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Chapter Text

As all good stories start, the story of Tim Drake started with being dragged into an alley and held at knifepoint.

This was not uncommon in Gotham, but his eyes still widened in shock, while there were a lot of muggings here, there were less people willing to mug a seven year old.

Probably because they didn’t usually have much money.

Tim felt the point of the knife dig into the soft skin under his chin, and the spark of pain was accompanied by a drop of blood falling onto his white t-shirt. A jagged piece of rock was digging into his back from the wall he was being shoved against.

The skateboard he had been holding lay haphazardly a few metres away.

Panic rose in his chest as he brought his attention back to the man spitting in his face. Shouting about money.

What was wrong with him? Tim knew exactly how to free himself, his self defence classes specialised in this sort of thing, so why wouldn’t his body move.

His mind was screaming at him, but he was paralysed with fear.

Now, you might be wondering what a seven year old child was doing walking around crime alley on their own, and… well. That’s a good question.

You see, Tim Drake was bored, so incredibly bored.

And when little Tim Drake got bored, he liked to do things that fill him with excitement, adrenaline and maybe even a bit of fear.

So here he was, walking around Crime alley with his skateboard in his hand, looking for a good spot to entertain himself, because after years of doing it, Tim was pretty good at self entertainment, it’s not like he had much of a choice.

You also might be wondering why Tim would decide to skate in Crime Alley of all places, and the answer to that question is that rich people are idiots. Bristol and basically the rest of the city have anti-skateboarding measures in place, bolts on the rails and that kind of stuff. As if there weren’t much more important things going on in Gotham. Of course the skateboarders are a priority.

Fucking rich idiots.

The only place in Gotham not affected by this is Crime Alley, probably because the police are too afraid of the civilians here to even try to put the same measured in place, and because there’s no rich people to complain about skaters on their property in the Alley.

Suffice to say, Tim is now entertained, even if the fear and adrenaline are a bit higher than the excitement right now, at least he’s not bored.

Although Tim had been raised to be independent and mature, when he met eyes with the furious man and felt the spike of pain under his chin as the knife was dug a little too deep, he felt very much like the child he was.

Suddenly there was a shout, a kid if the voice was anything to go by, and then he felt the point of the knife recede from his neck as the man was dragged off him.

He dropped to the ground of the alley, slumped against the wall in relief. Blood dripped from the cut under his chin, courtesy of the muggers knife, Tim swiped at it.

Someone had saved him.

He just hoped they wouldn’t recognise him, he’d heard plenty of stories from his parents of what happened to rich boys who ventured into the alley.

“Hey guys… ain’t that the Drake kid?”

Shit.

“Drake?”

“Y’know, the rich ones, livin’ up in Bristol in that big ass house.”

“Oh shit man you’re right, Tim ain’t it?”

Tim nod slowly, eyes bouncing between the group of teens standing around him, looking down at where he was slumped against the cold brick wall.

“Ay, whatchu doin’ this side of gotham, rich kid?”

How was he going to get himself out of this one?

Tim steeled himself, and points vaguely in the direction his board ended up. Opting just to go with the truth.

“Just skating, there’s more to skate this side of town than up in Bristol,” he shrugs.

“No way dude,” says one of the boys, he’s around Tim’s age he’d guess. His brown eyes are sparkling with excitement. He has tanned skin, bright blonde curls and a smatter of freckles across his nose. Tim recognises his voice, he’s the kid that first shouted at the guys mugging him, the kid that saved him.

“How long you been skatin’ ?” He asks, coming right up into Tim’s space and offers him a hand, which Tim accepts, and pulls him up.

Tim brushes dust off his clothes, “Maybe two years now?” he says carefully. Now that he’s standing, he can see that most of these guys are bigger than him, older too by the looks of it, the chatty kid is the only one who looks his age, if not a bit older.

If he really had to, Tim isn’t sure he’d win a fight against all of them, even with the self defence training his parents put him through, just incase someone tried to break in when they were away, so that he could ‘protect the house.’

His skateboard is pushed against his chest, one of the guys must’ve retrieved it for him, he missed that.

“Go on then, rich kid. Show us whatchu got.” Says one of the older kids, looking down at Tim, like he doesn’t believe him.

Yeah fuck you then, Tim thinks.

Tim smiles at him, all teeth, and some of the other guys start whooping and laughing. They are quick to hop on their own boards, heading towards the mouth of the alley.

They start herding him out of the alley, to a bit more of an open spot. He looks around at the place they’ve picked for him to ‘prove himself’, there’s some steps with a good rail, and a few curbs here and there.

Easy, he thinks.

The gaggle of teens spread out a bit, getting comfortable. Some of them start smoking, laughing between themselves, obviously getting ready for a show.

And a show is what Tim gives them.

He skates like he was born on a board. He shows off a little, more than he usually would when it was just him and the empty manor.

He throws out his best tricks, uses the whole space around him, the curbs, the rails, the steps. Nothing is left untouched.

By the time he’s decided he’s done enough, the chatter from the other guys is long gone.

He kicks his board up, and without the sound of his wheels on the gravel the area is completely silent.

He looks up, face flushed, and sees the crowd around him looking, in a word, shocked.

The same kid from before is the first one to snap out of it and runs up to him, grinning.

“Oh my god man, that was sooo sick!” He exclaims in excitement, his blonde curls bouncing wildly around his face.

The older kids are whistling and whooping, crowding Tim again. Cheers and slaps on the back overwhelm him a bit, and the older guy from earlier shrugs at him, “Ya ain’t too bad for a rich kid.” And he bumps him on the shoulder.

(He later learns his name is Arlo, he’s kind of the leader of the group.)

Tim feels like he’s somehow passed a test.

The blonde kid sticks out a hand for a fist bump.

“Ray,” He says in greeting. “I’ve a feelin’ we’re gonna be great friends.”

Tim lights up from the inside out, friends, he’d said. Tim has never had friends before, even the kids his age in school didn’t talk to him. They all hated him because he was better than them, smarter.

He tentatively bumps his knuckles against Ray’s.

“Tim Drake, nice to meet you.”

—————————

That was the first time he met his brother, Ray.

Well, brother in everything but blood.

Tim started spending more and more time with the guys, and they took him under their wing. Over a few months he had went from seeing them once a week to nearly every day.

They taught him to survive on the streets, and they never batted an eye when he would stay with them for days on end.

Most of them lived in the same area, just on the line between the Bowery and Crime Alley. A couple of the older kids, seventeen and eighteen year olds, had saved up together and were renting out a dingy apartment. The majority of the group spent most of their time there, when they weren’t at school or at home, if they had one.

Tim always left fifties in placed he knew they’d be found whenever he visited, he knew that Arlo, one of the ones renting the place, knew about it. But he never said anything to Tim, it was probably a lot of help. He left about two or three hundred a week with them, covered the cost of rent and maybe food. Feeding seven or eight kids and teenagers was bound to be expensive, and they were all broke.

Anyway, it’s not like he didn’t have the money to spare, and he basically lived there, might aswell pay rent.

Tim was only seven, so he was still in school.

He would go to a rich school in Gotham, surrounded by rich kids who thought they were better than him, and then he’d leave, take the bus to Crime Alley, head over to the Spot (where the guys met up) and hang out with his new friends until it got dark, and it was too dangerous to be on the streets.

Sometimes he would head back with the rest of the guys to their apartment, and stay there for the night. Other times, he would go back to his empty mansion, grab his camera and go follow Batman and Robin.

He loved it, the thrill of running across rooftops, ducking out of sight. The only other time he’d ever felt so happy was when Ray would run over and leap onto of him when he landed a particularly difficult trick.

Ray’s tanned face would split into a grin, and his wild hair would fall into Tims face when he hugged him.

Ray was the only person who ever hugged Tim.

He vividly remembers the first time Ray had wrapped his arms around him.

He’d been seven. Ray was ten.

Tim, sweet innocent Tim, had promptly burst into tears.

He’d never been hugged before.

Not since he was a baby and his mother would cradle him in her arms, but that didn’t really count, it wasn’t because she wanted to.

Ray’s bright eyes had turned hard, shiny with unshed tears when he held his little brother in his arms as he cried, as he whispered a confession that he’d never been hugged before.

Ray, who had been cheery and positive despite everything living in Crime Alley had thrown at him, had felt his heart swell to the point of nearly bursting. Had felt anger rolling in his gut, hatred for Jack and Janet Drake.

It was right there and then that Ray had declared Tim his brother, his family.

Tim cried some more.

—————————

When Tim was eight, he was officially initiated into the group.

Sure he had been hanging out with then a good bit, but he hadn’t fully been apart of their group yet.

Not until he got his nickname.

He remembers it like he was yesterday.

They had been hanging out together at a skatepark, and Ray had finally landed a trick he’d been practicing nearly a month now.

Everyone, including Tim, had whooped and cheered him on.

“Ayy Sunnyyyy, that shit was cold man.” Arlo had said to Ray when he skated over to where Arlo and Tim had been sitting taking a break.

His face was split into the brightest grin Tim had ever seen, eyes gleaming with pure joy. Tim’s heart was filled with of pride.

And Tim, ever the curious child, had asked why they all called him Sunny.

Arlo had started to laugh, and pointed at Rays still grinning face.

“See that right there kid, that big ass smile?” Tim nodded.

“When this guy gets all happy and shit, his face absolutely glows, bright as the fuckin’ sun.” He said with a small smile, pride shining in his eyes.

And Tim got it, he’d never met someone so genuinely joyful before in his life, Ray had a way of always seeing the upside of things.

“Kids our own personal Ray o’ sunshine,” Arlo says, smirking now.

And Ray had scoffed, and sat down on Tim’s other side, nudged him with his shoulder.

“This idiot found that pun a few years ago, has been milkin’ it ever since,” Ray said, giving Arlo a look of disdain, and Arlo had laughed right in his face.

“Yup, i’m a fuckin’ genius, came up with most ’a the guys’ nicknames.” Arlo looked at Tim now, contemplating.

“Oooo he’s got his thinkin’ face on, i’d be worried Tim, means he’s prolly boutta give you a new name as stupid as mine.”

Excitement sparked in Tim’s gut, a nickname .

