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Chapter Text

Timothy Drake was a smart kid, or so he had been told. To be completely honest, he sometimes questioned his supposed intelligence, seeing as how following two vigilantes around at night didn’t sound like the smartest decision on paper. On a school night. In the city with one of the highest crime rates in the country. Alone. But Tim was smart. 

If anything, going Batwatching proved that fact. He had never been caught and had still been able to contribute to solving cases without alerting Batman to his presence. That wasn’t even considering the fact that at 9 years old, Tim had managed to figure out the identities of the Dynamic Duo, which to his knowledge, no one else had been able to do. And anyways, since he was so smart and mature, who’s to say that he shouldn’t be going out if he could make a difference? Obviously his parents believed he was mature enough to take care of himself, to behave like an adult. And if he was going to be expected to behave like an adult, really the autonomy and agency that comes with being an adult should apply too, right?

Sure, Tim was only 12 years old, but he’d been doing this for three years, and if that wasn’t proof of him being able to handle himself, then really nothing could. Even if something happened, God forbid, and Tim was caught, he was mature enough to realize that it would be completely his fault anyway. Because that’s what adults do, take accountability for their own mistakes.

So yes, Tim, technically, was an unaccompanied minor stalking around Gotham in the middle of the night, following the city’s beacons of trouble. But technically, Tim was also a photographer and detective who used his skills to help, and a capable person who took care of himself. So he didn’t feel all that guilty about jumping across yet another rooftop, racing to get to a position that would give him a good, and protected angle, of the Bats. 

The shadows of Batman and Robin dropped onto the adjacent rooftop, the soft whir of their grapples the only thing announcing their presence. Tim adjusted his camera lens, focusing in on the backs of Batman and Robin as they talked. Tim was too far away to hear what they were saying. If he was close enough to hear them, they were close enough to hear him , and even if he fantasized about actually talking to Batman and Robin, he knew it would not be in his best interests to do so. He was smart like that. Besides, he was just as content just observing from afar.

Batman seemed to be doing most of the talking, gesturing with his hands a lot. Tim had come to learn a lot about Bruce over his years of watching him, and because he rarely could ever hear what they were saying, he relied on the man’s body language to tell him what was going on. Sure it was subtle, but when you lived, ate, and breathed Batman, you started to learn the language. The tension in his shoulders there, the more aggressive hand gestures here, and the occasional nose bridge pinch there, told Tim that Batman was worried about Robin, that something had happened, and he was trying to explain to Jason exactly why he needed to go in early for the night.

Tim had been late getting out of his house and into the city, so he knew that he’d missed a chunk of patrol, but now he was wishing he had been there to see what had happened. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to help physically , but from his various vantage points, he usually was able to get some good pictures of the scene, or connect some dots, and if anonymous tips found their way into police databases for Batman to be able to go over later, well then he was sure that Batman wouldn’t mind. The more information, typically the better.

Tim shifted his position, and looked away from the camera as Jason threw his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated, but unable to do anything about it. Jason was much easier to read, he wore his heart on his sleeve, which was one of the things that Tim admired the most about him. Having grown up in high society, it seemed like everyone was wearing a mask, including Tim himself. Everyone, that is, except Jason, who couldn’t help but be himself.

That’s partly why Tim thought Jason was such a good Robin, he was authentic, and you could tell he really cared. Of course Dick had cared too, but he was a natural-born performer. There was just something so real, so bluntly righteous about Jason that Tim couldn’t help but admire.

Jason was swinging off the roof, towards the Batmobile, where Tim guessed it would drive itself to the cave. Tim briefly considered the idea of following it back, finally finding where the hidden entrance to the still elusive Batcave would be, but he turned his focus back to Batman. He’d have no way to keep up with the car anyway, and besides, if Batman was going solo, it meant something was really serious.

Tim looked back to the rooftop, unsurprised to see that Batman had already left, leaving no trace. But Tim wasn’t worried. Logic dictated that he would be heading backwards through the patrol route, back to the scene of whatever was going down. 

Sure enough, as Tim scrambled across the rooftop, he saw a quick flip of a dark cape and heard a soft snap as the cape caught up with its owner. Tim smiled, and leaped across the space between two buildings, as silent as the Bat himself. It was going to be an exciting night.

Except it wasn’t. Tim caught up with Batman at an abandoned warehouse, expecting to see something dangerous. Bruce never sent Jason home unless there was a clear and present danger. But there was nothing. No hostages, no secret laboratory, not even a mysterious package in sight. Instead, Batman was standing in the middle of the room, like he was waiting for something. 

Tim took a few pictures of Batman, admiring the dramatic silhouette created by his standing in the middle of the warehouse, but he was beginning to get bored. He could be very patient when he wanted to, you had to when you were chasing the Bats, but nothing was happening. Batman had already been there for 10 minutes, barely moving an inch, just waiting . 

“What are you doing here?” Batman suddenly growled, his voice taut. Tim jumped, and only just barely managed to prevent himself from collapsing into the pile of crates he was hiding behind. That particular tone of voice meant that Batman was angry, and Tim knew what happened to villains when Batman was angry. Tim shrunk further behind the boxes. Was Batman looking for him ? If Batman found Tim, he’d be in so much trouble. The only reason that he’d been able to do this was because Batman didn’t know he existed. If he even got the slightest hint at someone following him, Tim knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d found them.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Batman repeated, the words dripping with somehow more ice than before. Tim’s heart was pounding so hard he felt like it would leap out of his chest. Batman knew . How, Tim didn’t know, but there was no doubting it. Batman knew he was here, knew he had been following him, and was now going to arrest him. Looking around him, Tim looked for an escape. At this point speed was more important than stealth, and he had crouched forward, ready to bolt, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Are you not happy to see me, Beloved?” A female voice said. Tim exhaled, his heart only slowing marginally. Batman hadn’t detected him. There was someone else. And that someone had just called Batman Beloved . 

As far as Tim knew, Bruce’s only romantic relationship, if you could even call it that, was with Catwoman, and this was definitely not her, if Batman’s reaction to it was any indication. Tim had followed enough of Batman chasing Catwoman to know that Batman was rarely actually angry with her, and that she called him Bats.

Tim took a deep breath. Neither knew he was here, which meant he was safe.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Batman bit out, again. Wow, he was really angry if he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Tim chanced a look around the corner of the crate, to see Batman and a woman wearing all black. She was turned away from Tim’s hiding spot, so he could only see that she had dark hair, a sword strapped to her back, and a knife holstered on her thigh. She sighed.

“You cannot control everyone who comes to Gotham, Beloved, especially me.” She responded, sounding more amused than really frustrated, like she was used to Batman’s inability to communicate. Batman didn’t respond to that either, just narrowed his eyes and deepened his frown.

“Ra’s is planning something, isn’t he?” Batman eventually asked, his glower softening only slightly. The woman didn’t respond. “What is he planning Talia?” 

To Tim’s amazement, she took a step forward, and gently placed her hand on Batman’s cheek. Tim saw Batman tense, but he didn’t react otherwise. He snapped a picture. Who was this woman that could touch Batman on the cheek without causing Batman to knock her lights out? 

She whispered something into Batman’s ear, turning her face slightly more outwards to do so, just enough that Tim was able to see the outline of her face. He snapped another picture. Then Tim blinked, and she was gone, leaving Batman in the middle of the warehouse, jaw and fists clenched. Tim ducked behind the crate once more, and listened as Batman left the building. For once, Tim didn’t follow.

Holding his camera close to his chest, he waited for 15 minutes, making sure that he really was alone in the building, before cautiously making his way out from behind the crates, and snuck outside of the warehouse, and towards the bus stop. 

It was absurdly early for Tim to be going home, only just barely 11:30, but something about the woman had unsettled him, specifically the way she was seemingly able to vanish, eerily similar to Batman himself, that Tim felt it prudent to leave.

Tim had been following Batman for three years and had never seen someone vanish that way who hadn’t been trained by Batman himself. But she didn’t seem like a vigilante, and Batman was angry , and scared enough that he sent Jason home. Something was going on, something serious . But Tim had the feeling that he wouldn’t be finding anything more out tonight.

So Tim got on the bus stupidly early for the night, and was soon making his way out of Gotham and towards Bristol. It would be another 40 minute walk from the bust stop, but Tim was used to it. It was the best way for him to get into the city, and by the best, he really meant the only. Though he knew he could probably figure out how to drive a car, that’d be pushing his luck for going undetected, something that seemed to be even more important tonight.  

Tim settled into the bus seat and began scrolling through his photos of the night. He’d back them up as soon as he got home, on all three of his hard drives, before deleting the originals on the camera’s memory itself,  but for now, he flipped through them passively, pausing on the one of the woman whispering in Batman’s ear, and studying it to see if he could make out any more details. Still nothing, other than the faint outline of her face. He’d look at it on his computer when got back, see if the larger screen would help find something he missed. 

An hour and a half later, he made it back to Drake manor. He slipped silently inside, though he needn’t have bothered. There was no one home to alert, and he had long rerouted and reprogrammed the security system to not alert his parents of his dealings after dark, not that they probably checked anyway. They expected Tim to take care of any issues that might arise while they were gone. 

After grabbing a box of graham crackers from the pantry, he made his way through the spotless and lifeless hallways before entering his room, a disaster of a haven in the cold house.

Tim dumped his backpack on the ground, kicked his shoes off, and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. He plugged his camera into his computer, and after ensuring that his firewalls were running, began transferring and uploading his photos into his backups. The shots he had got of just Batman in the warehouse came out better than he had expected and Tim saved them in his favorites file, filled with the rest of his best shots. 

Tim grabbed a graham cracker while the rest finished transferring, practically inhaling it before grabbing another, not caring about the crumbs he was getting all over his lap. A soft beep indicated that the photos were done and he disconnected his camera. Removing the battery, he plugged it in, setting the camera itself on the desk, before turning his attention back to the screen.

Pulling up the photos of the woman, or Talia, he guessed, since that was what Batman had called her, he began to examine it once again. But without the excitement of being out on the streets, his brain began to slow, and his eyes were getting tired, and the more he looked, the harder it was to keep them open. 

Giving up for the night he exited the picture and carefully locked the computer. And then he went to bed, passing out the minute his head hit the pillow. The faint whirring of the computer fans occasionally kicking on the only lullaby to ease his dreams.

Chapter Text

Tim only barely managed to catch the bus to make it to school on time, but he couldn’t care less. He had spent the morning closely examining the pictures of the woman, increasing the contrast and highlights to see if he could get a clearer look at her face, but it hadn’t helped. All he had been able to glean was that she was darker in skin tone than Batman was, as evidenced by the contrast of her hand against his face, though then again, that wasn’t much of a feat since Bruce was super pale , from you know, only going out at night. 

Without any other identifying characteristics, he couldn’t use the GCPD’s facial recognition software, which was just as well. Tim had a suspicion that wouldn’t have been much help anyways.

After his attempts with the photos, he had hacked into the security cameras at and around the warehouse, on the off chance that she had been captured entering or leaving, but there was nothing, another testament to the woman’s skills.

So what did Tim know? The woman, probably Talia, since that was what Batman had called her, had been romantic with Batman at some point in the past, if her calling him Beloved was anything to go off of. Whatever their relationship had been, it didn’t seem to have ended well, if Batman’s reaction to her being there was any indication. But Talia still seemed to have feelings for him, because why else would she continue to call him Beloved? The way she dressed, her weapons, and the way she was able to vanish made Tim think she was some sort of assassin.

What was confusing Tim the most was what Batman had said, about Ra’s planning something. Who, or what, was this Ra’s? Why had Talia’s presence led Batman to immediately focus on that? How were Talia and Ra’s connected? Did she work for them? Did they work for her?

He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts that only his brain’s autopilot had got him off the bus and into the school, and he was only pulled out of them when he ran straight into someone as he made his way towards his first class of the day. Mumbling an apology, Tim made to bolt past the person, until they spoke, the sound of their voice freezing him in place. He knew that voice.

“You ok?” Jason Freaking Todd asked. Tim could only blink up at his idol, his tornado of questions about Batman and Talia dispersing in his head. 

Yes, he knew that Jason went to his school. He knew that. They were in the same math class for God’s sake. But Jason had never talked to him before. Tim realized he hadn’t replied only when Jason waved a hand in front of his face.

“Hey, Earth to Tim”. Tim felt heat rise in his cheeks and blurted the first thing that came to his mind, still halfway stuck in a freeze frame.

“How did you know my name?” He clamped his mouth shut, even more embarrassed now, if that was even possible. 

“We’re in the same math class?” Jason seemed more mildly amused than anything else.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Tim said, mentally smacking himself in the face. Jason gave him a funny look, which only grew funnier, as he seemed to notice the extra tall thermos of coffee Tim had brought with him.  He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the minute bell.

“Well, I’d better get to class. See you later!” Tim said, seizing the opportunity, only just barely stopping himself from bolting away. Only when he was safely seated at his desk in his World Cultures class did he let his embarrassment fully hit him.

The one time that Jason ( Robin! ) talked to him, he had stumbled through the interaction. He just assumed that he was invisible, but of course, Robin would notice. That was part of the job, noticing people. 

Tim had to force himself to pay attention to the teacher. The humanities, much to his parents’ chagrin, were his worst subjects, which isn’t to say that he was completely failing them, just that he had to put in more effort in order to achieve the A’s that his parents expected of him, the heir to Drake Industries and the child of two archeologists.

So he forgot about Jason, and Talia, and the fact that his coffee hadn’t quite hit his system, and focused on the teacher’s lecture about European cultures in the mid 15th century, desperately trying to trick his brain into being interested. 

By the time he made it to his math class, Tim had almost completely forgotten about the incident in the morning, and was once again puzzling over Batman’s interaction with Talia from the night before when someone sat down next to him. Looking up, Tim was proud to say he was only mildly shocked at the sight of a smiling Jason Todd, pulling out notebooks from his backpack.

“Mind if I sit here?” Jason asked. Tim didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he just shrugged before turning his head back to his notebook, pretending to review his notes before class. In reality, he was just trying his best to not let either his excitement or his dread show through on his face. 

Robin was sitting next to him. Robin was sitting next to him . That was two times today that he had interacted with him, once on purpose. Did Jason know? Was this some sort of grand Bat conspiracy to get him to confess so that they could lock him in a cell in the Batcave for the rest of his life? 

For the third time that day, Tim was jerked out of his thoughts by Jason.

“Hey, what did you get for #3 on the homework? It was worded so weird, but I didn’t know if it was just me or not,” 

“Oh, um-, let me check” Tim ducked his head towards his backpack and grabbed his folder, sliding out the homework sheet and handing it to Jason so he could look it over.

Jason’s eyes darted between the two sheets of paper, before handing Tim’s back to him.

“Thanks,” Jason said.

“No problem” Tim replied, in what he was very proud to say was a perfectly steady voice. He turned to the front of the room as the bell rang and Ms. Roberts began class, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Robin was sitting next to him, doodling in his notes while Ms. Roberts took attendance.

Even after Ms. Roberts began teaching, Tim had a hard time focusing. It was a good thing that math was one of his better subjects, or he’d be in serious trouble. 

Finally, finally , class was over, and Tim packed his things up as fast as he could. 

“It was nice talking with you Tim,” Jason said, “See ya’ tomorrow?” Tim paused in his hurried rush to pack up.

“Y-yeah. See you,” He stammered. Jason gave him another smile and exited the classroom. Tim couldn’t help the smile that made its way across his own face. Robin had just said it was nice talking with him. 

His happiness quickly diminished when he remembered his situation. So maybe Jason didn’t know anything, since he hadn’t said anything more to Tim than was class related, but that didn’t mean Tim wasn’t in danger. If the Bats even got an inkling of suspicion that Tim knew more than he was supposed to, he’d been in hot water. Their secret identities were of the utmost importance. 

When Tim got home, he went straight for the kitchen. Mrs. Mac had been there to drop off groceries and clean, meaning there was a fresh bag of chips and a new box of fruit snacks. Snagging the chips and some fruit snacks, Tim went to his room, loosened his tie and threw his Gotham Academy blazer on the back of his chair. 

He had some homework, but it wasn’t due for a few more days so Tim didn’t even bother starting on it. He opened up his Batwatching files instead, checking in on some of the other open cases he’d been following in addition to the system he’d programmed to alert him to any news related to either Batman or his Rogues. 

Finding nothing too concerning, he switched to his photos of the night before. There wasn’t much else he could do with the photos of Batman and Talia, but he opened them anyway. Still nothing.

He stretched over the back of his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

“Ok, so here’s what I know,” He said aloud, looking up at the ceiling. “One: Talia knows Batman, and cares about him, in some way. Two: Talia is probably a threat, evidenced by Batman’s insistence to send Robin home early in order to go and meet her. Or maybe he didn’t want him there when he was talking to his ex? Three: Talia is connected in some way to a Ra’s, who Batman doesn’t like, and automatically assumed was planning something, probably nefarious. Four-” Tim was cut off by the ring of his phone.

Looking at the screen, his heart did a funny little lurch at the sight of his mom’s contact. His parents were scheduled to be coming home from Egypt next week. But if they were calling, that meant plans were changing.  He answered it after a moment’s hesitation, trying to bury his disappointment.

“Hi Mom. Is everything ok?” He asked, sitting up straight in his chair. Even if she couldn’t see him, he felt like she’d know he was being improper.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. I’m just calling to inform you our plans have changed. A very exciting opportunity for Drake Industries has come up, and we have to leave immediately from Cairo. We won’t be back until December.” Janet said somewhat distractedly. Tim could hear the faint sound of keys on a keyboard in the background.

Even though he knew it was coming, Tim still felt the twinge of disappointment. 

“That’s awesome Mom,“ Tim said, trying to infuse his tone with enthusiasm. “What day do you think you’ll be back?”

“We’ll be back before the Gotham Holliday gala,” Janet said. Tim could hear his father’s voice in the background and before Tim had the chance to say anything else, she hung up on him.

Frustrated with the tears welling up in his eyes, he tossed his phone back on his desk and rubbed his eyes. His parents were busy people. They had hundreds of people relying on them. That was a lot of pressure and Tim didn’t want to add more to the load by adding his problems. He could take care of himself, he didn’t necessarily need his parents, so why bother them when he was doing perfectly fine on his own?

And besides, if his parents came home, he wouldn’t be able to sneak out. He never did when they were home. He didn’t want to risk it, couldn’t risk it, if he was caught. They’d hire a nanny, and they’d be so disappointed that he couldn’t take care of himself, and Tim would just be making their lives harder than they needed to be. So it was a good thing that they weren’t coming home and that they wouldn’t be home until December. It really was.

Tim left his desk and flopped face down on his unmade bed. He set a timer on his watch and closed his eyes, pretending like he didn’t have an ache in his chest and or tears on his cheeks. He had work to do tonight.

Chapter Text

Tim left his house earlier than usual. He needed to be doing something , and spending one more minute in the endlessly empty house was going to drive him crazy. Even with the absolute bizarreness of whatever thing was going on with Talia and Batman wasn’t going to deter him. It was better than staying in the house and missing his parents. At least this way, he would be using the extra anxious energy to help people. And besides, Mrs. Mac’s grocery delivery meant he could do his food rounds. 

Tim had known he was in a privileged position before he’d ever gone Batwatching, had known it as long as he could remember. He liked to observe. And his parents had far too much on their plate to constantly entertain him, so he’d watched people and tried to imagine their stories. The more he watched, the more he noticed the differences between him and the other kids he saw.

But actually witnessing the difference between his life and the lives of the other kids he met on the street was a different thing altogether. Tim had never known an empty stomach. Never known the wariness, the exhaustion of living paycheck to paycheck, the constant worry about money and survival and health. Not until he was there, seeing its effects first hand. Sure, his parents weren’t always there, but he had everything he needed, had always had everything he could ever need.

The third time he went Batwatching he brought nonperishables with him. And every one after that, if he could carry extra food around, he would. Rarely anyone stopped to talk, just grabbed the food he was offering and disappeared. Tim was ok with that. 

Over time, and with some work on his disguise, (his Bristol accent had immediately made him both a target and an outsider) he’d managed to build relationships with some of the kids, and often in exchange for a can of soup here, or some protein bars there, they gave him tidbits of information regarding activity on the streets; warning him to stay away from certain streets, rumors of a new gang, sightings of the Rogues, etc.

So, he raided the pantry for soup cans, granola bars, and jerky, the majority of which he had added to Mrs. Mac’s list to be able to give away, and packed them in his backpack. He had to be careful about the amounts he took in terms of weight (he couldn’t carry all that much). Besides, if he suddenly started completely clearing out the pantry every week, Mrs. Mac would ask questions.

In addition to his regular disguise of dark colored secondhand clothing, he added a brown wig, colored contacts, and a beat up Gotham Knights hat, completely transforming himself into Bobby Lewis, his cover alias. He came into direct contact with people more when it was a food night. He liked to stray on the cautionary side, just in case a whisper got back to Batman.

On nights when he was just Batwatching, he didn’t bother with the wig or the contacts, instead wearing a face mask and hood to shroud his features. It wouldn’t hold up if Batman ever got a close enough look at him, but the wig made his head hurt and the contacts made his eyes itch, which distracted him from focusing on the situations he observed. There’d been a pretty close call when he’d been momentarily distracted by the wig and had almost gotten hit by some of Poison Ivy’s pollen a while back, and so he’d ditched Bobby Lewis on his Batman only nights.

Tim sat on the roof of an apartment building as he ate a snack. He’d talked to a couple of kids, but there hadn’t been all that much new information other than some minor gang activities. He had asked them to keep an eye and an ear out for new groups, see if they could fish up any more information on Talia and whatever Ra’s was but he doubted there’d be much success. Tim had the feeling that Talia was a part of the deep underground criminal activity, the kind that no one knew about until they wanted you to.

Finishing with his granola bar, he stashed the wrapper in a pocket, before looking around, just to make absolutely sure there was no one there. He removed the wig, but left the contacts in, not trusting himself to remove them in the dark and not lose them, or poke himself in the eye. Stuffing the wig in his backpack, he stood up, and removed the lens cap from his camera.

Based on the past few patrol routes he’d been able to observe, Batman and Robin were extremely likely to pass this building in the next few minutes, giving Tim the ability to follow after them, though it wasn’t surefire. For all of Tim’s knowledge of their patrol routes, there was always a certain degree of unpredictability that he couldn’t account for, and sometimes he spent most of the night trying to find them, rather than actually following them.

One day he’d love to conduct a detailed study, see if there did happen to be a method to the madness. Maybe even write an algorithm to predict their movements based on their patrol history.

However, for the time being, he’d have to use the tried, and mostly true, method of waiting around to see.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long; within 10 minutes, Batman had swung onto a nearby rooftop. Surprisingly, Robin wasn’t with him. Tim checked his watch. It was barely 11. Robin would not have gone home that early. Which meant that Batman had forced him to stay in tonight. Tim half wondered if it was because of Talia’s presence in Gotham. The thought sent chills down his spine.

Tim kept more of a distance between him and Batman during patrol then he regularly did. It never hurt to be careful. Still, the patrol was relatively tame, mostly just some robberies and muggings that Batman’s presence quickly put out. 

When it became clear that nothing particularly interesting was going to happen, Tim decided to go home, get some sleep while he could. An actually quiet night in Gotham was a rarity. Might as well take advantage of it and try to catch up on his sleep, God knows he needed it.

