Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim’s young. He can admit that. He’s young and probably naive, but being an 8-year-old doesn’t do much for your credit. And despite what his parents keep telling him, Timothy Drake believes he’s capable of more than just sitting in his room doing school work from his probably super expensive private school and attending Galas with yucky food and music that sucks and talking to people that are too tall so his neck ends up hurting. Tim believes that this is just something that he’s not cut out for. Or maybe it is something that he’s cut out for, but it’s sure as hell not meant to be what he’s meant to do for the rest of his life. (Sorry for the curse word. His mom probably would’ve slapped him upside the head if he said that at one of the Galas.)

Of course, Timothy Drake doesn’t have the best of plans in the world, and he sure as heck doesn’t know how to make his life more exciting. There is one thing that’s been itching at him. One thing that could possibly change his life forever. And that thing is Batman. Batman is the coolest possible thing on planet Earth, and if Timothy could just experience the obvious deity that is Batman, Tim believes his life would be complete. Everything that is boring would be solved, and the nuance would turn flashy and bright. This might be a high hope (What would Batman ever do in such a high-end neighborhood like this?), but Tim believes meeting the man once in his life will make everything okay. 

“Master Tim, Breakfast has been prepared. Please come down and eat.” It’s one of their maids. Tim hasn’t bothered to learn any of their names because they get a new one every week anyway. The boy darts out of his bed and throws on one of the robes hanging on the back of his door. It’s his favorite robe because there’s a little bat signal embroidered on the pocket. He also slips on his normal slippers (boring brown ones). Because his parents don't like him wearing anything that’s too obviously branded, and he can’t just wear no slippers, his floors are too cold. Tim slightly speed-walks down the stairs (his mom hates him running in the house) and almost falls face-first after tripping on the last step. He catches his face nearly an inch from the ground and rolls out into a summer sault, landing on his butt. Superhero landing almost stuck. He gets up, rubbing his back a little. The marble hurts. But I’m ok. 

Tim calmly walks over to the island and picks up a prepared plate made by some chef who’s still working in their open-space kitchen. He places it down in front of one of the island chairs and scales the sturdy metal stool. I swear, I’m only slightly below average height. 4’1 is perfectly normal. He shovels the first few bites of light and fluffy eggs into his mouth before boredom overcomes him. Tim grabs his plate and sits on the couch. It’s some hard, white leather that is nowhere near comfortable, but at least it’s in front of the TV. 

He grabs the remote and switches on the first channel. They don’t have many channels because his dad never bothered to put any money into a TV that they never watch. There are a couple of main news stations, a documentary channel, and a kids' channel that Tim never bothers to watch anyway. It’s all stuff for kids my age. He decides to stay on the first channel, which usually covers Batman news. 

The station has two newscasters sitting on some wide grey desk with red and blue accents, the room is overlooking Gotham but anyone with half a brain can tell it’s a green screen. On the right, a blond-ish woman has slightly past shoulder-length hair and a smile that seems a bit too white, while the man on the left has brown hair with almost as much gel in it as Superman. As Tim starts on a piece of toast, they cover a few things like crime stats in the area and how, since Batman came around, the rates have been dropping. They make slightly demeaning comments about his true intentions, as they always do, but Tim pays no mind. The woman, I think her name is Sandra or something, starts talking about the various prisons and Arkham escapes. Apparently, Penguin is out, and so is some dude named Condiment King? If Tim ever became a supervillain and named himself something stupid like condiment king, he would be too scared to even rob a bank, with fear of his name appearing on a news station. 

Finally, just as he pops his last grape into his mouth and sets the plate down on the coffee table, they get to the Batman coverage. Tim doesn’t think he even blinks once.

Multiple photos, some messy, some low quality, some high quality, but don’t show much; flip through that background while some conspiracy script is being read over it. It's all something about identity. The guy with the most likely rock-solid hair spews off some nonsense names, all famous and rich guys that Tim probably met at a Party some time or another. He even mentions Bruce Wayne, which is just absurd. Tim’s seen some of the wilder parties they cover on the news: that man is all drugs, women, and alcohol. 

Switching his focus back, Tim realizes that they’re covering Robin. 

Robin confuses Tim, honestly. Why would Batman need a sidekick when he’s already so great? And why would he pick a kid, nonetheless? And why aren’t his parents like, making him not be Robin? Why would Batman not let him wear pants?   If I ever mentioned to Dad that I wanted to go and fight crime, he would tell me I was being silly and to go finish my school work. Even though I have already finished everything at school. 

The boy watches the rest of the feature before it turns to something along the lines of a reality show about some fat women, so Tim loses interest. He picks up himself and his plate and struts over to the kitchen, carefully placing it into the basin of the sink. The dishwasher ushers him off to do something else, and Tim sighs in the newfound boredom that has again overcome him. If I were born in a different life, I swear I’d have friends or something.

Tim decides to let his feet wander around the manor, and eventually, he ends up outside, in the back, near his garden. It hasn’t grown anything in months because, quite frankly, Timothy Drake cannot care for a garden, nor does he know how. It’s probably not that hard, but that means that I’d waste time when I could be thinking about Batman. Tim stares at the deserted boxes for a bit longer before he decides to move on. Their backyard is honestly quite plain, except for the garden boxes. Their house is all white, so the back of it obviously had to follow suit. Sleek and minimalistic couches sit kind of unnaturally on a white-ish concrete patio. There’s also a little fireplace in the middle, but his parents never take off the cover unless they’re having a party. 

They have one tree in the very back of their yard, but it would be too much of an exaggeration to call it a yard. It's all gravel and rockscape with a little bit of turf mixed in between. Sure, it’s pleasing to the eye, but you can’t do anything with it except walk around and talk to people who are still too tall for you. Then, Tim remembers that some people who think they’re “good with kids” will do that little kneeling thing where they try to get on your eye level. But it ends up just reinforcing the fact that you’re a kid, and/or super short. Which Tim is regrettably both, but he doesn’t need a reminder of it. 

He ends up back in the front of the house where he started and practically runs into one of the groundskeepers working on some really curly bushes. He dodges the probably kind old woman and almost goes to open the door, but a thought pops into his head. He wants to go to Gotham. A probably very dangerous plan, but Tim will be prepared; he’ll even bring snacks. He quickly walks back inside and goes to his room. He throws off his robe and changes into something a little less rich. A polo and jeans work , he decides. He grabs his backpack and pours everything out onto his bed. He grabs some cash that was lying on his desk and shoves it into one of the pockets, zipping it up. He then runs back downstairs and over to the pantry, shoving bags of chips and an apple into the bag as well. He throws the backpack on and almost makes it to the door before someone grabs the collar of his shirt. 

“Master Timothy. You mustn’t leave the premises under any circumstances. Your parents want you to be home for their return.” It’s his stupid babysitter. Which really is just the fancy term for a butler who specifically takes care of me. It’s some midsize old man who doesn’t even really do anything important around the house, but apparently, “Timothy Drake needs supervision while his parents are gone for weeks on end”. Which is just stupid. There are like 4 other people always here, no matter if they’re gone or not. 

“I’m only gonna be gone for a couple of hours. I just want to go to the city and come back.” 

“No. You shall not be left to your own devices in some piss poor area of the city where you’ll be mugged and left for dead by poor people.” Though that is a real possibility, Tim considers, it still sounds demeaning when he says it.

“My parents probably won’t even talk to me when they return home.” They usually just mumble something about jet lag and go to their room. 