Tim never had a nickname before, the only thing beside he’s one name that he’d been called was a stupid brat, and that was usually followed by aching bruises and tears.

Arlo seemed to reach a decision, a slow smile creeping into his face as he glanced between Ray and Tim.

“Y’know, since you guys are like fuckin’ polar opposite brothers or some shit now, i’m thinkin’ somethin’ that’s the opposite of our little Sunshine over here….”

Ray glanced at Tim in amusement as Tim’s face flushed happily from being called Rays brother.

Suddenly Arlo say up straighter, eyes bright.

He clapped Tim on the back and exclaimed “Moony.”

And from that moment on, Tim was Moony.

—————————

Tim was nine when he accidentally figured out Batman and Robin’s secret identities.

And honestly, he didn’t even mean to. Tim has always been too smart for his own good.

His parents knew this.

His teachers knew this.

Tim knew this, when he was tripped in the hallways of his school and called a freak because he accidentally answered one too many questions in class.

So when he saw Robin perform a quadruple somersault, his mind started to whizz of its own accord.

For a split second, he was back in Haly’s Circus, watching the Flying Graysons perform their signature trick, moments before two out of three of their members would fall to their deaths.

Dick Grayson was Robin.

And if Dick Grayson was Robin, then the only person who could be Batman was Bruce Wayne.

Tim went home that night and sat in his empty manor and cursed his brain.

—————————

When Tim was ten, a new Robin appeared.

He had noticed that Robin hadn’t been seen in months, and hadn’t been out to follow him and Batman in just as long.

Dick Grayson had moved to Bludhaven, and a new vigilante by the name of Nightwing was born.

Tim didn’t really have much interest in Batman, but Robin?

Robin was something else entirely.

Where Batman was a creature of the night, blending into Gothams shadows, Robin was the light of the city.

Robin was hope.

He lit up Gotham from the inside out.

When he’d vanished, Tim mostly lost interest in taking his photos all over the city, it was usually Robin he was really taking the photos of anyway, Batman just kind of came with that.

Now there was a new Robin.

He was younger than the first one, and if Robin number one was a beam of light in the city, Robin number two was the sun itself.

He reminded Tim of his brother, Ray.

Oftentimes you would hear him whooping with laughter as he swung through the night.

The Alley loved him too, claimed him as one of their own. His distinguishable Alley accent resonated with them, made them a lot more comfortable around him.

He even patrolled the Alley, something that even Batman rarely did, even though he obviously wasn’t supposed to, (there are many accounts of people seeing Batman showing up, full of disappointment, to escort his Robin out of Crime Alley.)

Tim made a good guess that this Robin was Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne’s newly adopted son, who grew up on teh streets of Crime Alley, Tim is pretty sure he’s met him a few times in passing.

Tim took a lot more photos of him than he had of the last Robin.

There was one in particular he was extremely proud of.

It was took from a building beside the one Robin had been on.

Robin was crouched low on the edge of the building, looking out over Crime Alley. A streetlight behind him illuminated the figure, casting a golden glow around him.

He stood out starkly against the greys of the city, a beacon of light.

Every time Tim looked at that photo he felt himself fill with hope, sometimes, on nights where Janet and Jack were home, when his body ached with bruises and his heart ached with loneliness, he would take out his photo album just to see his Robin.

—————————

Tim had been twelve when his Robin died.

Although it was never confirmed, he knew Jason Todd was dead.

The Alley knew he was dead.

Robin disappeared one day, and they knew it wasn’t the same as when the last Robin disappeared, because soon after that a hero named Nightwing had rose in Bludhaven, flipping and spinning in the same was as the first Robin had.

But this Robin didn’t show up again.

Batman became more violent, without him.

Hospitals were filled to the brim, patients telling stories of how Batman had beat them up.

People were in comas, limbs full of shattered bones.

Bruce Wayne stopped all public appearances, and the death of his son, Jason Todd, was announced nearly a week after Robin’s disappearance.

The Alley rioted.

They rioted for their Robin, the Robin who had spoke like them, who had looked after them.

They wouldn’t let him go quietly.

The Crime Alley community came together for the first time in years to mourn the loss of one of their own.

Tim had never seen anything like it.

He was there, too.

Tim was in the heart of the riots, the protests.

Ray was right there with him, as usual. The sun to his moon.

He didn’t know why Tim was so affected by the Robins death, but he was supportive of Tim when he felt the need to honour him.

Tim was so so glad he was there, because Robin was so much like Ray, and he didn’t know what he’d do without his Sunny.

Gotham felt darker, now.

As if Jason had taken the light with him.

—————————

Eventually, the riots stopped.

People moved on, forgot.

The only person who didn’t seem to move on, was the Batman.

If anything, Tim would say he was getting worse.

You see, Tim had began following him at night again. Even though Robin wasn’t there, sometimes he just needed to be out there.

Tim watched as Batman tore through the people of Gotham, watched as purse-stealers and muggers were beaten to pulps by the protector of the city.

Night after night, Batman became less and less restrained. He was slowly being overcome by grief and bitterness.

Tim decided that he’d had enough.

—————————

Chapter Text

Tim leans against the ledge on the roof of a building in Crime Alley, and listens to the sounds of his city.

He closes his eyes and breathes. Taking a moment to rest, tonight’s patrol was a busy one. Saturday nights always are.

So far tonight, he’s stopped thirteen muggings, seven attempted burglaries, broke up six drunken fights, and walked three people home.

And it’s only eleven pm.

Now you might be wondering why Tim is alone in Crime Alley of all places, and why Batman isn’t with him.

And the answer to that would be, it’s one of those nights.

The nights where Bruce does his special version of a flinch every time he catches sight of the Robin costume.

The nights where Tim gets called Jason.

The nights where Batman punches a little bit harder, for a little bit longer.

The nights where Bruce misses Jason.

So Tim was sent his own way on patrol, instead of with Batman. Meaning that Tim finally has the chance to patrol Crime Alley properly.

Batman doesn’t like Robin being in the Alley, he thinks it’s unsafe, and honestly it is. But Tim basically lives in the Alley, it’s his home.

The person he loves most in the world lives here, his brother Ray. He hates the thought of him not being protected by someone. So he always finds a way to visit it on patrol, slipping away from Batman.

And without Batman here, Tim can talk to the Crime Alley people freely, without faking a Bristol accent, which is exhausting by the way. He usually has to cover up his Alley accent, because what would Batman think if his Robin, who lives beside him in Bristol, spoke like a Crime Alley native.

It wouldn’t be good. To say the least.

So he fakes it, and Tim thinks he might be one of the only people who’ve fooled the Batman.

And since he became Robin, he’s gotten pretty good at it.

Tim has been Robin for seven months now.

It’s been seven months since he pushed his way into Batmans life, which was really not appreciated by the man, if his treatment of Tim those first months was to count for anything.

He was….. rough. Still is really, but he’s getting better.

Tim didn’t blame him, if he’s honest.

If his son had died, and some random kid had decided to put themselves into the same situation that had killed him, Tim wouldn’t be too happy either.

Batman was furious when Tim first showed up in the Rubin costume, handed to him by Alfred Pennyworth with a look that said relief.

He’d shouted and cursed and thrown up his hands, but Tim had stood his ground.

He’d ran away, tried to hide from Tim, hoping that he’d give up, but Tim simply found him, followed him. He’d had years of practice at finding Batman, not that he knew that.

He’d refused to train him, but when it became apparent that Tim would still go out as Robin, trained or not, and after a hushed conversation with Alfred, Tim was sent to train with Lady Shiva.

That was probably the most challenging three months of his life.

Lady Shiva was a formidable fighter, and she taught Tim nearly everything she knew.

Tim became a master of the bo staff, the only person alive to rival him was Lady Shiva herself.

Most Robins usually trained for a few months longer than Tim had, but Lady Shivas training was brutally fast.

Tim was sent to back to Bruce a fighter.

And fight he did.

He fought for his place at Batmans side, sparred until he could barely stand, and when he couldn’t stand, he didn’t let that stop him either.

Tim proved himself over and over again, even when it was apparent by the desperate look in Bruce’s eyes that Bruce wanted him to fail. Wanted a reason to send Tim away, to stop him from becoming Robin.

But Tim never gave him a reason.

Tim trained and trained and trained.

He practiced the same moves hundreds of times until he could do them flawlessly every single time.

He practiced punches and blocks until his knuckles bled through the wraps on his hands.

He ran until his legs gave out and he tasted blood.

And above all else.

Tim endured.

So yeah, Robin training was hard.

But Tim had eventually earned the cape.

With Robin at his side, Batman slowly started to calm down. Less and less people were in hospitals after confrontations with the Dark Knight.

Tim’s plan was working.

Just like he knew it would, just like he told Dick Grayson it would, when the man had turned him away from his door.

So, sue him if Tim liked to take breaks on nights like these, to gaze proudly at the city that he had helped save.

Helped save from the vengeance of the man who was grieving his son.

Now, that’s not to say that Gotham had forgotten about the second Robin, that Tim had forgotten about Jason.

Every time Tim put on the Robin costume, he hoped that Jason would have been proud. That he would’ve been grateful for the boy who stepped up to pull his father from the edge.

He thinks Jason would have understood, why he took up the cape. It wasn’t to replace him after his death, Tim had never wanted to replace Jason, but to simply help Batman, help Gotham.

He thinks Jason would get that.

He hopes so, anyway.

Tim sees smoke in the distance, and hears sirens. He starts to ready his grapple.

Sure enough, seconds later Oracle is informing him of a burning building three minutes out.

Tim sighs, savours his last few seconds of rest, and swings off towards flames.

—————————

After patrol that night, Tim doesn’t head back to Drake Manor like Bruce had told him to.

Instead, he begins his trek back to Crime Alley.

He arrives at the shared apartment in the early hours of the morning.

And by early, he means early.

The sun hasn’t even rose, won’t for atleast two hours yet. It’s autumn after all.

Tim lets himself in with the key he was given when he was ten.

When he opens the door he hears the snores of atleast three people, one of which has messy blonde curls and is hanging half off the pull out sofa.

Tim feels his chest swell as he looks at his brother, face peaceful in sleep, not that it isn’t peaceful when he’s awake too.

