice said. “Give me your hand.”

Tim sobbed, “I can’t.”

“It’s okay, Tim,” Bruce soothed. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath with me.”

He sucked in a puff of air and Tim rushed to do the same, though his breath released in a stuttered gasp.

“It’s okay. Give me your hand, chum.”

Tim shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered meekly. “I can’t move.”

“Chum. Trust me. Take a deep breath and give me your hand.”

Tim closed his eyes, tears squeezing through his lids. He took a short shaky breath, then twitched his fingers. He willed his hand to lift off the bed, but it didn’t listen.

He couldn’t fucking move.

Tim whimpered.

“You’re okay. You’re okay, bud.”

The hand continued petting his hair. Tim focused on it. Its calm up and down repetitive motion, the way it provided warmth in a way he had only dreamed of, how it sent tingles of pleasure down his spine.

Trying again, he copied the movements of Bruce’s hand and projected it onto his own hand.

Slowly, slowly, slowly…

He raised his right hand.

A sharp pain spiked up his arm, and he nearly dropped his hand again, but a large, calloused one caught it. It gripped his hand covered in the cast and the thumb rubbed up and down along his skin.

Tim opened his eyes.

Bruce looked down at him, a gentle smile on his face. “Hey, Tim.”

“Bruce.” Water quickly gathered into his eyes and he couldn’t stop the next stops that escaped his lips, breaking into a full crying session.

“Give us some space for now, please,” Bruce spoke to the other people in the room.

Tim distantly registered the door opening and everyone filtering out.

All he could concentrate on right now was how Bruce gently lifted him in a sitting position and wrapped his arms around him. Tim raised his arms too, his body waking up again, as if from a deep slumber. He hugged Bruce as tightly as he could—which was to say barely holding him at all.

Still, Bruce’s firm embrace more than made up for it.

Tim cried into Bruce’s shoulder, his body shaking with the force. He was in pain, but that wasn’t completely why. He remembered.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

“I’m s— so sor— sorry,” Tim broke down. “I just— I just wanted t— to h— help.”

Bruce held him securely.

“I wanted to— to m— make you and— and Dick and A— Alfred and Ba— Babs happy ag— again. I wanted to b— bring Ja— Jason back.”

“And you did, Tim. You did,” Bruce said, his breath blowing warm against his back. “And I thank you, so much, for that.”

Tim whimpered painfully, “I d— didn’t have a ch— choice at the— the end. J— Joker was— and I couldn’t— the remote— I—”

“Shhh.” Bruce started stroking his hair again. “It’s okay. It’s okay now, Tim. It’s over now. It’s all over.” Bruce tucked him against his shoulder. “The Joker’s dead. Jason’s home and getting used to everything again. Talia’s staying for a couple days more, though Damian’s refusing to talk until you’ve introduced him to me.”

Tim laughed amidst his tears. That sounded like Damian alright.

God, Damian…

“He must be so mad,” he mumbled into Bruce’s shirt. “I left him all alone here. I didn’t m— mean to, but I— I did.”

“No.” Bruce squeezed him tightly. “No, you didn’t. You’re here now. Son, Tim, you’re here.”

Tim froze.

“You’re all here.”

Son, Tim.

Tim squeezed back. “Thanks, dad.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

The hospital food wasn’t like what he had remembered.

It was good and tasteful.

Not bland and sandpaper-y like what he had the last time. The roasted carrots and mashed potato with gravy was actually quite delicious, full of richness and real flavor.

Tim said as much to Dick and Jason through his second helping.

“It could just be that you’re just that hungry,” Jason pointed out, nicking a roasted baby carrot from Tim and earning a glare from Dick. “You’ve been out for three days.”

“Could be,” Tim said, swallowing the morsel. “But it could also just be the fact that I’m in Gotham Martha Memorial and not Gotham Private.”

Dick snorted. “Yeah, Bruce’s money would certainly do the trick.”

“So how have things been while I was out?” Tim asked, shoving in another delicious mouthful.

Dick sighed, leaning back against his chair. “Well, Bruce has just not left the hospital since you got admitted. Even Alfred can’t get him to leave. You gave us quite a scare there, baby bird.”

Tim winced. “Sorry.”

Jason pinched another carrot. “You should be, scrawny boy. Dying in a warehouse is my thing.”

Dick glared at him. “I forgot how annoying you are.”

“And I forgot how ugly you are.”

Tim chortled on his potato and ending up choking.

After making sure he wasn’t going to be dying yet again, Dick continued, “Talia’s been coming in and out. We suspect she’s been seeing a couple assassins here and there to make sure that she wouldn’t be in too much trouble for being out here for so long away from Ra’s.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Tim admitted, offering a carrot to Jason instead of him having to steal it. “She has to be stuck with that vain dickhead, missing out on her own world domination plans.”

Jason waved him off. “You’d be surprised how much of the world she has already dominated, even under the dickhead’s watchful eye. Trust me, Talia is not a person to fuck with. Her stab wound healed nicely, but even then, if the Joker were still alive, she would be personally dicing him into bits.”