“Of course not. They are parents who love their son and are excited to see him after their return from their trip. So, no leaving the house.” Tim slouches in defeat and heads back to his room. May as well spend his time looking at photos of Batman. 

—

Turns out, and Tim never thought he would say this, but looking at photos of Batman can get boring. Once you look at them long enough, you realize that they’re all the same. It’s like someone said, copy and paste to a Batman-like figure in the rain at midnight, and was content with it. He even found an article with the headline ‘ Is Batman Sponsored by Nike!? Superhero endorsements and their effects on society, and such an obviously photoshopped Batman boot that Tim could laugh. He did laugh, actually. For about 2 minutes before he realized how unfunny it was. It’s crazy what boredom can do to a mind. He glances at the clock for the millionth time: 11:50 AM. I swear, time is slowing down just to create my agony. A knock on his door.

“Lunch is ready, Master Timothy.” Another marker in an endless day of nothing to do. Tim shuts the laptop that his parents gave him for school and speed walks down the stairs. And again, much to counteract his lowly excitement, he again trips on the last step. It seems his staircase has it out for him. Despises him, even. This time, his face touches the floor for approximately 0.2 seconds before he rolls out. This time, landing on his back, the cool marble rested against his head. Wasn’t my best landing, he admits. The boy sits up and walks back to the kitchen. It’s soup. He hates soup. Something about the texture or the taste or the fact that it’s just a way to make kids eat vegetables, specifically him. He eats about four spoonfuls before dumping the rest down the sink. He takes the super long way back to his room and then literally watches the clock. 

1:00 pm

2:00 pm

3:00 pm

He lost track for a bit and found a conspiracy video about Batman, which claimed that the man was actually a clone of Superman. That took about an hour. The video truly had a lot of meaningless evidence. 

5:00 pm

6:00 pm

At 7, Tim exasperatingly goes downstairs because his parents' chauffeur apparently texted his babysitter that Jackson and Janet Drake would be arriving home shortly. Tim wouldn’t like to admit it, but he always got excited when his parents got back from the excavations. It was like an itch or a tingling sensation that spread underneath his skin. It buzzed. He doesn’t like to admit that he misses his parents because a) it makes it harder each time they leave for weeks, and b) it makes him feel like a little kid. Nonetheless, Timothy Drake readies himself. 

To be honest, he over-prepared his mind, it was underwhelming. They walked into the house and took 5 minutes to put away their things and grab a small bite to eat from the kitchen, and then they said “Hi” to him. It took them a full five minutes just to acknowledge their son's presence. Tim just sat awkwardly in the living room, staring blankly at an off TV, while they moseyed about the house. Then, after Jackson and Janet Drake had finished eating, they sat across from him on their other couch. 

“Hello, Timothy. How was your time at home?” His mom speaks first. 

“It’s the same as always.” His dad chuckles a little bit. 

“Well, sorry we were gone for so long this time, champ. But I do come bearing a gift.” That was normal. His parents always come home with some small toy from the foreign country they were in that says ‘made in China’ anyway. His dad brings out a relatively large, purple gift bag with green polka-dots imprinted on it. More of the same green-colored tissue paper was crumbled up inside. The boy picks it up and admits that The bag is heavier than most of his other souvenirs. His dad gives him an encouraging look. Taking out the tissue paper, a black bag sits inside. It’s made of some thick fabric with a lot of different pockets and zippers covering the outside. He takes the bag fully out, and his dad provides an explanation. 

“It’s a camera—a Nikon D7500 DSLR specifically. Now, typically, I would’ve probably just sold this, but I thought, What the hell? I could give my son a hobby or two.” Tim stares blankly at the camera, but he can feel his excitement building up. “It was my old one. I got a new camera  during our trip, so it’s all yours.” His dad seems proud of himself, so Tim returns the gift with a big smile. 

His mom speaks again. “Well, honey… what do you say?” Oh right.

“Thanks.” Tim puts the camera in the bag and walks upstairs with a smile tugging at his lips. His dad seemed really excited to give this to him. Once Timothy returned to his room, he carefully closed the door and set the camera on his bed. Tim was determined to know everything about this. Mostly, how to use it. Tim searches for the camera on his computer. Holy crap, who gives an eight-year-old this expensive of a camera. He could break this or something. Obviously, he’s not, but still, he could. 

Tim closes his computer and finally picks up the camera. He flips the on switch, and the screen on the back of it lights up with all the settings. Shutter speed, ISO, and the lot. He brings the large, black thing to his eye and looks through the lens. There's even more detail inside. Like how much light the shutter speed will let through, and if the photo will be dark or over-exposed. This is literally the coolest thing on planet Earth. Timothy brings his finger up to the button and lets it hover, readying himself to perfectly frame everything on his desk. He presses down and hears the satisfying click of the shutter opening and closing. Tim observes the photo when it pops up on the screen and feels his excitement drop a little bit. It’s too dark. He adjusts the exposure and sets up the same shot. He hears the snap again and looks down. Perfect. And if there’s anything I need to fix, I can just get Photoshop. 

After this, Tim is enthralled. He honestly can’t keep his hands off the camera. He brings it to school and keeps it around his neck when he’s wandering about the house. But after two months of having the camera, Timothy needs a new memory chip. His parents are away again, so he can’t ask them to pick one up for him. He’s a strong, independent man ( an undersized 8-year-old ) who can do anything for himself ( I can’t cook toast ). 

Nevertheless, Tim puts on his jacket, a dull gray one, because it hasn’t stopped drizzling for a week now. What can you expect living in Gotham? Tim shrugs and slips on his only pair of tennis shoes. Of course, not the ones he plays actual tennis with, those are in his closet, and these were under his bed. Finally, he grabs his camera and checks his watch, 3 o’clock. Perfect, he’ll most likely be back in time for dinner. 

Honestly, he has a confession: Timothy Drake has never really been in Gotham by himself before. Like, obviously, his parents will drop him off at some places if they absolutely can’t leave him at the house. And the chauffeur picks him up directly from the school. But this is fine, all he has to do is walk to some kind of bus stop and take a bus to the camera store. He would ask the chauffeur, but apparently, the man had a family emergency of some sort. This means Tim is left entirely to his own devices and means of getting to the camera store. 

He decides to ditch the camera being around his neck and places it in his backpack, shoving some cash into a zipped pocket on the inside along with a bag of chips and a Snickersdoodle cookie. Tim decides he’s ready and steps out into the now-rain. There are no garden workers outside, which is a score on Tim’s part. He pulls out his Wayne tech phone and searches for up bus stop . The nearest one is about a 2-mile walk. That’s fine, he can walk. 

Tim cannot walk. Sure, he may have jogged up a hill or two, but that was the opposite of a good idea. He sits on the bench, his chest slightly heaving. The boy pulls out his phone and searches for a camera store. He needs to take the first bus that comes, numbered 33, and ride it until the stop on 22nd Street. After that, he has a block to walk, and then he’s there. It's quite simple, really. 

A sleek, black car drives in front of him, and Timothy ogles at the man driving it. Does Bruce Wayne drive his own cars? I was sure he’d have a chauffeur of some sort. I can’t wait to drive my own car.

The bus pulls up. The doors open in a little accordion fashion, and Tim struggles up the abnormally tall, rubber-lined steps. 

“Heya’ kid, ain't ya’ a little too young to be riding a bus?” The bus driver is quite a large man. He has some rimless glasses and a gray, balding head of hair. He’s probably like 90-something. 