He uses his Robin training to move soundlessly around the apartment, careful not to make any noise that would wake the sleeping boys.

Arlo, Ray and Jake won’t even realise he’s there until morning.

Jake, otherwise known as Hashtag, is older than him too, Tim is the youngest of the group. Jake is seventeen, a year older than Ray and four years older than Tim. He has shaggy brown hair that is currently fallen across his face in sleep. He’s tall and skinny, like most of the guys. He’s nice enough. He’s one of Arlos best friends, despite being a few years younger than him, it’s kind of like him and Ray.

Tim finally finds what he was looking for, taking a cigarette out of the box and fishing around in his pockets for a lighter.

He makes his way into the back room, opens the window and sits down just inside of it.

He’s half hanging out the window, really.

One leg dangling in the air with his head turned towards the city.

He flicks the lighter and lights his cigarette, ignoring how his fingers ache a bit from using the grapple.

Tim was exhausted.

The night only got busier after midnight, and it hadn’t been long before he felt himself being stretched thin.

There was always someone who needed Robin.

And after a sleepless night the night before, Tim longed for a good six hours at least.

As he inhaled the smoke into his lungs, he tried to get his mind to calm itself. But after the business of the night, it was on high alert.

No matter how tired Tim’s body was, his mind never seemed to stop.

The cigarettes seemed to help though, the mundane routine of inhaling and exhaling took his mind off the million things rushing through it.

Weed helped more.

But it wasn’t too often that Tim got it. Being thirteen and all. There was probably some in the apartment somewhere, but he didn’t really feel like looking for it.

The cigarettes would just have to do.

He lights another, then another.

Until the frantic whizzing of his mind has calmed to a slow spin, and he thinks that maybe he’ll be able to sleep.

He takes one last drag before he stubs out the cigarette, climbs back into the building and shuts the window.

Tim goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and gets ready to sleep.

He lies down carefully on the pull out sofa beside Ray, who stirs slightly, turning around to face Tim. Ray blinks sleepily at Tim, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Moony?” Ray mutters sleepily.

Tim shushes him, getting comfortable, “Yeah it’s me, be quiet and go back asleep before you wake the others,” he whispers, and Ray huffs at him before falling back asleep.

Tim smiles softly to himself.

He listens to Ray’s breathing, and wonders to himself, not for the first time, what he did to deserve someone like Sunny.

After a while, Tim finally gives in to the exhaustion, his brother by his side.

Chapter Text

When Tim wakes up the next morning, it’s to the beeping of a smoke alarm and multiple people cursing frantically.

He blinks blearily at the ceiling, wincing as the sun currently beaming through the window assaults his eyes. He sits up and turns his gaze towards their small kitchen, where Sunny and Jake are trying to douse the small fire that has started on the frying pan. The room is full of smoke, the sunlight illuminating it as it swirls in the air.

Sunny shoves the flaming pan into the sink and turns on the tap, drowning the charred remains of whatever they had attempted to cook, and the pan hisses loudly when the water touches it.

Jake is frantically waving a kitchen towel at the still blaring smoke alarm, cursing as he does it. Eventually it stops, and the boy lets out a sigh of relief and wipes a hand over his face.

The room still smells of smoke, and Tim groans as he drags himself off the pull out sofa to open the window, body feeling like one huge bruise. The movement alerts the other two boys that Tim is awake, as if he could sleep through that. Jake flops down onto the pull out sofa Tim just vacated, and Arlo stumbles out of his room, hair sticking up in all directions. Sunny turns from where he was scrubbing at the charted frying pan to look at where Tim is standing by the window.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Sunny says cheekily, grinning at Tim, who flips him off in return and trudges towards the bathroom, Sunny’s laughter following him out.

Tim is decidedly not a morning person, and his idiot of a brother, who is, knows this damn well.

Tim splashes cold water on his face in an attempt to wake himself up a bit. He looks at his reflection, water dripping from his face, he looks tired, even after sleeping well for the first night in about 4 days. Last nights patrol was rough, and his limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. He lifts his shirt to see a new bruise forming on his left ribs, as well as one on his lower stomach, to the right. Both are a mess of blue, black and purple. Tim presses down on the one on his ribs, which is particularly nasty looking, and hisses in pain.

He got that one from a falling beam while trying to evacuate a burning building, he had saved a little girl from being hit, so he didn’t mind it too much. But the one on his stomach was from fighting off three men who had cornered a woman in an alleyway, one of them managed to get a lucky hit.

Tim sighs in resignation before starting to make his way back into the kitchen. The three guys are in the middle of a conversation, so Tim bypasses them start making himself a coffee. Their voices fade into the background as he leans against the counter and stares into space.

“-oonyyy.”

Tim snaps back into focus, looking to where Sunny is raising an eyebrow at him expectantly, sitting at the table eating cereal, obviously having given up on cooking. Arlo is gone, to where he’s not sure, and Jake is still sprawled out on the pullout sofa, eyes closed. Tim’s coffee is ready. He must’ve missed that.

He pours his coffee and goes over to sit with Sunny at the small dining table. Sunny narrows his eyes at Tim, “You came in late last night,” he says accusingly. Tim sighs, he’s too tired for this. He’d been at Wayne Manor the past few nights, due to patrol running so long.

“Yeah, I was bored and decided to grace you guys with my presence,” he says snidely. Jake snorts from his place on the couch, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“So what, you walked from Bristol all the way to Crime Alley ‘cause you were bored?”

“Yep,” Tim says dismissively, he needs to shut this conversation down quick.

“At what, two? Three in the mornin’?” Sunny prys.

“Sunny, drop it.”

“I’m just sayin’, i don’t get how-“

“Ray!” Tim snaps, “I said drop it!”

Ray raises his hands in surrender, “Fine, jeez Tim no need to get all defensive, y’know i’m just lookin’ out for you,” He says carefully, going back to eating his cereal.

Tim feels a stab of guilt, because he knows, but Ray doesn’t know about Robin, and he can’t find out, not without being put in danger, and Tim knows that his brother is smart as a whip, he hides it well, but his smarts don’t lie in schoolwork but rather in reading people. God, Ray can read Tim like a book most days. And Tim knows that if he even entertains this conversation, Ray will find him out, and all Tim’s efforts of protecting Ray from Robin will be for nothing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry.” Tim says tiredly, rubbing his temples, feeling a headache already brewing. “I’m just a little on edge, my parents are comin’ home today.” Ray winces in sympathy, knowing that Jack and Janet Drake being home means a few bad days are on the horizon for Tim.

“Ah shit, man, that sucks. How long they home for?” He questions.

“Five days.” Tim says defeatedly. He glances at the clock on the wall, and promptly drops his head onto the table. Sunny huffs, amused at Tim’s dramatics.

“I need to get going soon,” Tim groans, and sits up straight, downing the rest of his coffee before going to wash out his mug in the sink.

He finds his shoes and pulls them on, wincing as the movement jostles his bruised ribs, and is about to start searching for his phone when Sunny appears beside him, holding out a box of cigarettes. “Got time for one before you go?”

And Tim thinks Sunny must’ve been sent from heaven.

—————————

The pair sit on the roof of the apartment building, swinging their feet over the edge. Cigarette smoke fills the air around them, and Tim basks in the rare sunlight that has decided to bless Gotham today.

“Y’know, I missed you the past few days, you’re only back and ya have ta leave again.” Sunny says sullenly. Tim turns to look at him, his blonde curls are falling in his eyes, and he stares at something in the distance.

“Yeah I know, i’m sorry,” Tim responds, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “I’ll be back in a few days, and we can go check out that new skate park that just opened up, invite all the guys, make a day of it,” He suggests, trying to give himself something to look forward to, God knows he’ll need it over the next few days.

“Yeah, maybe.” Ray says distractedly, taking another drag of his cigarette, his eyes are serious, and Tim can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Finally Ray turns to look at him, “Nothing,” he says, his face clearing. “Just try not to have too much fun with all those rich folks while you’re away,” he smirks at Tim.

“You know I won’t, they have two reservations made for dinner, and a gala lined up for tomorrow, i’m gonna go insane.” Tim complains, and Ray, the traitor, laughs at him.

Tim sends a glare his way, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m serious! They’re gonna dress me up and parade me ‘round Gotham for four days, and then I won’t speak to ‘em for months until they need to show me off again! It’s ridiculous.”

Sunny rolls his eyes at him, “You’ll live,” he says, knocking their shoulders together.

And Tim wishes he could just stay here. Sit on this roof in Crime Alley beneath the sun with his favourite person and watch the smoke dance in the sunlight. He’d much rather be here than sit among Gotham’s ‘finest’ while they sneer and stare.

One day, he vows to himself, one day i’ll live like this for real.

Because it’s the only thing that keeps him sane, believing that one day he’ll get out of that cold house for good, move here and live with his real family, the one he chose, big the one that was forced in him.

“C’mon,” Sunny nudges him, “Or you’re gonna be late.”

Tim sighs, but he knows he’s right.

They stub out the cigarettes and make their way off the roof.

Tim soaks up the last few moments he has of peace, and when Sunny pulls him into a warm hug, he huffs, grumbling at him, but he clings to his brother like a lifeline, because he knows what awaits him the next few days.

Sunny pretends he doesn’t notice, he’s nice like that.

Chapter Text

The world seems to slow down as Tim watches his parents car drive towards him.

He has been waiting at the door for nearly fifteen minutes, stood still like a statue awaiting his parents return. He passed the time by watching the huge dark cloud in the sky steadily move towards him, inching closer and closer to the beaming sun by the second.

His whole body tenses, and a cold breeze causes him to shiver as the drivers door of the sleek, black BMW opens to reveal his father, Jack Drake, who swiftly moves to open the passenger door for his mother.

Janet Drake stands gracefully from the car, in a black pencil skirt and an undoubtedly extremely expensive long grey coat hanging from her perfectly straight shoulders. Her long black hair is styled impeccably in a bun, and she pulls off her sunglasses to reveal her piercing blue eyes, eyes that Tim sees everyday in the mirror.

As her gaze locks on her son, the dark cloud finally reaches the sun, and a sudden shadow is cast on Drake Manor.