“Babs came to visit too,” Dick said, rushing to fill in the tense air at when Joker was mentioned. “She said that she’ll be back sometime again when you’ve woken up. She’s probably taking one of her online college courses right now, but she might drop by tomorrow after you’ve slept and rested a little more. The nurses say not to tax you out too soon.”

Tim pouted.

Jason laughed. “Don’t make that face, baby bird. I’ll still sneak in and visit you.”

“Don’t get caught,” Dick warned. “Bruce barely managed to get you a pass to visit Tim with me now since you’re still legally… not here.”

“What? You aversive to the word dead now, Dickie?” Jason teased

Dick shuddered. “After the shit you two pulled, I think I might cry at hearing the word for the next year— oh! Speaking of year!”

Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gift-wrapped box.

“Happy early Christmas and New Year,” he smiled.

Tim put down his spoon. “What’s that?” He took the little box from him and opened it, revealing a small pocket framed photograph featuring Tim and Dick. Tim was asleep on the couch, his head on Dick’s lap while Dick was pulling a silly face at the camera, one hand buried in Tim’s hair.

Dick shrugged. “I missed you.”

Tim smiled. “Thank you. And… uh, sorry for… all the things I did to you while I was… on the run.” He bit his lip nervously.

Jason burst out laughing. “Barbie told me everything!” he crowed. “Timmers, you’re brilliant! And Dami too!”

Dick scowled. “Honestly, fuck you two. I can’t believe I’m being ganged up on by the middle children.”

Tim’s eyes lit up. “I’m one of the middle children?”

“Timmy…” Dick reached over from his chair to ruffle his hair. “You’re my— our brother now, of course you are. You’ve always been a part of this family.”

That wasn’t right.

“I’m not part of you guys,” Tim said, holding the photograph. “Which was why I made that plan. My position as a close outsider was ideal to bring you guys back together.”

Jason and Dick both stopped.

Tim felt like he was stepping in a minefield of glass and bombs.

Jason looked away guiltily and Dick looked hurt. “Tim,” Dick said. “You do know that we consider you a part of us right? It’s not like an exclusive gala where there is a max limit for how many family members we have. Even with Jason and Damian, you’re still a part of us.”

“No!” Tim exclaimed. No, that wasn’t right. “That isn’t the plan! The plan was to get Jason back and then Damian into the family and make everyone happy. I— I’m not supposed be in it! That’s not the plan!”

“Tim…” Dick grabbed his shoulders, looking directly in his eyes.“The plan was to make everyone happy, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“You’re part of everyone, Tim. You were in the plan too.”

Tim stopped.

“Your plan worked. You were successful. Everyone’s home and everyone’s happy, including you.”

Tim looked at Dick. “The plan… worked?”

“The plan worked.” Dick smiled.

He was in the plan too.

He was part of everyone. He could be happy.

Tim glanced around at his hospital room. Several chairs were stacked in a corner for when multiple people were in the room. Bruce had left one of his phones here for when Tim needed to call him, Jason had brought in some books to read in case he got bored, Dick had piled card and board games on a distant table, Alfred had brought his warmest clothes for when he got cold. And his camera was tucked behind the Get Well cards and flowers on his bedside table which he was sure Damian had brought in because a small dagger also rested beside the camera with a note that said “You should always be prepared, Drake.”

He looked out the window at the sky.

Ever since he was a kid, he had learned that he wasn’t relevant. That he wasn’t important. It was a fact of the world.

But… the sky wasn’t always blue. It was purple, pink, red, orange, and rainbow. The grass changed color through time and age. And Tim…

Tim could have started out as irrelevant, but maybe with Bruce, Jason, Dick, Alfred, Babs and Damian… he could become relevant.

He could become important. He could become a part of a family.

He could become loved.

“Hey, baby bird?” A hand gently brushed the tear that rolled down his cheek.

Tim turned to Jason and Dick.

“I think you need some time for yourself to eat, am I right?” Jason asked softly.

Tim nodded, biting his bottom lip hard to keep more tears from falling.

Dick ruffled his hair again. “Love you, baby bird.”

Jason waited, until Dick left the room. “Hey, kid… before I go…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I really am sorry, for… for everything. Everything I did, everything I said. I would blame it on the Pit but…” He sighed. “I need to take responsibility for it too.”

Tim shook his head. “I meant what I said in the warehouse. You are, and will always be, my Robin, Jason.”

Jason stared at him. “Damn, Dick was not joking about your shit self-esteem. Fuck, kid. Don’t tell me you’re just going to accept my simple verbal apology and move on?”

Tim gave a one shoulder shrug.

Jason rubbed his face tiredly. “Yeah, no. We,” he pointed at Tim, then himself, “have a lot to work on. You are not escaping with just a shitty apology. I’m going to feed you, protect you, shove some self-esteem in you and make it up to you for the next fucking-forever, alright?”

Tim’s lips stretched into a grin. “Okay. Can’t wait.”

Jason gave a nod. “Good.” He grabbed his jacket before leaving, muttering something about “stupid little brothers”.

Tim didn’t mind.

After all, when he had said all that, Jason’s eyes were still blue.

-----------------------------------------------

Tim was floating.

No, he was drowning… drowning… drowning in blood.