“I’m perfectly fine.” Time walks past the old man and grabs a window seat in the last row of the bus. It’s pretty nice and not like one of the yellow buses that Tim sees while he’s at school. While he’s at the back, Tim notices a couple of other people on the bus. A tall, black-haired man, a mid-sized woman with a toddler on one hip and a baby on the other. It makes Tim wonder what it would be like to have siblings, but Timothy quickly throws away that idea when the baby starts crying about something. They’re annoying, and the mother looks panicked enough trying to shush the screaming newborn. 

When they get further into the city, Tim realizes that they haven’t moved in a while and glances at his watch. 5:47. I am definitely not making it back in time before anyone realizes I’m gone. He sighs and saves that for a later Tim problem. The bus signals the street that times stop is on, and he stands up, evidently a bit too early. The slender man sends a hand out before Tim goes barreling towards the ground. 

“Thanks!” The bus parks at the stop, and Tim runs out before the doors close again. 

When Tim steps out of the bus, he notices that the rain has slowed up a little bit, but other than that, all of his energy is focused on the photo store. 

It takes about 12 feet of walking for Timothy Drake to realize two things. One, it smells. He can’t really put his finger on it, but the city just has this certain aroma. And two, it is dark, cold, and wet, all at the same time. If he wasn’t wearing a rain jacket, he would be soaked, and if it wasn’t for any of the shop lights or street lights, he would be walking around practically blind. Plus, there’s a decent amount of homeless people, or just people lurking in alleyways, that he does his best to ignore. It’s not that Tim doesn’t like homeless people, but he’s never really been around them. His parents always say that any homeless person will take any chance to gut him in an alleyway and abandon his body. He doesn’t really believe that every single person has his demise lingering in their mind, but they still implanted some kind of lingering anxiety. 

Tim rounds the corner and looks up at the signs. He spots his store, “ In a Flash!” The flash icon replaced the camera lens. It’s kind of a creative name; he’ll credit it with that. The bell does a little jingly thing when he enters the store, and Tim quickly walks up to the front desk.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes? Oh you’re down there.” The man does a show of leaning over the desk to talk to Tim.

“Did ya lose your parents or somethin, kid?”

“No, no. I’m looking for a memory chip for my camera.” 

“Is your dad or mom around? Maybe I can help them better than I can help you.”

“I’m perfectly capable.” Tim brings out the camera and sets it on the counter. 

“That’s quite a nice camera.” The man, whose nametag says Jonathan , picks up the camera, inspects it, and then hands it back to Tim. “The memory chips are on the left side of the store next to the Bluetooth cords.” 

“Thanks.” Tim slips the camera around his neck and walks over to where Jonathan directed him. There’s so much that Tim would love to buy, but he settles for two 2GB cards and one SD ultra card. He would prefer not to make this trip again for a while. Tim places the cards on the counter.

“Are you sure you have the money for this?” Tim counts the sum of the memory cards out of his bundle of cash and places it on the counter. Jonathan probably shoots him a look, but he’s too busy putting the camera back into his bag. He waits for the beeps of the scan-thingy to be done before he grabs the chips and puts them also in his bag. Feeling satisfied, Tim walks out of the store and back to the bus stop. Unfortunately, before he gets on the bus, Tim sees a flash of black and red dart across the rooftop of the building next to him. 

In his head, Tim is freaking out. No way. It couldn’t be. On this night, right now… bat- Batman is patrolling. And he’s with Robin. On the outside, Tim is sprinting. Sprinting in the direction that Batman and his sidekick are running. He takes a sharp turn into an alleyway, throws his camera around his neck, and starts climbing a fire escape. 

When he throws himself over the top of the building, Timothy looks around and brings his camera up to his eye. He has room for 2 more photos left, He can’t waste time if he wants to get this shot. Tim searches around the surrounding rooftops and spots a flash of red on the one next to him. He crawls over to the edge and adjusts the settings to accompany the night and the rain. I need a tripod, gosh darn it. Robin and Batman are talking on the ledge of the roof, facing away from him. He can’t see Batman very well, but Robin’s long, yellow cape is very clearly billowing in the wind. Tim shivers and wonders again how Robin can survive in Gotham with tights. He recalls some saying that he’s heard on the news, “If you’re not sweating your skin off in Gotham summer you’re freezing your ass off every other month.” Or maybe Tim’s just making that up, he’s not really sure.

He focuses back on the scene at hand and grips the camera tighter, his finger just lingering over the button. Tim snaps the photo and listens to the shutter opening and closing. He looks down at the photo, it’s perfect. It’s an exceptional example of the Boy Wonder’s hands-on-hips pose. If you look close enough, you can even see Batman’s cape in the lower left corner. 

Tim sets up the second shot, but Batman turns around, facing directly towards him. He ducks behind the ledge but then hesitates. This is exactly the perfect position to take the best shot. Tim gets back up and brings the camera up to his eye. Not 20 feet in front of him, Batman faces Tim, but he’s convinced that Batman can’t see him. Tim steadies his hand and waits for the perfect moment. But lightning flashes, and Tim’s finger presses down on the button when he jolts. He also realizes that he was probably lit up by the lightning and quickly hides back behind the ledge. 

Holy- that was close . Tim waits 4 minutes before looking back up again. He shoves his camera into his backpack and walks back over to the fire escape. 

—

The bus ride is warm. Tim hates to admit it, but he got absolutely drenched in his little escapade. His socks are drowning in shoe puddles, and his pockets are probably full of water. The bus driver stops at Tim’s original bus stop, and he readies himself for the walk back to his house. If he runs, he’ll probably make it back within 30 minutes. 

He walks back down those rubber steps and waits under the awning. Maybe the rain will return to a drizzle and he’ll be in slightly safer conditions. 

Tim stares at his watch again. It's 8:25. It’s been 20 minutes, and the rain still has not stopped or slowed. Better late than never to start walking. He gets about 40 feet into his slight jog before a sleek black car pulls up beside him. The front window rolls down, and a decently old man sits on the driver's side. He doesn’t feel like getting kidnapped, so Tim speeds up his jog. 

“Excuse me?” Is that… British?

“Sorry, I can’t talk to creepy old men.” 

“Apologies, I don’t mean to give off a poor impression. Let me introduce myself.” Definitely British. He seems nice-ish. Tim stops to give himself some breathing time and to let the man not crash into something. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth under the Wayne household.” His neighbor's butler? Bruce Wayne’s butler!? 

“What do you want with me then?” 

“I hate to see kids out on their own. Are your parents coming?”

“They’re in Egypt.” 

“Oh. Well, please, let me drive you to your place of residence. It would be unlawful of me to let a child like you walk in the rain.” Tim contemplates this offer for a brief moment. Walk in the rain for 20 minutes or ride in a fifty-thousand-dollar car. Choices choices. For lack of his safety and the very real possibility that the man is lying, Tim chooses the car. He walks up to the open window.

“Can you take me to XXX street?” The man motions for Tim to get into the seat behind the driver. At least if he is getting kidnapped, the kidnapper really looks like a butler. White gloves and everything. 

“Are you Jack and Janet Drake’s son? T-to-t-“

“Tim. Timothy Drake.” 

“Ah yes. Say,” The man started driving again. “Why are your parents in Egypt?” Small talk, I see. 

“They went up to finish a dig site before going to a conference in New York.” 

“Very busy people, I suspect?” Yeah, you could say that . The man eventually pulls up to his house. Tim supposes that he isn’t actually a serial killer/kidnapper, but it’s nice to know that Tim is still slightly gullible for his age. He gets out and waves goodbye to the butler before inputting the code to his gate and walking back out to his house. 