Tim gives them a cordial smile, and with it, feels his mask click securely into place. For the next five days, he needs to be perfect. He is no longer Moony, nor Robin, he is Timothy Jackson Drake, and he needs to act like it.

“Timothy,” Janet moves fluidly towards him, not for a hug, or a kiss, or anything you would expect from a mother who hasn’t seen their child in four months. No, Janet comes to a standstill a few feet away from him, and takes in his appearance.

Her calculating eyes rake over him, and Tim swears he can feel them carving long gashes into his skin.

Tim has dressed himself in a pair of black slacks and a pristine white shirt, the collar scratches at his neck, and he can’t wait to take it off - that must be the reason for the way his throat seems to be closing up.

But this is what his parents expect Timothy Drake to wear, so it is what he wore.

She nods in approval, and takes Tim by the arm. “It is good to see you mother,” he says through slightly gritted teeth, repressing a wince when his mothers elbow pressed against the fresh bruise on his ribs.

Janet merely hums in response, and he begins to lead her inside. “I assume you’ve kept the Manor in good condition in our absence.”

“Of course, Mother.”

Tim had spent the past four hours making sure the place was spotless, even though the housekeeper visits once a week. He does not want a redo of what happened the last time they returned home to find that it wasn’t perfectly clean. Tim had made the stupid mistake of leaving his coffee mug on the kitchen counter that night before he had left for patrol, and hadn’t remembered it the next morning. It has taken two weeks for the bruises on his ribs to heal.

Jack walks toward the pair from where he had been opening the back of the car. “Timothy,” he looks Tim up and down impassively, “You’ve grown.”

Tim bites back a snide remark, of course he’s grown, you haven’t seen him in nearly eight months.

“Thank you, sir.”

Janet drops her sons arm when they reach the living room. “Timothy, do be a dear and fetch our luggage from the car. You can leave it in our room.”

Tim feels a stab of annoyance, and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her, of course he’ll be made to everything for them. Like some sort of slave.

“Of course mother.” Is what he says instead, before going to fulfil his task obediently.

When he’s done, there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Janet and Jack have nearly ten suitcases between them, having stayed so long away. And Tim can only take two at a time at most, carrying them up two flights of stairs to his parents room. He wipes the perspiration away and makes his way back toward the living room.

He wishes helplessly that somehow both of them have fallen asleep, or just fallen unconscious in general.

Anything that means he won’t have to sit and be interrogated by them.

“Timothy, come talk to your parents!”

Well, there goes that idea.

After thirty minutes of interrogation catching up with their son, Janet and Jack retire to their room to freshen themselves up before dinner that night.

They had a reservation for a family meal in a fancy restaurant, the first step in their usual routine of making as many public appearances as they can in the few days they are home for each year. There will miraculously be a journalist for the Gotham Gazette waiting outside their restarting of choice, ready to write an article about the last great dig of Janet and Jack Drake - as well as how happy and inspiring a family they make with their only son Tim.

Tim shudders at the thought of the article already.

There’s nothing he hates more than seeing his own face splashed across the front page alongside his parents. Expect maybe the Joker - he really hates that guy.

—————————

Dinner went well - as well as it ever can go - and by the next day the details of Janet and Jack Drakes most recent dig will in fact on the front page, including a picture of the three of them walking into the restaurant, Tim flanked by a parent each side of him - the picture of a perfect family image.

That night Tim sneaks out to patrol. He waits until he’s sure his parents are asleep before he slips out the window and heads towards Wayne Manor.

Alfred greets him at the door, informs him that Bruce is downstairs along with Dick. Which Tim knows is basically a recipe for disaster.

He’s been Robin for nearly a year not, seven months if you want to be fancy, and in that time Bruce and Dick have improved. A bit.

The near constant screaming matches have dwindled to maybe one or two a month, and Nightwing joins Batman and Robin on patrol in Gotham more often.

Tim likes Dick. He’s nice.

At the start, Dick didn’t like Tim at all.

Just like Bruce, he hated seeing someone else in the Robin costume that wasn’t Jason. That wasn’t his brother.

Eventually though, he warmed up to Tim. Started saying hello to him when they crossed paths instead of giving him the cold shoulder. Whenever Bruce couldn’t bring himself to patrol alongside Robin, Nightwing was there to step up and keep Robin company - that is whenever he was in Gotham, Tim still had a lot of lonely patrols. Last night, for instance.

A few weeks ago, Dick even brought Tim train surfing for the first time. Tim had been nervous, as anyone who was about to jump on a speeding train would be, but Dick was reassuring.

“Trust me,” He said.

And Tim did.

They’ve grown closer, and Tim firmly ignores the ache in his chest whenever Dick pretends he’s Jason, because he’d rather have a part of Dick Grayson’s love - even if he wasn’t really seeing Tim - than have none of it.

Tim makes his way down to the cave, and isn’t surprised to see Batman sitting hunched over the batcomputer. He doesn’t so much as lift his head in acknowledgment when Tim enters, his mood from the previous night obviously having carried over to today.

Makes sense as to why Dick is here then, he must be patrolling with Robin tonight instead of Batman.

Deciding not to poke the bear, Tim heads over to the gym part of the cave instead, where Dick is currently holding an L-sit on the rings.

He grins at Tim when he sees him approaching. “Hey Tim, guess how long i’m going so far.”

Tim eyes him for a second before saying “six minutes.”

Dick smiles cockily down at him, “Eight!”

Show off.

“Give me two minutes and i’ll be down to talk to you, kay?” Tim nods, going to start his pre-patrol stretches.

He thinks it’s stupid that he has to stretch every time before patrol, but Dick insists that it’s necessary, and who is he to argue with Dick Grayson about stretching?

His ribs twinge, as does the bruise on his stomach, but he ignores it. He’d taken a couple painkillers before he came, so they should be starting to kick in soon, bruises weren’t going to stop him from patrolling.

The cave is quiet as he stretches, the only noise is the occasional creak of the rings, the tip-tap of the batcomputer and the occasional noise from the bats above.

It’s almost peaceful.

Which is crazy, because never once has Tim felt at peace in the Batcave.

Dick finally drops down, and begins to pester Tim, he asks him about his day and frowns slightly when Tim tells him his parents are home, sounding less than excited about it.

“Does that mean you’re coming to the gala tomorrow?” Dick says hopefully.

Bruce’s head lifts slightly when he hears that, obviously partly listening to their conversation. It’s a Wayne gala, so Dick has to attend. There was a period of time when Dick never went to them, but recently, after Jason, he’s made a bit more of an effort.

“Yep,” Tim says, popping the p.

Dicks face splits into a grin, and Tim almost thinks he’s going to hug him. “That’s amazing!”

Well, Tim thinks, at least one of us is excited.

Obviously, he doesn’t say that. What he says instead is, “Yeah.”

It’s not that Tim never goes to galas when his parents aren’t home, he’s honestly probably went to more without them than with them. He just hasn’t went to many recently, he’s been so busy with Robin, school, and trying to hang out with the guys as much as possible.

They wrap up their conversation pretty quickly and all leave for patrol together.

As Robin sits in the batmobile with Nightwing and Batman, he feels a little out of his depth, a feeling he’s become well accustomed to the last few months, but he powers through it.

Batman needs him, Gotham needs him.

—————————

Tim’s face hurts from smiling.

His head is pounding from the constant stream of chatter around him.

The tight collar of the shirt he’s wearing makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

His mother’s hand is in a vice like grip on his arm.

His suit feels like a straightjacket, restraining him, suffocating him.

The walls of the massive room seem to be closing in around Tim, the high ceiling falling towards him, crushing him.

He can’t breathe.

Tim excuses himself from the conversation, he doesn’t even know who he and Janet are talking to, after the first hour everyone’s faces seemed to blend together, conversations repeated. He was lost.

Janet’s fingers tighten around his arm, bruising, before he pulls away.

Tim turns toward the crowd of people, his head is spinning.

He blinks and he’s in the bathroom. It’s thankfully empty.

He lefts out a sigh of relief - or maybe it’s a gasp for air, he can’t tell - and slumps against the sink.

He loosens his collar, and feels that it helps him to breathe a little.

Tim locks eyes with himself in the mirror, he looks slightly pale, well, paler than usual. His black hair is sticking up slightly, he must’ve been pulling it.

Tim splashes himself in the face with cold water.

Get it together, he thinks helplessly, and begins to run through some of the breathing exercises taught to him as part of his Robin training.

In for four - hold for seven - out for eight.

In for four - hold for seven - out for eight.

God, Tim would kill for a cigarette right now. His fingers twitch at the thought.

In for four - hold for seven - out for eight.

He repeats it a few more times, until breathing feels easy as, well. Breathing.

Tim wonders what Sunny is doing right now. Maybe he’s out skating, or hanging out with some of the guys at the appartement . He wonders if he’s smoking, if he’s laughing. If he misses Tim.

He shakes off the thought, he doesn’t want to think about Sunny when he’s at a gala, it feels… wrong, somehow. Like putting a puzzle piece in the wrong box.

He begins to put himself back together again, tighten the collar, flatten the hair.

Tim closes his eyes and wills his mask back into place, it had been slowly slipping all night, and fell completely in the last few minutes.

But he needs to go back out, Janet and Jack have surely noticed how long he has been gone now, and are surely getting suspicious.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, usually he is just fine at galas, actually, more than fine. Tim is a master at entertainment, as well stirring the pot slightly between Gothams finest. Over the years, he has put enough people in their place that atleast a quarter of the people in regular attendance to these galas turn the other way when they see him coming. But only the ones he really doesn’t want to talk to, most people think he is the most charming boy, but a few unlucky know different.

He must just be tired, he was late home from patrol last night, and up early for breakfast with his parents. Considering the lack of sleep he got in the few days prior to that, it was starting to catch up on him. It’s a good thing that he had the foresight to tell Bruce he wouldn’t be patrolling tonight.

He runs through the breathing technique twice more before he walks out of the bathroom.

In for four - hold for seven - out for eight.

In for four - hold for seven - out for eight.

He sweeps his eyes across the ballroom, and feels a fake smile fall heavily onto his face as he locks eyes with his mother across the room.