His blood.

He gurgled, trying to spit the blood in his mouth, but it rushed into him, dragging him down, into the unknown.

Tim thrashed, but couldn’t move. He snapped his eyes open and found himself tied up on a chair. His throat burned and something beeped.

Joker’s dead body, holding the bomb stared back at him.

0:03

Tim tried crying out, but found he couldn’t.

0:02

There was blood. Blood gushing out of his throat, coating his whole side.

0:01

The timer beeped to 0:00 and everything burst into flames.

-

Tim shot up with a gasp.

He immediately regretted it, when his whole body ached like he’d been hit with a warehouse sized truck. His eyes glazed over with unconcious tears.

He collapsed back onto the pillows and instantly regretted that too. The impact—however soft it was—still hitting his broken bones and bruises like a punch.

He cried out, but his voice broke, a hoarse croak coming out instead.

Someone was speaking softly to him, but he couldn’t hear, through the haze of pain.

A sob burst out of his throat instead. Everything hurt so much. Why did exploding in a warehouse have to hurt? It wasn’t fair. He was only nobly trying to sacrifice himself to protect everyone.

“Tt,” said a voice above him.

A second later, his head was gently tilted up by a small hand and blissfully cool water streamed down his throat.

Tim guzzled the water desperately till the last drop.

His head was gently laid back down on the pillow and Tim closed his eyes, riding out the pain. When he thought he could open his eyes again, he did. And came face to face with Damian peering down at him with those fluorescent eyes in the darkened room.

Tim jerked in surprise. “What the fuck—” He managed to stop himself before he fell off the bed. He let out a slow breath. “Damn, kid. I told you not to do that.”

Damian tutted and sat back on the chair, crossing his arms. “I can say the same to you too.”

Tim slowly sat up, back resting against pillows to look over the kid. The room was currently dark and with the only light source being from the moon and streetlamps outside the window, and a crack of white from under the door.

But he could still see the boy’s small figure.

Damian’s arm was wrapped in a bandage, over a cut he must have gotten amidst battle. He had a butterfly strip covering a cut above his eyebrow and a Paw Patrol band-aid on his cheek. He wondered who had bribed him to keep the band-aid on. Or maybe he did it of his own volition, the kid liked animals.

“Once again, Drake, you have no reason to look over me for injuries while you yourself are covered in bandages.”

Tim grinned. “Won’t stop me from doing it anyway. You’re my little brother. I’ll always look after you.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Even if it means killing yourself?”

Though the tone was made to be light, the words were heavy and Tim could sense the fear, worry and anger behind them. And when he peered closely, he could see the small tics on the kid’s face that yielded just how scared he must have been.

My mother left me here and ordered me to listen to you. You’re the only person I know here.

Tim bit his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. To his surprise and annoyance, his voice came out wobbly and his eyes prickled with unshed tears. God, did this bitch never stop crying? Still, he said, “I’m sorry for what I did.”

Damian’s scowl shifted to stunned worry.

“I— I just—” He clutched the sheets in a death grip. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t see any other way. I don’t— I just want to— to make everyone happy. To make you happy. To keep you safe. To keep you alive.”

Damian looked very lost at the admission. “I can take care of—”

“It’s not about handing you in prime condition to Bruce!” Tim yelled. He didn’t know what emotion he was yelling with. Anger? Fear? Sorrow? He didn’t know. Maybe none, maybe all. “It’s not about that,” he said, tears properly making their way down his cheeks. “It’s not about that.” He shook his head, his bangs falling over his eyes.

Damian watched as he sniffed and wiped a hand over his eyes. “What is it then?” the little boy asked.

Tim sniffed again before casting his eyes on him. “I love you,” he said softly. “That’s all there is. That’s why I— I did everything I could to accommodate you, to help you, to keep you safe and healthy even though I didn’t know how to do any of that alone. I still tried. I took on the responsibilities of a parent because… because I love you, Dami. You’re my little brother and I’d do anything for you but… but it just seems like I keep messing up. Like I can’t make anyone happy, at all.”

A sob burst out of his mouth and Tim swiped his hand across his eyes again. “I was ready to die, if it meant that you lived. But I… I hadn’t considered that it meant leaving you alone. I— I should have figured something else out. I should have done something. Should have come up with something else. I would never—never—choose to leave you alone.”

Damian watched him with wide eyes. Was he tearing up too?

“I would never choose to leave you alone, Damian, not because you’re just my responsibility or because Talia threatened to put my head on a spike. But because you’re my little brother. Believe it or not. And I meant what I said in the warehouse—I love you, Dames. Akhi.” Tim smiled, wiping his tears.

Damian stared at him, then blinked and— yes, those were definitely tears.

The kid sniffed to the side and wiped his face with his arm. “You’re disgustingly sentimental,” he said, voice cracking a touch.

Tim laughed. Ever since the moment he had woken up, he had pit of dread in his stomach growing and growing at the thought of confronting Damian about what happened in the warehouse. He knew the kid would be inexorably angry.

You’re the only person I know here.

Tim was supposed to take care of him—his little brother. He was sure Talia hadn’t meant them to grow so close in that time they had together, but they had anyway. And Tim wouldn’t trade the time they spent together for the world.