When he gets back to his room, Tim concludes that no one even knew that he was gone. But furthermore, the camera. Tim grabs it out of his backpack and flips it on. The photo of Batman is still on the screen. It’s everything Tim could ever dream of. It's a crystal clear, 4 K digital rendition of Batman. The lighting really adds the finishing touch. It highlights everything. And you can even see the whites of his eyes. Tim puts the camera down and slides off his wet clothes. Wool pajamas always make him feel better. 

When Tim wakes up, he has a small cold. 

Chapter Text

One Year Later

-

Since Tim first captured that destined photo of Batman and Robin, he’s made a life for himself, online, per say. He’s amassed quite the following because of his photography, and everyone thinks he’s some 20-something college student, which is amazing. It’s the most non-kid attention he’s ever gotten, and Tim is basking in its gorgeous, gorgeous light. Even the Bruce Wayne liked his most recent post. Tim caught the two heroes on a break when he was not stalking them. Now, 500K people have seen Batman eating a doughnut. 

How did he come to be able to take so many photos of Batman without it seeming suspicious? He made a friend. It was terrible, but the kid was the only high-profile student in his grade who lived in the heart of Gotham—a penthouse a million miles away from crime alley but still in the city. Now, he just has a lot of “sleepovers,” when, in actuality, he just gets his steps in and sleeps at his house when he’s done with photos. He even discovered that Batman and Robin’s patrolling isn’t random; they follow a path across the city and do a different path each week. Tim’s proud of himself for figuring it out; it’s almost like he’s a genius.

But geniuses shouldn’t wear a suit and tie like his mom is insisting he should do. Sure, it’s a gala at Bruce Wayne's manor, but no nine-year-old should have to go through that kind of torture. Tim checks himself out in his body-length mirror. The suspenders feel a little tight, and his tie is too loose, but Tim doesn’t feel like asking his dad for help with it. An online tutorial should be enough for a supposed genius. He grabs his suit jacket and fancy shoes and walks downstairs with both in hand. 

“Oh, honey! You can’t be looking like that in front of Mr Wayne!” His mom squeals over his appearance. She quickly rushes over to him, her heels making loud tappy sounds against their marble floor. She straightens and tightens his tie to the point where he is possibly being choked by it and pulls the buckle down on his suspenders so they aren't straining his dress shirt. She grabs the jacket out of his hands and slips it on him, pulling both of the dress shirt’s sleeves out from it and adding the cuffs that were sitting on the counter. She buttons the jacket and pats him on the head. 

“There. Now you look presentable. Please put your shoes on.” Tim nods and shuffles over to the bench near their regular shoe area. He slips them on and ties them. Should I bring my camera? Would the security take it away? Would they think I was press or something? Better not to bring it. His parents walk over to him, Timothy realizes that he looks eerily similar to his dad, minus the slight beard. He feels his own cheek, doubting that puberty will even give him the chance of having facial hair. 

“Come on, Timothy, out the door.” His mom shoves him through and then walks past him to the driveway. Tim lingers behind his parents and sits in the very back seat when they finally get in the sleek, black car. It’s a Mercedes limo; Tim didn’t even know that Mercedes made limos. It’s really nice, but the cooling is turned up way higher than it needs to be. Tim shivers a bit. He actually doesn’t even know why they need a limo. He walks miles almost daily, but his parents can’t walk 30 minutes? Maybe it’s because his mom is wearing high heels. Those pointy things cannot be comfortable. Why do women choose to put themselves through torture for a nice-looking foot? Feet aren’t that important, Tim decides. 

The chauffeur pulls in front of the driveway and gets out to open the door for them. Tim’s only been to Wayne Manor a couple of times and has walked past way more than a couple of times. But every single time, nothing compares to actually being on the front doorstep. The manor is massive, ginormous, enormous, synonyms. It has gothic architecture draped on every wall, and Tim is sure he sees gargoyles hanging over the shingled roof. The house is full of points, not like the boxes that make up his house, but with sloping angles that lead into little designs. Tim steps inside behind his parents and relishes in the design again. The inside is almost more impressive than the outside. Everything is better with all-encompassing, warm-tone lighting.  The only downside is that it's boiling inside, and every square inch that isn’t a wall is covered in people or tables. Tim doesn’t even know what the gala is for, but he knows that this many people do not need to be here for it. Everyone is just trying to get a couple more notches up on their social status, including his parents.

Speaking of his parents, Tim has lost them. He lost them almost immediately, but everyone looks the same, and all he can see are shoulders or chests. Tim needs a small, bad-tasting hors d'oeuvre and a quiet spot. But if his parents find out that he left, he’ll die or something. (His parents don’t really punish him ever.) Tim sees a clearing in the mush of people and makes a break for it. He definitely doesn’t step on some woman's long, red dress train or a very kind woman’s foot. 

When Tim stops moving, he realizes he doesn’t see any people. He didn’t mean to go that far into the house. He thinks he’s in a hallway and comes to a slightly scary realization. Timothy Drake is lost in Wayne Manor. He might be lost forever, he knows how big this house is. It’ll be a maze. All they’ll find is his body inside a lush couch next to the window like that guy behind a gas station fridge. All rotted and skeletal, surrounded by the comfort of old money. Tim shakes himself out of his weird spiral and focuses. He’s being irrational. Tim closes his eyes and strains his hearing; he can’t hear the familiar sound of a hundred voices, but he can hear the familiar twang of the workings of a busy kitchen. Well, not really familiar, but he’s watched shows that take place in a kitchen. 

He slowly stalks toward the maybe kitchen a sighs in relief when he realizes this is, in fact, a kitchen. Tim peers through the crack in the double doors. It’s a very angry and very fat chef. It feels like he’s watching a kitchen drama, and the main character is about to lose his job because he prepared the dish wrong for a very powerful man. Tim is pretty sure the head chef’s head is about to catch on fire until someone taps him on the shoulder, and Tim jumps. He jumps so hard that his feet slip out from under him and he lands flat on his ass. 

“Oh shi- crap, sorry man. I was just wondering what you’re doing outside of the party. This place certainly isn’t open to the public.” Tim looks up and it’s a boy who is probably a bajillion years older than him. (He thinks about it and decides the boy is 16 or 17, but that's irrelevant.) . Tim’s sure that he looks familiar, but he can’t place his finger on it. 

The teen sticks out his hand to help Tim up. “Yeah, sorry about that. It got way too crowded, and the next thing I knew, I was lost.” Tim says, smiling apologetically. I swear, his name is right on the tip of my tongue; this is infuriating. 

“Are your parents one of the guests?” Then the teen speaks under his breath as if Tim couldn’t hear him. “Of course, he’s here with his parents, Grayson.” OH MY GOD. Holy crap, I’m not talking to that Grayson. Am I? Tim’s pretty sure his brain stops working, short-circuits, resets, and even more synonyms. When Tim comes to, the boy- THE RICHARD GRAYSON- is waving his hand in front of his eyes. 

“Hey buddy, you good?” He snaps his face back to the heir of Bruce Wayne. 

“Uh, yeah, perfectly fine. I’m just gonna head back to the party…” Tim starts speed walking forward, guessing the teen will have to take a second to wrap his head around Tim’s sudden actions. Richard calls up. 

“But you’re going to wrong way. Obviously, you’re just gonna get lost again.” Tim knows he’s right, but he doesn’t feel like stopping. His nerves are carrying his feet forward and if his parents found out he met Richard Grayson and finds out even further that he’s been lowkey an ass to the very important teen, he’s gonna get flogged or something. So Tim keeps walking. He’s stopped suddenly. Richard is in front of him way faster than what would have been normally possible. Hands pressed firmly against Tim’s shoulders. 