Janet Drake’s cold eyes cut through him like ice, and Tim suppresses a shudder. She is decidedly not happy.

He straightens his spine and begins to walk confidently towards her, mentally preparing himself for her wrath.

“Tim!”

A warm hand grabs him by the shoulder, and Tim is stunned to see Dick Grayson standing there, grinning at him like he’d just made his night.

Tim looks back to his mother, who has narrowed her eyes slightly, before she gives him a minuscule nod of approval. Figures she’d be happy about him talking to Bruce Wayne’s eldest child.

Tim turns back to Dick, who is still smiling. His own smile gains a little more authenticity as he looks up at the man who may have just salvaged his so-far awful night.

Thank God for Dick Grayson.

—————————

Tim spent the last hour of the Wayne Gala with Dick, and at some point, Bruce himself.

When they left, Janet had looked at him scrutinising, and questioned him on his relationship with their billionaire neighbours.

Tim told her than he and Dick has got to talking at a few galas over the years, and were friends of a sort.

All lingering tensions from Tim’s little act of rebellion during the gala was forgotten when she realised that her son, Timothy Jackson Drake, had managed to befriend the eldest son of the richest man in Gotham.

Tim’s jaw would have dropped to the floor if not for his training, when his mother smiled at him.

For maybe the first time in his life, Janet Drake seemed proud.

Proud of Tim.

Even Jack looked mildly impressed, if not for his near constant disinterested expression.

Tim felt his chest swell with self pride.

His mother was proud, his father was impressed.

Janet’s eyes bore into his soul as she declared, “Maybe you are truly my son after all.”

—————————

The rest of their trip mostly passes without problem. His mothers good mood with him magically carrying across the remaining two days.

It’s not until their very last day that things go sideways.

Chapter Text

The moment that Tim sees his parents car finally leave - wheels crunching loudly against the stones as they speed away - he wastes no time in running upstairs to his bedroom.

He pushes the door open frantically, making his way into the room. He pulls open his drawers and grabs the first decent looking clothes he can find for walking to Crime Alley, clothes that won’t make him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the grime of the city, he’s not in the mood to be a target for mugging.

Sneaking a quick glance in the mirror, Tim sighs dejectedly when he notices the dark bruise steadily forming on his right cheekbone. On another day, he may have stopped and found some of his mothers makeup to cover it up with, but Tim was in such a hurry to get the hell out of that house that he just decided not to, he’ll just tell the guys he got mugged or something if they ask, wouldn’t be the first time. Although Ray probably won’t believe that.

He knows he’ll definitely have to cover it up before he goes to the Cave for patrol tomorrow though, but that can be tomorrows issue. For now, Tim is escaping the manor.

Tim pulls on the clothes and goes towards his bed. He lies flat on the floor beside it, reaching under the bed to grab the shoes and crowbar that he keeps hidden under it, along with many other random things of lesser importance.

He slides into the beat up sneakers and brings the crowbar over to his closet. Tim opens the door and kneels down inside. He sticks the edge of the crowbar into the small crack between the floorboards. He winced slightly as he uses it to lift the floorboard, the bruises on his ribs being jostled by the motion. Tim moves the floorboard aside, and let’s out a sigh of relief as he sees the goldmine below him.

His skateboard, along with many old ones, lie completely untouched below, exactly where he left them. Relief floods through him.

It’s stupid, he knows. His parents never even came near his room the few days they were here, there was no way they would’ve found them. But it’s still nice to see it with his own eyes.

Tim lifts his skateboard out and slides the floorboard back into place. He throws the crowbar back under his bed, it lands with a loud clang. As he gathers his bag and a few belongings, including a change of clothes, Tim can’t help but let his mind drift back to the first and last time Janet and Jack Drake had ever found a skateboard in the manor.

Tim was nine, and had spent the majority of the night before chasing Batman and Robin around Gotham with a camera. As one does.

Obviously, in his tiredness, Tim had made the grave mistake of leaving his skateboard in the hallway the evening before his parents were to arrive home from Italy. He only realised this mistake when Janet Drake came to a stop beside it.

He would never forget the look on her face, the look of pure and utter disgust. At him.

Her son.

Her son who had brought a skateboard, of all things, into their home. You would have sworn it was a bomb, the way she stepped away from it in utter disbelief. Her cold eyes drifting to meet Tim’s own terrified ones.

Jack was right behind her, and the moment he realised what he was looking at his face twisted with anger.

Janet’s words cut through him like a well sharpened blade. He was a disgrace to the Drake name, an ungrateful brat who would spit upon his honorable upbringing by partaking in such a trashy hobby, instead of focusing on perhaps his studies. (As if any nine year old had studies.)

While Janet was sharp as ice, controlled in her words, Jack was explosive.

That was always the way with them.

They balanced each other out.

So Tim stood with his back straight, chin raised as his father shouted insults in his face, unflinching even at such a young age.

When Jack had lifted the skateboard from where it had been lying innocently on the white tiles - unaware to the chaos it was causing - only then did Tim falter.

Jack turned the board over, once, twice in his hands. Before he had promptly swung it straight at his only son.

The board connected with Tim’s elbow with a resounding crunch, almost drowned out by Tim’s own cry of pain.

Tim’s eyes immediately filled with tears, pain radiating through him, his elbow the focus point.

He lifted his other hand to cradle his throbbing arm, stumbling backwards, away from his father.

Jack Drake stood proud in front of his cowering son, and snapped the skateboard over his knee before Tim’s very eyes.

Jack had thrown the two halves of the skateboard aside, walking towards Tim with fire in his eyes as Janet watched from the side, satisfaction practically radiating off of her.

Terror had grabbed a hold of Tim, rendering him useless. But Jack merely stopped a few feet away, and looked down his nose at his petrified son. Tim had tried to straighten up, to stand tall, but the pain was too much.

Jack hummed once, before walking straight past him, Janet followed.

Tim had fallen to the floor beside the pieces of what had once been his skateboard, his escape. He gathered up the pieces with his unharmed arm, held them close to his chest, and sobbed.

That board had been chosen specifically for Tim by Ray. It had a beautiful pattern of red and white flowers on the underside, and it had been Tim’s favourite board so far.

Ray had even helped him put it together, explaining the best way to apply the grip tape while Tim grinned up at him, utterly adoring.

Tim had sat there for almost an hour, weeping. Until eventually he gathered the strength to stand through the pain, both literal and metaphorical.

A trip to the hospital the next day, feigning a skateboarding fall (no, the irony of that was not lost on Tim) and Tim was told he had broken his elbow.

He had to wear a cast for six weeks, and every time he saw it all he could remember was the pure anger in his fathers eyes as he broke his son’s elbow. Then every single one of the guys wrote their names on it, and Arlo - who had always been good at art - drew cool designs on it that made Tim grin. It was a lot easier to look at after that.

Tim shook his head slightly, dispelling the memory from his brain, now was not the time for a trip down memory lane.

He hurried from his room, bag on his back and skateboard under his arm.

Tim jogged down the staircase and into the kitchen, where he filled a travel mug full of coffee, and then left the Manor.

Outside it was cold, and Tim pulled up the hood of the black hoodie he was wearing. It was early morning still, around nine o’clock, so it would start to warm up soon.

Tim made sure his bag was secure on his back before he set off towards his real home.

Not once did he even think to look back.

————————

Tim stepped into the apartment and was instantly greeted by the sound of loud, joyful laughter. He found himself beginning to smile on pure impulse.

He closed the door behind him and walked silently towards the living room/kitchen area. There was a thin layer of smoke obscuring the room, and the undeniable smell of weed.

Tim’s tiny smile turned into a full on grin at the realisation.

He turned the corner and saw that the room was full of people. At least fifteen teenage boys were strewn about the living room, lying haphazardly across eachother on the couch as well as seated on the floor and the two red beanbags (that Tim definitely hadn’t bought).

The group were laughing at two boys that were grappling with eachother in the middle of everyone. Tim, well used to their antics, decided he didn’t even want to know.

He dropped his bag and skateboard near the door, he wouldn’t need either of them yet.

He walked silently towards them, plopping himself down on the beanbag on Rays left, who had his back to Tim, and was laughing his ass off at the two idiots on the ground.

Ray jumped in surprise and spun around to stare at Tim, nearly dropping the joint that was hanging between his fingers, “Jesus Moony, where the hell did ya come from!”

Tim snorted, scaring Ray was one of his favourite things to do. The guy was so jumpy it was hilarious. That paired with Tim’s bat training was just an amazing combination.

“Seriously, we need to getchu a bell or somethin’!” He glared at Tim half-heartedly, but the grin that was steadily spreading on his face minimised its effect.

“You already tried that, remember? I was nine.” Tim laughed in his face as his brother tried to shake off the fact that he just got scared shitless. Ray passed the joint over to Arlo, who was on his other side.

“Creepy ass child…” he muttered, shaking his head, before he threw his arm across Tim’s shoulders, pulled him down and scrubbed Tim’s head with his knuckles, hard.

“Ay- get off me!” Tim shouted, the words muffled as his face was pressed into Rays side. He eventually freed himself, and huffed dramatically when Ray and some of the surrounding guys started laughing at him.

“What now?” Tim moaned.

The only answer he got was even more laughter. He tried to look mad, but it was really difficult not to smile when Ray was laughing that hard. He had the most infectious laughter ever.

“Your- your hair!” Ray gasped through his laughter, he was clutching his ribs.

Tim scowled and immedialty lifted his hands to his hair, which was sticking straight up. He hurried to flatten it, but it was too late, he heard even more laughter and looked up to see Arlo holding out his phone, a photo of Tim looking like he just got struck by lightning showing proudly.

“You’re the worst.” Tim grumbled, burying his head in his hands, his face was warm, either from embarrassment or joy, he had no way of knowing.

Ray patted Tim’s head pityingly, “There, there.” he said sarcastically.

Tim shoved his hand off and glared at him. But could only hold it for a second before he was laughing again.

By now, the two guys had stopped fighting, both of them sitting on the floor laughing at Tim, like the rest of them. It was Jake and Hari, figures, they’re always finding something to fight eachother over, jokingly, obviously.