Despite his healthy intentions, his brain had other plans. It would just not stop and even with Tim’s attempts at breathing and distraction and mediation, it just kept going, a river, constantly replacing itself as it rushed by.

Something was happening, Tim knew it. Knew it in his gut that it was big and dangerous. He just didn’t know what that was. And that’s what scared him most of all. Not knowing. Not being able to do anything to stop it. Just waiting for the rain in the calm before a storm.

It was only after hours of restlessness that he was finally able to fall asleep, his dreams laced with undefinable worry.

Tim woke up only a few hours later, hating the world. He, unlike Bruce Wayne, actually had to be places in the morning, and even more unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a chauffeur to get him to said places, meaning he had to be on time for the bus or he’d be majorly late. So up extra early it was.

Tim only managed to make it through the morning thanks to his mega cup of coffee, and after a power nap during lunch, he was at least mostly intelligible by math, which was good for him because Jason sat next to him. Again .

“How’re you doing today?” Jason asked as soon as he sat down.

“Good,” Tim said, hoping that the shadows under his eyes weren’t too noticeable. He had had no energy to attempt to cover them up. “How about you?” 

“Ehh,” Jason said. “My adoptive dad is being frustratingly overprotective, which is annoying. Parents, you know?”

Tim shrugged in agreement. He didn’t really have that much experience with overbearing parents. At least his theory about why Robins stayed in last night was right. He didn’t know if that made him feel any better or not.

 Even that small interaction had drained what little energy he had in reserve. He just wanted to close his eyes. It felt like he was molasses, slowly dripping out of a jar. Luckily, or unluckily, Tim couldn’t decide, Jason didn’t seem to notice his sluggishness and continued talking.

“So, what electives are you taking?”

Tim stifled a groan. He just wanted to sleep.

“Um-” Tim paused, trying to remember. “Intro to computer engineering and French. You?”

“I’m taking classic literature and home ec. How has computer engineering been? I’ve been considering taking it next semester,”

“Oh, um, it’s good,” Tim fidgeted with the end of his tie, rolling it up. “There’s not a lot of homework, and it’s a lot of self directed projects and that kind of thing, cause Ms. Williams likes to teach through discovery and trial and error,” 

Tim had long surpassed the level of work they were doing in class, which suited him just fine. He actually spent most of his class time taking an advanced class online. But he wasn’t about to tell Jason that. He didn’t want to be a braggart.

“Cool, I like it when teachers just let us do our thing,”
“What are you reading in classic literature right now?” Tim asked. Personally, he read as little as he could, preferring the concreteness of math and science to the murkiness of literary analysis, but he knew that Jason loved reading. He’d rarely seen him without a book in hand while they were at school.

“We’re finally doing the Jane Austen unit and we just finished Persuasion. We’re supposed to start Pride & Prejudice next week, which is my all time favorite, so I’m really excited,” Jason was smiling. “Have you read Pride & Prejudice?”

Tim shook his head. He’d been assigned to read it for English one year, but hadn’t even bothered to try. He’d read the CliffNotes and watched the movie instead. He’d gotten an A on the test anyways.

Jason was looking at him like Tim had just said his dog died. Tim’s stomach twisted, he hadn’t meant to offend Jason.

“I’ve seen the movie,” He added. Jason blew out an overdramatic breath, and Tim relaxed slightly. He’d just been joking. He wasn’t actually upset.

“Oh good, I was worried,” Jason mimed swiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and grinned.

Tim laughed, a tiny bit of the pressure on his heart dissipating. Jason’s smile grew wider.

Chapter Text

To Tim’s ever increasing confusion, Jason continued to sit next to him during math class and even began to join him for lunch. It didn’t even seem like he was investigating him for a connection to Batman, he was hanging out with Tim because he wanted to, even though Tim was socially awkward on a good day, and a complete disaster on a bad day. 

Not that Tim was complaining. He got to eat lunch with Robin every day. It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He just also had to always remember that Jason didn’t know that Tim knew about his secret identity.

So when Robin sprained his wrist while on patrol, Tim had to remember that Jason tripped on one of the rugs in the manor. When Jason was holding himself stiffly for a few days, Tim had to remember that he didn’t know Robin was kicked in the ribs by one of Riddler’s goons. And when Jason came back after a few days off for a concussion, Tim had to refrain from asking if Batman caught the man who knocked Robin on the head.

Still, it did nothing to lessen the tiny pebble of guilt that seemed to be rolling around in his stomach. Sure, he hadn’t really done anything wrong. He’d just had the right information and been at the right place in order to figure out Batman and Robin’s identities. He hadn’t done it on purpose. But he was still lying to Jason. And pretending to be something he wasn’t. 

Still, Tim couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when Jason asked him about his photography, or when he gave him one of Alfred’s heavenly cookies that he had packed in his bag, or even when he expressed concern over the sheer amount of coffee that he consumed on a daily basis. He especially couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest when Jason called him his friend.

“Yo Timbo!” Jason said, sitting down next to Tim at the beginning of math. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and study for the unit exam tonight,” He pulled out his notebook before adding, “Alfred’s baked probably like twelve dozen cookies the last couple of days, so there’s plenty of study treats. What do you say?” 

“Sure, that’d be great,” Tim said, hiding the fact that he was jumping up and down internally. It would not do to let Jason know how excited just the idea of going to Wayne Manor made him, especially since it was less the house and more the fact that the Batcave was most definitely hidden somewhere on its property. Sure, Tim would have no chance of locating it, but still he’d be the closest he’d ever been.

“Great! You can just ride home with me, if it’s ok with your parents,”

“Oh, um, I don’t want to be a bother, I can just walk from home,” Tim said slowly. 

“Alfie’s coming to get me anyway, and if we’re just going to the same place it makes the most sense,” Jason said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Seriously, it’s fine,” Jason insisted. “Just ask your parents first.”

“Ok,” Tim pulled out his phone and quickly pretended to type a message, holding the screen partly away from Jason the best he could without looking suspicious.

This was the other secret he had been hiding from Jason: the absence of his parents. He didn’t think that Jason would understand why it was ok. So it was easier to just pretend like either his parents or a nanny were home.

He waited a few minutes before pretending to check his phone and then gave a thumbs-up to Jason.

Tim was starting to rethink his decision to go to Wayne Manor. It hadn’t quite clicked that Bruce was going to be there when he had agreed, but thinking about it now, in the car on the way to the manor, it was unavoidable, since, you know, Bruce lived there. And Tim felt like the minute Bruce saw him, he would know everything , and Tim wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. And then Jason would feel betrayed and he’d spend the rest of his life in a cell and-

“And how was your day Master Tim?” Mr. Pennyworth asked, pulling Tim out of his thoughts. He blinked.

“It was good, thank you,” Tim replied, praising the gods for the politeness training his mother had drilled into him. Mr. Pennyworth hummed. “Thank you again for having me Mr. Pennyworth,” Tim added.

“It is no problem at all, dear boy. And please, call me Alfred,” Alfred said, giving him a kind but pointed look through the rear view mirror.

Tim smiled and nodded, feeling some of the tension ease in his chest. Jason was right, Alfred was magic.

The relaxation didn’t last long though. Soon they were pulling into the garage of Wayne Manor, and Tim felt his anxiety return to full force. He followed Jason inside, and carefully removed his shoes, neatly placing them by the door. Jason, on the other hand, kicked his shoes off into a heap, and only moved them once he received a look from Alfred.

Tim followed Jason to a living room, complete with a huge TV and beanbags, one of which Jason had thrown himself onto as soon as he’d dropped his backpack.

Tim settled himself into another, and pulled his binder out of his backpack. He didn’t really know how a study session was supposed to go, he’d never had one before, so he looked expectantly to Jason, hoping he’d take the lead. Jason didn’t do anything, just looked back at him with a strange, indecipherable look on his face.

“So, um, how do we start?” Tim asked. “Do you want to read terms or give each other practice problems…?  Tim trailed off.

“Hmm, what?” Jason said. “Oh yeah, um practice problems sound great,” He grabbed his backpack and pulled out his notebook.

They spent the next couple of hours studying, stopping for a break only when Alfred brought them some snacks, including the promised cookies, though also with instructions to eat the fruits and veggies also on the tray. 

Eventually, Jason shut his notebook, and stuffed it back in his backpack. Tim followed suit, and was about to stand up to leave when Jason asked if he wanted to play some Mario Kart.

Tim checked his watch. There was still plenty of time before Robin and Batman would go on patrol, and consequently, plenty of time before Tim needed to leave his house in order to follow them. He could play a couple rounds.

“Ok,” Tim said, taking the remote Jason offered him. Playing with Jason was bunches more fun than playing by himself ever was, and soon he’d lost track of time, completely absorbed into the races. So absorbed, in fact, that he didn’t notice when Bruce Wayne walked into the room and was watching them play until after he got first place and looked towards Jason to rub it in his face. 

Tim felt the smile slide from his face faster than he could think as he saw the man, who thankfully, was still watching Jason play. 

“Damn it!” Jason groaned as he crossed the finish line 6th, and turned to look at Tim, who quickly tried to school his expression into nonchalance. “I almost had it!”

“Language,” Mr. Wayne said, though there was a soft smile on his face.

“You’re no fun,” Jason said, smiling as he stood up from the beanbag and dropped his controller. Tim bolted upright, his hands fidgeting uncontrollably in front of him. This was it. This was where they figured out he knew.

“Tim, this is my adoptive dad, Bruce. B, this is Tim. He’s in my math class at school,” Jason said. Tim waited for the inevitable fall out. It didn’t come.

“Hi Tim, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Mr. Wayne said, smiling. “Jay’s told us a lot about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Mr. Wayne,” Tim replied. They didn’t know. He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Alfred’s just finished with dinner, would you like to stay? We’d love to have you,” Mr. Wayne added.

“Oh, um, I can’t,” Tim stuttered. “My parents are expecting me so I actually need to be going. Thank you for the invitation though Mr. Wayne,” 

“No worries, Tim. Do you need a ride home? I’d be happy to drive you,” 

“No, that's ok Mr. Wayne, I’ll just walk. It’s not that far,” Tim said quickly, grabbing his blazer from the floor and shrugging it on.  Batman had more important things to do than driving Tim three minutes down the road to his house.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Tim shrugged his backpack on. He glanced up to see Mr. Wayne giving him a searching look that Tim only just barely managed to avoid recoiling under.

“Alright then,” He said slowly and he placed his hands in his jean pockets, which struck the one part of Tim’s brain not freaking out as oddly normal. “And it’s just Bruce,”

“Thank you, Mr. W-, Bruce,” Tim replied, feeling extremely awkward using the man’s first name. Bruce gave him a small smile, and Tim followed Jason out of the room.

He didn’t take another full breath until he was halfway back to his house. They didn’t know. His secret was safe.

Still, just to be sure, Tim didn’t go Batwatching that night.

Chapter Text

To Tim’s surprise, Jason began inviting him over frequently, and not just to study. More often than not, it was just to hang out. They played video games and watched movies. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever been invited to someone’s house without it being a  way to build connections for Drake Industries, if ever. 

So Tim soaked up every minute that he could, even though it wasn’t really his . He was deceiving the Waynes, no matter what way he spun it. He knew their secret identities and he was hiding his own familial situation. He was lying, hiding things from them. And there was no way it was going to last. They would find out eventually. This was Batman’s family for Christ’s sake. Tim would slip eventually, and it would all come crashing down. But he couldn’t stop completely, no matter how much he tried to reason with himself. 

So he limited himself. He went to their house after school, more afternoons then not. But he didn’t stay. So even if a small, deep part of his heart kept cracking every time he left the house after refusing another invitation to stay for dinner, or to be driven home, or to sleep over, he tried to ignore it, and be ok with returning to the seemingly ever increasing cold and lonely house.

He had a family. And so did the Waynes. And even though Alfred called him lad and made sure he always brought home extra food, and Jason ruffled his hair and called him an infinite number of nicknames, and Bruce called him kiddo and asked about his day, he wasn’t part of their family. He never would be. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

The weather grew steadily colder as September transitioned into October, and finally November, and Tim had to keep adding layers of clothing when he went out Batwatching to stave off the cold. Not for the first time, he wondered if Batman and Robin had special tech that allowed their uniforms to be heated in the winter, or if they were as frigid as Tim. At least Jason had had the forethought to add pants to the Robin uniform. Tim had no idea how Dick had managed to survive so many Gotham winters without getting frostbite.

Tim had finally met the first Robin a few weeks prior, when Dick had come home from Bludhaven for the weekend. He’d been so starstruck that he had had a hard time keeping his mouth closed.

Jason was Tim’s Robin, or at least that’s how he liked to think about it. He’d only just started Batwatching when Dick retired from the role, and there was something special about documenting Jason’s journey as Robin from the very beginning. Still, Dick was the first Robin. And a member of the Flying Graysons. And so cool . (He drove a motorcycle. )

Tim had been a fan of his before Robin as a mantle even existed, ever since that night at the circus. Tim doubted that Dick remembered, what with everything else that happened, but he had talked to Tim, taken a picture with him, and promised that he would do a quadruple flip, just for him. He’d even given Tim a hug, and it was the best one that he had ever received. 

So he’d only managed to squeak out a quiet hello. Dick hadn’t seemed to mind, and he even gave Tim a side hug before he left. It was even better than the first hug had been.

Tim had gotten excellent pictures of Nightwing and Robin that night, including one of his new favorites: Robin flipping Nightwing off after what Tim could only assume was a truly terrible joke. He’d heard a lot about Dick’s puns from Jason.

Tonight, however, it was just Batman that Tim was following. Jason had been for real out sick from school for the past few days, and Tim knew he was getting really frustrated, if the sheer amount of texts he was getting on a daily basis was any indication.

Robin hadn’t been allowed back on patrol for a couple of weeks following Talia’s visit, even though as far as Tim could tell, she hadn’t appeared since. Tim knew that it had to be killing Jason to miss out on even more patrols.

Tim focused his camera as Batman knocked out a would-be mugger, snapping the picture only slightly too late. He watched as Batman handcuffed the criminal for the police to find and briefly talked with the victim, before grappling away. 

Crime had slowed down as the weather got colder, and Tim couldn’t help but agree with the criminals. No one should really be out this late when it was this cold. But still, if Batman was out, that meant so was Tim.

Tim followed Batman to a rooftop, and waited as he reported the mugging. He looked just about ready to leap away, continuing on his patrol route but stopped abruptly and touched his ear, probably listening to whoever was on the other end of the com unit. Tim had always wondered who was on the other end, but he’d never gotten close enough to really hear. Was it Alfred? Tim had no doubt that the butler knew. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t. Alfred seemed to know everything, to the point that Tim sometimes wondered if he knew about the secrets Tim was hiding.

He knew something had happened when Batman took off back in the direction he had just covered in patrol, moving even faster than he usually did when following a patrol route. 

Tim did his best to keep up, but he didn’t have a grapple and he was twelve, and small for his age. Even with all the parkour experience he’d gained, there was no way he was going to match Batman’s ability, and so it took him almost twice as long to reach the warehouse that was apparently Batman’s target. He’d have missed it if he hadn’t seen the edges of Batman’s cape as he dropped in from the roof.

Tim, who had been expecting a full on Rogue attack, or at least some major gang operation, based on the speed that Batman had been moving, was surprised to find a mostly empty warehouse when he peered in.

Batman was talking on his com again, and Tim managed to catch the tail end of whatever he was saying as he maneuvered himself into the warehouse onto a little ledge in the wall.

“...took it. Have Oracle see if she can pinpoint where they’re taking it.” Batman’s low voice echoed slightly in the empty room. 

Tim watched in fascination as Batman crouched down and examined the spot on the floor where he was standing, carefully tracing his gloved hand over what appeared to be a blank stretch of floor.

Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled something out that Tim was too far away to see, and after a few seconds, replaced it, and stood, touching his com again.

“ETA 5 minutes,”

Tim shrunk against the wall, trying to blend himself into the shadows as Batman looked up. If Batman grappled out the way he came, there was no way he would miss Tim. And there was no way for Tim to move without alerting Batman to his presence. He held his breath, praying that Batman would miss him, and only just prevented himself from heaving a big sigh of relief when Batman climbed out of one of the floor windows instead.

Tim didn’t let himself move for another 10 minutes.

When the coast was definitely clear, and his breathing had returned to mostly normal, he began the difficult process of climbing down. Whatever had been here seemed to have left something, and it was obviously important, or Batman wouldn’t have dropped everything to come here. If Batman thought that it was important, then Tim definitely needed to see what was going on.

Even though he was alone, Tim silently made his way over to the center of the floor, where Batman had just been standing. Even standing there, Tim couldn’t see anything. It looked like a stretch of regular old warehouse floor to him. Batman probably had something built into his cowl to detect residues of heat or something. Then again, maybe he was just a better detective than Tim was. It was Batman after all. There were times that even Tim questioned if he was completely human. 

Still, even without fancy gadgets or possible metahuman abilities, there still might be something that would give Tim a clue as to what was there. Tim crouched and began scanning the floor, lowering his face till his nose was almost touching. Nothing, except…

Tim could just barely make out some faint marks in a strange pattern, so faint for a moment he thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He gently ran his hand across the surface, like he had seen Batman do moments earlier, and Tim could feel minute differences to the surface of the concrete, made by whatever had been sitting there. Apparently something heavy enough to have left scratches in the concrete.

Retrieving a flashlight from his bag, and double checking that he really was alone, Tim shone the light over the spot. He could just make out a pattern of semi concentric rings, about a foot wide and tall. They seemed vaguely familiar. He studied them for a moment, running his hand back and forth along the faint grooves, but nothing came to him.

Tim put his flashlight in his mouth and lifted his camera and began methodically taking pictures of the markings from multiple angles. He’d edit the photos when he got home, see if he could get a clearer view of whatever was there.  He scanned the surrounding floor as well, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, or at the very least, nothing that Tim could see with just his eyes. 

The flashlight still in his mouth, Tim carefully swung his camera around his shoulder and reached for his bag. Out of the front pocket he pulled two of the test tubes and swabs he kept there. He sometimes liked to collect samples of the variety of chemicals used by the Rogues to try and analyze them himself. He had wanted to try and create counteragents for them, but there was only so much he could do with his limited resources. Still, any knowledge was better than none.

Carefully, he swabbed one of the faint grooves, making sure to get its entire length before replacing it in a tube. Taking the second swab, he rubbed it against the unmarked area between the rings, and again replaced it safely inside a tube. If there was residue left over from whatever had made the marks, Tim might be able to identify what material it was made out of, which would get him one step closer to figuring out what exactly it was and why Batman seemed so worried. Slipping the samples back into his bag, he made sure they were secure before making his way outside of the building (through an open window this time), and towards the bus station. There was no point in staying out when he had no way to find Batman.

Back in his room, bundled up in a blanket, he began uploading the photos of the marks onto both his computer and his tablet. While they were loading, he retrieved the sample tubes from his bag, before making his way over to his closet. Just because his parents were never home, didn’t mean he didn’t take precautions, especially with equipment that he’d “borrowed” from Drake Industries.

Inside his closet, underneath the rack of suits that he only ever wore a few times a year, was a mini lab station, cobbled together with bits and pieces of tech that Tim had been able to get his hands on. Some of it was old and slightly outdated, Tim having managed to sneak it away when his parents got things replaced. However, some of it had been retrieved through a carefully calculated ploy involving his parents’ email and hacking into the Drake Industries’ systems, in order to get it delivered straight to the manor. That particular scheme had taken most of last summer to achieve, but it had been worth it. 

While it was definitely not up to the quality that Batman most definitely had at the Batcave, it was functional, and Tim carefully placed his samples in the required locations, typed in some parameters, and hit start. It could only do so much, but still, any information was good, so Tim closed the door to his closet as the machine began to softly whir. It would probably take the rest of the night before it spat out any results, if it even got any. 

Returning to his desk, he opened up the clearest picture of the markings on his tablet, and increased the contrast, highlights, and shadows. The pattern was still faint, though a little clearer, and Tim carefully used the tablet's pen to trace the lines.

The rings he had been able to see before were coupled with strange symbols in between that he had been unable to make out at the warehouse. Even with the help of the computer, they were still faint enough that Tim wasn’t entirely sure he’d gotten all of them or not, or even if he’d traced them accurately. 

The longer Tim stared at it, the more sure he was that he’d seen something like it before, he just couldn’t remember where . He spent an hour combing over his pictures, and his trace of it, but there was still nothing that came to mind. Nada. Zilch.

He’d close his eyes for a few minutes, and then he’d comb over it again. 

Before Tim knew it, he was fast asleep, slouched over his desk.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up feeling like shit. Sleeping at your desk does that to you, who knew? Groaning, he pushed himself off his desk, and tried to stretch his shoulders and neck, stiff from the awkward position he’d forced them into all night. It probably didn’t help that he had also spent the night running, climbing, and chasing after Batman.

He took a quick shower with water as hot as he could manage, which felt glorious on his sore muscles. He would have gladly spent the rest of the day there if it weren't for the fact that he was going to miss the bus if he didn’t leave soon.

He pulled on his slightly crumpled uniform and hastily threw a jacket over it. One look out the window showed it to be one of those iron cold days, the ones that seemed to drill into your bones, even if you bundled up. Part of him wanted to stay home and feign being sick. The more responsible part of him forced himself to stuff his things into his backpack.

Before he left, he checked his lab. It was still whirring away. Which was honestly probably for the better because if he’d gotten the results, Tim knew himself well enough to know he would have skipped school to study them if he’d had them.

He was just locking the front door when the sound of a car rolling up the driveway made him fumble with his keys. The only people who ever came to the house were Mrs. Mac and his parents, and since Mrs. Mac wasn’t scheduled to come until later, it could only be his parents. But his parents couldn’t be here now. He was not properly attired, and why were they home early? They never came home early. Weeks or even months late, yes, but never early.

He combed through his hair with his fingers and desperately tried to straighten the wrinkles on his trousers before turning around, dread filling his stomach. 

To his surprise, It wasn’t his parents, if Jason sticking his head out of the window of one of the Waynes’ cars was any indication.

“Yo Timbit, we’re here to give you a ride to school!” Jason hollered. Tim took a deep breath to try and steady himself, but couldn’t think of a response. He scanned through his recent memories, trying to think if he had given any indication to Jason that he wasn’t capable of getting himself to school, but drew a blank.

Tim carefully made his way to the car, stopping just in front of the window, hands stuffed into his pockets, hiding the fact he’d forgotten his gloves. He didn’t particularly want to see Alfred’s reaction. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be great.

“Why are you here?” He asked, cringing at how accusatory it sounded.

“Because it’s fucking cold out,” Jason said, saying it like it was commonsense that Alfred and him would just take time to think about Tim and how he was getting to school. 

“Language Master Jason,” Tim heard Alfred reprimand. The driver’s side window rolled down.

“However, I must agree with Master Jason. It is far too cold for you to be walking, especially without a proper coat,” Alfred gave him a pointed look.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be a bother,” Tim said, shifting back and forth on his feet. His ears were starting to hurt. He needed to start moving soon or else he wouldn’t be able to move at all.