“Drake?”

“Yes, Dami?” Tim asked, tears having retreated back into his tear ducts for now. But it seemed the opposite for Damian who couldn’t stop the water gushing from his eyes at Tim’s words.

“I—” Damian stuttered. “Do you— I—” He nervously rubbed his hands against his pants.

He hadn’t finished his question, but Tim knew it anyway. He raised his arms, offering a hug.

Damian leapt in, mindful of his injuries, but he wrapped his little arms around Tim and squeezed tight. Tim squeezed back, hugging the kid. And that was who he was—a kid.

God, he was really just a kid. He was so small in Tim’s arms.

“I thought I was going to lose you forever,” he whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know,” Tim replied, burying his face into his brother’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I was— I was— I was scared. I was scared that I was going to lose you.” And yes, that was definitely a sob too. “Never do that again, Tim. Ever.”

Tim’s face split into a grin. He laughed fondly, his breath ruffling Damian’s hair. “I promise I won’t,” he vowed. “And if I do, I’ll make sure to discuss it with you first.”

“Good,” Damian said, voice muffled and small. “I love you too, akhi.”

Tim felt the accursed waterworks start again at that.

He held Damian as he soaked his shirt with tears and Damian soaked his shirt with his.

Chapter Text

Damian had managed to avoid Father for a good two days before he could avoid no more.

He hadn’t left the hospital since Drake had been admitted. He was surprised that he had managed to avoid his father for so long, actually.

But Father had been really concerned and busy, what with Todd arriving back sans murderous intent and Drake nearly exploding in a warehouse. So it was quite easy to avoid him.

But he couldn’t continue now that his mother had to leave today.

She had told him that morning and he also had to endure Drake’s long-winded rambling complaints about how “Talia really does not fucking know any bedside manners, does she?” and how “Seriously, she could have just let me know in a normal way that she’s leaving you alone with me again” and “FUCK NO, DOES THIS MAKE ME A DIVORCED DAD? I’M ONLY FIFTEEN!”

He had just (finally) managed to leave Drake’s room after the older boy had finished ranting about the kinds of tricks he was going to learn on his temporary wheelchair, when his eyes narrowed at his father and mother approaching him. They were talking to each other in hushed whispers, casting brief glances at him and the people passing by.

When they were near enough, Father turned to address him.

Damian interrupted him before he could get even a “Damian” out. “No,” he said firmly.

His father took a double take, blinking in surprise.

“Drake is supposed to introduce us and I’m not letting him skip his job.”

His mother looked exasperated. “Damian, this is your fath—”

Damian cut her off too. “You said you trusted Drake, Mother. Let him do his job.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. Not before he caught Father resisting a smile though. For some reason, it caused his stomach to flutter. Disgusting.

A few minutes later, he was glaring at the pack of chips stuck in the vending machine and considering the ways he could break the glass to get his snack, when he heard footsteps coming his way.

Curling his hand around the knife hidden in his shirt, he slowly turned to see Todd and Grayson drawing closer. He let go of the knife.

“Hey, Dami!” Grayson called out, waving his arm enthusiastically like an idiot.

“Tt.” Damian turned back to the vending machine and raised a fist to punch the glass. For some reason, that compelled Grayson and Todd to rush towards him in panic.

“Whoa whoa, demon brat!” Todd said, gripping his wrist and forcing it down.

Damian growled.

Todd let go of his hand. “Let me help, dude. There are easier and less violent ways.” He pulled out a coin and inserted it into the blasted machine. He pressed the number where his chips were resting and the metal rotated, pushing both packets of chips into the slot. Todd reached in and pulled out the chips. “Here,” he handed both to Damian.

Damian eyed them first. Todd’s eyes were blue, not a hint of Lazarus green, so he complied and took them from him. He decided to keep one for Drake.

Grayson beamed at him. “Do you feel hungry? We can go to the cafe downstairs instead, you know. This cafe is really good, believe it or not.”

Damian narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Grayson raised his hands in surrender. “No false intent. Just wanna hang.”

Damian scanned his and Todd’s faces. Determining that they really did not mean any harm, he turned and started walking towards the cafe. “Tt.”

The two hurried to catch up with him.

An order of three cheese croissants later, they were seated on the table outside. The weather was quite pleasant considering it was nearly the end of December. The sun was bright, not covered by any clouds (but the ever-present smog still floated before the sky, Damian was surprised no one was choking and dying already, but Drake had just shrugged and said “That’s Gotham for you” before moving on when he had asked).

The trees around them were bare, but there was plenty of greenery in the potted plants and flowers that sprouted from the sides of the path. It was good to see that at least the hospitals recognized the benefit of having greenery.

Grayson was grinning at him like an idiot again while Todd was practically salivating at his croissant.

Don’t be so mean, Damian, Drake’s voice said in his head. They’re your big brothers after all!

It wasn’t that he hated them, he supposed. It was more the fact that he was only really accustomed to Drake then these… strangers, for lack of a better word.

He had expressed a hint of this insecurity to Drake yesterday, but he had caught it anyway and explained that his “new big brothers” were going to be the best ones he was ever going to have.