Ray handed Tim the joint when Arlo passed it back, and Tim took it greedily.

God, he needed something to help him relax after the last few days.

He put it between his lips and inhaled hungrily, relishing in the way the smoke made the back of his throat tingle slightly.

Tim felt like one of the gargoyles on the street corners. He was stiff. His shoulders constantly held tightly with tension. He had spent the past four days with perfect posture at all times, playing pretend as the perfect son for his parents.

Barf.

Even here, lying on a beanbag with his brother, surrounded by friends and laughter, Tim still couldn’t get himself to relax fully.

He was on high alert.

It was always like this after a visit from his parents, but it usually only lasted a day or two. It took Tim some time to take himself out of Timothy Drake mode.

He willed his shoulders to relax, loosened the jaw that he didn’t even realise was clenched, and took a deep breath.

He took two more hits of the joint before passing it back to Ray, because God did he need something extra to help him relax.

Tim lay back on the beanbag with his hands crossed behind his head, and closed his eyes. He listened to the steady stream of conversation and laughter, taking deep breaths. He felt the weed working its way into his system, relaxing his body - and more importantly, his brain.

He basked in the pure peace that he felt, knew that there was no place on Earth that he would rather be than here. In a dingy apartment in the crime capital of the world, surrounded by friends, by family .

There was no other place he would ever feel as safe as he did here.

Tim’s mind was constantly whirring, his body constantly alert to any and all threats, a nasty side effect that came with being one of Gothams sworn protectors. But when he was here, he wasn’t Robin. Nobody was expecting him to protect them here. He wasn’t Timothy Jackson Drake, didn’t need to be the perfect son. He was just Tim, just Moony. And that’s all he has ever wanted to be.

Tim is pulled from his thoughts by a particularly loud bunch of laughter, he opens a single eye to glance at Sunny, who has his hands over his face, whole body shaking as he laughs uncontrollably.

One of the guys snorts, and everyone starts laughing even harder.

Tim feels a smile worm its way onto his face as he listens to the sounds of unbridled joy.

It’s a sharp contrast to the stilted silence of Drake Manor, the ‘home’ he had just fled from. Tim notes that this is a change he much prefers.

But, as always, the peace doesn’t last long for Tim.

As the laughter dies down, Ray stands slowly from his and Tim’s shared beanbag, stretching his arms towards the roof.

“I’m gonna run to the store and get some chips.” Ray takes one last drag from the joint, holds it out behind his back to Tim, who takes it happily. “Y’all need anything?”

Tim blows rings of smoke towards the ceiling, watches them roll away as a chorus of shouts erupts from all around him.

“Jesus,” Ray mutters, scrubbing at his slightly red-looking eyes. “I need ya to make a list, no way in hell am I remembering all that.”

Tim hears the scrambling of someone going to search for a pen and paper, but he doesn’t look away from the smoke rings.

As the last one disappears, Tim becomes aware of someone kicking his foot. He looks up to see Ray looking down at him, an eyebrow raised.

He has a piece of paper with a short list written on it already in his hand. Tim must’ve zoned out.

“Moony? You comin’?” Tim can tell from Ray’s tone that this was not the first time he asked Tim. Whoops.

“Yeah, gimme a sec”

Tim climbs to his feet, turning his face away from Ray, but it’s too late.

The second he stands up, the light coming through the window catches his face, illuminating the steadily purpling bruise that rests high on his right cheekbone, which has previously been turned away from Ray, hidden expertly in the shadows that fell across the room.

Tim feels the moment that Rays gaze latched onto the bruise, hears the sharp intake of breath from his brother, sees from the corner of his eye how his whole body stills.

Tim takes one last drag of the joint, finishing it off. He’ll need it for this conversation.

“Moony.” Ray says, voice tight.

Tim can feel the tension quickly seeping back into him, his shoulders suddenly stiff again, even though they had only just relaxed. Tim ignores him.

“ Moony.”

“What?” Tim deflects, taking a few steps towards the door.

He feels a hand grab his arm, stopping him from fleeing this conversation.

“Tim!” Ray insists loudly, not quite a shout, but close enough to one that the conversation happening just a few feet away from them comes to a stop, as the rest of the people in the room realise that something is happening.

Tim turns to look down at the hand that is holding him in place, and follows it up to see his brother’s stony face.

Ray’s eyes are a whirlpool of worry and anger. Worry for his little brother, who stands before him in pain, and anger towards whoever is responsible.

“What happened?” Ray asks, though Tim is sure he already knows the answer.

“Got mugged on my way here, s’no big deal.” Tim shakes off Rays hand.

“Tim c’mon, i’m not that stupid!” Rays voice is low, atleast he’s trying to prevent the rest of them hearing. The note in his other hand is crumpled from where his hand has formed a fist.

Tim glances over his shoulder, to the group of boys that all have their heads down, dutifully pretending they’re not eavesdropping, but the uncharacteristic silence is telling.

The few faces that he can see look confused, some even shocked, Tim gets it. They’re not used to seeing Sunny being anything but… well, sunny. Tim instantly feels guilty, they were all having such a good morning before he came along, Tim always ruins everything.

“Ray.” Tim says flatly, “Not here.”

A few pointed glances over his shoulder and Ray finally gets the message, head dropping to look at his shoes as he nods. He then walks straight out the door of the apartment.

Tim sighs, preparing himself for the conversation he’s about to have, he glances back at the group one last time before he leaves, the only one looking at him is Arlo.

Arlo’s eyes are sharp with understanding, and he nods at Tim once.

You got this.

Tim feels something in him settle, and nods slightly at Arlo in thanks before he follows his brother out into the hallway.

—————————

“Moony, what happened. And before you even think about tryin’ to make up some bullshit lie to me, just know that i’m not gonna believe it!”

Ray’s voice is hard, the lines of his face drawn together in a way that looks completely wrong on his features.

“S’not that big a deal Sunny…. Please just drop it!” Tim insists, desperate to get out of this conversation, because he knows exactly where this is going, but there’s no stopping Ray when he’s worried.

“Don’t try that shit with me Tim, it is a big deal and you know it!” Ray takes a step forward even as Tim walks towards him with his head hung low.

Tim raises his head to meet his brothers eyes, frustration steadily rising in his chest, its none of Rays goddamn business if he’s got a little bruise on his cheek, God knows Tim had gotten a lot worse for a lot less on the streets of Gotham every night.

“No it’s not! It’s just a bruise, I get them all the time from skating! It barely even hurts!”

Ray rears back in disbelief at his words.

“It don’t matter if it barely even hurts, which by the way I know is a fucking lie! I’ve had plenty of bruises just like that one to know it hurts like a bitch!”

Tim winces, it does hurt like a bitch, his cheek is hot and constantly aching. Ray would know, he had previously opened up to Tim about his own rough childhood, some late night on the roof, joint in hand and bottle at his side.

Rays stepfather was abusive growing up, and his mother was an addict who didn’t care what her husband was doing as long as he made sure to give her money for her drugs. Tim feels sick just thinking about it, can’t believe anyone would look at Ray, a literal ray of sunshine, and choose to hurt him - and no, Tim doesn’t want to think about what kind of hypocrite that makes him , thank you very much. Once Ray was fifteen he ran away from home. He’s one of the few who stay full time at the apartment, he’s got no where else to go.

“I-“ Tim tries to interrupt, but Ray is on a roll.

“What matters is the fact that it happened in the first place! The fact that those…. Those  monsters fucking dared to lay a hand on you!”

Tim struggles to hold his brother’s burning gaze, so he drops it, opting to look at his beat-up shoes instead. Shame is a feeling Tim is well used to, but it never gets easier to swallow. He feels it building up in his throat, coming together to form a thick ball of emotion that Tim pushes deep, deep down with a gulp.

Whatever his face is doing mustn’t be pretty, because Tim can basically see the fight go out of Ray. His shoulders drop and his eyes grow incredibly sad as they stare at Tim.

Tim can form masks believing enough to convince the most boring of conversationalists that he is having the time of his life, masks strong enough that his parents cannot tell when Tim is so tired of them that he feels like crying, masks so incredibly good that he can lie to Batman’s - the Worlds Greatest Detective - face on a near daily basis.

But the one person that Tim Drake cannot lie to, has always been Ray.

Every time without fail, Ray sees right through him. Mainly because he is the only person on Earth that Tim feels he can actually be himself with, no masks, no lies. Because Tim knows that Ray will love him regardless.

“I just-“ Ray sighs pitifully, and darts towards Tim to wrap his arms around him. “I just hate seeing you hurt, y’know. I hate knowing that you’re being hurt and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

His words are enough to make Tim’s eyes grow glassy, and he drops his head onto Rays shoulder, and just lets his brother hold him.

The thing is, Tim knows his parents are abusive. He knows that what they’re doing isn’t right. Tim was trained by Batman to see signs of abuse, neglect. But… there’s a part of him that just doesn’t care. He’s seen plenty of abuse cases in his short time as Robin, and he knows deep down that it’s just not the same - the people Batman and Robin help are different, because they can’t defend themselves. But Tim can defend himself, he just chooses not to.

He knows that one heart to heart with Batman and his parents would be locked away, they’d never touch Tim again.

But Tim just doesn’t want that, doesn’t need to be protected from them - certainly not from Batman of all people. 

So, yeah. Tim is aware that what is happening to him at home is abuse. But deep down - in some fucked up part of himself - he can’t help but feel like maybe he deserves it.

Tim allows himself one more minute wrapped in his brother’s embrace, before he steels himself and pulls away. Both he and Ray pretend not to notice the wet patches on their shoulders from their tears.

Ray looks at him with achingly understanding eyes, “You know I’m right.”

Tim sighs and hangs his head, “Yeah, I know. I’m just…… not ready.”

He chews on his lip slightly - a nervous habit - before he bumps his shoulder against Rays.

A smile slides its way onto Tim’s face as he meets his brother’s eyes.

“Now c’mon, enough of this shit for one day. We’ve a store callin’ our name.” He shakes off the last of the lingering atmosphere from their conversation.

Ray rolls his eyes in exasperation, “Yeah, yeah. Lead the way twerp!”

Tim’s huffs in false annoyance at the nickname, but walks firmly towards the store regardless.