“It is no bother at all lad,” Alfred said. Jason nodded vigorously in agreement. Tim felt his resolve melting as his body continued to freeze.

“If you’re sure…” Tim hedged. He couldn’t feel his toes.

“Just get in here Timbo,” Jason opened the door and slid back across the seat to make room for Tim.

Tim sat, and closed the door. It was so warm and Tim slowly felt the feeling come back into his appendages.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to come and get me,” He said as Alfred pulled out of the driveway.

“Of course we did you idiot,” Jason said, nudging him in the shoulder. “We care about you,”

Tim couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face.

“Oh, and we’re taking you home too,”

Tim opened his mouth to protest. “Not buts,” Jason added. “It’s stupid cold, and you’re not walking any distance in that,” He grinned and turned to face the front, like the matter was completely settled.

That didn’t stop Tim from trying to talk him out of it for the rest of the day. But if Jason was anything, he was stubborn, and he didn’t let up.

“No negotiations Timmers, we’re driving you home,” Jason said every time Tim tried to talk him out of it. Tim gave up by math class. 

So Tim found himself, for the second time that day, sitting in the Waynes’ car. And to his further horror, Alfred didn’t even slow down at the turn off for his house.

“Um, where are we going?” He whispered to Jason.

“Home,” Jason said nonchalantly. “You have to try Alfie’s hot chocolate, it’s mandatory on cold days,”

Tim sputtered.

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” Jason shrugged, grinning mischievously. Tim didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to try and argue except he was interrupted by them pulling into the garage, and his door being immediately thrust open by one very excited Dick Grayson.

“Timmy! You came!” Before Tim knew it, he was being squeezed with enough force to momentarily cut off his oxygen supply. 

Tim wanted to reply that it hadn’t been much of a choice, they’d basically kidnapped him, but he was stopped by Dick picking him up and running into the house. Tim’s cheeks felt like they were going to burst into flame at any second.

Dick tossed him onto the couch, and Tim made to stand up but was immediately stopped by Jason wrapping him tightly in a blanket, turning him into a burrito.

“Perfect,” Jason stood back to admire his handiwork. Tim wriggled inside his cocoon but only managed to loosen the blankets’ hold a little. He was very confused.

“What are you doing?” He asked. He wanted to huff and cross his arms, but as they were still currently pinned to his side, he settled for a glare. Dick and Jason didn’t seem to care. They were probably immune after so much exposure to the Batglare. Neither answered his question. Instead, they settled in on either side of him, pinning him to the couch, and began scrolling through shows on the TV.

Tim’s annoyance was beginning to escalate, along with his confusion. He didn’t understand what was going on, and he continued to struggle against his blanket bondages with more energy. He managed to get one of his hands out, only for it to be immediately filled with a mug of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. 

He looked over at Jason, who’d already taken a large sip of his own hot chocolate, giving him a whipped cream mustache, a grin spread across his face. 

“You’ve never had hot chocolate like this,” He promised, taking another gulp. Tim glowered, but took a sip anyway. It was heavenly. Not too sweet, filled with spices, and the perfect temperature. Tim couldn’t stop himself from drinking more.

To his ever increasing surprise, Bruce walked in holding a pizza box aloft. Tim’s stomach gurgled without his permission.

“Pizzas here, we ready for family movie night?” 

“Yes sir!” Jason said. “Now gimme,” He made grabby hands towards the box, and Bruce gave an exasperated sigh before handing him the box and a stack of paper plates. He settled himself on the couch next to Jason.

Tim was not family. He was just their neighbor and Jason’s classmate. So why in the hell was he here? What possible reason would they have to basically kidnap him and hold him hostage for hot cocoa and a family movie night? 

“Eat,” Jason commanded as a paper plate with pizza was shoved into his hand. A movie began on the screen, but Tim wasn’t paying attention. He was angry, but he didn’t know why. Why was he at the Waynes' family movie night, eating pizza and drinking hot chocolate, when he wasn’t family? Why had they insisted on him being here?

His anger quickly dissolved into fear when he noticed the others’ faces throwing worried glances at him. He pretended to not notice, and looked resolutely at the screen.

What other reason other than them discovering he knew their secret identities would they have forced him here? Were they trying to lure him into security before locking him up forever? His stomach twisted. Of course they had found out. Tim was stupid to have thought he could’ve hidden it from them forever.

Tim considered trying to escape, but he knew it was futile. He was surrounded, and he was no match for the vigilantes. There was nothing he could do. They couldn’t just let him leave, he knew too much. 

Tim was having a hard time breathing. Any minute now, they’d pause the movie and announce that they were sorry, but they had to lock him up. They couldn’t let him leave. But they never paused the movie. 

Before Tim knew it, the credits were rolling and Dick was standing up stretching. Bruce had walked over to the window and was peaking through the blinds. Jason was half asleep on Tim’s shoulder, and even though every fiber of his being wanted him to bolt out, he didn’t want to disturb him. 

Dick glanced at the window where Bruce was standing,

“Wow, it’s really coming down out there,” He said, stopping mid stretch. Tim followed his gaze, and saw what he was talking about. It was snowing, hard , and it had already begun to pile up against the window.

“No one should be out in this,” Bruce said, dropping the blinds. He turned to look at Tim. “How would you feel about staying the night?”

Tim wanted to say no, but he knew that there was no way he’d be able to make it to his house. He’d freeze to death. And they weren’t going to let him leave anyway. They knew . 

He shrugged. He didn’t really have any other options, did he? 

“Perfect. I’ll have Alfred prepare a room for you,” Bruce said, already making his way out of the room. Tim wondered if that was code for a cell in the Batcave.

Well, if he was going to be locked up forever, at least he’d get to see the Batcave first. Tim wondered how long it would take for his parents to notice he’d gone missing, and immediately felt guilty. His parents were busy people. They had so much going on, it wasn’t their fault that they didn’t have that much attention to give to him. This whole mess was Tim’s fault anyways. 

Tim tried to resign himself to his fate. He didn’t think he’d miss school all that much, or his house. He would miss spending time with the Waynes and going Batwatching. Though maybe they’d be nice enough to come and visit him sometimes.

Tim couldn’t help the wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm him when Alfred and Bruce returned, asking him to follow Alfred to Tim’s room. Carefully removing the blanket and folding it he stood up straight, Tim placed it back on the couch and followed Alfred.

Except to his surprise, instead of a secret passageway, Alfred led him to a regular room on one of the upper levels.

“Here is where you’ll be staying for the night Master Tim. I’ve laid out some pajamas on the bed and there are toiletries you can use in the bathroom. Is there anything else you need before I let you turn in?” 

Tim shook his head, reeling in confusion. Ok so maybe they weren’t going to put him in a cell tonight. Maybe they were waiting for him to confess, and then they’d put him there.

“Well if a need arises, we are all quite close. Masters Jason and Dick’s rooms are across the hall, and Master Bruce’s is a few doors down. Please don’t hesitate to ask,” 

Tim nodded mechanically, still scanning the room for something to indicate that he was in trouble. Alfred gave him a small smile and left the room. Tim waited to hear the lock to click, but there was nothing. He tried the handle. It rotated smoothly. Not locked. 

Tim frowned. He had been so sure that they were going to lock him up, yet here he was, standing in a very nice guest room, with no one in sight. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he rubbed at them furiously. He didn’t understand what was going on. The Waynes could have no reason to bring him here tonight other than to lock him up, yet they hadn’t. He was not family, yet they had invited him to a family movie night. He was their neighbor, yet they had picked him up for school that morning without being asked to. 

Tim sat down with his back against the bed, and let the tears roll silently down his face. He didn’t know what to do.  He didn’t understand what was going on. And he just wanted to go back to when he understood everything. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of his control. 

A knock on the door startled him, and he quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stood up.

Dick peeked his head in.

“Hey baby bird, just wanted to say goodnight. I’m glad you’re staying with us tonight,” Tim forced a smile, and Dick’s eyes softened before he closed the door again.

Tim’s fake smile dropped from his face and he suddenly felt exhausted. He begrudgingly brushed his teeth and sat on the bed, knees close to this chest, not bothering to change into the pajamas. 

His eyelids grew heavy, and soon he was fast asleep.

He woke just as the sun was rising, and hearing no movement from the rest of the house, quickly rolled off the bed. He considered making it, but decided against it. He just wanted to get out of there.

He scribbled a quick note explaining that his parents had come to get him, that he didn’t want to wake anyone up, and thank you for letting him stay the night, and placed it on the bed.

20 minutes later, he was back at Drake Manor, thoroughly chilled to the bone. 

Chapter Text

Tim dreaded seeing Jason again after the disaster Friday night had been. He still didn’t really understand what had happened, but he felt incredibly stupid nonetheless. He must have really overstepped his bounds if the Waynes thought that he needed help. Tim would have to work on setting the record straight. 

He left his house extra early Monday to catch the bus, preventing Jason and Alfred from picking him up, and that afternoon he lied and said that his parents were coming to get him, they were just running a little late. Jason had suggested that he wait with Tim until they got there, but Tim insisted he’d be fine with such force that Jason had eventually caved.

Tim felt a sense of grim satisfaction as he sat on the bus. He’d obviously made a mistake somewhere along the way and led the Waynes to believe that he was incapable of taking care of himself. He’d have to distance himself from them, show them he was fine. It was not their responsibility to take care of him. That was on him. It’d always been on him, and obviously he’d begun to fail. And he was a Drake. The Drakes never failed.

So when Jason asked him if he wanted to come over, Tim lied and said that he couldn’t, he had something with his parents, or homework, or an appointment that he couldn’t miss, and he was sorry. Maybe another time? Tim could tell that Jason didn’t really believe him, and each lie cut his heart a little more, but it had to be done.

Luckily for Tim, he soon had a distraction, and a big one at that. And he threw himself into it as much as he could. Something strange was going on in the streets of Gotham. The major gangs were disappearing, one by one. And Tim could not figure out why. His informants had given him some vague details, about rumors of a new group, a serious one, but he could find no actual trace of said group. Something was happening, that much was obvious.

What could scare off some of the worst gangs of Gotham? A Rogue? As far as Tim knew, the Rogues most likely to be plotting such a serious plan were still locked up in Arkham, though that didn’t necessarily count them out, just made them less likely.

But even then, completely disbanding and disappearing wasn’t a proportional response to a Rogue attack. The major gangs tended to have affiliations with the Rogues, and Tim could sometimes predict which Rogue was planning something based on how active specific gangs were. (At some point in the future he was going to see if he could design an algorithm to predict that for him, there had to be data that could do that somewhere.) But this was different. Instead of laying low, it was like they were just vanishing, ceasing to exist. Tim couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone, no matter how much food he brought. It seemed even the people the most tuned in to dealings of Gotham’s underworld were in the dark, which was very troublesome. What could make some of the scariest people in Gotham, scared ?

So, ever since winter break started for school, Tim had spent every moment he could scouring surveillance footage and hacking into the GCPD’s files, looking for some explanation, but there was nothing. The police were just as clueless as everyone else. And they weren’t even doing anything to find out why. Crime had dropped significantly, so why bother investigating? Seemed to be the general mindset. Still, Tim had the distinct feeling that it was just a lull before the storm. Just what that storm was, he couldn’t tell.

Plus, he hadn’t had new leads on the strange markings Batman had found in the warehouse either. He knew he’d seen them before. But he was still unable to remember when or where. He’d looked through countless databases ranging from occult symbols to machinery and drug manufacturers. Nothing. 

There had to be some record of it somewhere, for Tim to have seen it before. He just had to find it. Which meant countless hours of internet searching until his eyes glazed over, ignoring the missed calls and texts that Jason kept sending. 

However, even Tim’s detective work was forced to stop. His parents were finally home, which meant that Tim could not work on any of his cases or go Batwatching at night. He probably could get away with it. His parents rarely paid attention to him even when they were home, always running out to meetings or meals with friends and investors, or so tired that they went straight to sleep afterwards. 

Still, Tim felt it better to err on the side of caution. And besides, he wanted to spend as much time as he could with them before they left again. He already had so little time that he needed to milk every moment.

And for once, his parents were staying home. They’d had only a few meetings, which meant that Tim was allowed to actually be with them, as long as he helped. So instead of investigating, he spent two days organizing and cataloging the artifacts his parents brought home and listening as they told him about the success of the business deal they had extended their trip for. Apparently a very wealthy businessman had been very interested in one of the artifacts they had uncovered a while back, and had offered to buy it for an exorbitant amount of money. Janet had managed to negotiate an extra 15% to the deal.

“Remember Timothy,” She said as he carefully labeled an ancient vase, “You can always get more. You are only limited by your own ability.” 

Tim woke up the morning of the Holiday Gala feeling terrible. His head was pounding, it hurt to swallow, and he was achy all over. And he couldn’t get warm, even as he burrowed deeper into his blankets. Of all the times to get sick, it had to be today? 

There was no way he could miss the Gala. His parents needed him there. He was an important part of the Drake team when it came to networking and promoting their image. It was the one of the only times he was able to actually help them, help carry the load that came with running such a large corporation.

Plus, they were leaving for the airport right after it ended for another dig. It would be his last chance to see them before they were gone for a couple more months. He had to go. He was going to go. Sick or not. 

It took forever for Tim to just roll out of bed, and even longer for him to make it to his bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet. But he made it there. Eventually. To his surprise, it was almost empty. 

Even just that much had left him exhausted. And he let himself collapse onto the floor, leaning with his back against the cabinet, his vision going blurry with fatigue and tears. He’d forgotten to have Mrs. Mac get him some more after the last time he was sick. Another wave of shivers wracked his body, and he pulled his knees closer to his chest, trying to preserve what little heat he had left. He rested his head against his knees and took a deep breath. Or tried to. His sinuses were so clogged that it didn’t do much. What was he going to do? 

What could he do?

There was probably more medicine in his parents’ bathroom, but he didn’t want them to know he was sick. They wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him in fear of catching it and being delayed. He knew because the last time he had been sick when they were home, they’d had him quarantined in his room until they left again.

And in his state, he couldn’t very well sneak in and borrow some. 

Shivers traveled through his body again, and he pulled his comforter more tightly around him. The chill of the bathroom tiles was not helping. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. Panicking would do no good. And Drakes don’t fold under pressure. 

He’d rest his eyes for a minute and then he’d inventory how much medicine he had left. Then he could go from there. He just had to problem solve.

Tim opened his eyes after a few moments and blinked against the harsh light. Laboriously, he shifted so he was facing the cabinet, and he grabbed the couple of bottles that remained. One was a simple decongestant, and the other a pain reliever. He peered inside; they each only had one dose left. Tim wanted to cry. 

He closed his eyes again and tried to will his brain to think clearly. He had to save something for the gala. There was no way he could go without medicine. Preferably the pain reliever. Which meant he could only take the decongestant now, and he’d have to suffer through the pain until just before the gala.

Groaning, Tim used the counter to pull himself up to face the sink. Not even bothering reaching for the cup he kept there, he turned the tap on and took a gulp of water. It hurt his throat. With shaking hands, he dumped the single pill out of the decongestant bottle, and popped it in his mouth, taking another drag of water from the faucet before twisting it off.

Somehow, he managed to make it back onto his bed, and he pulled another blanket over the top of him, which helped, a little bit. His parents wouldn’t check on him until an hour before the gala, when they were supposed to be leaving. He could let himself sleep until then. 

He turned his phone on, and upon seeing the time, his brain sluggishly tried to explain it. He’d woken up at 8:00 am, and yet his phone said it was 9:30 am. He couldn’t quite process it. It hadn’t been that long, right? 

His head gave a particularly hard throb and he couldn’t help the tears that fell onto his cheeks. He set an alarm for 4:45 pm. That’d give him 15 minutes to wake up and get ready before his parents came to get him. He’d barely managed to hit confirm on the alarm before he was out, phone still clenched in his hand.

Tim awoke to his alarm blasting what felt like only seconds later. He was still exhausted, but he pushed himself upright anyway. The decongestant had probably long worn off, or hadn’t worked at all, because Tim’s head and throat were still so sore. Even swallowing made him want to throw up. And he was still freezing. He placed the back of one of his hands against his forehead. It was hot . So that probably wasn’t good.

He blinked. There was something that he was supposed to be doing, wasn’t there? The fever and pain was making it hard to think.

Someone knocked on his door.

“Timothy, I hope that you’re getting ready. We have to leave in 10 minutes,” His mom said. Tim didn’t bother replying. He could hear her footsteps retreating down the hall. Right! He was going to the gala with his parents. That’s what he was supposed to be doing.

He dragged himself to the edge of his bed, blankets trailing behind him. Standing was difficult, but he managed it, and he made his way over to his closet on shaky legs. He grabbed the first suit he saw, tugging when it got caught on something.

He dropped his blankets right there, and shaking, slowly got changed. He didn’t bother putting his pajamas away or closing his closet. He didn’t have the energy.

He walked slowly into his bathroom and brushed his teeth and combed his hair, stopping several times to lean against the counter, his shaking legs refusing to support his weight. There wasn’t anything he could do for the shadows under his eyes, he didn’t think he could summon the energy to mask them.

There had been something else, hadn’t there? Something that was important he did before they left? Tim felt like his brain was trying to sift through fog. He really couldn’t remember. He glanced at his watch, and a sudden burst of anxiety forced him to move. He needed to get downstairs or they were going to be late. 

It was only after Tim was in the backseat of the limo hired to take them to the venue that he remembered; he had been supposed to take the medicine. Another wave of exhaustion poured over him, but he refused to slouch into it. He wasn’t going to disappoint his parents. He was going to push through the pain and exhaustion and he was going to make them proud. 

Tim summoned what energy he had left and held onto it like someone from a shipwreck, holding onto a piece of driftwood. He could do this. He had to.

Tim couldn’t do this. It’d only been 20 minutes. The lights were too bright, the sounds too loud, and he’d only barely managed to smile a few times as his parents talked to the other adults before it became too much.  He just needed a couple of minutes to rest his eyes. Then he’d go and mingle with his parents.

He looked around, through the blur of the people and lights and sounds. He just wanted somewhere dark. Through his haze, he saw a dark splotch. Blinking, Tim focused as a man with dark hair passed off his coat to an attendant. The coatroom! That was perfect.

Tim somehow made it into the room. He couldn’t really remember how he’d gotten there, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. It was so quiet. Tim could have cried in relief.

He collapsed into the corner, huddled beneath the coats, their shadows blocking out the little light that was in the room. One of them brushed against his cheek. It was so soft. And it smelled familiar . Like warmth and safety. 

Without thinking, Tim pulled it from its hanger, and covered himself in it. It was so warm . Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Tim was having the strangest dream. Someone was calling his name, like they wanted him to do something. But it was just so warm and comfortable . Why were they trying to make him leave? Why couldn’t they see that he was happy where he was? He just wanted to stay here forever, wrapped in the inexplicable warmth.

He heard his name again, this time softer. And he could almost imagine someone had their arms around him. He snuggled closer to whoever it was, and he felt the arms hold onto him tighter. The arms understood that he was perfectly comfortable right where he was. They didn’t try to take the warmth away. If anything, they made it warmer, and softer. Tim smiled, and burrowed his face further into something soft.

The dream shifted. Someone was whispering, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. They sounded worried. Tim wanted to tell them to relax, but his mouth wasn’t working. How could anything be wrong when he was bundled up so warm. A hand carded through his hair, and Tim felt like purring. See, everything was fine. The hand said so…

The first thing Tim noticed when he woke up was that he was lying on a bed, absolutely covered in blankets, as evidenced by their sheer amount of weight. Which was…strange. He didn’t think he owned that many blankets.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember going to bed at all, let alone piling himself with blankets. The last thing he could remember was going to the coatroom at the gala to take a nap. How had he gotten home?

Tim opened his eyes, expecting to see the outlines of his dirty room, and was completely unprepared to see a different room altogether. It looked vaguely familiar, but Tim’s brain was still running like molasses, and he couldn’t quite place it. A thought came to him. Maybe he was still sleeping, and this was all just a dream. He rubbed his eyes. Opened them again. Nope, he was still there. Not a dream.

Tim froze as he heard someone shift. He turned to his left, and to his amazement, saw Jason Todd, sitting in a large armchair, fast asleep. A blanket draped haphazardly over him. Tim felt his blood freeze as he recognized where he was. Wayne Manor . The guest room he had stayed in that one night, to be exact.

He let his head fall back onto the pillow. How had he gotten here? Why was he here? And why was Jason in the room with him? Tim tried to remember the events that led him here, but his memory was coming up blank. He was so confused. Why was he at the Waynes’ and not at home? Where were his parents?

He closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears that welled up in his eyes. They came anyway, sliding down his temples, dripping into his hair. He’d tried, he really had, to keep a distance between him and the Waynes. Yet, here he was, once again. His stomach twisted with guilt. If he had just remembered to take his medicine before the gala, he wouldn’t be here now, taking up the Waynes’ precious time and energy. 

He was just so tired …

The next time Tim woke up, it was to the sound of whispers. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they sounded worried. Tim’s stomach twisted when he heard his name. They were worried because of him.  

The guilt squeezed his stomach, and Tim felt like he was going to implode from the weight of it all, a miniature black hole, sucking in everything in its path, still hungry for more. And all of this because he couldn’t take care of himself when he had the flu. He was better than this. He was twelve years old for Christ’s sake, he should have been able to take care of something as simple as being sick. There was no reason for anyone else to worry, and yet here they were. And it was all Tim’s fault. He unconsciously let out a whimper, the dark hole in his chest gnawing at his insides.

The whisperings ceased, and Tim heard someone cross the room, and sit down on the end of his bed. He tried to take a small breath, but it was more of a shudder. He opened his eyes to see Bruce Wayne smiling softly at him. He placed his hand gently on Tim’s leg, and Tim tried to ignore the warmth it ignited in his chest.  It was selfish of him.

“How are you feeling kiddo?” He asked. “You had us pretty worried there,” Tim wanted to burst into tears, seized by panic. He pushed it all down, tried to be calm and collected. 

“I’m really sorry for being such an inconvenience Mr. Wayne. It was all my fault, I forgot to take some medicine before the gala.” He’d bolted upright, words were tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, the black hole threatening to consume him. “And I only meant to rest my eyes-”

“Woah,” Bruce reached out with both of his hands to touch Tim’s shoulders. Tim snapped his mouth shut. “You’re not in trouble Tim,” He said it with such a gentle tone, with such sincerity that Tim felt something inside of him crack. Before he knew it, Tim was sobbing and strong arms were wrapped around him. For once, he let himself be held, burrowing his face into Bruce’s neck. 

After five minutes, when his breathing had evened out, and his tears had slowed, Tim remembered where he was, who he was hugging and he pulled away cheeks flaming. He felt them burn hotter when he noticed the tear and snot stains he had left on the collar of Bruce’s sweatshirt.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered. What the hell was he doing?  He should be going home. He threw his covers off and made to get out of the bed, but a gentle, yet firm, arm stopped him. He was gently guided back under the covers. Bruce turned to face him. Tim lowered his eyes.

“Tim, can you look at my face?” Tim wanted to do the exact opposite and burrow deep into the earth. “Please, I need you to see my face when I tell you this,” Tim’s shoulders hunched up to his ears, and it took all his willpower to do it, but he met Bruce’s gaze, confused to just see softness there. No disappointment.