“Look, just go back to the gala. I have to be there and talk to people, or Bruce will kill me. Let me just take you back, and I’ll go with you. This is such a nonissue.” Richard rolls his eyes and looks directly at Tim, waiting for his answer. He nods and falls into step with the other. “So what’s your name?” Richard asks after a moment of silence. “If I have to socialize, I may as well start with you. 

“Oh, It’s Tim. Uh… Timothy Drake.” 

“Like those architects that live down the street? I’ve seen them at a couple of parties, but never seen you before.” 

“Archaeologists, but yeah, those are the ones. I haven’t been to many parties with anyone my age, so that makes sense.” Tim really wants his camera right now. The inside decor is just so beautiful. Tim slowly hears the thrilling sounds of a dull party tune back in. 

“I kinda don’t want to go back in there. This is the most interesting party I’ve ever been to.”

“What part of this is interesting?” The teen replies. 

“Well, for starters, I met thee, Richard Grayson. That’s huge news for like, my social status or something. I don’t really know how this works.”

“Please, just call me Dick. Richard is way too long.” 

“Is that like, a cruel joke or something?”

“What? No. It’s an actual nickname for Richard.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of it.” They round the corner that leads to some double doors, and the party is right beyond them. 

“This was fun, Tim.” Richard- Dick, shoots out his hand for Tim to shake. Tim smiles and returns the gesture. He turns towards the door and stops his hand just short of the handle. He debates the possibility of facing his parents but then realizes that Richar- Dick, the Dick is waiting for him to go in first, so he turns the handle. 

Everyone was still milling about inside, but most of the hors d’oeuvres were now picked over. Tim turns around again and finds that the teen has disappeared, so he steals himself to now find his parents again. He remembers his mom wearing an elegant, red, embroidered dress with a short train and his dad wearing a plum-colored suit. Before he could find them, the sound of metal clinking against glass sounded out over the front party room. The chatter ceases, and everyone directs their head towards the middle platform between the stairs. It’s the butler, the one who picked him up in the car, holding out a small wine glass and a fork. And just behind him, the man of the hour, Bruce Wayne. 

Timothy glances around, and it’s like everyone is in a trance. It’s almost like they’ve never seen such a handsome billionaire, even though Bruce is in news headlines at least twice a week. He thinks it’s honestly a little bit creepy, how everyone just seemed to freeze when Mr Wayne took over a room. Tim doesn’t see the big deal, really. He’s a nice, rich guy who just happens to be the base standard for men in their 30s or something. (Tim’s bad with age.)  The gist of the speech was about his meaningful philanthropy and all that jazz, so Tim tuned it out. 

When Bruce finished his speech and started mingling with the crowd, Tim made a more thorough search for his parents and finally found them. They had both been chatting it up with his mom's old boss at some prestigious university. From what he gathered, his dad had just been nodding along. Tim stood patiently off to the side until the conversation was done. 

When the man walked off to make more conversation, his mom finally turned to him, seemingly just now noticing his presence. “Oh! Tim! There you are, I swear me and your father were beginning to think you skipped out on the party!” His mom did that weird, anxious chuckle that Time heard her do in stressful situations. Her lips always did this weird half-quirk thing where one side of her top lip was slightly higher than the other side. 

“Sorry, Mother,” Tim spoke quietly.  

“Timothy, let's try and get you to give a good impersonation to Mr Wayne now.” What!? At the ripe age of 9, Tim knew what his mom was doing. Children in conversations always made the other person nicer. But it’s not like Tim can pass up a meeting with Bruce, so he nods and lets his mother grab his hand. His dad trails slowly behind both of them. 

They get to Wayne when he’s talking to the mayor of Gotham, a pretty woman with a French bob and a gorgeous pantsuit. It took a bit, but now that time thinks about it, his mom probably had a little too much champagne. 

Bruce turns towards the three of them. “Ah! Mr and Mrs Drake, pleasure to see that you could make it down to the party! I hope you’re enjoying the lot of it so far!” His mom and dad stood up a bit straighter and graciously accepted the hand that Bruce had stuck out to shake. What is it with Waynes and shaking hands? “Oh! And this must be Timothy. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Bruce put on a charming smile and bent down a little bit to match Tim’s height. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Wayne.” Tim puts on a big smile and waits until Bruce looks away; he hears his mom hiccup a bit. Someone take away my mom’s champagne. He lets his parents exchange a few words and finds a corner to sit in for the rest of the night. 

—

Tim was sure the party went on until well after 2 AM when he and his parents were being driven back home, but it was only 11. He got back to his house and almost fell asleep the moment he hit his memory foam mattress. Full suit and everything. His mom would kill him if she saw how wrinkled it got, though, so he pushed himself off and changed. 

As he was getting undressed, Tim let his mind wander. He wondered if he should go and try to snap a few photos of Batman and Robin, but remembered that they don’t patrol on days like these, days when Tim has parties to attend, he means. He got into some sweats he got for Christmas last year, and his body decided to make him feel like a dead boy walking when he finished brushing his teeth. Tim decided that he had far too many Batman conspiracy videos to catch up on before he would let himself fall asleep, so he brainstormed. He brainstormed the whole time he was walking downstairs, and when he got into the kitchen, he had an epiphany. His dad never let him have it because “9-year-olds weren’t supposed to have coffee”, but Tim was pretty sure he’d be fine. It’s not like he’d have a heart attack or something. Timothy finds the coffee machine and searches for how to make coffee in it. (He may be a self-proclaimed genius, but casual technology still eludes him.)

It was simpler than he thought, making the coffee. He poured the hot, brown water into a sleek, white mug and set the empty container back in the machine. In movies, he always saw people add a bunch of fancy things like milk or sugar, but his dad never did, so he supposes it’s fine. He takes one little sip, letting steam glance off his face, and instantly regrets it. Coffee tastes like shit. Like holy hell, it feels like he shoved dirt down his throat and drank window cleaner. Tim coughs everything up and runs to shove his mouth under the sink faucet. Tim is gonna try again, this time with milk, and maybe like, 5 tablespoons of sugar. 

The second time he takes a sip, Tim braces himself. The coffee had cooled past the point of steam, so Tim just goes for it and takes a large gulp. This time, the bitterness still passes his taste buds on the way down, but this time, it tastes good, and it’s a manageable bitterness. Miles better than the hot garbage that graced his mouth earlier. Tim sets aside that cup and makes another one for good measure. He doesn’t know how well this stuff works, so better to be prepared. He takes his two mugs and silently pads up the stairs. 

When he passes his parents' room, he hears them silently packing and remembers that they have to leave for another trip at midday tomorrow. He keeps walking past and eventually gets to his room. He sets the mugs down and whips out his computer. Might as well do some photo editing while I’m doing this, Tim thinks. 

By the time he finished his editing, it was well past 2 AM, and Tim’s buzzing. The two cups of coffee definitely worked, and he definitely didn’t need two. He just settled on jumping in his room until the buzzing faded and his mind stopped going at a million miles per minute. He falls asleep at 8 AM. 

—

When Tim wakes up, he doesn’t fully register that his parents left. He meanders around the house for a couple of minutes until he just decides to take one final lap and return to his room. It took him a full hour to even realize that he slept past 2. He wasn’t even awake when his parents left, which Tim is completely fine with. They’ve left the house without saying goodbye before, so Tim walks downstairs and is told by their butler that his parents left at “11:35 in the AM”. Tim nods and makes a bowl of some Captain Crunch with some blueberries added in. 