He said that he was speaking from experience, but Damian never had that experience. He knew Drake’s words were true—he trusted him unconditionally (though he would never admit it until their dying breaths). But he couldn’t quite believe him when he still considered Drake’s “big brother” skills to be the best currently.

(A part of him said that he was always going to consider Drake’s “big brother” skills to be the best, even when he got accustomed to the other siblings. Drake had been the first one to hold him while in a panic attack, the first to care for him openly, the first to introduce him to things like games and arcades and books. He would, in time, come to appreciate all his siblings, but Tim was always going to be the first person he was going to call when he needed comfort or help.)

“So,” Grayson said, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I suppose Tim has mentioned us in some regard?”

Todd snorted. “I already know how he mentioned me.” There was a darkness behind his tone.

Damian had learned from Drake that when people made self-deprecating jokes in that tone with that expression, they needed to be comforted and not pushed further. So, Damian replied, “He told me that you are an excellent fighter with undeniable skills and that your compassion towards others far exceeds your faults which is why he fatuously continues to stare at you like you hung the stars. If that’s what you mean.”

Todd’s eyes widened and Grayson’s smile grew impossibly wider.

“And me! Me!” he said, bouncing on his seat like a child. “What did he say about me?”

Damian internally groaned. So this was where Drake got his boundless puppy-like energy. That, and the coffee. “That you were the inspiration for his path to becoming a good vigilante and hero. And that your optimism and warmth never failed to cheer him up in the darkest of times. That you were the…” he rolled his eyes and made quotation marks, “”Best big brother” he ever had.”

Grayson cooed like a dolt while Todd snickered.

“Well,” Grayson said, intertwining his fingers in front of his croissant. “As you would have figured out by now. We’re your new big brothers since Talia’s already told us that you’re Bruce’s son—”

“No,” Damian interjected again. “Drake is supposed to introdu—”

“Ah.” Grayson held up a finger while Todd smirked. “He’s supposed to introduce you to Bruce, right? He or Talia didn’t mention anything about us, did they?”

Damian tilted his head. “I suppose…”

“Well!” Grayson clapped his hands together loudly once. “In that case,” he held out his hand, “I’m Dick Grayson and I’m your biggest, bestest brother who will spoil you to the ends of the Earth.”

Todd snorted.

Damian stared at the hand before gripping it. He had already met Grayson—back at the arcade—but he supposed this was a do-over. “Damian Wayne,” he nodded.

Grayson squealed, making Damian wince. “Jay, he’s so small and adorable! Like how Tim was when he knocked on my door, begging me to take Robin back!”

“What?” Todd asked, dumbstruck.

It was now Damian’s turn to snort. He had heard that story many times by now. Drake never shut up about it.

Before Todd could ask what Grayson meant, they all got a buzz from their phones. They took it out to see a text from Drake and Gordon in all caps saying, “WHEELCHAIR RACING. NOW.”

Immediately, the two older boys shot to their feet. Stunned at the change in mood, Damian stood up too. The two started wrapping their croissants and shoving it back into the paper bags. They waited until Damian did the same.

“Damian,” Grayson said seriously. “You are about to witness an event like no other.”

“Barbie is a skilled wheelchair user,” Todd said with the same seriousness. “You haven’t met her yet, but she is vicious.”

“But Tim is an overachiever who excels at everything he is handed, as you must already know.”

“So this is the race of a lifetime.”

Damian blinked.

Grayson and Todd exchanged a grin. “Come on.”

They burst into a run. Damian dashed to keep up. They ran all the way to the hospital park where patients went for leisure time. Drake and Gordon were both waiting there.

“There they are!” Gordon said, a smirk on her face.

Drake had an identical smirk as he almost vibrated with excitement in his wheelchair. “Come on, you slowpokes. We need judges.”

“Hold your horses!” Grayson said, taking out his phone. “I need to record this.”

“Damian, right?” Gordon asked, wheeling towards him.

Damian silently nodded, overwhelmed by the familiarity shared between these unfamiliar people.

“I’m Babs.” She held out her hand to shake.

Damian cast a glance at Drake and Drake beamed as he nodded encouragingly. “Damian,” Damian told her, taking her hand.

“I presume you’ll be our tie-breaker?”

“Huh?”

Drake laughed. “It means that despite the fact that Dick and Jason are gonna be judges as well, you’re going to be the final vote.”

Gordon nodded her head. “We know that Jason’s gonna take Tim’s side out of guilt and favoritism.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t deny it, street kid. And we know that Dick’s gonna take my side because he accidentally insulted my hair yesterday and is trying to make up for it.”

“Hey!”

“So you’re the only real judge,” Drake said, nearing him.

“But won’t I be biased too since you’re the only one I’m familiar with?” Damian asked, hating that he sounded lost.

Drake gave a soft smile. “Yeah, but you have Bruce and Talia genes in you. Which means you’re gonna judge fair even if you have a particular favorite.”

Damian resisted the urge to unsurely bite down on his bottom lip (a habit he somehow picked up from Drake, in the infuriatingly few weeks/months they’d spent together). But he nodded with determination.