“Tim, you are not an inconvenience,” Bruce paused, as if to let it sink in. “And we have been happy to take care of you,” Tim couldn’t help but scrunch his nose, or the release of the question at the top of his mind.

“But why? I’m just your neighbor,” Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Jason, who Tim had not noticed entering the room.

“Because idiot, you’re family,” He rolled his eyes as if it was obvious. “And we take care of family,”

“Well you shouldn’t have to!” Tim yelled. His eyes widened, and he clamped his hands over his mouth. What was happening to him? It was like all of a sudden his self control had vanished and he was lashing out like a toddler. He was better than this.

He looked down at his lap, ready to say his apology, but his lips wouldn’t move. And it was hard to breathe. He’d blown it. He’d thought only of himself and now Jason was going to be mad at him, and all because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

He could feel the stares of Bruce and Jason on him. No one was saying anything. Bruce was probably furious. Jason had only been trying to help. Tim should have kept a tighter grip on his emotions.

The silence was becoming too much. He finally looked up, expecting to see disappointment, but instead, Bruce was…Tim didn’t know what Bruce was. He wasn’t disappointed or angry. Tim could tell that. But he couldn’t really decipher what was the emotion playing across his face. He didn’t even know if he wanted to know. He looked back down at his lap.

“Jaylad, will you go and ask Alfred to bring some soup and hot cocoa up for Tim?” Bruce asked. Tim avoided looking at Jason. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear seeing the disappointment and anger in the other boy’s eyes.

“Sure thing Pops,” Jason replied, sounding oddly cheerful. Tim still didn’t lift his head, just listened as he made his way across the room and then into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him.

 “Tim, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s ok,” Bruce said, after a few moments. “And then I’m going to let you get some more rest, your body’s been through a lot,” Tim nodded mechanically.

“When did you start feeling sick?”

That was not the question Tim had been expecting. He lifted his head and stared at the wall behind Bruce.

“Um, yesterday morning, I think?” He shrugged before adding, “Right when I woke up,”

“Did your parents have you take any medicine?”

“I didn’t tell them,” Tim mumbled. He hung his head again, feeling unbelievably stupid. 

“I see,” Bruce paused for another moment. “May I ask why you didn’t tell them?” 

“I didn’t want to worry them. They were already so stressed about the gala, and I knew they needed me there and they never would have let me go if they knew I was sick, and I didn’t want to let them down,” Tim began to fidget with his hands, twisting them together. “I can take care of myself,” He added, finally gaining the courage to look Bruce in the face again. He needed him to understand . 

“I didn’t want to add anything to their plate, not when I could have handled it myself. I was handling it myself,”

“Tim, you passed out in the coat room because of an untreated fever. Your parents didn’t even notice,” Bruce said.

“It wasn’t their fault though!” Tim cried. “ I didn’t tell them I was sick, so it’s my fault, not theirs’,”

“Tim, they’re your parents. It’s their job to take care of you, to notice if you’re sick and to make sure that you’re ok-”

“But I can take care of myself! Why can’t you understand that?” Tim yelled. He was being so selfish and so, so stupid, but he was having a hard time caring at the moment. “Why should they have to do something that I can handle by myself?”

Bruce took a deep breath in, and released it, opened his mouth, closed it again. There . He was finally getting it.

“Tim, I know that you are very smart, capable, and mature. You have done a very good job at taking care of yourself,” Tim felt his anxiety loosen in his chest. “But-” the anxiety returned, “it should not have been your job in the first place. You’re still a kid. And it’s the adults in your life that are ultimately responsible for your wellbeing, regardless of how mature you are,”

Tim opened his mouth to protest again, but Bruce beat him to it.

“Do you think that Jason is mature and capable?” Tim was confused.

“Of course,” He hedged. Jason was Robin , he was beyond capable.

“But do I let Jason take care of himself when he’s sick or injured?”

“No…” Tim scrunched his eyebrows. Where was this going?

“Even though Jason has the ability , it does not mean that he should be taking care of himself, by himself. It’s my job as his parent to help him and take care of him and make sure that he has what needs, because I’m the adult. Does that make sense?”

Tim didn’t really know what to say, so he opted to not say anything at all. Bruce sighed.

Jason and Alfred chose that moment to enter, and Tim looked up at their entrance, stomach growling at the scent of the chicken noodle soup Alfred carried on a tray. He had not realized how hungry he was. Alfred handed him the tray, and Tim carefully stabilized it to ensure it wouldn’t spill.

“Thank you Alfred,” He said quietly.

“It is not a problem dear boy, just try not to eat too much at once,” 

“Tim, can I ask you one more question?” Bruce asked. Tim, whose mouth was already full of soup, nodded.

“How would you feel about staying with us until your parents get home from their trip?” Tim swallowed his soup all at once, wincing at his already sore throat.

“I couldn’t possibly- I don’t want to-” Tim struggled to find his words. He shouldn’t . He couldn’t .

“I-”

“Tim, we would love to have you here, but only if you’re comfortable with it. You would not be an imposition or a burden,” Bruce said. “We want to have you here because we care about you,”

Tim opened his mouth.

“Hey you’d be doing me a favor. I won’t have to deal with Dickhead all by myself. He gets insufferable when he’s home for longer than a couple of days,” Jason cut in.

“But it’s the holidays ,” Tim protested, finally finding his voice. “I’d just be getting in the way,”

“No you wouldn’t-” Jason started. Bruce gave him a look, which stopped him from continuing.

“Tim, we care about you and we’d love to have you here for the holidays. You wouldn’t be getting in the way,” Bruce gave him a searching look. “But if you don’t feel comfortable staying here, that’s also ok. We’ll support you regardless of what you choose. We just want you to be happy,”

“Oh,” Tim said.

“You don’t have to decide right now. Take all the time you need,” 

“Okay,” Tim whispered.

“Now, I believe that you, young sir, need to finish your soup and get some more rest,” Alfred said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll return in a few hours with your next dose of medicine,” The butler gave the others a pointed look, and everyone stood to leave.

Tim was soon alone, left to ponder. What was he going to do? His stomach gave another growl. 

Well, it wouldn’t do to think on an empty stomach. He picked up his spoon, and dug in.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing that Bruce hated the most about keeping his secret identity intact, it was the mask he had to wear at Gotham’s galas. Though he had long ditched the playboy Brucie (it had stopped really being believable when he’d taken in Dick), he still had to do a lot of posturing, and smiling, and pretending like he didn’t know the darkest secrets of the people around him.

So he laughed at the weak joke of a businessman who he knew to be financially involved in at least three of Gotham’s major gangs, pretended to believe the politician who said he was very concerned about the state of healthcare in Gotham, and tried to stop himself from grinding his teeth to a powder.

It didn’t help that his side was bruised from a particularly rough encounter with some rogue henchman, or that he had completely forgotten to take the ibuprofen that Alfred had handed him as they walked out the door. He tried to turn the grimace that threatened to appear on his face into a smile when someone clapped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t think he managed to quite convince the person he was talking to that he wasn’t deranged.

Jason, who was standing right next to him, was quietly observing the room. Bruce knew he was looking for Tim, who was “the only reason” Jason had agreed on coming tonight. They’d barely seen the boy the past few weeks, and Bruce knew that Jason was worried, especially since Tim seemed to be actively avoiding them.

Bruce was beginning to be a little concerned as well. Tim’s behavior had puzzled him since Jason had first brought him back to the manor. At first, he’d chalked it up to being shy, but there was something unexplainable about Tim’s behavior. He always looked like he was hiding something and yet he was one of the most well-behaved and thoughtful kids Bruce had ever met. 

Still, it’d been two hours since they’d arrived, and there’d been no sign of the Drakes. That wasn’t too surprising, since the room was packed, but Bruce could tell that Jason was getting frustrated.

As the person he’d been talking to excused themself, Bruce leaned down to Jason’s ear.

“Can you go and get the ibuprofen from my coat pocket?”

Jason smirked.

“What, your back hurting old man?” He teased, but handed Bruce his glass anyway, and darted through the crowd towards the coat room. 

Bruce was soon caught in conversation with yet another business man intent on making a deal with Wayne Industries, though he was less focused on the words, and more on the twinges of pain through his side, so much so that when he sensed Jason return to his side, he abruptly cut the man off to excuse himself.

Except when he turned to Jason, the boy’s expression immediately put him on high alert. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Something was wrong . 

“What happened?” Bruce asked, searching him for injuries. 

“It’s Tim,” Jason whispered, and jerked his head towards the coat room. “I found him passed out. I think he’s sick,”

Bruce immediately started pushing his way through the crowd, Jason tailing behind him.

There, in the corner of the coatroom, bundled up under Bruce’s own coat, was Tim, who looked frightfully pale.

Bruce knelt down in front of him and placed the back of his hand against the boy’s forehead. He was burning up.

“Tim?” Jason asked, crouching down next to Bruce. Tim didn’t respond, just shivered. Bruce turned to his son.

“Jay, I need you to go and find his parents. Get Dick to help,” He nodded and sprinted out of the room. Bruce turned back to Tim, and completely ignoring the pain in his side, gently picked the boy up, coat and all. He was so light . Too light.

Tim drew closer to Bruce, and he tightened his hold slightly. Why had his parents let him come when he was so obviously sick? Had they even noticed he wasn’t in the ball room?

Bruce grabbed Jason and Dick’s coats from the rack, and pulled them around Tim, whose shaking slowed. A few minutes passed, only marked by Tim’s shallow breathing.

The door opened letting the light and noise from the party spill in, along with Jason and Dick.
“Poor Timmy,” Dick whispered, seeing Tim in Bruce’s arms.

“They left,” Jason said, anger biting its way through his tone. “They left an hour ago to catch a flight. They forgot him,”

Bruce felt rage begin to boil up inside of him and he took a deep breath. This was neither the time, nor the place.

“Dick, go and tell Alfred to bring the car around,” He told his eldest. With one last sad look at Tim, he left.

“Please tell me we’re taking him home,” Jason said. Bruce nodded. He’d started to suspect that the Drakes weren’t the most attentive parents, seeing as how they were constantly traveling, but to forget their sick son was something else altogether. Bruce felt his stomach sink as he recalled Tim’s behavior. 

He looked down at the boy bundled in his arms, and couldn’t help the protective spark that it ignited at the sight. Tim smiled in his sleep.

He looked back up to see Jason giving him a knowing look with an arched eyebrow.

“Poor lad,” Alfred murmured as he took Tim’s temperature. He showed the screen to Bruce. 101 degrees. “And you said Master Jason found him in the coatroom?” Alfred asked as he began administering medicine.

“Yes. I don’t think his parents even noticed he’d gone missing. They’re already on a flight to Dubai,” Bruce whispered back, looking at Tim’s pale face. He’d hacked into the airline systems once they’d gotten Tim in bed.

Alfred clicked his tongue in disapproval, but didn’t say anything more. Tim shifted in his sleep, his forehead wrinkling. Without thinking, Bruce reached out and started running his hand through the boy’s hair. Tim relaxed.

Alfred made his way to the door, but turned back to face Bruce.

“Might I remind you sir that you are suffering from an injury? I shall send Master Jason to come and sit with Master Tim, and then you are required in the basement to be properly treated,” Alfred’s tone brooked no arguments, and Bruce assented. Now that the adrenaline of finding Tim had run out, he was feeling the pain in his side even more. He wanted to stay anyways, he’d dealt with worse, but he knew that Alfred would get his way in the end regardless. It was better to get it over with now.

Still, for the next few minutes before Jason came back, he sat with Tim, running his hand through the boy’s sweaty hair. They were going to do something about this whole situation, but Bruce instinctively knew they were also going to have to tread lightly. Even if all he wanted to do was wrap Tim up in his arms and hold him there forever, safe from the world.

Chapter Text

Tim wanted to think through Bruce’s offer to stay thoroughly. Lay out all the details, the pros and cons, weigh the risks and benefits. His sick brain, however, refused to cooperate. Every time he attempted to make his lists, his brain fizzled out, incapable of staying on task. And for the first time in his life, he was struggling to summon the willpower to make himself make the right choice. He couldn’t stay. Yet even the thought of going back to that empty house was insupportable. He was exhausted even considering it. He didn’t think he had it in him to go home.

Which is how he found himself agreeing to stay for the rest of Winter break, feeling only a twinge of guilt at the relief he felt when he told Bruce. And when he told Jason and Dick, he found it impossible to summon any guilt at all.

Dick pulled him into the tightest hug he’d ever had. Jason beamed. Even Alfred gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

Despite all of Tim’s attempts to remind himself that it wasn’t going to last and that he still needed to tread carefully, it didn’t dampen his mood. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy.

He helped Alfred make cookies, he watched movies with Bruce, played video games with Jason, went sledding with Dick. They even included him in the decorations. Tim couldn’t remember the last time his house had been decorated for a holiday. And he certainly didn’t have any of the handmade decorations the Waynes did. There were things that Thomas and Martha Wayne had created when they were children that Bruce still put up every year, along with his own creations, made when he was a toddler.

And for once, Tim let himself enjoy it all, ignoring the ever growing feeling of dread in his stomach.

The one thing he wished for was to be able to go Batwatching. He hadn’t been out for weeks, and the itch to get out there, even if it was just to run across the rooftops was getting to him. But as long as he was at Wayne Manor, there was no way he’d be able to go. For one, it was probably impossible to bypass all of the security measures, and even if it was possible, there was no way Tim was going to attempt it and blow everything. Plus there was also the problem of getting back to the manor before the Bats did. Since, without fail, Bruce peeked in his room every night after patrol. It was far too risky.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he also couldn’t work on his case files either, because of the same safety issues. There was absolutely no way he was going to bring his computer over to probably one of the most encrypted wifi networks in the world.

And he was trying to be ok with it. He really was. Batman had been solving crimes long before Tim had entered the picture, he didn’t need him, not like he needed Robin. He hadn’t even known that Tim existed until recently.

He feigned ignorance at the various injuries they kept coming home with, which had been particularly difficult when Dick had broken his arm “slipping on ice”. (Tim didn’t know if he should feel insulted or not that they thought he’d buy that excuse. There wasn’t a patch of ice within a mile of Wayne manor, its walkways always well salted and shoveled.) He ignored the way conversations often stopped when he entered the room and tried not to feel hurt. And he pretended not to know why everyone was always tired in the morning.

Until he couldn’t.

He and Bruce had been discussing the technology his parents used to study the artifacts they collected. And Bruce actually seemed interested in what Tim was explaining.

“My favorite is how they date the paintings. My dad explained it to me once, how they take samples from the paint, the glue, and the varnish they used, and run them through the machine to give them their exact chemical makeup. Then they can usually use that information to deduce when and where the painting was made, because of the-” He trailed off. Because he had suddenly remembered his own little laboratory abandoned in his closet, most definitely done with running its tests. He only just prevented himself from gasping out loud.

The samples! They’d been sitting there for weeks, and Tim had just forgotten about them. Some detective he was.

“You ok Tim?” Bruce asked gently. Tim hadn’t noticed he’d spaced out.

“Yeah, totally! I just-” His brain scrambled for an excuse. “I just remembered I didn’t bring my camera with me,” He winced internally at how weird he sounded, but it was too late to back out now.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed photography,” Bruce said with a kind smile, not seeming to find the sudden switch in any way suspicious. “Do you want to go back to your house and get it? I can drive you,”

“Oh, um” Tim bit his lip, an idea coming to him. “No thank you. I’ll just walk. I think the-um, the air will be good for me, you know?”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Tim nodded firmly. “I promise I won’t be long. It’ll take me thirty minutes, tops. I’ll be back before it gets too dark,” It would actually take him five minutes if he sprinted, giving him twenty minutes to analyze the results and delete any incriminating evidence off his camera before he needed to be back.

He waited only for Bruce to nod, and slowly say ok before he raced out of the room with a hurried “Thank you!” shouted over his shoulder.

He pulled his coat and shoes on faster than he’d ever done before, and with a quick shout to Alfred to let him know where he was going, he bolted out of the manor and towards his house.

He made it in record time, and breathing heavily, he let himself into the house, barely noticing how stale the air tasted. He didn’t bother taking his shoes or coat off, or locking the door behind him. He wasn’t going to be here that long anyway.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst into his room, heading straight for his closet. Uncovering the lab, he sighed in relief to see the screen on, blinking to indicate that it had identified something in the sample.

Blood thrumming with excitement, he read through the results, freezing when he recognized two of them.

Once, when he was younger, he’d asked his dad about how they cleaned artifacts without damaging them. In a long winded explanation, he’d explained the processes, as well as the special cleaners they had to use to prevent damage to the piece. Tim had soaked up every minute of it, reveling in the attention from his dad.

Which is why he recognized the two compounds for exactly what they were, artifact cleaning compounds.

He stood up and raced over to his computer, booting it on, foot tapping impatiently as it took a few minutes after weeks of disuse. He had been positive he’d seen the markings before. What if the reason why was that they’d been on an artifact his parents had brought home? If that was the case, then the artifact, along with any work that’d be done to it, would be in the Drake Industries database, which Tim could very easily access, along with all work done on it since it came into their possession. 

Why hadn’t he checked there before? It would have saved him, and Batman, weeks of chasing leads.

Soon, he was oblivious to the outside world as he carefully checked every artifact that had ever come into contact with the two cleaning compounds that his lab had spit out, which was a lot . Thousands of artifacts in the database that had been cleaned with those chemicals. It was going to take a while.

Tim had been searching for hours. He was just about to take a break when he clicked onto the next picture, depicting the bottom of some weather totem. It took a second for Tim’s sluggish brain to realize what the markings were showing.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, jumping up. Because on his screen were an exact match of the markings he had found in the warehouse. What someone wanted with it, Tim had no idea. But he’d found it! And now he could get that information to– To Bruce. Who had said to be back in thirty minutes. Tim grabbed at his phone, and cringed when he saw the time. He’d been there for hours and his phone was flooded with notifications.

Though they weren’t texts from Bruce or Jason or Dick. They were pings on his Bat tracking algorithm. He clicked on the first one and his heart stopped.

Thoughts of the artifact or returning to Wayne Manor vanished from his mind. With shaking hands, Tim switched over to the news, and felt the blood drain out of his face as he opened live footage of the situation. In the hours that he had been researching, the Riddler had escaped Arkham. That in of itself wasn’t a surprise. It was common enough. No, it was what the Riddler had done that was truly horrifying.

The Riddler was smiling at the camera he was live streaming from. Front and center, tied to a chair, a lump swelling on his forehead and a fresh cut across his lip, was Robin, unconscious. Or at least Tim hoped he was only unconscious. He wasn’t moving.

His brain wouldn’t process what the Riddler was saying. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He just stared. And stared. Because he had just seen Jason. And yet he was there. There was no denying it. Tim tried to focus on what the villain was saying, but couldn’t focus. The words didn’t make sense. 

“-you’re on a timeline Batman. Either you prove your intelligence, or the poor little Birdy won’t make it past midnight,” Tim felt every nerve in his body freeze.

“Let the games begin,” The Riddler said, laughing. The video stopped, freezing on the last chilling frame. Tim tried to take a breath, but no air would come. Robin was going to be killed if Batman didn’t get there in time. But he would. Batman always got there in time. He’d beaten the Riddler before. He’d do it again. No doubt, Batman was already on the case, was already working on both the riddles and attempting to backtrack the Riddler’s signal. Still, Tim couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. There had to be something he could do. Something that would help.

Time suddenly seemed to be moving too fast. Seconds speeding by with every shaky inhale of breath. Tim forced himself to look away from the screen from Robin’s beat up face and the Riddler’s smirk.  He began to try and triangulate where the footage had been streaming from. But his hands were shaking too much to type clearly, and he couldn’t stop looking over at the frozen picture. With every glance, fire shot through his nerves.

Still he soldiered on, tracking signals, breaking through firewalls. Gotham needed Robin. Batman needed Robin. The hope that he could somehow find where the signal was coming from began to dwindle as Tim continued on. The Riddler was too good. He had hidden his signal through at least a different dozen security walls. Tim might have been able to crack it if he had hours, but it would be too late by then. It was already nearing 10:30. 

Tim felt like his whole body was going to explode, he was trembling so hard. He glanced back over at the picture, tears beginning to well in his eyes. This shouldn’t have been happening. There had to have been something he could have done to have stopped this. He should have stayed at the manor. Then maybe Jason wouldn’t have left. He should’ve-

A tiny detail in the picture caught his eye. He scrambled to pick up his phone, and he zoomed in as much as he could in the left hand corner of the picture. He could just make out the edge of a door frame, beautifully carved but old and cracking, almost invisible from the shadows. Recognition and relief flooded his brain. He knew that detailing.

Tim knew exactly where Jason and the Riddler were. Fire and ice flushed through his veins, making his heart beat faster. There wasn’t any time to find Batman. Not if they had any chance of saving Jason. Tim would have to figure something out by himself. He paused only to grab his hoodie before he was running out of his house faster than he’d ever ran before. Jason needed help. And Tim was the only one that could help him.

Chapter Text

Dick was sick with worry. All he wanted to do was don his uniform and find the Riddler and beat him to a pulp, damn Bruce’s rules. No one hurt his little brother. 

But he was benched, regardless of the circumstances. His arm was broken, and firmly encapsulated in a cast. He would be more a hindrance than any help in the field, unable to grapple or even really fight. 

At least that was Bruce’s opinion. Dick still thought that he could probably manage it. He hadn’t trained under Batman for nothing, but one look from Alfred meant that he was most definitely not going out tonight.

So he was pacing. Because so much energy flowed through him that he thought he might explode if he stood still for any longer. They had had no luck in locating where Jason was being held. The video had been heavily encrypted. And Babs was working on it as fast as she could, but Dick worried that it wouldn’t be fast enough.

It had frozen nearly an hour ago, the Riddler’s smirk frozen in place. Dick couldn’t keep his eyes off of it, of Jason’s limp form, in the background. The echo of the Riddler’s last words still ringing in his head. Bruce’s voice drew Dick’s attention away momentarily.

“Has Magpie come back yet?” His voice echoed through the cave. Dick felt the ghost of a smile. Code names had to be used in the cave and over coms, it was protocol. Which meant that they’d had to come up with something for Tim, even though he didn’t know the truth. They talked about him a lot during patrol.

“I do not believe so, sir,” Alfred said. “I suggest that Nightwing go and check on him,”

Dick opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Bruce.

“Go. You can’t do anything more here,” 

Dick wanted to yell something profane back, but Alfred gave him another look, and he clamped his mouth shut. They were right. And they needed to make sure that Tim was ok. It’d been long past his promised return time. Knowing the kid, he’d probably got sucked into a project or something.

“Call me the second you have an update,” Dick said.

Alfred nodded, smiling grimly.

“We’re going to get him back,” He promised. And Dick felt a modicum of his anxiety release in his chest. If Alfred said it, it was true.

With one last glance at the image of the Riddler and Jason, Dick sprinted up the stairs back to the manor.

Pulling on a coat, he grabbed the keys to his bike before remembering his arm. There was no way he could drive his motorcycle with only one functional arm. At least, no safe way, especially if he was bringing Tim back. He’d have to make do with one of the cars.

The minute he pulled into the Drakes’ driveway Dick knew something was wrong. The door was ajar. And if Dick knew one thing about Tim, it was that he was very conscientious about following the rules. 