When he finishes, Tim steals himself into going to downtown Gotham early. He doesn’t really feel like staying in his house when his parents aren’t here to tell him anything. So he runs upstairs to grab his camera and shoves some other things in his backpack. 

“I’m going to my friend's house!” He shouts as he’s running out the door. He’s pretty sure his butler mumbles something about having a chauffeur drive him, but Tim doesn’t stick around to listen. 

The ride over is pretty chill. He only saw one guy on the bus shouting about the end of times, but everyone just brushed him off like the rest of the weirdos in downtown Gotham. Tim has nothing against the homeless; personally, he wishes he could help them more. He just... hasn’t had much exposure to them compared to someone who actually lives in Gotham. He passes by a few more alleys, he shouldn’t even wonder what’s in them, and heads into his favorite camera store. 

“Whatya’ lookin’ for today kiddo?” He’s told the man his name before, first name only obviously. But he’s pretty sure the man can’t remember it. But Tim has no luck plucking the store manager’s name from his head either, so he leaves it be. 

“Just seeing if you have anything new in stock.” We have some awesome tripods we just got in, and a few mini light sources by the flash extensions.” The man gestures towards that area. Tim’s been needing a better light source for his nighttime photos. He doesn’t need them for his Batman photos because he doesn’t want to get caught, obviously. But every other dark photo is on the table. He grabs it and walks towards the tripods. Tim’s pretty sure he doesn’t need a new one, but it’s worth checking. 

Tim was right, he didn’t need a new one, so he walked over to the cashier and put the light down. 

“I knew you’d like it.” The man smiles down and scans the barcode. “Oh! That reminds me. Do you have any other photos you wanna show me? I think it’s been a while since our last visit.” The man’s right, Tim thinks it’s been about a month since he needed new supplies, so Tim takes out his camera and flips through some of his photos. 

“It’s a pretty new SD card, so it doesn’t have much on it yet.” The man nods and looks over the photos again, finally setting the camera down for him to take back. 

“Damn kid, these are good! You ever think of putting something like this in an exhibition? Maybe submitting it for a scholarship?” Tim shakes his head. Well, he has thought about it but hasn't done it. He concluded that he doesn’t really need a scholarship with how much money he has, and besides, someone else could use the scholarship more. So, Tim shrugs the suggestion off and thanks the man for the light. 

Stepping out of the shop, he checks his watch (a birthday gift from his dad) and notes the time: 4:22. They don’t start patrol for another hour. Tim thinks of what he could do during that time. I ammmm hungry, so probably food. Also, probably the most glaringly obvious thing: photos. His SD card is about halfway full, so he should be good. 

Tim wanders around a bit, avoiding all the alleyways that look like they would eat him up. Shoot out a long tongue that would wrap around his ankle and drag him. The alley would open up one of the dumpsters and smash down on his bones and meat until he was Tim slop good enough to swallow….. And Tim’s getting off track. He eventually finds a small bodega that has sandwiches that look edible enough. He steps in and is immediately hit with a smell that is somewhere between turkey and cigarette smoke. He pushes down a gag that threatens his throat. The cigarette smell is definitely winning. He supposes that the complete downtown Gotham atmosphere in the shop means that the sandwiches are good, so Tim pushes onward to the cashier's table. 

“Where’s ya’ parents kid?” It was a large Italian man sitting on a poor folding chair, cigarette in hand. An ashtray is crammed full of cigarette butts. The man clearly isn’t trying to hide his chainsmoking habits, Tim thinks. 

“Work trip. Can I have a turkey sandwich?” The man rolls his eyes and looks Tim in doubt before deciding that the situation was weird but that it wasn’t his business to try to understand why a nine-year-old was in such a suspicious bodega. 

“Sure, what bread do you want?” 

“Uhhhhhh… White?” Tim wasn’t really aware of what other kinds of bread there were. 

“Any other toppings other than turkey?” 

“Uhhhhhh… Cheddar cheese and pickles.” Fun fact! Tim loves pickles. And he decides, on the spot, that anyone who doesn’t like pickles is weird. The Italian man nods and stands up. He puts on a fairly greased-up apron and gets to work, so Tim leans against the wall since there are no other chairs, and searches for more Batman identity theories that may have been posted on Reddit. Tim stops scrolling because A) his sandwich was ready, and B) someone thought that it’s really Wonder Woman under the cowl, which is just wrong . He takes the sandwich and thanks the man. He smiles at Tim as he sits back in that abused folding chair. Tim turns around and walks back into the Gotham air. It’s the same amount of smog, but significantly cooler than it was 30 minutes ago. Tim shivers and chooses a direction to walk in as he eats his sandwich from his new favorite sandwich place.

 He takes a couple of photos of some random, non-dangerous Gotham activity, but eventually finds a nicer-looking alleyway and climbs up the fire escape that scales against the roughed-up brick. When he gets to the top, he’s glad he has his tetanus shot because those steps are not HOA-safe. He looks down below and takes notice of the street names. Score! I chose a building on the patrol route. Tim finishes his sandwich and fishes the camera out. He shivers again. Tim decides that he really needs to pick better clothes for his endeavors. 

He checks his watch and notes that they should be coming by this area, and readies his camera over the crumbling ledge of this building. And waits for the tell-tale red and yellow fabric to flash across his vision. Waitingggg… waitingggg… Anddd… there! Robin swings down from a higher building and rolls out on the roof, Batman superhero, landing not far behind him. Tim snaps a photo. He stares at them through the lens, tracking the hero’s movements through the screen until he watches it. Robin had climbed up on the nearby water silo thing and dived off of it, somersaulted 4 times, and shot out his grappling hook, gaining more leverage and jumping back to the original building that has the silo. Tim stares in awe at the event he just witnessed.

Now, of course, Tim doesn’t think the trick was that impressive; it was a little cool, but Tim’s more caught up in the fact that he did that exact trick. Tim’s sure he’s seen it before. But it wasn’t Robin who had done it before, not to his knowledge. It was something he had watched long ago. Some place that his parents had taken him when he was younger. He can’t put his finger on it. I’m gonna have to research this when I get home , he thinks. Tim sighs and resettles his camera position. Batman was talking to Robin in some reprimanding way, and then they both ran off in some direction. 

Tim wanted to follow them, maybe catch the two heroes in some fighting sequence, but he couldn’t get the itching out of his head. It’s making him writhe in his skin. This feeling. This need to discover information. He’s had this feeling before, but it was never this strong, never this sure. Tim shoves the camera into his backpack and flings himself down the fire escape. He lands in the alley and sprints down the illuminated street. The sun already being set doesn’t make finding the bus stop any easier, but he gets there eventually. 

On the bus ride home, Tim can’t stop his legs from bouncing. Who has done those flips before? Who has done those flips before in that exact same way? Does this mean I can find out Robin's identity? Does this mean I can find out BATMAN’S identity?!!? Timothy didn’t even realize that he arrived home until he was sitting in front of his computer, logging in. 

First, he searches for a quadruple front flip. He got a lot of Olympic videos and other non-answering results. Next, he tries other variations of that same thing, until he goes down a circus rabbit hole. Trapezes and such. Side note, circuses are crazy. Like the things they do in Cirque du Soleil are super impressive , but Tim’s getting off track. Finally, he finds a link to an old news article. “Death in Haly’s Circus! 2 dead! One injured!” Tim clicks on it. And something switches on in his brain. He’s seen these people before. Well, before all of the news articles came out. He saw this family perform. The Flying Graysons!! He remembered the headlines. The son of circus performers, John Grayson and Mary Grayson adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne after their untimely death. Sure, he was young during this time, but it was such a big headline that no one can forget it. 