“Good!” Gordon declared. “Then let the races begin!”

Wheelchairs were really not built for that breakneck speed, but they somehow resisted gravity and concrete alike, speeding down the first ramp, across a swathe of grass, around a blind corner and circling back to a fountain, then rolling down a concrete hill, ending by another fountain.

After losing the first race, Drake demanded a rematch, which he only won through the dirty but ultimately deemed legal, use of several rubber ducks and a very surprised pigeon.

Damian had tried judging as fairly as possible, and was surprised to see that though some people, aka Drake, sulked, they respected his opinions.

They also joked around with him, and participated in shaking each other with him (which was apparently a form of displaying excitement). Even though he didn’t know these people very well, he still felt a part of them.

Especially when Drake smoothly pulled him into a conversation, where he felt lost with a comment or topic he knew Damian was familiar with. Not that he felt lost too often, Grayson, Todd and Gordon were good at including everyone in the party in conversation.

As they sat on the chairs of a larger cafe table, Damian felt something crinkle in his pocket. He pulled out the packets of chips. Drake was right beside him, eagerly unwrapping his bagel.

“Here,” Damian handed him the packet of chips. “I got an extra.”

“Aw.” Drake tore open the pack and added the salt chips in the middle of his cheese bagel and squished the two sides together.

Damian would stare at him in disgust if not for the fact that he was used to such antics. Spending those days with Drake in the apartment had given him the chance to get to know Drake extremely well. From the way he liked combining foods to the smallest of pet peeves.

He looked back at Grayson, Todd and Gordon joking around and teasing Gordon over her inability to pick one thing to order. These people may be strangers now, but they were going to be family. That was what his mother had intended from the beginning.

But having grown used to Drake who already had experience from living with them had provided him a head-start in integrating into society and training out of his assassin upbringing which would inevitably have caused odds.

He really didn’t know what he’d do without Drake.

He glanced at the boy now who was making a mess of himself as the chips crumbs fell over his lap and cast.

“I think you did an adequate job at our apartment,” he said nonchalantly, low enough that only Drake heard him.

Drake’s eyes gleamed. “Really?”

Damian shrugged, staring at his croissant.

“That’s awfully nice of you, baby bat. You sure you’re not possessed?” Drake smirked.

“Tt. How about I stab you right now, will that convince you?”

“Maaaaaybe. Not if you— oi!” He smacked Grayson’s hand that was trying to nick his chips. “Ge’ your filthy hands off!”

“I washed them!” Grayson protested.

Drake snorted. “When? Last year?”

Grayson let out a horrified gasp as Gordon and Todd laughed beside him.

“Not that you’re hygienic yourself, Drake,” the words slipped out of Damian’s mouth before he could process them.

Heat crawled up to his cheeks and he was prepared to run when Todd banged the table, wheezing. “Bat brat got you good.” He pointed a finger at Drake.

Drake stuck his tongue out. “At least I don’t dye my hair like a skunk.”

“It’s not a skunk!” Todd protested. “Dami, say it’s not a skunk.”

Damian raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Gordon giggled. “See? Even he agrees. Your hairstyle sucks, Jason.”

“It’s not like I had a choice over it! If anyone gets the right to be made fun of, it’s Dickhead.”

“What did I do!” Grayson whined.

“Everything,” Drake sighed. “I don’t think Dami’s seen the tragedy that was you in your late teens.”

“And we thank the Lord for saving the children,” Gordon said solemnly.

“Wait, what happened?” Damian asked, curious.

“The end of the world,” Todd replied ominously.

“You’re being dramatic,” Grayson pushed his face away.

“Am not! Barbie, do you have pictures?”

“Do I?” Gordon grinned, pulling up her phone.

As they crowded around, light-heartedly making fun of Grayson in his early Nightwing days then moving onto making fun of Gordon in her Batgirl days too, Damian recognized the moment for what it was—a glimpse into the rest of Damian’s life.

He hid a smile.

After snacking at the cafe, they chatted and made rounds around the hospital park till evening when Father and Pennyworth found them.

“There you are,” Father said, sounding tired. “Tim, you’re not allowed to be out so long. You know that.”

“So do the others,” Pennyworth said with a raised eyebrow.

Everyone looked sheepish except Drake himself, who pouted instead.

“Sorry, B and Alfred,” Grayson rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess we got too caught up in our fun to notice the time.”

Oddly, that made Father smile instead of frown. “I’m glad you’re having fun. But Tim, you should be back in your room healing and resting now.”

“Aww,” Drake pouted further. “Bummer.”

They all walked (or wheeled) to Drake’s hospital room, chatting about the day and the wheelchair races.

“Oh, Tim,” Grayson said when Drake was boasting about how he beat Gordon in the second round. “You do know that Babs only let you win out of pity?”

Drake blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, didn’t you notice how Babs pulled out at the last second, letting you cross over to the finish line?” Todd smirked.

“But, I thought the ducks—” Drake slowly turned to Gordon. “You lied?”

Gordon shrugged abashedly. “You seemed to try so hard.”

Drake flung his arms in the air. “I can’t believe this! You’ve betrayed me, Barbara.”