He and Ray chat mindlessly the whole way there, just about stupid stuff. The new skatepark that opened up a half an hour away, it’s an indoor one, and Ray is so excited for he and Tim to try out the new ramps and stuff. They’re going to go together tomorrow, and maybe they’ll rope some of the guys into coming with them. Tim’s heart warms at the thought of spending the day with Ray, just having fun.

The whole trip is spent with Tim firmly ignoring the worried looks that Ray shoots his way when he thinks Tim isn’t looking. Gaze locked onto his bruised cheek.

Tim also ignores the steadily growing pool of guilt in his stomach as he picks out the various snacks on their list. Theres nothing Tim hates more than when other people are worried about him.

When they make it back to the apartment, bags in hand, they’re met by a huge cheer. The speed at which the sofas steadily empty as all the guys rush at Tim and Ray is frankly amazing, Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen them all move so fast in their life, except for maybe some of those times they were being chased by the cops, but that doesn’t count because Tim was also running just as fast, and hadn’t really been paying attention to the rest of them.  It’s like a stampede, and Tim knows that the downstairs neighbours are cursing them right now.

A few curious looks are cast their way, obviously a side effect of their previous ‘fight’.

When Tim manages to pick out Arlo’s face in the crowd, he’s met by a steady gaze.

Arlo quirks one eyebrow in question, glancing between Tim and Ray.

Everything good?

Tim nods back at him to let him know everything is fine, Arlo has always been a great people person. He’s an observer to his core, often staying silent and just watching interactions between others. He and Tim are alike that way. It’s probably why they get along so well.

Chapter Text

That night, Tim dreams of fire.

An inferno swirls angrily around him, flames lashing out indiscriminately. It moves as though alive.

Tim tries to look past the flames that are engulfing his vision, but it’s useless. The fire seems to go on forever, burning across the whole world.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out a tentative hand, and watches as his hand meets the fire, flames lick against his skin harmlessly. In fact, it kind of tickles, he thinks amusedly.

The flame is warm, but not burning. It feels…. safe. Kind, even, if it’s possible for a flame to be kind. Yeah, Tim doesn’t think so either. But theres really no other way to explain it.

He steps forward slowly, into the flames.

Still no pain, no burning.

Curiosity wins out, and Tim begins to walk steadily through the flames. He wonders if there’s an end, or if they go on forever.

He gets his answer soon enough, when suddenly he breaks through the fire, into what seems to be a small pocket of peace, kind of like the eye of a hurricane. The circle he stands in had a diameter of around ten feet, and Tim stands directly at the edge, with his back to the way he came. He watches, mesmerised, as the flames explode against the invisible barrier around him in a colourful show of reds and oranges. It’s so beautiful that it nearly takes his breath away.

Suddenly, something steps into the circle with him. Well, someone.

Sunny’s face is serene. He doesn’t look at all bothered by the fact that he just walked out of literal fire.

He doesn’t show any signs that he even realises Tim is there too, and the eerie calm that is on his face makes a pit form in Tim’s stomach. Tim has only ever seen Sunny like this once, when he smoked so much weed and drank so much alcohol that Tim had to carry him back to the apartment. Tim remembers the pure bliss that had been on Sunny’s face that night as Tim tucked him into bed. Half conscious and barely able to string a sentence together.

“Sunny?” Tim’s voice is timid, he doesn’t know what’s going on.

Sunny’s eyes shoot over to Tim so fast that Tim nearly jumps out of his own skin.

Sunny’s gaze is sharp, and Tim watches as anger begins to flood his face, twisting his features in a way the Tim had never seen before.

“You.” Sunny says with venom, narrowing his eyes at Tim. “How could you do this?”

The pure hatred in his voice is enough to make Tim stumble backwards a step. Flames continue to slam against the barrier, casting an orange glow on the pair.

Tim tries to form a reply, managing a weak “What do you mean?”

“You did this. It’s all your fault.”

Tim feels the weight of Sunny’s blame settle over him like a heavy blanket. He doesn’t know what Sunny is talking about, but there had to be a reason why his brother is looking at him with such vehemence.

Before Tim can even ask again, Sunny takes a sharp step backwards, closer to the barrier separating them from the inferno. Tim watches in horror as he sees Sunny’s golden hair curl in on itself where it is closest to the barrier. Singed by the fire.

Tim’s sharp detective mind kicks in and he gasps as he realises that the fire is no longer harmless, and when he watches Sunny’s foot lift as though to take another step backwards, Tim shouts in panic.

“No! Wait, Sunny it’s not safe!”

He reaches an arm out towards his brother, but finds that there is another barrier. This time, it separates Tim and Sunny.

Panic claws at Tim’s chest, a familiar feeling.

Sunny meets Tim’s terrified gaze with apathy. Tim pushes against the barrier again and again, desperate to get to Sunny before he does something stupid like walk into fire. He shouts and begs his brother to listen to him but it’s useless. Sunny’s cold gaze cuts deep down to Tim’s bones.

“Your fault.”

Tim watched helplessly as his brother turns around and steps straight into the raging inferno.

He fights endlessly against the invisible wall, tears streaming down his face as he listens to the screams of his brother while he burns.

Eventually, the screams stop, and Tim collapses into a sobbing mess on the ground. He pulls at his own hair and screams with pure grief, his tear filled eyes squeezed shut, and when they open again he finds no trace of a flame.

All that awaits him is darkness.

—————————

Tim wakes with a jolt.

Panicking, Tim swiftly shoves away the hand that was previously shaking him awake, chest heaving.

Where is he?

What’s going on?

Where’s Sunny?

His mind is scrambled as he slowly gains awareness. Tim is in their apartment. The hand he just shoved away belongs to his brother, who is currently looking down at Tim with his hands raised in surrender, a worried look on his face.

Ray.

Once Tim’s mind catches up to the fact that his brother is indeed infront of him, alive and well, he begins to calm down.

Tim hangs his head for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to try get his erratic breathing under control. He scrubs a hand over his face and frowns when it comes away wet. A few stray tears had made their way down Tim’s face as he slept.

Oh God, he thinks, that’s so embarrassing.

“Moony? You good?” Comes the tentative questioning, Tim had almost forgotten Ray was even there.

Ray, who Tim had just watched die in his dreams.

Tim feels his throat grow tight with emotion as he drags his gaze up to his brother.

I’m so glad you’re not dead.

“Moony, you’re kinda worryin’ me a bit here. You good?” Sunny’s eyes are wide with what might even be fear, and his face is pinched in concern.

Tim shakes the dream from his mind, refusing to think about what his brother had sounded like screaming as he was burned alive.

“Yeah, all good, why what’s up?” He says nonchalantly.

Sunny’s grown deepens and Tim looks around the room they’re in to find that they’re alone. Thank fuck, that means none of the other guys can give him shit about crying in his sleep.

“You were thrashing around in your sleep, and you kept calling my name.”

Tim freezes in his attempts to get up, “Shit, sorry. It was just a dream, don’t worry about it.”

“A dream?” Sunny’s eyes search his face, obviously looking for details - which is useless, Tim has a hell of a poker face. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not at all, thanks.” Tim replies with faux cheer. Sunny narrows his eyes at him, but he must be able to tell that this is one of those times that Tim really needs him not to push, because eventually he nods shortly at Tim in understanding, even though he doesn’t seem too happy about it.

“Get your ass up then, we’re going to that new skatepark in the Coventry. As you can see you’re the last one up, you need the sleep though, those bags under your eyes are designer.”

Tim scowls at him as he turns on the coffee machine. Tim had bought one for the apartment over a year ago, a few of the other guys use it too but none quite so much as Tim. He starts his days with a coffee and has three or four more in a day, it helps to keep the bone deep tiredness that comes with spending his nights on the rooftops of Gotham at bay.

“I’ve roped a good few of the guys into comin’ with us, they’re all gone to Maggie’s store ‘round the corner to get some shit for the road, I volunteered to stay and wake the bear.” Sunny gestures at Tim, letting him know that Tim is the bear. “You should be grateful, cause Hari wanted to pour water on ya.”

Tim rolls his eyes, Hari is a few months younger than Tim, and is always trying to prank anyone he can. Tim has to hand it to him though, he once got Arlo with a perfectly aimed water-balloon.

Tim pours himself a cup of coffee, and greedily sips at it despite it being scalding hot. He stands with his back against the counter, looking out the window at the clouds passing by as Ray chatters incessantly in his ear.

Tim finds his mind drifting back to the nights dream. It seems to be stuck at the forefront of his brain, he can’t stop picturing it. Tim has nightmares at least once a week - which is expected with his career - so it’s really nothing new. Tim mastered the art of banishing dreams from his head the second he woke up, and he doesn’t understand what makes this one in particular so hard to shake.

Tim remembers the way the fire had flickered across Rays face, his eyes - so full of hatred - boring into Tim’s soul seconds before he stepped into the flames.

Tim can still hear the screams.

“-ey!” Sunny’s voice once again snaps him back into focus.

Tim realises belatedly that he has been death staring the window for an unknown amount of time, and judging by the way his coffee mug is no longer steaming, it’s been at least a few minutes.

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles, embarrassed. “Got lost in thought.”

“S’okay.” Sunny watches with a worried look on his face as Tim finishes off the rest of his coffee in two large gulps, before he sets the mug in the sink.

“Gonna grab a shower and get dressed, I’ll only be a few minutes.” Tim can’t seem to meet his brothers eyes, so he swiftly leaves the room instead.

Coward, he thinks to himself.

Tim really does have a quick shower, in and out in a couple of minutes. He dries himself and dressed in a pair of baggy dark grey jeans, tore slightly at the knees from failed attempts at tricks, and a worn Green Day tee that Sunny had bought him for his birthday - it was his favourite shirt.

Wiping a hand through the steamed up mirror, Tim sighs when he catches a glimpse of himself. The mark on his cheek has bloomed into a full on bruise, purple in the middle and blue around the edges. It’s not anything crazy big, but the watercolour mark against his pale skin stands out a lot.

That’s gonna be hell to cover before patrol, he sighs again.

Quickly towel drying his hair, he leaves the bathroom.