Timothy searches for clips of The Flying Graysons! They really weren’t lying about the flying part. The couple acted as if they didn’t even have the ropes to swing from. A young boy around his age smiling from atop a platform. He dives off, short black hair blowing around. The flips, the flips he was so sure he had seen before occur. The young boy grabs hold of a rope and swings over to another platform, and there it is. The video was titled “Youngest Grayson pulls off trick never seen before!!”. Tim feels just so plainly stupid. Why hasn’t anyone else made this connection? Richard’s parents died the same year that Robin appeared. Bruce Wayne adopted Richard the same year Batman got a Robin. Richard, or Dick I guess, is the same estimated age that Robin is. Everything makes sense. The acrobat-prone tricks the teen was able to do as Robin is because he learned them as a Grayson! 

Tim is quite literally on the edge of his seat. Practically standing up or falling off, he isn’t quite sure which one. Timothy Jackson Drake just discovered the identity of Robin. And he guessed, by this extension, Batman. I mean, the only person that makes sense is Bruce Wayne. He’s Dicks adopted father, they’re never seen on patrol whenever he sees them at the galas, and Tim’s pretty sure Bruce has the most insane sleeper build out of any billionaire he knows. He sits back in the chair, slinks down fully, and allows himself to lie on his soft carpet. This is insane. I can’t believe I figured it out. Tim doesn’t know how to process this. What can he do with the information? It’s not like he could go to the press; he’d sound like a madman. Plus, they’d find out that it’s some nine-year-old taking the photos and not some legal adult. Also, he supposes that knowing the identity of the two most popular people in Gotham would put a target on his back. 

So, Tim decides that he should keep the identities to himself, and instead, gloat about his genius and revel in his detective abilities. Screw Batman (THE BRUCE WAYNE), Timothy Jackson Drake is the world's greatest detective. He hurriedly runs downstairs and makes himself a cup of coffee; he can’t sleep at this rate, so he may as well give himself energy. Tim doesn’t sleep at all. 

Chapter Text

An unspecified amount of time later. (Timelining is so very difficult)

-

Tim’s confused. He’s not confused about the fact that he knows the identities of Batman and Robin; he’s still perfectly content with that. But he supposed that it’s still a Batman-related thing he’s confused about. How am I supposed to act around Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson at parties now that I know they’re superheroes? Tim supposed he’d just never go to another Gala again. He wouldn’t be able to not go, his mom would never let him, but a young boy can dream. Also, he’s sure Dick is way past being Robin, which is kind of scary. Plus, he’s only been seen fighting with the Teen Titans; Batman is basically off the table. So yeah, Tim’s confused. 

He supposes that Robin not being with Batman on the patrols makes Batman scarier. Something about Batman is terrifying when there isn’t a bright-colored sidekick next to him. So, Tim’s been backing off from going to Gotham so often, and it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to post; there are plenty of photographs left over on his memory cards. 

But, ignoring all of this, Tim is still deciding to go out tonight. The weather is predicted to be relatively clear, and there’s a shot that Tim has been trying to get for a while now. He wants to get Batman in front of this one night club sign that’s illuminated in all red. It’ll be a super cool backdrop, and sure, it might look cooler in the rain. But he’s gonna have to settle for what he can get. 

He takes his usual bus ride over and says high to the bus driver, who knows him by name and face now, and gets off at the station closest to the sandwich shop. He found out that the greasy Italian man’s name was Murph, short for Murphy, and he was born in Italy but moved to Gotham 30 years ago with his now ex-wife. At one of his previous visits, Tim thinks the man off-handedly mentioned the many children that he possibly has, but Tim never brought it up. Tim orders his turkey sandwich and this time, a cup of coffee. It was only today when he noticed a little fine print at the bottom that said they have coffee. 

“Kid, are you sure you want coffee? I think caffeine kills your kind.”

Tim chuckles. “What do you mean, my kind?” 

“That you’re like 5 and too young to ‘ave coffee. Plus, it kinda tastes like shit.” Tim puts 2 one one-dollar bills on the table and watches as Murph shrugs. 

“Your loss, kid. Don’t sue if you end up sick or dyin or somethin.” 

“Can you also throw in a can of tuna?” Murph shrugs again and motions for a dollar. He’s getting the tuna for a cat he discovered lives a block away. Tim walks out and takes a sip of the coffee. It reminds him of when he first tried it and spits it out on the sidewalk. Jesus, Murph wasn’t joking. He throws the rest of the cup onto a pile of other miscellaneous trash. 

He could say that the cat’s alley is skinnier than most alley’s but he’s no building expert. The cat is a little black cat that has yellow eyes. Tim estimates he’s about 2 or 3 years old. He named it Bruce Wayne, for obvious reasons. 

“Bruce?” He’s not sure if the cat knows he named it, but it’s worth a try. Surprisingly, the cat comes out of a damp cardboard box and meows loudly for the tuna. 

“Here ya go, buddy.” Tim smiles and kneels. Bruce rubs next to him and purrs while he eats. He’s wanted to take the cat home for a while now, but his mom wouldn’t allow it. He’s asked her about pets in general, but they’ve never trusted Tim enough to let him have one on his own, especially considering how often they’re gone. She explained to him that she “Doesn’t want one of the maids to end up taking care of it.” Tim thinks he’s been old enough to possibly take care of a kitten for a while now, but who is he to make assumptions about his maturity? Bruce finishes his food and scampers underneath a dumpster further into an alley. That’s another reason why he never brought the cat home: he doesn’t stick around after. 

But maybe this time was a different reason. Tim turns around when he hears the familiar roar of a modified muscle car heading his way. Bright LED headlights streak down the street and possibly blind cars going in the opposite direction. But before the Batmobile passes, something else knocks him down. A monster truck the size of his living room blasts past, and Tim swears he saw his life pass before his eyes. It was a green and purple blur, but Tim could recognize that cartoonishly clowny face anywhere. That weirdly large smile and neon green hair. Both of the cars (it would be generous to call the monster truck a car) pass him, and Tim pushes himself back up. He caught Batman driving after The Joker, but Timothy Drake has a shockingly small survival instinct. 

This might’ve been a sign to just go back home, but Tim was determined to photograph the Batmobile. It’s one of the only things he hasn’t seen of Batman’s all this time because he can never find it when the two are on patrol. But now he can track it. 

He starts sprinting after the chase, asking people where they went when he lost them (which was often), but eventually, he finds it haphazardly abandoned behind a dumpster, the monster truck nowhere to be found. The dark side of his endeavor, he’s for sure lost and possibly in the famed Crime Alley. Of course, he wouldn’t actually know if he was in Crime Alley because, again, he is lost. But he just has this feeling, like no untraumatized kid should be here. And Batman definitely shouldn’t be here. 

One, because Batman has never gone into Crime Alley during his patrols, and two, because everyone in Gotham knows what happened to Bruce Wayne here. Tim doesn’t want to end up like Bruce’s (the man, not the cat) parents, so he needs to take photos fast. He brings his backpack around and grabs the camera. Before he can even consider turning on his flash, a loud clatter sounds off in the alley, and Tim turns into a cat. Not literally, of course, and he scurries up the fire escape as fast as one. Tim is out of there faster than anyone can say shutter speed. He watches the noises from the escape. 