Dick’s stomach twisted with anxiety. Tim was in danger. He pulled out the emergency escrima stick he kept in his pocket at all times, but kept it unignited. He didn’t want to make a noise that would give him away. He clenched it with his good hand and began silently making his way to the front porch.

He paused at the door only to examine the lock. It hadn’t been forced. Whoever was here, they’d had a key or they’d picked it. The feeling of dread began to compound. Had the Riddler discovered Tim’s connection to Batman and Robin? Had he been dragged into this whole mess? Dick would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to Tim, especially if it was their fault. 

He took a step inside, straining his ears. The house was silent. Nothing looked disturbed. Dick glanced down at the floor and spied a single set of muddy footprints, about the size of Tim’s shoes. They were leading towards the staircase.

Dick followed them, moving swiftly but silently. At the top of the stairs was a hallway lined with doors. Only one door was open. Dick took a deep breath, the stale air congealing in his lungs. He’d have to be quick, keep the element of surprise. Dick ran to the door and stepped inside, escrima stick at the ready. 

The room was empty. Dick relaxed his stance slightly, taking in the room. It was definitely Tim’s room, but it was a mess . For a split second, Dick thought that it’d been ransacked. Tim was freakishly clean and organized. He folded blankets after he was done using them. Always . But as Dick took in the room, he didn’t see anything that looked as if it had been searched through. In fact, it looked more like his room, just cluttered and disorganized.

“Tim?” He shouted, poking his head out the room. Silence. He stepped out, and began examining the other rooms, all of which had a layer of dust on them that had not been disturbed. Dick took a deep breath. There wasn’t anyone here. Maybe he’d overreacted, what with everything happening. There didn’t seem to be any signs of a forced entry, a struggle, or someone forcibly taking Tim away.

But that just created more questions than answers. Because if Tim wasn’t here, and he wasn’t at the manor, and he hadn’t been taken, where in the hell was he?

Dick put his escrima stick away, and pulled out his phone. He dialed Tim’s number. It went immediately to voicemail. Dick tried again. Again, it went to voicemail. Dick tried to steady his shaking hand as he called Alfred.

“I need you to trace Tim’s phone,” He said, the minute the line connected.

“Is he not at his house?” Alfred said, worry coating his voice. Dick could hear the tapping of keys in the background.

“He isn’t here. The door was left open, but there’s no sign of a struggle. I have no idea where he’d go,” Dick said, making his way back to Tim’s room. Maybe there was something in Tim’s room to give them an idea as to where he was going.

“I’m afraid I cannot track his phone Master Dick,” Alfred said.

“What? What do you mean?” 

“I mean that either his phone is turned off, or there is some sort of signal blocking it,” Dick wanted to vomit. Something was going on. He could feel it.

He sat down heavily at the desk and wiped a hand over his face. Both Jason and Tim were missing. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

“Master Dick?” Alfred asked. But Dick’s attention had been grabbed by what was showing on Tim’s computer screen, which had been woken up when Dick had jostled the desk.

It had three windows open. One, connected to his camera, which was plugged into the computer. It was the pictures that were being shown that made Dick’s blood go cold. Because there were dozens of pictures of Batman and Robin and him . And not ones taken by the press. These were close. Taken during fights. Dick didn’t feel his arm move, but suddenly he was scrolling through the pictures, and every one was like another punch to the gut.

A shot of Robin taking down a mugger. One of Batman throwing a Batarang. One of him from a few weeks ago, flipping in midair. Had Tim been following them? How had they not noticed?

And did Tim know ? Did he know their identities? For a split second, Dick wondered if Tim had been spying on them for someone, before an even worse thought crossed his mind. Had someone figured out that Tim might know? Had they taken Tim? What would someone do for the identities of the Bats? 

The second window showed a series of code, attempting to locate where a signal was being broadcasted from. Dick recognized the signal he’d been tracking. It was the same one that he had been staring at for over an hour. Dick didn’t know how Tim was capable of even attempting to crack the Riddler’s encryptions, yet here was the proof. Yet it looked like it had been abandoned quickly, a line of code still unfinished.

 Dick looked at the final window still open, and felt his heart sink even more. It showed a Drake Industries archive entry depicting an artifact with very familiar markings. The same markings that Bruce had been investigating for weeks, the ones that were definitely related to a Ra’s al Ghul and League of Assassins plot, but had been unable to decipher in any capacity.

Yet, Tim, apparently, had managed to figure out where the markings had come from all on his own. Suddenly, everything made sense. Who but the League of Assassins could have taken someone without leaving a trace? 

“Alfred?” Dick said, dread pooling in his stomach. “I think Tim may have been taken by the League of Assassins,”

He heard Alfred draw in a sharp breath.

Chapter Text

Tim slipped behind the dumpster in the alleyway next to the Opera house and took a deep breath, trying to think of a plan that wouldn’t get him or Jason killed. Because that’s all he had come up with so far. Plans so stupid that would almost definitely end in disaster and/or just make things a thousand times worse.

What did he know? Jason was being held in one of the basement rooms of the Opera house, that much, Tim was sure of. He’d spent too much time wandering during events to have not recognized the detailing on all the door frames in the building. Which room, he had no idea. Just that it would be away from the main levels, where the frames were well kept, seeing as how the one in the video had appeared to be very worn.

The Riddler was likely to have at least some guards, or at the very least, some tricks. He liked to play games after all. What those were likely to be, Tim had no idea, just that they’d be designed to stump Batman.

Which left him with next to nothing. And he was running out of time. The longer he waited, the closer to the Riddler’s deadline that they got. Tim was the only one who knew where they were. He had to do something. Or he had to at least try. Pulling his hood up higher over his face, Tim took another deep breath, trying to gather his nerves. He could do this. He had to.

He sprinted across the alleyway to the back door to the Opera house, which was unfortunately, but not surprisingly, locked. Luckily, Tim had gotten pretty good with locks from his time following the Bats. The door was soon open, the only sound a soft click as the last of the tumblers fit into its slot. He slipped in, closing it quietly behind him.

It was dark, but silent. Tim took another deep breath and looked around, his eyes beginning to adjust to the lack of light. It seemed to be a long maintenance hallway that ran the length of the Opera. But it was too dim to make out any of the labels on the doors, and there was no way he was going to turn his phone flashlight on to see them. 

Tim stood frozen with no idea what to do, that is until he heard the sound of a voice.

“How long do you think the boss’ll last this time?” It was coming closer. There was an indistinct response, but Tim felt like his knees were turning to jello. Adrenaline taking over, he grabbed the handle to the nearest door and pulled, greatly relieved that it opened without a sound. He ran in and only just prevented himself from the door slamming behind him.

Pressing himself up against the door, he put his ear to it, straining to hear the guards. He heard them speak, but it was too muffled to make out what they were saying. He waited as their voices got further away, and finally allowed himself to breathe after he was certain they’d left the hallway.

He turned around to examine the room he was in, and almost laughed. Of all the rooms he could have stumbled into, he had probably chosen the best one: the security room. Glancing back at the door, Tim quietly made his way over to the system, and tried to boot it on, but the screens all flashed an error signal at him. Of course the Riddler wouldn’t make it that easy.

Still, if Tim could get the security system back online, there was a high chance he could pinpoint exactly where Jason was being held in the building.

Glancing back at the door one last time, Tim sat down in the chair and began rebooting the system. For whatever reason, the Riddler hadn’t done as thorough a job with it as Tim would have expected. Maybe the Riddler just liked to pretend he was smarter than he actually was. 

Or maybe he was smart. Tim soon realized that the only way that the system could be brought back online was through a hard reset. It couldn’t be done remotely, meaning that Batman would have had to discover the location Jason was being held anyways, and he would not have wasted time with the security system. Work smarter and all that jazz.

Still, the Riddler had not counted on Tim. Within minutes, the system was back up and running, and Tim shuffled through the security camera feeds, looking for any trace of Jason or the Riddler. Nothing. Not that Tim had expected there to be security cameras in the room. And even if they were, the Riddler would have likely broken them.

An idea flashed in Tim’s mind and he pulled up all the security cameras that were not broadcasting. There were only a few, and only one of them was in a hallway in the back. If Tim had to guess, that was where Jason was being held.

Tim couldn’t help a smile. Not so smart, eh, Riddler? Still that left the question of which room he was in, and how Tim could get in undetected. There were going to be more traps along the way. Ones that Tim probably had no chance of evading in time to reach Jason. He glanced at his watch. It was 11:17. There was less than 45 minutes left before the Riddler’s deadline.

Tim scanned the room. Maybe there was something in here that could help him– 

Bingo.

So this was probably one of the stupidest things that Tim had done in his life. But it was also really his only option at this point, so, here he was.

The Opera, like almost all buildings, had a vent system. Unlike other buildings, these vents were tiny, barely big enough to fit Tim. Which meant that they were not going to be trapped. Or at least, that’s what Tim hoped. Hopefully the Riddler wouldn’t have thought them an issue seeing as how he’d have Robin, and both Batman and Nightwing were far too bulky to fit into them. It was a good thing that Tim wasn’t claustrophobic.

He continued to crawl along, glancing into each vent as he went. He’d pulled up the schematics on the building in the security room, and had managed to maneuver himself to the hallway the cameras were blacked out on. All he had to do was check each room as he passed. After that, he actually had no idea. But there wasn’t any more time. Jason had maybe 15 minutes.

Tim pulled himself along, ignoring the pain in his knees and arms. If he made it out of this alive, he was going to be bruised all over.

He looked out of the vent and almost gasped. Because this was the room. Robin was there, tied up to the chair, and awake , struggling against his bonds and wincing. Tim thought he might be cursing under his breath. The room was silent other than that. The Riddler had left.

Before Tim could think things through, he’d pushed through the vent, wincing as it clattered to the floor. Jason’s eyes darted up and widened in recognition.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed. Tim grimaced as he tried to wiggle out of the vent, and realized the flaw in his plan a second too late. He tumbled out of the vent, head first, and smacked the side of his head on the ground. His vision flashed and he groaned.

“Tim!” Jason whispered.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, pulling himself up. His vision cleared a little but his head began to throb. That probably wasn’t good. He stood up and swayed a little. Oh well.

“I’m serious, what the hell are you doing here?” Jason said as Tim made his way over, pulling out his pocket knife and beginning to cut through the ropes binding Jason.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Tim whispered. Wasn’t it obvious? The rope around Jason’s wrists gave way and he immediately snatched the knife and began working at his ankles.

“Fucking hell, B is going to kill me,” He muttered. Tim’s head gave a lurch and suddenly he felt woozy. Maybe he could just lay down for a second. That would help. He began to sit when suddenly Jason’s arms were wrapped around him, keeping him upright.

“Christ, you weigh like nothing,” He muttered. Tim opened his mouth to say something but forgot what. What was he doing again? Oh right, he was rescuing Jason.

“How did you find me?” Jason asked, adjusting his arms so he had one free. He reached for something on his suit and pressed something.

“What was zat?” Tim asked, trying to make his eyes focus on it. He was so tired all of a sudden. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, you need to stay awake. Batman’s on his way,” Jason said. “Come on, open your eyes,”

Tim complied, but his head was starting to hurt so bad. Why wouldn’t Jason just let him sleep? He was being so mean! And after everything he had done to come and save him!
“Jasonnnnn,” He groaned. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap, that’s all! Ok?” Tim said, closing his eyes. He heard Jason freeze and draw in a breath.

“What did you just say?” He whispered.

Tim would have rolled his eyes if they were open.

“I’m just gonna take a quick nap Jason,”

Jason didn’t respond, which was enough for Tim to wrench his eyes open again and give him a look. Jason was looking confused, but Tim didn’t know why. He was just going to take a nap, that was all. Nothing confusing about it. Tim was about to close his eyes again when Jason spoke.

“Hey, hey Timbo, come on you need to stay awake,” He said. Tim disagreed and shut his eyes. The last thing he remembered before he drifted away was hearing someone slamming against the door and a gravelly voice echoing in the room,

“Tim?”

Chapter Text

Tim’s first thought upon waking was that his head hurt like a serious son of a bitch. The second was that Jason was in danger. He bolted up involuntarily, wincing as he squinted against the bright lights, head pounding so hard that he felt like he was going to vomit. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, and raised a hand to his forehead.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there cowboy. You’re ok,” Dick said. Tim felt hands reach out to support him. Dick gently leaned him back onto the pillows.

“Here, drink and swallow this,” He said. He felt a straw being pressed to his lips and then was handed a pill. Tim did as he was told, even though the pill felt like it was lodged in his throat. He felt Dick pull the straw away and heard him move back to his seat. 

This time prepared for the pain, Tim risked another peek and opened his eyes. Except instead of blaring white lights, the room was dim, just lit enough to see by. Dick gave him a small smile.

“Concussions are the worst,” He said, shrugging his shoulders. Of course Dick would know how to deal with concussions. He was Nightwing after all.

“Thanks,” Tim whispered, and reached up to rub his head, finding a large bump. That would do it. “What happened? Where am I?” He asked. It was definitely not Wayne Manor, that was for sure. It looked like a hospital room, but not. It was far too nice for that.

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the entrance of a barreling Jason, who disregarding the pounding in Tim’s head, was shouting the moment he entered. A split second later, he had grabbed Tim and was squeezing him so tight that he was sure he was going to have bruises on his bruises.

“What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed, escaping like that!” Tim felt like his head was going to explode. Well either that, or he was going to die of suffocation, seeing as how Jason was holding him so tight that he couldn’t breathe. He let out a whimper and Jason immediately released him. Except instead of walking away, he sat down on the edge of the bed, and grabbed Tim’s hand.

“I am never letting you out of my sight again, you hear me?” Jason whispered furiously. Dick just smiled.

“What happened?” Tim whispered again, his throat hoarse. He couldn’t really remember anything after– after he’d fallen out of the vent. He felt his cheeks heat up. Of course he had fallen flat on his face during his rescue attempt. Some hero he was.

“We were actually going to ask you the same question,” Bruce said, stepping into the room, still wearing half of his Batman suit.

Tim couldn’t help it, his jaw dropped before he remembered himself. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing any of this. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. Words began to tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them, edged on by the pain in his head.

“I promise I haven’t told anyone ! And I won’t! I didn't really mean to find out it was just an accident, please don’t lock me up in your cave forever,” He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He’d really done it now. Of course all he had really managed to do was mess everything up.

To his surprise, Jason started laughing, hard enough that he doubled over and held his stomach. Tim froze.

“Lock-, lock you up?” He wheezed between laughs. “Why-, why would we do that?” Tim looked to Dick and Bruce for an explanation, but Dick just offered a small smile and Bruce looked like he was thinking.

“I-I don’t understand,” Tim said. “I know your secret identities, you have to do something with me, don’t you?”

Bruce just sighed and sat down in an empty chair next to Dick.

“We’re not going to lock you up Timmy,” He said, leaning forward, so his elbows rested on his knees. “How about you just start at the beginning?” He asked. “How exactly did you know it was us?”

Tim swallowed and looked to Dick who just gave him an encouraging look. Tim tried to take in a breath, but it felt shaky. Of course this, all of this , would have to end at some point. Who was Tim kidding? The charade was going to end at some point. He had just hoped that it wouldn’t be this soon.

He looked away from Dick, and to his hands, twisting the blanket in his lap.

“Only three people in the world can do a quadruple flip, and only one of them lives in Gotham. So statistically,” He paused, and took another shaky breath in. “Statistically, if Robin did a quadruple flip, it would be almost impossible for it to be anyone other than Dick Grayson,” He heard Dick inhale sharply, but the words kept coming out of his mouth. “And if Dick Grayson was Robin, then logically, Bruce Wayne was Batman,” He steeled himself and finally looked up to see a thoughtful Bruce, looking at him, a small grimace on his face. Jason burst out laughing again.

“Oh my fucking God!” He said, tears running down his cheeks. “ Dickface is the reason we were exposed! This is too good!”

“Language Jay,” Bruce murmured, still looking at Tim as though he were trying to dissect him. “Continue Tim,” 

“Well, um, after that, I kind of began followingyouaroundonpatrol ,” He ducked his head again. Could he just float back into unconsciousness now? It’d be better than this. Actually almost anything would be better than this.

“Pardon?”

“I started following you around on patrol! Ok!” Tim said, grimacing and closing his eyes. The room was silent for a few moments.

“How long have you known, Tim?” Bruce asked. Tim shrugged.

“Four years, I guess,”

“And how long have you been following us?”

“Four years,” He whispered. They were angry. How could they not be? He had invaded their privacy and their secrets, the things that protected them the most. Still no one said anything.

“Tim, will you look at me please?” Bruce asked. Tim did not want to but forced himself to anyway. There was no need to make the situation any worse by not listening to directions. He opened his eyes, bracing himself for the cold look of disappointment most definitely showing in Bruce’s eyes, but was instead surprised to find a gentle warmth.

“Tim, although what you’ve been doing is extremely dangerous, and you shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place, I also can’t pretend that it is not extremely impressive,” Tim couldn’t help it, he let out a surprised laugh, before clamping his hand over his mouth. 

Bruce smiled softly.

“So you’ve followed us around for four years, undetected, taking pictures. May I ask why?” 

This was probably the most embarrassing part of it all.

“Because you’re heroes! And I thought that maybe if I helped in some way, I could sort of be a hero too, you know?” Tim began picking at the blanket. “And obviously I’m not strong or fast like you guys. I don’t know how to fight. But I can be smart. And I wanted to use that to do something good. To take the pressure off of you guys, at least a little bit,” He paused, tears coming back to his eyes. “You do so much for everyone else! I just figured that someone should be helping you,” He wiped the tears from his face with his hands, trying to stop the lump in his throat from swelling. The others were silent. Tim continued. 

“So I’ve been investigating cases on my own and sending in anonymous tips and evidence and stuff to the police, cause I know they’d get it to you,” The tears were falling faster. “I just wanted to give back. Though it probably doesn’t matter. I’m just some dumb kid,” The pounding in Tim’s head had increased, shooting spikes of pain through his brain. He clenched his jaw, trying to prevent himself from whimpering.

“Oh Timmy,” Dick murmured. And before he knew it, he was being hugged from two different directions. He couldn’t slow the tears anymore and they came out in sobs that felt like they were sending tennis balls ricocheting in his skull.

It was only after his tears had mostly subsided that they finally let go, though both stayed seated next to him, Dick’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. The motion almost made Tim start bawling again. He couldn’t remember the last time his parents had attempted to soothe him when he was upset.

“Hey Tim?” Bruce asked, eyes creased with concern. “I know that you’re probably very tired, but I need you to answer a few more questions that can’t wait,”  Tim sighed, but nodded. It wasn’t like this whole thing wasn’t his fault anyways. The least he could do was answer some questions, even if his head was screaming at him to go back to sleep.

“How did you escape the League of Assassins?”

Tim felt what was left of his brain power stutter.

“What?”

“The group of people that took you?” Dick prompted.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. I wasn’t kidnapped,” Tim said slowly.

“Then how’d you end up at the Opera House?” 

“I went to the Opera House by myself,” Tim said. Bruce and Dick exchanged a bewildered look. Even Jason was looking confused. 

“Why would you do that?” Jason asked.

“Because I figured out where you were. You needed help,” Tim said, shrugging. It wasn’t that complicated.

Jason sputtered, and turned to look at Bruce, who was deep in thought. Dick’s mouth was hanging open.

“Just to be clear,” Bruce said. “You were not kidnapped by the League of Assassins, you just deduced where Jason was being kept, and you decided that the best idea would be to go in yourself, instead of calling for help?”

Tim looked away, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. Tracking Batman down wasn’t his only option. He knew Batman’s identity. He could have called Alfred and let him know. How could he have been so stupid ? What could he have done that Batman couldn’t have? He’d been thinking with his emotions, not his brain, and look where it had landed them.

To his surprise, Dick started laughing, so hard that tears were streaming from his eyes. Tim felt like he was going to be sick. Bruce gave him a sharp look. Dick wheezed.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” He said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That is totally something you would’ve done,” Bruce glared at Dick, who only seemed to think the whole situation was even funnier.

Tim couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his mouth then. Dick stopped laughing immediately and looked stricken.

“Nice going Dickhead,” Jason muttered.

“Oh Tim, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was laughing at Bruce, not you,” He said, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Ok,” Tim murmured. He didn’t see what was so funny, but Dick’s tone was so sincere that he felt some of his anxiety release. Dick truly had not meant to hurt him.

Bruce took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Tim felt his stomach drop. Here it came.

“We’ll talk about this later, when you’re feeling better, ok? I just have one more question for you,” Bruce said. Tim was even more confused now.

“How’d you know where to look for the object with the markings?”

“Um. I ran a test on the samples I took. And I recognized the chemicals as stuff that my parents sometimes use to clean artifacts, so I looked in the Drake Industries database?” It really hadn’t been too hard. It’d taken him so long because of his own stupidity.

“They’re used for cleaning artifacts?” Bruce repeated. Tim nodded. The man stood up so quickly Tim flinched.

“Get some rest. We’ll talk some more once you’re more healed. And thank you Tim,” He said, turning back to look at Tim from the doorway.

“What for?” Tim asked. It seemed to him that all he had done was make a big mess of things.

“For giving us a lead on the League of Assassins,”

Tim looked to Dick and Jason, who had grim expressions on their faces. Tim opened his mouth. The League of Assassins, again? Who were they? And why did they think he’d been kidnapped by them?

“I think it’s time to rest, Magpie,” Dick said, shaking his head. “We’ll answer your questions later. You need sleep,” 

Tim wanted to protest, but his eyes were shutting without his permission, and the pillow was so soft…

Chapter Text

Tim was sitting in the Batcave. The Batcave. At the Batcomputer. The Batmobile was parked only a few yards away. Batman and Robin’s suits were lit up in display cases. Even with the seriousness of the whole situation, Tim was having a hard time keeping himself from drooling. What he would give for just a few minutes alone…

“Tim, you with us?” Dick asked. Tim forced himself to tear his gaze away from the display cases.

“Yes, sorry,” Tim said, feeling himself blush. Here he was acting like an idiot when they were trying to have a very important conversation about all the things that Tim messed up, and he didn’t even have the maturity to focus. How could he have ever thought that he could help? It seemed like all he’d done was make things worse and add extra work and stress to a situation that could have already done with far less.

“What else can you tell us about the artifact Tim?” Bruce asked, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. Tim blinked.

“What?”

“The artifact in your parents’ database, the one that matches the markings at the warehouse…” Dick said, a concerned pinch coming to his eyebrows. “Do you not remember?” Before Tim could say anything, he’d turned to Bruce.

“I think we need to take him to see Dr. Leslie, get him fully checked out-” Bruce cleared his throat, and nodded his head in Tim’s direction, who had opened his mouth in an attempt to explain.

“I remember,” He said quietly, cheeks flaming. “It’s just-” He paused, gaze focused on his twisting hands in his lap. “It’s nothing,” He looked back up, sitting straight like he’d been taught.  “My parents brought it home a few years ago, from Scotland I think. I helped unpack it,” Tim closed his eyes, straining to remember anything else, but his head was still pounding, even after a day of rest. 