Ignoring the way Sunny is trailing behind him silently, Tim grabs his shoes and sits down on the couch to put them on. Sunny - having already put his shoes on - goes to grab his and Tim’s skateboards. When he returns, he sits beside Tim on the couch.

Sunny leans his shoulder against Tim’s slightly, and asks “You sure you’re good, Moons?”

Tim drops his head into his hands, feeling the fight go out of him. Last night was the most sleep he’s gotten in a week, and he feels no better. Stupid nightmares always took more energy from him than the sleep gave.

“Yeah, just a shitty sleep. Don’t worry about it, dude. I’m fine, honest!” Tim tries his absolute hardest to give Sunny smile, but by the look Sunny gives him in response, he isn’t fooling anyone.

“Okay. Come on then, Hari called to say they’re waiting down the street for us. Better not make them wait any longer than we already did. What with your primping and preening in the bathroom.” Sunny makes fun of him, a teasing smile on his face.

Tim shoulders him in response. “I do not primp and preen!” Tim denies vehemently.

“Sure you don’t, now come on!”

—————————

“C’mon Moonyyyyy, please!”

“No Ray, I’m not signing up, I would never win!” Tim objects.

The pair are walking back to the apartment after spending hours at the new skatepark. The rest of the guys are walking just ahead of them, all of them full of excitement and messing around loudly as they walk. Tim pretend he doesn’t notice the wide berth and suspicious stares they’re drawing from passer-by’s. It was an amazing day. Tim already knows that they’ll be spending a lot of time at the new skatepark in the future.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Tim! You would definitely win.” Sunny blows out a cloud of smoke, waving around his hand in exaggeration. The cigarette between his fingers leaves a small trail of smoke behind it as it goes. “You’re the best skater I’ve ever seen, and you know I don’t lie about shit like that, I wouldn’t set you up for failure!”

Tim rolls his eyes in exasperation, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, can you imagine what my parents would say?”

“Fuck your parents!” Sunny snarls. “They probably won’t even know, they’re barely home!”

Tim sighs, “Yeah but they keep tabs on me, if they found out their son participated in a skateboarding competition they’d be livid. You know how they feel about it.”

Sunny does know, he’s the only one who knows the truth about how he really broke his arm that time.

“Please, just think about it.” He slings an arm around Tim’s shoulder and shakes him. “Don’t let them stop you from doing the things you love.”

That sentence causes Tim to pause, thinking over his brother’s words. He’s right.

Tim doesn’t want to keep allowing his parents to make him miserable, even when they aren’t home.

A new feeling of determination rises in his chest, and Tim beams at his brother.

Sunny raises an eyebrow at him, but smiles back nonetheless. “Does that mean you will enter?”

“I’ll think about it.” Tim replies easily, and Sunny knows that means he has won. If Tim is ‘thinking about’ something, that means he’s basically made up his mind to do it already.

Sunny cheers loudly, shaking Tim a couple of times in excitement. His face is split into a huge grin, and Tim finds himself mirroring his brother’s enthusiasm, he can’t help it.

Arlo turns around to see what Sunny is cheering at, he quirks an eyebrow at the pairs expressions, before turning around and deciding to mind his own business.

“This is gonna be great!” Sunny exclaims loudly. “They’re all gonna eat shit!”

Tim huffs another laugh, before reaching out and plucking the cigarette from between his brothers fingers. Tim puts it between his lips and draws in as much smoke as he can. He shakes his head as he exhales, thinking to himself, what have I gotten myself into.

“I’ll be on the lookout for any upcoming competitions, I’ll enter too and maybe we can get some of the others to come with as well!”

“Y’know I didn’t say yes yet?” Tim rubs his forehead in exasperation.

“But we both know you’re going to anyway!” Is Sunny’s enthusiastic reply.

He’s completely right. There’s no way Tim could back out now, not after seeing how happy Sunny is even just at the thought of Tim competing. Fuck what his parents will say, they’d find something to hit him over anyway, might as well give them a good reason to, and have some fun while he’s at it.

Tim walks the guys the rest of the way to the apartment, and he goes in to have one last cigarette on the roof with Ray before he leaves in the direction of the manor.

He gets a cab to Drake Manor, and sits in the backseat thinking about how good of a day he’s just had, and how he just completely fucked himself over for agreeing to compete.

His good mood dims slightly when he arrives to his family home, but not enough for him to fully wipe the small smile off his face.

Tim goes inside and grabs a bagel from the kitchen, before he heads upstairs with the intent to catch a few hours of sleep before he has to leave for patrol.

Tim kicks off his shoes at the door of his room, and sets down his skateboard with care, before he face plants onto his bed.

Sleep comes quick, and when Tim awakens hours later the room is cast with shadows of the setting sun.

Tim groans as he drags himself out of bed, stumbling into the shower. He washes the smell of cigarettes off his skin, and afterwards he spends twenty minutes alone with himself and his mother’s makeup supply.

Eventually, he has the bruise on his cheek covered well enough to leave.

Tim walks the few minutes to Wayne Manor, and greets Alfred at the door as usual before he heads down to the Cave. Batman doesn’t acknowledge him as he enters, so Tim begins to warm up on his own. After his warm up, he suits up as Robin.

Batman and Robin enter the batmobile in silence, and when Batman’s gaze finally flicks up towards Tim, he does his special version of a flinch. Batmans eyes tear away from his Robin’s form to stare out the front windscreen of the Batmobile. Tim understands immediately, well used to Batmans moods. Tonight they will be patrolling separately.

Tim shoves the pang of disappointment that he feels deep, deep down, instead focusing on the positives of this. If Batman is not near Tim, there is no chance he will notice the bruise on his cheek. This also means that Tim will be free to patrol Crime Alley tonight, which Batman never allows him to do.

Tim turns his gaze towards the window, and stares steadily at the darkness. Excitement thrums in his veins, as it always does before he takes to the skies of Gotham. The nerves he felt at the start are almost nonexistent now, and Tim is particularly excited tonight, purely because he gets to patrol the Alley.

Tim knows those streets like the back of his hand, even more so than the rest of Gotham, and he always feels so proud to protect his home. Tim loves the feeling of the Alley kids gazing up at him in wonder as he grapples past, shouting greetings at him.

Tim remembers, not so long ago, being one of those kids. He will never get used to the feeling of being on the other side of those interactions. It feels surreal every time.

—————————

Patrol is quiet that night, unusually so.

Quiet is never a good thing in Gotham. It means that the usual criminals are laying low, which is a pretty good indicator that there’s something bigger going on behind the scenes.

Robin grapples away from the mugger he had just apprehended, and watches from the rooftop as the GCPD show up and take the man away.

Once they’re gone, he drops back into the alleyway.

Tim is suddenly struck by the feeling that he is being watched. Shivers break out along his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He draws his bo staff slowly, instantly comforted by the familiar weight in his hand.

Tim’s eyes dart around the alley, but there’s nothing to see.

Just as he is about to grapple away, his ears latch onto a faint sound coming from behind the dumpster at the very back of the alley.

He turns slowly towards the sound, straining to hear.

Somebody sniffles, the faint sound soon followed by a loud sob.

Tim slips the bo staff back into it’s place. Taking small, silent steps, he starts towards the sound.

“Hello?” Tim calls tentatively.

The person stops crying abruptly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

Tim steps further into the alley, trying to approach this situation as delicately as possible. There is someone crying in an alleyway, hidden behind a dumpster. Possibly a homeless person, or a victim of some sort. Either way, it’s important that Tim doesn’t spook them, so that he can get to the bottom of what is going on.

Using what Dick calls the ‘Robin voice’ that they use while talking to victims, he calls out slowly, “Why don’t you come out from behind there, so I can help you.”

Silence.

“I’m Robin, my job is to protect people. I promise I can try my best to help fix whatever is wrong.”

Tim steps around a puddle on the ground, he is right in front of the dumpster now.

“I’m going to come back there now, okay?” He warns.

Tim peeks around the side of the dumpster, and is met with the crack of a baseball bat against his skull.

Pain rings through his head, vision swimming as he crashes against the dumpster and falls to the floor.

Tim raises a hand to his head, trying desperately to blind the black spots out of his vision.

A manic laugh breaks through the ringing in his ears, and Tim freezes.

Tim tries to use the side of the dumpster to drag himself up, but a kick to his stomach sends him sprawling back onto the ground.

He gasps in pain, trying desperately to get to his feet, but his head is spinning so much it’s impossible. Definitely a concussion.

“What do we have here?” A female voice rings out happily. “A little birdy oh so far from the nest!”

Tim’s face is wet, he’s lying face down in a puddle. The freezing cold water is soaking into the fabric of his suit. Tim pushes himself up onto his arms with great difficulty, but it isn’t long before a heavy foot lands on his back, sending him right back down to the ground and staying there, pinning him down.

“Oh Mista J is gonna love this!”

Tim freezes, finally recognising the Brooklyn drawl.

Harley Quinn.

He struggles even more than before, and somehow manages to make it to his feet. Vision swimming and clouded with black spots, Tim lands a kick to Harley’s ribs, and is reaching for his bo staff when Harley’s bat finds itself buried in his side.

His hip explodes in pain, but he pushes through it. Tim presses his emergency button just before Harley lands another hit, this time to his jaw.

The force of the bat sends him backwards, and he crumples against the wall. His head bangs against the bricks, sending a fresh wave of nausea through him. The stars in his eyes double, and Tim fights not to pass out.

The dimly lit alleyway swims in his vision, black around the edges. He watches deliriously as a rat runs across the alley infront of him, obviously spooked by the scuffle.

The feeling of a bat prodding his leg draws his attention back to his attacker. Harley Quinn stands over him in all her glory. Black and red clown outfit smeared with dirt and grime. Her face paint is smeared slightly around the eyes, which reminds Tim that she had previously been crying. Her crimson smile is pulled so tightly across her face that Tim is worried it might tear.

“Dontcha worry your pretty little head, me and Mista J are gonna take great care of ya!” Harley says with enthusiasm.

Tim really hopes Batman got his emergency call. He’s probably on his way right now.

“Nighty night!” Harley grins at him, before she swings her bat in one long arc and the world goes dark.

—————————