“Serves you right.” She poked her finger at Drake’s chest. “Call it payback, squirt.”

“Hmph.” Drake stuck his nose in the air. “Fine.”

Father smiled with amusement. “And who was the judge?”

“Oh, it was Damian!” Grayson said. “He has a good eye. We should get him to judge more of our races.”

“If it’s in the hope that you’ll still beat me in a race, Dickhead, you are severely wrong,” Todd smacked the back of his head.

They stopped in front of Drake’s room and entered.

Father’s eyes strayed away from Todd and Grayson’s bickering and turned to Damian. “Is that true, Damian?”

Damian froze. His throat was suddenly dry and he didn’t know what to say.

“Oh!” Drake said, rolling his way beside Damian. “Damn, I can’t belive I forgot to do this. Okay, guys!” He clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “I believe it’s time I introduced y’all—especially Bruce—to Damian.”

Grayson, Todd, Gordon, Pennyworth and Father stood in front of the closed door of the room, facing Drake and Damian, waiting for Drake to speak.

Damian resisted the urge to shuffle his feet and kept them together and straightened his shoulders and spine.

Drake unnecessarily cleared his throat. “This,” he put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, “is Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His mother is Talia “Daughter of the Demon’s Head” Al Ghul and his dad is Bruce “Broody Batman” Wayne.”

Todd, Grayson and Gordon sniggered. Pennyworth looked amused while Father sighed heavily.

“He is also the grandson of Ra’s Al Ghul and the heir of the Bat’s mantle and the League of Assassins… however that still works.”

Damian swallowed with nervousness.

“He’s an assassin, a vigilante and was made in some sort of pod to be the best since birth or whatever. Don’t worry, he’s a good pod person though.”

The others were staring at him, eyeing him up and down, judging his worth, deeming whether he was worthy or not probably.

“Now that was a mouthful. But,” Drake’s tone softened just then and his smile turned gentle, “There’s more to it.” He turned to face Damian instead of the others. “Damian goes by other names too. Dami, Dames and Baby Bat are some of them.”

Damian frowned in confusion.

“He’s an amazing fighter and saved my ass multiple times. He’s the fastest learner you’ll ever come across too. It’s hard unlearning what you learned with assassins your whole life, but he did it.”

This wasn’t what he expected the introduction to be like.

“He’s amazingly talented at drawing and holds such great compassion that he’s vegetarian. He’s very forgiving and loyal too and has a good eye for fresh vegetables and fruit, saving my ass on that yet again.”

Damian stared at Drake, speechless.

“He’s fun to hang out with and is still getting used to things such as hugs and surprise parties, and he also has very strict boundaries, so if you don’t respect that, I’m not taking you to the hospital when he stabs you.”

The others were looking at him with peculiar expressions. Something he had seen on Drake’s face multiple times, like when he had once spotted a sketch he had made of him, or when they were at the zoo and he was watching him interacting with the animals.

(Something he realized later on was called “fondness”.)

“He’s not always perfect and that’s okay, that’s what makes him a good person and a good little brother.” Drake squeezed his shoulder. “My little brother,” he whispered, inaudible to others, but perfectly audible to him.

Damian swallowed and slowly turned to look at the others.

They were all smiling at him warmly, openly displaying their emotions with not a hint of resentment or hate or sternness anywhere.

“Welcome to the family, Master Damian,” Pennyworth said kindly.

“It may get weird as fuck,” Todd said.

“Or even depressing at times,” Grayson added.

“But you’ll grow to love it anyway,” Gordon smiled.

His father knelt on the ground with one knee, coming down to his height. “And try to remember,” he said, his eyes matching the affectionate and open smile, “One of us will always be here for you. No matter what, we look out for each other and we never abandon one another.”

He then opened up his arms, inviting him in.

Drake squeezed his hand in reassurance, startling him a little. He wasn’t aware that he had held his hand in the middle of his welcome. Damian turned to look at him, eyes wide.

Tim’s lips lifted up with affection, a look that he had come to see so frequently during the latter half of the time spent in their apartment that it had become normal. He gave a nod and Damian felt a burst of something in his chest. Something happy and giddy, something earnest and eager.

So he let go of Drake’s hand and stepped forward towards his father. He tripped in his agitation, but Father caught him.

He tensed, but when the arms did nothing but hold him like how Tim’s had, he relaxed completely.

He sunk into his father’s hug and hugged him back.

The people around him were saying welcomes and other happy babble, but it all melded into one warm cloud of love.

“Son,” he heard his father say into his ear.

It touched his heart and he whispered back, “Father”.

It was then Damian knew, he was home.

Chapter Text

There was this one thing about Tim Drake that people failed to take into account when they immediately deemed him a wet paper bag because he apparently had “extremely low self-esteem and self-preservation skills”.

And that one thing was that Tim Drake was a self-aware person.

He was extremely self-aware of his faults and areas of improvements. Which people thought was a symptom of “shitty self-esteem, Timmy” and “Tim Tam, you have literally no self-preservation instincts” and “Drake, you are simply stupid, that’s it”.

He was self-aware.

There was a difference.

No one listened to him. In all honesty, he didn’t mind the products of it. He got more hugs and food out of it.