“It was something to do with some pagan god of the weather I think,” He added after a moment. Dick and Bruce continued to look at him expectantly. Tim felt his stomach squeeze. Why couldn’t he do anything right? 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling out of his eyes. “I don’t know anything else,” He made to stand up, but Bruce’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Here it came. The lecture on how he’d done everything wrong. The disappointment. The dismissal.

“Tim, are you ok?” Bruce asked. Tim tensed, his throat tightening.

“I’m fine,” He said, voice cracking. He could feel their concerned stares pushing into him. He wanted to run and hide. Everything was bubbling up and he couldn’t stop it.

“Timmy?” Dick asked softly. Tim couldn’t help it any longer, and a sob burst out of his throat.

“I’ve ruined everything! Why are you being so nice to me?”

Silence.

“Tim, in what ways have you ruined everything?” Bruce asked. Tim didn’t dare meet his eyes, but couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his mouth. Now they wanted him to explain it to them. Wasn’t it obvious? Tim felt his guilt curdle in his stomach. How could he be so rude? So mean?

“I found out your identities, which means you have to do something about me. That’s another thing that you shouldn’t have to be handling. I just added another layer of worry onto Jason’s rescue, because I was so stupid, thinking that I could do it myself. And I don’t remember anything else about the artifact. I’m just adding to your plate,” Tim was rambling. “I should at the very least be able to take care of myself, but I can’t even do that right!”

“Tim-” Dick said, but Tim cut him off. Why couldn’t they just understand?

“I’ve inserted myself into your family, uninvited! I’m just making everything worse. So why are you being so nice to me? It’s not your responsibility!” Tim was shouting, and he couldn’t get himself to stop. He felt awful, but at the same time there was a slithering release in his throat. The feeling made everything worse.

“I’ve lied to you. I’ve just made everything more complicated. I-”
“Tim!” Bruce said firmly. Tim clamped his mouth shut. Here it was. What he’d been waiting for. He set his shoulders. The least he could do was to take it like a Drake.

“Tim, let me make this absolutely clear. You have not ruined anything. Do you understand me?”
“But-” Tim said. Bruce gave him a look. He closed his mouth.

“You are not a burden. You are not an ‘unwanted responsibility’. You’re a part of this family, because we love you,” Bruce looked him in the eyes, his stare firm, but gentle. “Simple as that,” Dick nodded.

“And you are not responsible for any of this. It is not your job to take care of the adults in your life. You’re twelve. Incredibly smart, mature, and responsible, yes. But you’re still twelve. It is my job as an adult in your life to make sure that you’re ok, to take care of you, to make sure you’re happy. And that is something that I am happy to do,” 

Tim didn’t know what to say, what to think. Something inside his chest twisted, and came apart. And he felt a flood of relief. Before he could do anything, Bruce had pulled him into his arms, and Tim let himself feel like a kid. Let himself cry. Let Bruce rub his back, murmur soothing words into his ear. He never wanted it to end. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Any moment he’d wake up in his own bed, in his empty house.

But Bruce’s arm still held him. He still could feel Dick’s presence. He could feel the chilly air of the cave, hear the soft squeaking of the bats, the whir of the supercomputer. One minute, three, five. It was all still there. It was real.

Tim felt free. Light. Until he remembered the artifact. The one that his parents owned. Or had owned. Because it obviously was no longer in their possession. Had the League stolen it? And his parents just hadn’t noticed? They had so many, and any of those that weren’t their favorites were bound to be forgotten.

The weight returned to him all at once. He pulled back from Bruce, who let him go, and tried to match the resulting smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. Suddenly it was imperative that he knew exactly how the League of Assassins got a hold of one of his parents’ artifacts.

 “Did they steal the weather totem?” Tim asked, itching to log in to the database and see its status for himself.

“We don’t know,” Bruce said. “Up until you told us, we didn’t even know what the markings were from. But we’ll find out,” He pulled his chair up to the computer and began typing, accessing the Drake database. Tim almost asked if he needed the password, but he was already in. Batman, right. 

Tim suddenly felt exhausted. His parents were involved in this somehow, which meant he was too. And no matter how much he yearned to be a Wayne, he was also a Drake. This was his mess to clean up.

But first…Something was still bothering him. Something that he didn’t understand.

“Can I ask a question?”

Bruce nodded, and gestured for him to go ahead, his eyes and fingers still roving quickly at the computer.

“Why’d you think I was kidnapped by the-?” He paused. “What was it again?”

“The League of Assassins?” Dick said.

“Yeah, that,” He paused. “I’ve never heard of them,” 

Dick turned to look at Bruce, who nodded, eyes still glued to the screen.

“The League of Assassins is a secret group of, well, of assassins led by Ra’s al Ghul-”

“Wait, is this the same Ra’s that’s connected to Talia?”

Dick stopped, mouth agape. Bruce stopped typing, and turned around to look at Tim with confusion.

“How do you know about Talia?” Dick asked.

“I saw her talking to Batman months ago,” Tim shrugged. “She’s part of the League of Assassins?”

Bruce nodded, but his gaze was focused on one of the tables next to the computer. Tim turned back to Dick, who inexplicably had a grin on his face. Tim arched an eyebrow.

“Bruce and Talia had a thing , years ago, when he was training with the League,” Dick wiggled his eyebrows up and down, as if expecting Tim to laugh.

“You trained with the League of Assassins?” Tim asked instead. Bruce sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Yes, I did. I was naive and stupid. I didn’t see the warning signs about the reality of the League’s operations until it was too late,”

“And what exactly are the League’s operations?” Tim asked. Obviously they were assassins, but the way Bruce was talking, it made it seem like it was something else altogether. Something much, much worse.

“Ra’s al Ghul is…unstable,” Bruce began. He was looking at the table again, his eyes far away. “He believes it is his mission to destroy corrupt and evil forces in the world,” Bruce paused again.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Tim asked, looking to Dick, whose mood had sobered. He shook his head.

“Ra’s idea of evil and corrupt is not the same as any rational person. And he will do anything he deems necessary to achieve his goals,”

Tim didn’t know what to say, so he nodded. Bruce cleared his throat, and looked back to Tim.

“Needless to say, the League is extremely well-trained and extremely dangerous. Especially while you’re recovering I think it’s safest that you don’t leave the manor,” Tim opened his mouth, meaning to argue but Bruce continued. 

“This also means no more coming on patrols with us,” Bruce said.

Tim stood up, indignation burning through his bones. But the quick movement made his head swim, and his legs still felt like jelly, so he sat back down, cheeks flushing.

“Why?”

“You’re not trained. And even with all your skills, a large reason you haven’t been caught or hurt is because of dumb luck. Plus, you’re healing. You are in no condition to be doing anything other than resting,”

“I want to help!”

“You’ve already done so much, Tim. Let us take care of it. This isn’t your responsibility,”

Tim turned his head to Dick, who looked at him crinkled eyes.

“Sorry, Timbo. Bruce is right,” 

Tim felt his chest burn. But he didn’t say anything. He just nodded. 

“Come on Magpie, let’s get you upstairs where it’s more comfortable,” Dick said, holding his hand out to Tim. Tim didn’t take it.

“Why did you think I was kidnapped?”

Bruce sighed. Tim looked to Dick, whose cheeks were faintly blushing.

“I went to go and check on you and you were gone. The last thing on your computer was something tying to the League’s plot, it seemed like a–” Dick rubbed a hand over his face. “A reasonable leap of logic at the time,” 

“Oh,” Tim said. More logical than a dumb twelve year old thinking he could take the Riddler on by himself to save a vigilante. He felt his cheeks flush even further. Dick offered his hand again, and this time Tim took it, using it to support his unsteady weight.

As they walked to the elevator, Tim glanced back to Bruce, who had resumed his typing rapidly on the computer. The last thing he saw before the doors of the elevator shut in front of him was a picture of the weather totem.

Tim still had a million questions. What use did the League have for the totem? And how could it be bad? It really just seemed like an old artifact, a relic from a time long, long past, fueled by the beliefs of a dead civilization.

Still, Tim had a sinking feeling in his gut.

Chapter Text

His parents had sold it to Ra’s. They’d sold it without asking twice about the shady shell organization they were dealing with because they’d been offered more money. Tim tried to remember that his parents didn’t know about the League of Assassins itself. Tried to remember that they would have believed it to be a simple business deal. Tried to look at it from their point of view. Tried to be a good son. But he couldn’t. His parents had allowed a very dangerous man to get something he wanted, something he was planning on using to hurt people. All he wanted to do was run, and not stop.

But he couldn’t do that either. Because even though it’d been a week since his disastrous attempt at a rescue, he was barely allowed around the house, let alone outside. His head was feeling better, but according to both Alfred and Jason, he was still healing. Which meant he wasn’t allowed on any screens. He was itching to do some digging, but the two of them together were too good at limiting his access.

So instead of helping with the case, he was sitting on his bed in the guest room, listening to Jason as he read Pride and Prejudice aloud. Because Tim wasn’t even allowed to read by himself. There was no reason that Jason shouldn’t also be helping with the whole League of Assassins situation, just because Tim couldn’t be. Though Jason’s voice was nice. And he was actually finding that he was enjoying the book. And he’d looked so happy when Tim had agreed to listen.

“ ‘An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.’ Elizabeth could not but smile-” Jason was interrupted by the entrance of Alfred, bearing two bowls of chicken noodle soup and steaming mugs of tea.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but it is time for lunch young sirs,” He said, placing the tray down on the table next to Tim’s bed.

“And it is time for your next dose of medicine, Master Tim,” Alfred said, handing Tim a couple of pills and a glass of water. Alfred kept his eyes on him while Tim dutifully swallowed the medicine, before giving an approving nod.

“How is your head faring?”

“Better,” Tim said, watching as Jason pulled his chair towards the table and began scarfing down the soup. Even though he’d spent more than a few meals with Jason, he was still surprised at the ferocity of Jason’s appetite. Sometimes it felt like he was somehow always starving, which Tim knew should be possible with the way that Alfred seemed to make it his mission to stuff the lot of them.

“And I trust you would let me know if that changed,” Alfred said. Tim turned back to look at the butler, just to see a wry look on the man’s face.

He nodded. There would be no lying to Alfred. Tim wasn’t that stupid.

“Is there any more information on what Ra’s is planning with the artifact?” He asked. So far, he hadn’t been given a straight answer, but he still had to try. And as it was, he couldn’t do much else until he’d either been cleared, or managed to get away from Alfred or Jason long enough to do research on his own.

Alfred pretended not to hear and began gathering the dirty dishes from breakfast, to take back downstairs. Tim only barely managed to stop himself from groaning. Even if he had a concussion he could still be helping. There had to be something he could do.

Trying not to let his annoyance show, he looked back to his soup and spoon. Alfred’s soup was amazing, but he wasn’t feeling all that hungry. Every day he just sat here, doing nothing, the well of guilt inside his stomach seemed to grow denser. To the point that Tim was starting to wonder if eventually he would be consumed by it, just one day transformed into a black blob of regret.

Alfred cleared his throat, shaking Tim from his thoughts. He glanced up to get the end of the man’s pointed look. Tim sighed, but forced himself to swallow a couple of bites of the soup.

“Very good,” Alfred said as he left the room. Tim dropped his spoon in his soup and laid back. He was suddenly exhausted.

“Tim, are you okay?” Jason asked.

“Just tired,” He mumbled, closing his eyes. And he was. But really, he just wanted to be left alone, but he very much doubted that Jason or Alfred was going to let that happen any time soon.

“Do you want me to keep reading?” Jason asked. Tim nodded before turning on his side, eyes squeezed shut. He heard Jason open the book and begin again, and even with the twisted tangle that were his insides, Tim soon fell asleep.

Tim woke to Dick’s voice.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” He heard Jason respond. Tim kept his eyes shut. Tried to keep his body relaxed.

“Bruce found it,” Dick whispered. Tim felt his heart begin to beat faster. They’d found it. Finally. “We’re going to need you,”

“What about Tim?”

“What about him?”

“Aren’t we going to tell him?”

“Bruce doesn’t think that’s a good idea, and I have to say I agree. He’s twelve and healing from a concussion. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about a League of Assassins plot,” 

Jason whispered something that Tim didn’t quite catch, his mind frozen on what he’d been hearing, trying to understand it.

“Come on, we gotta go. Bruce wants to leave ASAP. He doesn’t want to take any chances that they’ll move it again,” 

Tim heard the sounds of ruffling fabric as Jason stood up and the boys left the room, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. 

Tim opened his eyes and turned onto his back, rubbing at the tears forming in his eyes. His guilt tangled with his anger. He deserved to know. This was partly his mess. He had the responsibility to clean it up, to try and make things better. Yet, they were treating him like a complete child, which he wasn’t. He’d been taking care of himself for far longer than they had known him, and he was still alive, wasn’t he?

He felt a twinge of guilt pierce his heart but he tried to ignore it. He sat up and wiped his eyes, the pounding in his head dull and steady. He’d followed the Batman for four years without anyone finding out. That had to count for something, right? He wasn’t totally incapable.

Still, it wasn’t like they actually needed him. Batman and Robin had been solving cases and fighting the bad guys far longer than Tim had, and they had backup. Alfred was no doubt manning the coms, and Dick was obviously going with them. They had no need for Tim. Especially after his failure at a rescue mission. He’d just get in the way, like he always did.

Tim fell back on the pillows with a huff, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming from his eyes and into his hair. He didn’t know what to do. The ache in his chest, the need to help, burned. His head pounded. Tim felt like he was caught in an eddying river, moving forward only to be pushed back to crash into the rocks.

He closed his eyes and let the tears come, feeling them trail across his temples and into his ears and hair, the trickling sensation grinding on his nerves. His jaw clenched keeping the whimpers from escaping his mouth. Everyone had enough to worry about. There was no need to make them worry about him too. If nothing else, he could be silent. He was good at that.

Exhaustion began to pull him under, and Tim was dragged back into an uneasy sleep.

Tim jolted awake at the sound of a gunshot echoing through the manor. Every cell in his body seemed to freeze as he sat up, ice flooding his veins. His breaths shallowed as he strained his ears. He could hear scuffling and shouting.

There was someone in the manor. Someone who had managed to get past the security measures, the ones that Batman himself had set up, on a night that Bruce wasn’t there. Tim had a sinking feeling in his gut that whoever it was, knew the truth. His stomach turned, and he tried to keep himself from vomiting. Panicking would do him no good. He needed a clear head.

He could hear the sound of footsteps getting closer, running down the hall, doors being forced open. Tim tried to take a steadying breath, but it came out shaky. He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to think. What would Robin do? 

He opened his eyes and glanced around, searching for something he could use to protect himself. But there was nothing. At least nothing that would give him a fighting chance against whoever was smart enough to infiltrate Batman’s home.

The footsteps were getting louder, and he could now hear voices shouting in a foreign language. Tim felt his hands shake as his eyes darted around the room. His brain was moving too fast, throwing ideas his way before dismissing them faster than he could process. He couldn’t just sit here. But there was no way he was going to be able to fight, especially not with having been on bedrest for his concussion. 

His eyes fell on the window, an idea bursting in his mind like a shattering light bulb. He pushed the blankets off the bed, the adrenaline pumping through his veins steadying him. He had a plan. He just hoped it would work.

The door to his room slammed open hard enough that he heard something fall off one of the shelves. The chair he had placed against the door clattered to the floor. Tim held his breath, holding himself absolutely still as he watched the shadows of two people cross the room. The space underneath the bed was only just tall enough to accommodate Tim’s body. He had never been so grateful that he was small for his age.

One of the sets of feet walked closer to the bed, and Tim put a hand over his mouth, frozen. He heard them ruffle through the sheets and blankets and say something. If they looked under the bed, he’d be done for. There was no way they wouldn’t see him, and there was no way for him to run.

He saw the legs begin to bend, and Tim had to stop himself from crying out. They were stopped short by the sound of the second voice, coming from the window. The legs straightened, and walked over to join the other person. They were talking, discussing something. Tim pinched his arm and hoped that it was what he had planned.

The feet were making their way back out of the room, the two figures shouting to the others in the house. Tim was starting to feel lightheaded, and he allowed himself to take a small shallow breath before holding it again.

There was more shouting, more footsteps, but they sounded like they were getting farther and farther away, until the house was once again silent. Yet Tim remained where he was, ears and eyes strained, waiting for their return.

The temperature in the room began to steadily drop as the cold air from the open window made its way in, but Tim remained where he was, frozen, heart pounding. He was pretty sure that had been the League of Assassins. And it seemed like they’d been looking for him.

Tim waited until he could see his breath before he moved, quietly pulling himself out from underneath the bed. The house remained silent. He had no idea if the League was still there or not, but he couldn’t hide under the bed forever. 

Tim squeezed out from under the bed, shaking from nerves and the cold. The room was empty, save for him. Moving at a glacial pace, he tiptoed to the door and looked out the hallway, also empty. He gently closed the door, wincing at the soft click when he locked it. He waited, listening. Silence. 

He turned around and picked up the chair. It obviously hadn’t kept the door shut, but it would hopefully buy him a few extra seconds at the least. He replaced it under the handle, angled towards the door.

Tim turned to face the room and let out a shaky exhale, his breath frosting. The covers on the bed were ransacked, from where the League member had pulled at them. Tim pulled one of the blankets off the bed and wrapped it around his shaking shoulders, trying to warm his freezing body.

The wind blew through the open window, moving the curtains, revealing the edge of the bed sheet that Tim had tied to the dresser and pushed out of the window. At least they seemed to have bought his misdirect. If nothing else, it bought him time to come up with another plan.

Tim sat on the edge of the bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut, his head and heart pounding. What was he going to do? 

Obviously, he couldn’t stay here. Eventually the League would put two and two together that Tim hadn’t actually climbed out the window. It was only dumb luck that he’d managed to trick them so far.

But that left the question of where to go. His house was obviously not an answer, and he was in no shape to make it on foot into the city, where he stood a chance of losing them in the maze that was Gotham at night. He thought about tracking Batman down in the city, warning him.

He paused. The last time he had tried to do something himself, it hadn’t ended well. His head pulsed at the remembrance. He just needed to get to safety. Then he would let Bruce know what had happened. That was it.

Tim opened his eyes, almost slapping himself on his forehead. Of course. What was possibly the safest place on Earth, and he just happened to know exactly where it was? The Batcave. At least, if the League hadn’t infiltrated it.

Tim took a deep breath. It was his only option, really. And something in his gut told him that the Batcave had not been taken. There would have been no reason to, since the Bats weren’t there.

Except there had been someone there, Alfred. Tim felt his stomach plummet. How could he have forgotten Alfred? He could be hurt, or dying for all he knew, and here Tim was, sitting in the room like a coward.

What would they want him to do? They would want him to try and get to safety and contact Batman. Tim could do that. He could be brave. And if not, he had to at least try.

Tim stood up, squaring his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Here went nothing.

Chapter Text

Tim eased the chair out from underneath the handle, placing it softly back on the floor. As far as Tim could tell, there didn’t seem to be anyone left on the floor, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

He’d pulled on a dark sweatshirt and grabbed the copy of Pride and Prejudice that Jason had left behind earlier. It wouldn’t do much, but Tim felt better holding its weight in his hands. He figured if it came to it he could probably throw it.

He took another deep breath and unlocked the door, turning the handle slowly, so as to not make any noise. The door creaked slightly as he pulled it open, and his heart beat faster as he poked his head out of the door, checking the hallway. No one was there.

Tim slid out of the room and began making his way down the hall, towards the staircase, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible, his sock covered feet moving gently with every step. All the doors in the hallway had been forced open, and Tim moved past them quickly, their dark maws making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He just had to make it to Bruce’s study without being seen. That was all. He kept moving, freezing at any little sound. Eventually he made it to the staircase, and he peered down. The foyer was empty as well. Had they left completely?

Taking one more look behind him, Tim clenched his fist and sprinted as softly as he could down the stairs, bolting to the nearest shadow once he made it down. He breathed quietly, waiting, listening. Still, silence.

Screw it. Tim bolted to the study, and closed the door behind him. The fact that there was not a sound of surprise meant that the study had also been vacated, and Tim allowed himself to close his eyes and rest his forehead on the door for a moment. Maybe his luck was holding out.

When his heart beat had slowed enough that Tim didn’t think it was going to jump out of his chest, he turned around. The League had definitely been there, if the books and papers strewn across the floor was any indication. The glass on the grandfather clock was smashed, but it was still ticking. Other than the damage, the room was definitely empty.

If the League had gotten to the cave, wouldn’t there be a guard or something, stopping anyone from entering without their knowledge? Tim tried not to be too hopeful. This whole thing could easily be a trap.

Something creaked, and Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn’t have any other options. He just had to hope that the Batcave’s security had kept it secure. He made his way across the room, taking his steps carefully, avoiding broken glass. A shotgun lay on the floor near the door. Tim felt something in his stomach swoop at the sight of it. He turned away.

He lifted his hand, and carefully avoiding the jagged edges of the shattered glass, moved the hands of the clock to the correct time. Technically, he hadn’t been supposed to know the code, but he had spied on Dick a couple of times when he’d been entering. For a vigilante, he was easy to spy on.

Tim heard the quiet mechanisms of the door clicking, and he held his breath as the secret door swung open, revealing the elevator platform. Tim glanced back at the gun, laying on the floor, before stepping into the elevator and pressing the down button. The door closed in front of him, and with a jolt, he was moving downwards.

He gripped Pride and Prejudice harder, the edge of the cover digging into his hand. The elevator began to slow and Tim tensed as the doors slid open. But the cave was empty, save for the bats. 

Tim took a hesitant step out of the elevator, looking around, half expecting an assassin to jump out of the shadows. Silence.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. The Batcave was secure. He was safe, for now. Some of the tension drained out of his body, before he realized what was missing. Alfred. 

Had the League taken him? Or worse? The image of the ransacked study above flashed in Tim’s mind. He hadn’t seen any blood. And anything serious would have left a big stain, right? Alfred was ok. He had to be. 

Tim took a shaky breath and stuffed his panic down. It wasn’t going to help him. He looked up at the Batcomputer, screen still on, showing blacked out security camera feeds. Tim began clicking through the feeds. 

Manor 1-4, Manor 5-8 , and so on, all gone. A red security alert blinked in the corner of the screen. Tim clicked away from the feeds, and pulled up the coms that Alfred had been managing. They showed error signs as well. They’d all been disconnected.

Tim felt panic swell in his chest again and it took all of his willpower to ignore it, to think. There had to be some way to find Batman and let him know what was going on. He was at the Batcomputer for crying out loud. There was bound to be something he could do.

Tim sat down in the chair, and hovered his hands over the keyboard. 

“I can do this,” he whispered to himself. “I can do this,” His hands shook and he took another breath. He just needed to break it down, take it one step at a time.

First things first, evaluate his situation. The League hadn’t seemed to have made its way to the cave, at least not yet. But they had disabled all of the manor's security features. Tim opened up the feeds again and forced a reboot. Hopefully he could get the cameras up and running again, if they weren’t manually disabled. 

He turned to the second screen as the security system began its reboot, opening up the tracking page for all of the Bats’ gear. The trackers in their suits showed themselves to be offline, their last location somewhere in the lower east side of Gotham. 

Tim forced another breath out of his lungs as his brain worked through the information. Something had happened to the Bats, that was the only logical explanation. Tim hoped to God that they were ok. 

He scrolled down the list, searching for something that was still connected to the cave, his eyes scanning the information almost too fast for him to actually read it. His eye caught on one green connection: the Batmobile. Tim’s heart swelled with hope until he found where it was, the same location as where their suits had stopped tracking. The hope deflated in his chest, replaced by full blown panic. Tim turned to the coms and tried to force a connection, but there was only static. Contacting them seemed to be out of the question.

The security system finished its reboot with a small beep, but it continued to show the error signals.

“Damn it,” Tim whispered. He leaned back in the chair, running his hands through his hair, trying to think, anxiety pulsing through his veins, making it hard to focus. Something had happened to Batman, Robin, and Nightwing. Alfred was missing. The League had been at the manor and were probably searching for him.

Tim felt like there was something lodged in his throat and it was getting harder to breathe. He clenched his hands together in his lap and closed his eyes. Panicking was only going to make the situation worse. He had to think through this logically. He could ignore the anxiety building in his chest. He had to.

What were his options? He could stay in the Batcave, which he could probably figure out how to lock down. It was probably the safest place he could be. But that didn’t do anything for Bruce or Jason or Dick or Alfred. 

Tim could leave, hopefully disappear into the city. The League may be trained assassins, but Tim was great at not being seen. He’d been following the Bats for years now, they hadn’t even known he existed. But again, that did nothing to help the Bats.

Tim reviewed all of the information he had in his mind. The League had seemed to know the Bats had been going for the artifact. Why else would they time their attack on the manor like that? And if they had known, then there was a high probability that the Bats had walked straight into a trap, the failure of their communication systems and GPS planned.

Tim opened his eyes and looked back at the computer screen, the only movement the softly blinking lights indicating the last transmitted locations of the suits, along with the Batmobile.

They seemed to be waiting for him to make a decision. Tim sighed. The smart thing to do, the thing that he was certain Bruce would want him to do, would be to stay in the Batcave, and wait for help.

Tim spun around in the chair to face the empty suit cases, lights still on, illuminating their empty stands. He stared at the empty spaces and something in his gut shifted. The anxiety still thrummed beneath his skin but it was sharpening into a point, into a direction. Tim set his jaw.

Was he going to do something seriously stupid? Yes. Was it probably going to get him killed? Most definitely.

He turned back around and pulled up Bruce’s open case files. He wasn’t just going to sit around and do nothing, not while the city’s protectors were in danger. He was the only one left. He had to at least try. 

He skimmed through the collected evidence in Bruce’s files on the League’s plans and the artifact, dating all the way back to Talia’s first visit. It was sparse. The League were very good at covering their tracks. Nothing jumped out at Tim as something indicative of where the Bats would have gone earlier that evening. They’d left in such a hurry that Tim figured writing down the location would have been unnecessary, something to put in the report later, once it was all over.

He turned back to the tracking screen to double check the streets before opening up the GCPD’s cameras in that area. There were only a few traffic cams, and at the moment, they all showed nothing but empty streets.

Tim scrubbed his way through the last few hours of footage, but was unsurprised to find nothing. The League probably knew where the cameras were, where they were positioned, knew to avoid them or edit their footage.

Tim tried rebooting the GPS system one more time, but nothing changed. He brushed his hands through his hair again and began massaging at his temples. The pounding in his head had increased. Looking at the screen had probably done nothing good for his still healing concussion. 

He turned away from the screen, taking in the rest of the cave. Maybe there was something in the cave that could help. 

Tim pushed away from the desk and began rummaging through the various containers and storage closets in the immediate vicinity. In one, he found what seemed to be prototype Batarangs. In another, the remains of a previous iteration of the Batsuit, the only thing still fully intact being the utility belt. Tim was searching through a case containing old pieces of both Dick and Jason’s Robin costumes when a ding sounded at the computer.

Tim hurried over the computer, hope and fear warring in his chest. His eyes scanned the screen almost too fast for him to register what he was seeing.

“GPS Tracker ID:ROB successful manual reboot; Status: ONLINE,” flashed in green in the corner. Tim looked to where the markers on the map were. Batman, Nightwing, and the Batmobile’s remained where they were, but Robin’s had shifted to a warehouse by the docks. 

Tim felt a modicum of the pressure in his chest release. Jason had managed to reboot his GPS. That had to mean he was still alive. Tim turned to look at the case he’d been digging through, an idea sparking in his mind. 

There was bound to be enough gadgets laying around that Tim wouldn’t be going in unarmed. And hopefully, the League wouldn’t suspect him. It wasn’t like he was a vigilante or anything.

Tim felt a surge of adrenaline pump through his body, diffusing the anxious energy that had been buzzing through his body for the last hour. He pushed away from the computer chair once again and began pulling out pieces of the Robin costume.

He was much smaller than both Dick and Jason had been when they first started wearing the suit, and pretty much all of the pieces didn’t quite fit. Still, he pulled on the mostly intact top from one of Dick’s earlier costumes (there was a small gash in the side that Tim didn’t want to think about) over his sweatshirt and grabbed some of the armored plates to pull on over his sweatpants.

He pulled out a pair of boots that seemed to be prototypes, since he’d never seen either Jason or Dick wear them. They fit surprisingly well, and Tim laced them tight, bouncing a little on his heels. They were insanely comfortable.

He even managed to find a prototype of the Robin cape that was not bright canary yellow, but rather plain old black and relatively thick, complete with a hood. In the one corner of Tim’s mind not completely spazzed with energy, he couldn’t help but scoff. How could Dick or Jason have skipped out on a hood?

None of the domino masks he found fit his face well enough for them to be worth wearing. However, he did find a black balaclava type mask that he pulled on. Hopefully in combination with the hood, it would disguise his face enough. At the very least it would keep his face warm. 

He pulled the utility belt out from the case with the old Batsuit and slung it around his chest before pulling the cape on. He probably looked ridiculous with the suit pieces over his pajamas.

He spent the next ten minutes filling the compartments of the belt with as many things as he could find, from Batarangs to smoke bombs. He’d even grabbed the experimental looking collapsible staff from a workbench in a corner, along with gloves that were just his size.

He took one last look around the cave and double checked that his equipment was secure before straddling the Robin bike and pulling up his mask. The roar of the engine echoed in the empty cave and Tim took a deep breath before squeezing the throttle. 

Chapter Text

Tim remembered that he didn’t actually know how to ride a motorcycle only after he was speeding out of the Batcave and onto the dirt path that connected it to the main road. In the small wave of blind panic that hit him, the bike’s wheel hit a rock and jerked the handles to the side, nearly tipping the bike. He pulled the handlebars back a little too forcefully and the bike wobbled before it evened out. Even though his instincts were to hit the brakes and slow down, he forced himself to increase the speed. It’d be easier to balance at a faster speed. Like a bike, right?

If he could look under his gloves, Tim would not be surprised to find that all of the blood would have left his veins, his grip so tight he could feel his circulation being cut off. The headlights had automatically turned on, illuminating the path before him. Tim was grateful that he didn't have to fiddle with any controls. Even one finger off of the handle bars felt like a one way ticket to a disaster.

The trees surrounding the path cut a terrifying picture as they blurred past Tim’s eyes. Every flash of white snow seemed to be a figure, staring out at him from the depths, sending sparks of uneasiness up his spine and into his toes. 

When he finally made it onto the paved road, Tim forced himself to loosen his fingers, just enough that feeling began to somewhat return to his fingers. Keeping the bike upright seemed much easier, and far less perilous, and Tim allowed himself to squeeze the accelerator just a tad more, causing the engine to roar as he sped towards the city. 

Tim cursed as the wind stung his eyes. Now that he hadn’t immediately crashed, he realized what he’d forgotten: a helmet. If he didn’t get himself killed with what he was about to attempt, he was probably going to die via motorcycle crash.

Everything was so loud, the engine, the wind, the blood pumping in his ears that his thoughts were soon drowned out, the movement of the bike becoming more natural, intuitive. Tim felt himself smiling under his mask, despite the cold. Adrenaline had replaced his anticipation, and it flooded his system. His entire body buzzed. It was how he felt when Batwatching, on steroids. 

The feeling began to fizzle as he got deeper into the city, and closer to the warehouse where Jason was being held. It did not help that he was forced to slow down to navigate the sharp turns and obstacles of the city, speed no longer acting as buffer between him and the rest of the world. 

Tim squeezed the brakes, hard, and his stomach flipped as the bike lurched to a stop with a squeal, the back wheel lifting an inch or two off the ground before settling. He was still blocks away from the warehouse, but any courage he had seemed to leave his body with his heavy breathing. This wasn’t a game. He wasn’t just out on a joyride. He was here to help Robin escape the League of Assassins.

The wind picked up and cut into his bones. The city was eerily quiet, the only sound audible above Tim’s thundering ears the idling of the motorcycle’s engine. He turned the key and the engine died, silence reigning. He pulled the hood of the cape up over his head. It gave him some small measure of security. 

He took a moment to observe where he’d stopped; a mostly empty street, consisting of mostly run down and abandoned apartment buildings. To his right, there was an alleyway, where he could just make out the edge of a dumpster and a fire escape. He swung himself off the bike and began pushing it towards the alley, grunting at its weight. 

Finally, he managed to pull it behind the dumpster, hiding it from view. He did not think he could go any further on the bike. If he had any hope of doing this, then he had to stick to his strengths, to what he knew. And if there was one thing he knew, it was sneaking around on the rooftops.

He took a few moments to double check and secure his equipment, hands glancing over each individual compartment, feeling the shape and heft of the things inside.  Batarangs. Smoke bombs. Grappling hook. Miniature explosives. Binoculars. Staff. Everything was still there. He hadn’t lost anything.  He could do this. He had to. 

Wind tore through the alley, shaking the creaky fire escape. With one last look at the bike, he flexed his hands, open and closed. He could see his breath as he exhaled, and he tried to focus on any sensation other than the queasiness making its way into his stomach. 

He reached out and grabbed the rusty metal, only just barely feeling the cold of the metal through his gloves. Taking one last deep breath, he lifted his feet and weighed them on the bottom rung. The ladder creaked under his weight. Tim began climbing as fast as he dared, breaths coming in short bursts. 

When he made it to the top, he hauled himself over the edge and crouched down, body draped in the cape, back pressed against the ledge. 

Retrieving his phone, he tried to catch his breath as he double checked the location of the warehouse, as well as Jason’s GPS. Before he left he’d connected the Batcomputer’s servers to his phone, allowing him to track Jason’s GPS. It had not moved from its place in the warehouse, and Tim felt some sense of relief. 

He examined the map, looking for a building he’d be able to access that was close enough to the warehouse that he could run some recon. Assess the situation. Hopefully formulate some sort of plan that wasn’t just charging in and getting himself killed. There was an old apartment building across the street from the warehouse that seemed to fit the bill. Tim hoped that the League didn’t also have it under lock and key.

He mentally traced the path he would have to take from his current location to where he was heading as he resecured his phone in one of the utility belt compartments. Standing up, he shook out his shoulders and legs, trying to get his body to relax. He needed to be able to roll with the momentum. He couldn’t do that with coiled muscles. He bounced on his feet and hands flexed at his sides. It was now or never.

With a few running steps, Tim leapt off the building and onto the next, taking the landing running, impact barely felt through the cushioning of the boots. He didn’t stop, just kept running, using his building momentum to propel him further as he launched his body between the rooftops. For a moment, Tim let himself pretend that he was just chasing the Bats, like any other night. 

As he reached the last building before the apartment building he had had planned, Tim realized with a panic that the building was much taller than he had initially thought, and therefore impossible to jump onto from his height. Arms flailing, he skidded to a stop, nearly tripping headfirst over his own feet. Instead, he fell backwards, tripping on his cape.

He caught his breath, observing the building. There was no way he was going to be able to climb the side of the building either, especially without the proper equipment. If only he had– Tim remembered the utility belt, still slung across his chest. Hands shaking, he opened one of the compartments on Batman’s utility belt and retrieved the grappling gun.

Trying to forget the fact that he had no training with the equipment, Tim stood up and aimed the gun at the roof’s ledge. Gripping it with two hands, he squeezed the trigger and watched the hook fly across the space between buildings and onto the apartment building’s roof. A light thunk echoed back down to him.  

He tugged on the line as hard as he could, but it stayed in place. Hopefully that meant it would support his weight. He pressed the retract button. 

Faster than he was prepared for, the line went taught and he was wrenched through the air, only barely managing to hang on. It felt like his shoulders were going to be ripped from their sockets, and he only prevented himself from screaming by biting his tongue.

He slammed into the ledge, grip still somehow tight on the gun. With wavering and protesting muscles, he managed to pull himself up and over, where he flopped onto his back, chest heaving.

“ Fuck ,” He whispered, his vision swirling. The cold concrete soothing on his newly bruised muscles and Tim let himself lay there for longer than was probably necessary.

When his ragged breathing returned to somewhat normal, he dragged himself to a crouch, legs and arms quivering from exertion and fear. He replaced the grappling hook in its pocket and pulled his hood back up over his head.

Across the street was the warehouse. And inside, Jason. And Tim had no plan. He turned back around, leaning against the ledge, drawing his cape around him, squeezing his eyes shut, tears forming. He felt like he was going to throw up. He placed his head in his hands and drew his knees to his chest. The darkness enveloped him in a somewhat comforting way, almost like a hug. For a split second, he imagined Bruce’s arms around him, his quiet voice whispering comfort echoing in his head. The anxiety eased in his chest. He could do this. Just one step at a time. That’s all.

Tim lifted his head and rubbed the tears away from his eyes. What would Batman do?

Assess the situation , Bruce’s voice seemed to say. Batman would assess the situation first. Tim could do that.

He turned around and pulled the binoculars out of the utility belt and brought them to his eyes, turning his gaze towards the building. By the main door were two figures, mostly masked in the shadows created by the door frame. Guards . He looked up, towards the roof. Three more figures. Tim focused on one of the windows but either it was blacked out or the lights were off. It’d be impossible to tell how many more guards there’d be inside, let alone where.

Tim pulled the binoculars away from his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Sneaking in was definitely out of the question. Tim was great at sneaking around, but he very much doubted even he’d be able to detect the notice of an entire warehouse filled with assassins trained in the art of subterfuge. He’d gotten lucky at the manor. He didn’t know if he wanted to push his luck any further, especially with everything that was on the line.

Going in guns blazing had never been an option. Tim’s basic self-defense skills were no match for one assassin, let alone an entire warehouse full of them. Which left really one other choice, distraction.

If Tim could cause a big enough commotion that at least some of the guards left to check it out, he might be able to get in and evade capture long enough to release Jason, who could hopefully take it from there. He at least knew where Batman and Nightwing were, probably. Hopefully. At least with Jason free they might stand a chance at stopping whatever the League had planned from coming into fruition.

That just left Tim with one more question: How the hell was he going to create a distraction big enough to get the guards to move?

Turns out, Tim didn’t have to answer that question, because they began to move on their own. Tim had been studying the smoke bombs he had brought along with him, wondering if he could hotwire a remote detonator with his phone when he glanced up to check the guards’ positions on the roof. They were gone. 

He scrambled for his binoculars and scanned the building, just to be sure. The guards at the entrances were still there, but those that had been on the roof were gone. Tim stashed all but one of the bombs with shaking hands. This was his chance. If he could get onto the building unnoticed, he had a chance of sneaking in unnoticed as well. 

He zipped up the binoculars and reached for the grappling gun, gripping it as tightly as he could in one hand, the smoke bomb in the other. He had to time this right, make sure the guards attention was elsewhere before he moved.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stomach solid. Throw , shoot, jump . Three things. That’s all he had to do.

Tim chucked the smoke bomb as hard as he could across the street, towards the alley and shot the grapple with his other hand. Not even waiting to make sure that it was completely secure, Tim hit the retract button and only barely managed to get his other hand on the gun before he was flying across the sky towards the warehouse.

He hit the wall with too much force, shocking him to his bones, but he ignored the pain and the breath being knocked out of him. As quickly as he could, he pulled himself over the ledge and flat onto the roof, not daring to breathe.

The voices of the guards floated up to him, their words indecipherable. Tim heard the scratch of a radioed voice, and he stopped breathing. They’d figure it out eventually. There was no time to freeze. He had to get moving. Pulling himself up, he replaced the gun as fast as he could in the belt, retrieving the staff and extending it. He’d rather have it ready to go than not at all.

But before he could take a step towards the entrance hatch to the building, someone placed their hand on his shoulder. Tim instinctively swung around, staff heading straight towards the woman’s head, who grabbed it smoothly, wrenching it from his grasp.

“We do not have much time, young one, you need to listen carefully,” She whispered.

Tim was staring at her face. He knew who this was.

“Talia?” He breathed. The woman smiled wryly.
“You are a smart one, I’ll give you that,” Talia said, retracting the staff and holding it out to him. Tim took it, wary. He opened his mouth to ask, but she put a finger to her lips.

“I’m here to help,” she whispered.

“Why?” Tim asked. “Isn’t Ra’s your Dad?” 

“He is,” She inclined her head, nodding. She took a look around, eyes darting over the dark roof around them. 

“So why-”  She cut him off.

“I do not have the time to explain, you will just need to trust me. I can help you rescue them,” Tim snapped his mouth shut. This could be a trap. But maybe it wasn't. Talia’s eyes seemed genuinely concerned. Tim could at least listen to her, right? Any information was better than nothing.

She leaned down to whisper into his ear and Tim listened, trying to memorize all the information she was given him. She pulled away, silently asking him if he’d gotten it all. He nodded. She looked around again, as if expecting to be caught any moment.

“I must leave now, before I am discovered,” She said.

Tim couldn’t help it.

“Why?” He asked again. Talia’s eyes softened.

“For our Treasure,” She whispered, a sad smile spreading on her face, gaze far away. Tim was more confused than ever, but watched as she ran, seemingly disappearing into the darkness. He gave himself a shake and turned back to the entrance.

There was no time to ponder Talia's intentions. He had a rescue to finish, and not very much time left to do so. This was his only window to get in, regardless if he was going to follow Talia's directions or not.

Chapter Text

In her hurried whispers, Talia had told him how many guards there were total, the general areas they’d be guarding, and most importantly, the location of not only Robin, but Batman, Nightwing, and Alfred as well. Tim’s heart had swelled with relief. They were all here, and they were all alive. He just hoped to God that she wasn’t lying to him. The last thing she’d whispered was the location of an access point, one that she insisted would be undetectable, so long as he managed to get there within the next three minutes.

Tim tugged his hood up further over his face and sprinted across the roof towards the unlocked window pane. He peered through to see a metal platform, blessedly empty. Taking one last glance around to make sure he really hadn’t been seen, he eased the window open as silently as he could. It was heavier than he anticipated and he only just managed to prevent it from making an audible thud as it opened all the way to the opposite side. He crouched down, and gripped the frame with his fingers before pushing his legs in. His arms received his weight with a jolt, his shoulders already burning. He took a deep breath and let go, bending as he landed to absorb the shock. His fall caused a quiet clang and he winced as it reverberated into the air.

Talia had said that if he continued to the left, there’d be a vent he could access, and where he’d hopefully fit. He really hoped that he wasn’t walking straight into a trap. Logically, it wouldn’t make sense to trap him anyway. It would have been far easier to just capture him then and there. It wasn’t like he could actually fight, let alone against a trained assassin. The thought eased some of the anxiety building in his chest. It was very unlikely that this was a trap. The assassins still didn’t know he was here, and that was something he could work with.

He made his way as silently and quickly as he could down the metal platform, mentally cursing at the creaks and clunks his feet made on the ground, even stepping lightly. If Batman were here, Tim had the feeling that he wouldn’t even be able to see him, let alone hear him. If he made it out of this alive, maybe he could ask him to teach him how.

The sound of voices coming from behind him made Tim jump. He pressed his back against the wall, hoping that the shadows would better disguise him and tried to pinpoint where the voices were coming from, exactly. There were two figures, clothed in darkness at the other end of the platform, and they were getting closer.

Tim whipped back around and began to move quicker, eyes straining in the semi darkness for the vent access that Talia had told him about. Nothing. Absolutely noth– There . Hidden by the shadows, Tim could just make out the dark recess that was the vent. 

The voices were getting closer behind him, though they hadn’t made any alarm. Tim had to get inside the vent now . Pushing himself the last few feet, he almost slammed into the wall with the speed of his approach. The inside was pitch black, and only just barely big enough for him to fit his shoulders through. Muscles burning, Tim hoisted himself into the vent and began to crawl into the tunnel as fast as he could, the sides scraping his shoulders. The farther he could get in, the safer he’d be.

He froze, pulse racing, as the voices seemed to come from directly behind him. The soft clanks of their footsteps didn’t stop, just continued, and eventually began to fade, along with their receding voices. Tim blew out a breath of relief. They had not seen him.

He waited a few more moments, breaths coming in puffs. The footsteps and voices did not return. Tim began pulling himself forward once again, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth metal. The vent was not very tall, and Tim could just barely keep his head up without hitting the top. He tried not to think what would happen if he got stuck here, if anyone would actually ever find him.

Tim kept moving, ignoring the ache already building in his shoulders and neck, and the utility belt digging into his chest. The air around him seemed to heat up as he worked, and he could feel the sweat building underneath his clothing and on his forehead. The space was too narrow for him to even wipe the drops off, and he gritted his teeth as one rolled down the side of his face, stopping at his mask, which had become annoyingly moist. He regretted not pulling it down before he’d climbed in the vent.

It was hard to judge exactly how far he’d moved, it being pitch black and all, but he doubted it was very far. Each crawl forward only propelled him a few inches, at best. Eventually, he reached the upward turn of the vent, which presented a whole new problem.  It was completely vertical.

Tim wriggled his way up, so that he was standing, ignoring the twinge in his back at the sharp angle he’d had to push it through in order to get upright. There was not enough room to even raise his hands, let alone climb. He couldn’t even turn around.

It was becoming increasingly hard to breathe and he no longer knew if the water on his face was from sweat or tears, the complete darkness and oppressing silence seemed to only further push in on him from all directions. He tilted his head up, reveling in the very brief moment of fresh air before his breath made it muggy.

He squinted his eyes. There was just the barest sense of light at the top of the vent, a shimmer of gray compared to the rest of the vents black. If there was light, there had to be an exit. Tim just had to make it to the top, somehow. He licked his lips, focusing on the sting, thinking.

He tried to raise his hands, but he couldn’t get his hands past his shoulders without them pushing into the walls around him, pinning them to his body. He pushed his arms to the side, trying to wiggle them through so they’d be above his head, but there just wasn’t enough space. He dropped his arms back to his sides, and looked back up before resting his forehead against the wall in front of him, gaze downwards. If he looked hard enough, he could almost see the outline of his feet below.

Spreading his feet, he pushed them into the sides of the vent, with as much force as he could muster. Raising his hands again, he pressed his shoulders into the vent as well, and pushed off the ground as much as he could in the cramped space, using the tension of his position to pull himself up.

His breath coming in sharp bursts, he wiggled himself up centimeters at a time, muscles screaming. He could feel the bruises being created along his shoulders, already aching as he willed himself to keep the tension up. The grip of the suit and his boots were probably the only thing actually letting this work, and Tim felt increasingly grateful that he had decided to wear them. 