But that wasn’t the point!

The point was that along with his areas of improvement, Tim was also very self-aware about the aspects of his life. For example, he was terribly aware of how shit his parents’ parenting actually was.

Looking after Damian for so many months had shown him the wonders of what a happy family who were there for each other looked like—giving him personal experience on the matter and not indirect experience from watching through a camera lens, as Bruce spent time with his sons.

This realization got sent down to him in a ray of sunlight that felt like a waterfall of disappointment and frustration when that sunlight beamed directly into his eyes as his parents hung up their call.

They had called a few days after Tim had nearly exploded in a warehouse with a mass murderer, on New Year’s Day, demanding why his school record showed a week of absence because he had forgotten to hack the school records.

Heavy hangs the head which nearly explodes and also has to deal with shitty parenting.

Never mind that the press was hounding Bruce about Tim’s second kidnapping cover story. They just gave him a telling off about that too.

As Tim sat on his wheelchair (which he, Damian and Jason had spray-painted to look like the Batmobile) in the party hat Dick had plopped on him, covered in cake and confetti, holding an unlit sparkler and toot toot, he couldn’t help but stare at his phone in tears.

Those tears however immediately transformed into a look of fury when his mother just then sent a text that said:

Janet Drake <16:06>: And do remember to water my plants, Timothy. I can’t have Darla of all people besting me in gardening.

That was when Tim decided he was done.

Tim <16:07>: Fuck you, your flowers and all that you stand for. I’m done with this shit.

Then he promptly blocked her number and Jack’s too and took screenshots of how sparsely frequent they called him.

He spent a week gathering evidence on his parents’ neglect and abuse (yes, he did finally agree with Talia, okay? Don’t tell her or he’ll never hear the end of it). When he compiled it all on a folder that was then transferred to a print copy kept in a locked folder, his Drive account, a USB, and backed up on his separate storage. He did not like losing evidence. In that week, he also managed to get out of his wheelchair.

So, he walked into Bruce’s study the next day.

Bruce looked up from the mess of papers leaking from his table onto the floor. He smiled at his sight (see? When did Jack ever do that?). “Tim.”

“Bruce.” Tim inclined his head. “I have a request.”

Bruce, looking only too relieved to be distracted from his paperwork, leaned back on his chair. “How may I help?”

Tim handed him a neatly stapled document of a lengthy explanation he had written up last night.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked, skimming the first page.

“I need your help getting an emancipation from my parents.”

Bruce looked up. “You’re not of age yet.”

“How about you temporarily foster me?”

“How about I adopt you instead?”

“Deal.” Tim extended his hand and Bruce shook it.

He turned on his heel, about to walk out the door when he suddenly realized what Bruce said.

He froze and turned back around. “Wait, what?”

Bruce gave a small smile. “I already think of you as a son, Tim. This would just be officializing it.”

Tim blinked. “I— But— You— What?”

Bruce put down the papers and stood up, nearing Tim to put a warm hand on him. “I didn’t want to separate you from your parents, but I could see that they didn’t treat you well. I did what I could to help you and support you and do the things they did not. Adopting you… it’s just putting it on paper. You’re already in my heart. Our hearts. You have been, for a long time.”

Tim blinked again. Suspiciously emotional… “Are you attending therapy with Dinah again?”

Bruce grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “I kinda had to after the stunt you pulled a couple weeks ago.”

Tim winced at the reminder. “Yeah… fair enough. But back on topic, do you really mean that?” He desperately hoped Bruce meant that.

The universe must actually really like fucking with him, giving him a final, ‘fuck-you-and-you’re-welcome-for-the-heart-attacks’ scare before catapulting him into a loving family, because Bruce nodded.

Tim grinned and darted forward to hug him. And he was happy to feel Bruce’s arms hug him back.

They went downstairs to announce the news.

“Tim’s going to be adopted into the family.”

Dick screamed. Jason swore as loudly as he could, pumping a fist up in joy. Damian shot forward to hug him, reciting a string of happy Arabic-English-Mandarin. Cass (who was back from her mission) squealed in delight and clapped her hands. Alfred started them all on a round of cheers.

He really was not expecting this explosive of a reaction. Something tingled pleasantly in his chest and Tim swore his lips were splitting with the wide, toothy smile.

“Does this mean I should start calling you Timothy instead of Drake?” Damian asked, letting him go, eyes shining with happiness.

Tim laughed and ruffled his hair. “I suppose so!”

And then, he realized.

Does this mean I should start calling you Timothy instead of Drake?

He was renouncing his current last name. Changing it to Wayne.

His plan Operation: Bring the Waynes Together worked way better than he had expected.

He was going to be a Wayne. He was going to be Tim Wayne.

Like Dick Wayne and Jason Wayne and Damian and Cassandra Wayne, he was—

Wow.

He was officially going to be Damian’s brother. And Dick’s too. And—

OH MY GOD, JASON—

ROBIN—

ROBIN-JASON WAS GOING TO BE HIS BROTHER TOO.

Tim fainted right there and then on the floor.

The last thing he saw was the surprised and horrified faces of his new family.

Boy, he was in for a ride.