Hours seemed to tick by as he wrestled his way up the vent until finally, he felt empty air around his head, the dim light brighter. He gave one last push with his legs and his hands were free and in front of him. He scrambled the rest of the way up, and nearly cried in relief when he realized he could sit up. Evidently this was a bigger vent. Cold air blew through the vent and Tim wanted to stay there forever, away from the dark recess he had just emerged. 

He was jolted out of his relief by the sound of a voice coming from a grate further down the vent. It seemed to be where the light was coming from. Pulling himself to his hands and knees, Tim crawled towards it and peered through. It looked like he had made it to the upper ceiling of the warehouse.

Down below, he could make out four bound figures, each to a steel support beam. Tim felt a sigh of relief escape him as he saw all of them struggling against their bonds. Everyone was still alive. That was at least something. Across from them was a man, who was the one speaking. He seemed to be giving orders to a series of other figures who were preparing something . They seemed to be drawing some sort of sigil on the floor around the man in the center, placing items at different points. Next to the man, and at the very center of the sigil was the weather totem. 

Tim wriggled the binoculars out of the utility belt just in time to focus on the figure of a woman who was approaching the man in the sigil. It was Talia. She whispered something in the man’s ear.

“Talia!” Batman shouted. He was still wrestling with his bonds. Talia didn’t even look his way, just wordlessly made her way outside of the sigil. 

“My daughter has nothing to say to you, Detective,” The man in the middle said in accented English. If Tim had to guess, it was Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon Head.

“What are you planning to do Ra’s?” Batman growled. Ra’s chuckled. The sound sent chills down Tim’s spine.

“I am going to cleanse the Earth of your vile abomination of a city Detective. Cut this cancer out at the root,” He paused, shaking his head slightly before continuing. “I had hoped that you would be able to weed out the corruption with your crusade, but I should have known better. You were never able to go the lengths needed to truly make a difference in this world. You are weak, just like your city. And I do not tolerate weakness,” 

Tim sat frozen, trying to think of something, anything , he could do to stop Ra’s from wiping Gotham off the map. His eyes still glued to the binoculars.

“We aren’t going to let that happen,” Robin said, suddenly completely still. Tim had no idea how Jason could appear so calm. He was watching it from afar and his heart felt like it was going to explode with every beat. 

Jason’s hands twitched. With laser focus, Tim zoomed in on his hands. By some miracle, Jason had managed to cut his ropes and was now holding them tight to keep them from falling. Tim suddenly knew exactly what he needed to do.

The rest of the League who had been preparing the sigil stepped away and stood in a circle surrounding it. Ra’s began to chant something in a foreign language, and the marks and the totem began to glow an unearthly red.

Tim swallowed the nausea in his stomach as he pulled out all of the smoke bombs he could fit in one hand from the utility belt. With the other, he gripped the grappling gun, finger poised to pull.

A wind began to tear its way through the warehouse as Ra’s continued to chant, the light growing brighter. Tim had to act now.

Not caring about stealth any more, Tim wrenched the grate open and dropped it to the floor, the sound momentarily stopping Ra’s chanting. Tim threw all of the smoke bombs at Ra’s, watching as only a few managed to actually get near him, but the distraction was enough. 

Tim hooked the grappling hook to the edge of the vent, and with a prayer and swoop in his stomach, he dropped himself through the hole, pressing the release button as he went. He touched down into chaos.

The smoke bombs had detonated and spread their veil. He could hear Ra’s yelling orders and Tim could see figures moving through the smoke, gunshots peppering the air.

Abandoning the grappling gun, Tim pulled out the staff from its back pocket, extending it to its full length, just in time to swing it at an Assassin who had been running straight at him. The Assassin dodged but Tim had already bolted, moving towards the support beams he could just barely make out. He just needed to get Batman and Nightwing out of their bonds. That was it.

 He never made it. A hand grabbed his cape and wrenched him backwards. Before he could regain his balance, a hand collided with his face, and he dropped to the floor. Noises faded into chaos as Tim tried to blink the black spots out of his vision, but was unable to as he received a jab to the ribs, knocking the breath out of him. The pain scorched through his side, as though he’d been impaled with burning knives.

Something wet was dripping down his cheek. He didn’t know if it was tears or blood or a mixture of the two. The hand hauled him up by his cape, holding him as if he weighed nothing. More jabs came and Tim tried to block them but they were too fast. The world became a blur of pain and misery. 

Until they just stopped. Tim was dropped to the floor. Tim looked up to see a figure in red and green throwing punches at the assassin, faster than Tim thought was humanly possible. He pulled himself away as much as he could, but with every jostle, his ribs screamed. Tim’s hearing went fuzzy, and he only just managed to keep himself conscious.

The smoke had begun to clear and he could see Batman fighting off other League members as Nightwing worked to free Alfred of his bonds. Tim pushed himself back another inch and felt his back collide into something solid. He didn’t have a chance to look when he felt a cold hand grip his neck and haul him up, feet dangling in the air.

“Detective, surrender!” Tim felt the hand squeeze around his neck. He kicked his feet fruitlessly. It was becoming harder to breathe. Black spots danced around his vision.

“LET HIM GO!” Tim heard Batman roar. Tim tried to pry the hand off his neck but it was solid steel. His lungs burned. All he could hear was static.

There was a gunshot. Tim dropped, the hand gone from his neck. He hit the floor hard. And everything went completely black. 

Chapter Text

Someone was shaking his shoulders. 

“-im?” Jason said. Tim wrenched his eyes open and let out a gasp of pain. His entire body burned with pain. He could taste the irony tinge of blood.

“Tim! I need you to stay awake, come on!” He felt hands being thrust under his arms and the movement threatened to make Tim vomit. Jason hauled him to his feet anyways.

Tim was having a hard time focusing. There was too much going on. In front of them, Ra’s and Batman were fighting, dodging each other in blurs of motion. Tim thought he saw a streak of blue before spots blinked across his eyes again. It felt like he was watching the whole scene on an old TV, poor resolution intercut with static.

“Come on, we need to get you out of here,” Jason pulled and Tim’s feet dragged. There was a ringing in his ears. It hurt to breathe. Tim forced himself to take a step, pain searing with each movement. He made it two more steps before his legs buckled, Jason’s arms the only thing keeping Tim from tumbling entirely to the floor.

Tim pulled his head up and through the mess of smoke and fighting, he saw the artifact, untouched, in the center of the room. It was still glowing red. Jason shouted something in his ear but it didn’t make any sense. Suddenly, Jason let go and Tim fell to his knees. There were sounds of blows landing, of Jason grunting behind him, fending off an assassin. In the corner of his vision Tim sensed movement, someone coming straight for him. He didn’t hesitate, he was already reaching into the utility belt with trembling hands, hand clenching around the last of his explosives. His entire arm seemed to be on fire but Tim gritted his teeth.

Using all of his strength, he threw the explosives at the stone. For a moment, the world was silent, before it was doused in flame. And then, nothing. 

For the second time in a week, Tim woke up in the cave’s medbay, head pounding. Unlike last time, the lights were dim, barely illuminating his surroundings. As consciousness continued to return, so did all of the aches and pains. It felt like his entire body had been run over by a truck, and then backed up by another for good measure. Every tiny movement revealed a new bruise he hadn’t sensed before.

Grunting, Tim tried to wrestle himself to sitting upright, but pain flared through his side, and he fell back. He attempted to move his right arm to feel his side, but found that it was bound in a cast and sling. He lifted his left arm, which other than the fact that his shoulder felt like it was going to pop off felt mostly fine, and managed to feel his side. Thick bandages, wrapped tightly around his entire torso.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He turned his head to the bedside table, hoping that there’d be a glass of water and was surprised to see another figure in the opposite bed. Tim could just see the rise and fall of Jason’s supine form underneath the covers. He had a large bandage wrapped around his forehead. 

Tim turned his head back and stared at the ceiling, tears spilling out of his eyes faster than he could attempt to stop them. He closed his eyes, trying to piece together what had happened, but it all seemed to pass in a blur. Bits and pieces flashing before his eyes. The heat of the explosion. Maybe someone carrying him. The pain in his ribs, in his face, in his shoulders. The blood.

The sound of the door opening pulled Tim from his thoughts. Soft footsteps made their way across the hard floor, and there was some rustling of fabric, soft sounds of someone moving around. Tim opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto his shaking arms, as high as his torso would allow him to go.

Alfred turned around from where he was preparing medicines, eyes softening. 

“It is good to see you awake Master Tim,” He whispered, turning back around and filling a glass with water before moving towards Tim.

“Alfred?” Tim croaked. His entire throat felt crushed, and the sound seemed only barely able to make it out.

Alfred smiled softly and held the glass to Tim’s lips, guiding the water into his mouth. It was cold, and felt good in his mouth, but the moment Tim attempted to swallow, he grimaced, the pain almost unbearable.

Still, Alfred made him take a few more sips before placing the glass on the table, and sitting on the end of Tim’s bed, gentle hand on Tim’s leg.

Tim opened his mouth to attempt to ask what happened, but all that came out was a croak. 

“Everyone is ok lad,” He said, patting Tim’s unbandaged hand. Tim felt his chest flood with relief and he let his head fall back into the pillow.

The door opened again, and Tim heard more footsteps cross the room, much quieter than Alfred’s had been. He raised his head again to see Bruce and Dick approaching his bed. Dick’s smile was not his usual grin, but it was friendly and soft nonetheless.

“Good to see you awake Magpie,” Dick said, sitting down next to Alfred. There was a large bruise over his eyes along with half a dozen cuts, all already patched up with tiny bandages or stiches. 

Bruce stood awkwardly, nodding. Tim looked at him, tried to transmit his thoughts with just his eyes. Bruce seemed to understand, his expression softening, eyes just barely wrinkling around the edges.

“I know you want to know what happened, but you need to rest. Just know that everyone is ok, and the League won’t be hurting anyone any time soon,” Tim let out a breath of air, eyes already closing despite his resistance.

“Rest buddy,” Dick murmured, squeezing his leg. And Tim was pulled back under the waves of unconsciousness.

The next time Tim woke, it was to the sound of low voices, too quiet to decipher. He let himself lay there, eyes closed and trying to take stock of the pains throughout his body. They were largely dulled, probably by whatever pain medication Alfred was no doubt making sure he got, but still there. His entire body felt like one big bruise and Tim wondered how long it was going to take for him to heal. 

Tim’s eyes flew open as he pulled himself up, ignoring the ache in his ribs as he did so. The voices stopped the minute he moved but Tim was trying to get himself to breathe, his throat tight. He had to go back to school soon. How was he going to explain how he’d gotten injured without it getting back to his parents? And God his parents.

He more sensed than saw Dick approach him and sit on his bed, hand on his leg. He was saying something but Tim couldn’t figure out what and he felt so stupid. After everything, he was allowing himself to get worked up over school and his parents and-

Someone’s hands were rubbing up and down on his arms, achingly gentle. Sensation began to return to his body, enough that he blinked and he could understand what Dick was telling him to do.

“List three things that start with A, ok?” Dick said, still rubbing his arms. Tim closed his eyes and tried to get his brain to think but nothing would come out.

“Just the first three things that come to mind Timmy,” 

“A-apple,” Tim bit out, voice hoarse. “Arraignment,” Dick nodded and smiled. Tim’s brain froze again. “You’re doing awesome Timbo,”
“Awesome,” Tim whispered.

“Ok, good. Now B,”

“Batman. Balthazar. Bambi.” Tim felt himself relax marginally.

“C,”

“Calculus. Cell. Crank.” The world seemed to come back into focus somewhat. Dick was smiling and nodding.

“D,”

“Dick. Dad. Dragon.” Tim’s fingers and toes tingled. Dick continued to list letters and Tim dutifully responded. By the time they reached T, Tim felt settled. 

“Better?” Dick said, hands still rubbing up and down Tim’s arms.

“Y-yeah,” Tim said, rubbing the tears from his face with his one functional arm. Dick gave his shoulders one last gentle squeeze, mindful of all of his injuries and pulled his arms away. 

Tim looked down at his lap, taking a deep breath, or as much of one as he could with his torso wrapped so tightly. He felt so stupid. 

There was the sound of shifting fabric and Tim turned to face Jason who was attempting to get out of his own bed. Dick was already standing and gently pushing the other boy back down.

“Uh uh mister. You have got to stay in bed or you’re going to pull your stitches,” Jason scowled and resisted weakly.

“Do you want me to get Alfred?” Dick asked, one eyebrow piqued. Jason stopped fighting his brother immediately, though it sounded like he was grumbling something under his breath.

Jason allowed himself to be propped back up on the bed with a grimace and waited until Dick had turned his back to sit back down on Tim’s bed to give him the finger. Tim couldn’t help but smile, just a little. Jason threw him a wink.

“It’s good to see you awake Timbo,” Jason said, sobering slightly.

“You too,” Tim whispered. He couldn’t get his voice any louder. Jason grimaced in sympathy. Dick handed him a glass of water and Tim took a sip, the cold feeling just a little bit better on his throat.

“What happened?” He croaked out, curiosity burning. “There was a gunshot, did-?” Dick just shook his head softly.

“Not right now kiddo. You just woke up. It can wait,”

Tim wanted to argue but a cough bubbled up in his throat and he couldn’t choke it down. His throat burned and he could feel tears well up in his eyes. Suddenly there was a hand closing in around his throat and Tim couldn’t breathe . Panic swelled in his chest. For a split second he was dangling in the air and then there was a gunshot-

There was a soft hand on his arm again and Tim blinked away the tears. He was in the medbay. There was not a hand around his throat. Dick was sitting there, looking at him with concern. Tim wanted to shrivel up under the blankets and hide forever. What was happening to him?

Dick didn’t push, just gave him another soft smile.

“How about we get you some soup? Would that feel good?” He asked, pulling out his phone. Tim nodded, realizing for the first time how empty his stomach was.

“Oh thank god. I’m starving!” Jason said from his bed. Dick just chuckled and typed a message out on his phone. There was a soft ding a few moments later.

“Alfred’ll be here in a few minutes with some soup,” He said, tucking his phone away and looking around the room.

“I would say we could put a show on, but unfortunately you are still recovering from a pretty nasty concussion. So no screens for you. Is there something else you’d like to do?” Tim shrugged, picking at the blanket. 

They waited in a comfortable silence for Alfred to come and Tim tried not to let his brain spiral. He wanted to know what happened, but every time he tried to remember anything concrete through the haze of memory, his breath hitched. Maybe it was best to ignore that for now.

Alfred eventually did come with the promised soup, along with Pride and Prejudice , a knowing smile on his face. Jason dug in immediately, all but moaning. Tim took a hesitant sip and swallowed. It tasted amazing, like always, and the heat did feel soothing on his throat but it still hurt so much. He managed to eat about half of it before it became too much and Tim set it aside, still hungry, but feeling nauseous at the thought of any more pain. 

Dick opened the book and began to read aloud and Tim let the words wash over him.

Chapter Text

Tim felt sick to his stomach as he watched Alfred carefully inspect Jason’s stitches before rewrapping his torso. Jason had a huge gash along his ribs, and though neatly stitched, and soon neatly wrapped with gauze, it seemed to continually flash before Tim’s eyes.

They’d finally told Tim what had happened with much better clarity than Tim could remember, having been either in pain or unconscious for most of it. Jason had managed to disarm one of the assassins and shoot in the general direction of Ra’s. They weren’t entirely sure if he’d actually been hit by the bullet or not, but it had distracted him for just long enough that he’d released Tim and Bruce had been able to tackle Ra’s. Jason was probably the only reason that Tim was still alive. 

Unfortunately, so was the League, Ra’s included. They’d managed to escape and had effectively disappeared. Bruce was still looking for clues as to where he could find them, though he wasn’t holding out. They were likely to be deep, deep underground as they planned their next move. At least that’s what Bruce thought.

The fight wasn’t where Jason had sustained his injury, however. That was Tim’s fault. He had been the one to launch the explosive at the artifact, and while it had been decimated, along with any possibility of its use ever again, the resulting blast had sent both Jason and Tim flying, along with pieces of broken artifact, one of which hit Jason. Tim sometimes couldn’t breathe for the guilt, even though Jason had already told him it was fine. That the important thing was that the artifact was destroyed and Gotham saved as a result; Tim was a hero. Tim didn’t feel like one.  

With the help of Alfred, Jason gingerly pulled his sweatshirt back on over the bandages. They were still both confined to the medbay, even after four days of being there already. Although Alfred had conceded that if they both continued to show signs of improvement, they would be let back upstairs into the manor to finish healing in more comfort soon.

Tim was about ready to burst from boredom. Though they were pretty sure he hadn’t received any permanent brain damage from having attempted a rescue mission with a still healing concussion, his screen time, along with anything else that could possibly strain his eyes was still heavily restricted. Sometimes he got the feeling that it wasn’t all about his brain, and more about keeping him from case research, especially considering the fact that he wasn’t allowed on a computer without an adult in the room. He doubted that was proper concussion recovery protocol.

Bruce and Dick entered the room right as Alfred left to go prepare lunch.

“How are we doing, lads?” Bruce asked as he pulled up a chair between their two beds. Jason rolled his eyes and sighed, sinking back into his pillows.

“Unbelievably bored. Are you sure we can’t bring the Switch down here?” He said. Bruce gave him a small smile along with a shake of his head.

“You know what Alfred said. You are not allowed to do any strenuous activities for the next two weeks, at least,” 

“Come on, it’s just video games!”

“Jay, I’ve seen you play Mario Kart,” Bruce said with a small laugh. “You’d pull your stitches out in five minutes,” 

Dick laughed and Jason glared, which only seemed to make Dick happier.

“How about you kiddo?” Bruce said, turning to Tim. Tim shrugged, or at least made the approximation of a shrug. His arms and shoulders were stiff and still sore from both his climb up the vents and his attempts at using the grappling gun. 

“Is your throat feeling any better?”

“Yeah, a little,” Tim said. He’d finally been able to speak above a whisper without too much discomfort and swallowing was becoming easier. He’d even graduated from liquids to soft solids the day before. Solid food had never tasted better.

“That’s good,” Bruce said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it with a slight shake of his head. His eyes lingered on the still visible bruises around Tim’s neck. Tim had looked at them in the mirror only once, the sight of Ra’s fingers, colored in purple, as if his hand had left its shadow behind, still squeezing, was too much to handle. 

There was awkward silence in the room and Tim fidgeted with his blanket, running his fingernail under the seam around the edges. Bruce didn’t seem to notice. He was staring off in space, brain obviously whirring with imperceptible thoughts. 

Tim thought back to the whole rescue mission, as he had been for days now, trying to think of a way he could have done something different, stopped Jason’s injuries from ever happening in the first place. As always, he came to the same conclusion. If he had just known better, had gotten more training, prepared more, he could have saved Jason the pain. The weight of it seemed to swing from his chest, pulling him down.

You did your best . A voice in the back of his head said. It sounded suspiciously like Jason. It’s ok. Tim, for once, let himself believe it, just a little. The weight loosened a little.

He suddenly remembered something that had been bothering him for days but hadn’t really had the energy to unpack. Why had Talia helped him?

“Bruce?” He asked softly.

“Hmm?”

“Talia said something about a Treasure when she was helping me. Does that mean anything to you?”

Bruce looked up at Tim, eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“When Talia told me about the warehouse, I asked her why she was helping me, and she said it was for ‘our Treasure’, which I’m assuming means yours and hers,” 

"You hiding another fortune from us, B?" Dick said, laughing. His laughter cut off as they watched Bruce's expression.

Bruce’s forehead had crumpled and a mixture of confusion and pain flashed across his face before his stoic mask slid back into place. He didn’t say anything. Tim was tempted to press, but a look back to Dick and Jason revealed the same hesitance. Tim swallowed his follow-up question.

Thirty minutes later, as they were eating lunch, Bruce still hadn’t said a word, just silently shoveled food into his mouth. Tim couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up-” 

Bruce sighed, but looked at Tim with warmth in his eyes. 

“It’s ok Tim. It’s just-” He searched for words. “Something from when we were together,”

“Oh,”

Pain seemed to flash in his eyes once again before it cleared. He cleared his throat. Silence reigned in the room again until Alfred returned to take their dishes.

“Master Jason, I would like to do another scan to make sure that your injuries are healing properly. Master Dick, if you could help him,” Jason grumbled but allowed Dick to help him out of bed and support his weight. Tim didn’t miss the look that passed between Alfred and Bruce over their heads.

Jason, Dick, and Alfred left the room, leaving Tim and Bruce alone. Bruce cleared his throat again, looking pained but determined. 

“Tim, I know it’s hard, but we need to talk about your parents,” Bruce winced a little. If Tim wasn’t anxious out of his mind for the conversation to come, he would have thought it funny that Batman flinched at the thought of a conversation but not a gun. As it was, all he did feel was his stomach dropping.

“What about them?” Tim fought to keep the defensive tone out of his words. Bruce had confirmed that they had indeed sold the artifact to Ra’s but that they had been unaware of who they were selling it to. How could they have known?

Still, Tim’s feelings on the matter were a mixed bag. They’d sold the artifact, in some part causing this mess. But they were still his parents.

“Tim, they’ve left you alone without any support for years. That’s– It’s not–” Bruce tripped over his words. His voice was suddenly hoarse and Tim felt tears prick at his eyes.

“Tim you deserve to have a family that takes care of you, that’s there for you , loves you ,” Tim felt his feelings curdle in his stomach and throat.

“What I’m trying to say is we want you to stay, permanently,” Bruce looked him in the eyes and Tim didn’t know what to do or say. It was like his brain hit an error screen. It took a minute for it to reboot. To his own great surprise, he nodded.

“Tim?” Bruce asked softly.

Tim’s entire body seemed to be filling with conflicting emotions and it was hard to breathe but for once, he knew , at an intrinsic level, what he wanted and that that was ok.

“I want to stay,” He whispered, mostly to himself, surprised that he could voice it.

Bruce broke into a grin and Tim was pulled into a warm hug.

Guilt about his parents still bubbled up inside of him, but for once, Tim didn’t listen. He was focusing on the feeling of safety welling up inside of him as he pushed his face against Bruce’s sweater, smelling of Alfred’s detergent. The sound of Bruce’s steady heart beat. And the feeling of Bruce’s hand running through his hair. 

Bruce kissed the top of his head.

“We love you Tim, so much. We’re so glad that you’re a part of our family,” He whispered. Tim felt something open in his chest. “And I am so proud of you,” 

Two weeks later 

“Why Magpie?” Tim asked, looking up from his phone. He, Jason, and Dick were all sitting in the TV room relaxing before dinner. 

Dick looked away from the game he was playing, a soft grin on his face.

“Why don’t you tell him Jay?” Jason sighed, but closed his book, a small smile on his own face. Tim turned to him expectantly.

“We needed a code name for you, as you know. Cave protocol and all that. And obviously it had to be a bird,” Tim nodded solemnly. Bruce had been drilling safety protocols into him the minute he was back on his feet, albeit with crutches. 

“Anyways, Magpies are some of the smartest birds in the world. They make and use tools. And they collect things,” Jason smirked. “It sounded a lot like someone I know,” He shrugged. Tim grinned.

“Sounds about right, don’t it Magpie?” Dick said, eyes still glued to the game screen. 

Tim couldn’t help it. He laughed. A bubble of joy swelled in his chest, making him like he was flying. Magpie indeed.