There’s nothing for a couple of seconds, but then he spots movement from a basement access window and watches as a boy, just a couple of years older than him, walks over to the Batmobile. The boy also seems in shock at what’s parked in the alley before he starts inspecting it. Tim watches the actions through his lens. When the teen grabs a wrench and a carjack, that’s when Tim snaps a photo. He cannot believe that he’s watching some kid steal the wheels off the Batmobile. Well, he can believe it because that’s what’s actively happening in front of him, which is insane. He can report this to the police, or better yet, Batman. Would they do anything about a probably innocent-looking boy? Maybe. That would really be for Batman to decide. (The police probably wouldn’t do anything about it.) Timothy also decides there’s not much more he can do about it other than take photos because what can below-average size Timothy Drake do about a scrappy alley kid willing to steal wheels off the Batmobile? 

From the alley below, “Holy shit I can’t believe I found this. How much can I make off of Batmobile tires? This is the Batmobile, right?” The boy talks to himself just about as much as Tim does. He only wishes he could’ve gotten a photo before the wheels were being stolen. 

He watched through his lens, and even he’ll admit, the boy made swift work of the wheels. Bricks were placed under each corner, and every solid black tire was lined up against the brick wall. The boy wiped away the sweat on his forehead with grease-covered hands. There’s probably a streak, but Tim can’t see it because of the boy’s unwashed bangs. The boy rolls each of the tires behind the dumpster and places a tarp over them. He runs over to the window and slinks back through it.

Only after he leaves does Tim recognize a figure he thinks has been there for most of the time, but he can’t be certain. After all, when the figure steps out from the shadows, Tim has to suppress a gasp. Batman was watching this. And he didn’t stop it. He let the boy fully take off the tires and just stood there. Tim stands deathly still, and his eagle eye watches Bruce inspect the Batmobile. The man’s movements make him almost look content with the situation. Tim brings out his phone and takes a photo, he can’t risk the click of the shutter. 

“Alfred, can you drive up here? I had a bit of a situation.” The usual gruff is gone from his voice, and Tim actually hears Bruce under the mask for the first time. 

He can just pick up on the voice responding. It’s British. “Of course, Batman. Did something happen to the Batmobile, sir?” The man is silent for a second before replying, “Yes, you’ll see the situation when you get here, sending the location now.” Tim has to stop himself from laughing because of the just sheer weirdness of the situation. But he also can’t move because of the state of the escape, so Tim’s stuck until Batman leaves. 

It takes about 20 minutes and Tim’s legs have started to cramp up, but the sleek, black car that he’s seen Alfred drive so often pulls in front of the alley, and he watches as Batman stands up to greet the butler. 

“The situation, sir?” 

“I watched some kid steal the wheels off of the Batmobile.” The butler lets out a small chuckle. 

“You just stood there, sir?” 

“Yes. I wanted to see if he would actually go through with it, and he did. I do need a new Robin, especially with Dick away with the Titans.” 

“And you think this kid is it?” Alfred follows Batman’s motion to where the tires are and helps roll each one out. 

“He’s resourceful, and he has the guts to pull this off. He matches most of the qualifications. Plus, I’m sure his family situation is not the best; he’s living in Crime Alley.” Tim watches as Alfred nods and methodically starts the process of putting the tires back on. Batman attaches them as well, and Tim waits in silence. He’s getting hungry. 

— 

They eventually finish and drive off in their respective cars. Tim jumps down and shakes out his tensed muscles. That was probably the weirdest experience in his life. 

He doesn’t go back out to see the patrol for a month. Not until he got the news of a new robin. He also thinks it’s weird he got news of a new Robin but not news of a new son. He remembers seeing an article that suggested that since Bruce has gone on for so long without a wife or official girlfriend, he’s secretly gay. Which Tim just thinks is weird. He can’t even judge the man if he is, Tim has no reason not to like Gay people. He just can’t process it in his mind that Batman likes men… and Tim’s getting off track. 

He sits back in the chair that Murph put out for him and takes a bite of the sandwich. 

“Murph, what’s your opinion on Batman?” Tim went here for lunch instead of an early dinner because he has a mandatory Gala tonight. 

“Well, I don’t think he’s as dangerous as the police put ‘im out to be. And he’s done good ‘round ‘ere.” Tim nods in agreement.

“Which identity theory do you think is the most believable?” Murph considers the question and shrugs. 

“All I believe is that the man’s rich. No way you can ‘ave all those gadgets and be poor. There’s just no way.” Tim nods again and takes another bite of his sandwich. He wraps it up and shoves half in his backpack. 

“Can I get another can of tuna?” Murph dons a suspicious look on his face.

“What’s with the tuna craze all of a sudden? If you want good seafood, just travel to Maryland. Don’t get it here, kid.” Tim laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, there’s just this cat about a block down that I've been feeding. I named him Bruce.” 

“Then why’ve I been making you pay for it the whole time? If you were feeding a cat, you could’a just told me. I got a soft spot for critters.” Tim is only slightly shocked at this revelation. Murph seems like the kind of guy who loves cats more than a son or something. 

“I’ll tell you where I find him so you can say hi at some point. He answers to Bruce, I think, or just my voice, I can’t tell yet.” Tim accepts the free can of tuna, mentions the street on which the alley is, and leaves. 

— 

The preparation for the Gala is almost as boring as the one he went to a couple of months ago before he discovered their identities. Actually, he’s less looking forward to this one because Tim has no idea how he’ll talk to Bruce if the situation calls for it. Tim plans ahead. 

He gets dressed in his suit and red bowtie, ditching the suspenders because only 8-year-olds wear suspenders. He sits on the couch and scrolls Reddit until both of his parents make it into the kitchen. His mom mentions something about how his outfit is good enough, and his dad mentions something about how dapper he looks anyway. 

He takes the silent ride over and doesn’t speak until he’s inside Wayne Manor and people are talking to him. Tim sets his plan in motion. He starts talking to the first important person he sees. 

“Hello, ma’am.” This particular person is some big head of a pharmaceutical company, or at least, Tim assumes so. She has some heavy wrinkles lying on her skin and reminded him of a grandma he may or may not have. Tim doesn’t see his in-laws a lot. 

“Oh well, aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” He thinks she makes a move to grab and shake his cheek, so he takes a half step backwards and smiles. I may as well play the kid act if I’m going to get babied like one. 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, call me Mrs. Winters. Ma’am makes me feel old.” You are old, Tim wants to say, but he holds his tongue. 

“Ok Mrs. Winters. I just want to make niceties for my parents.” Tim smiles again and sticks his hand out for her to shake. 

“Oh! How cute. Where are your parents now? Do you want me to help you find them?” Tim shakes his head and walks away. Stage one is done. His plan needed him to be seen talking to someone so his parents wouldn’t blame him for hiding the whole time. He just needs to find someplace to hide now. Tim grabs a plate of food and surveys for a route. There are about 5 exits that leave this room, not including the stairs, and most of them have hoards of people, and he doesn’t want to go through the same door that he left the last time. Tim chooses the one on his right. It’s the closest and has the least amount of people. 

Once behind the door, Tim starts wandering, but this time checking around each corner before he continues walking. He doesn’t want to get spooked again. He continues to walk through the house, which is just infinitely better than his own, until he gets to a cracked door surrounded by ornate wood decoration. 

Tim peeks inside and sees that the coast is clear inside this… extravagant library . Tim basically silently squeals in excitement. He can not believe that he is about to hide out in Bruce Wayne- Batman’s library. He slips in between the doors and almost silently shuts them. He looks around. The library can be considered two stories at most, but it’s still impressive. Walls of books are surrounded by the ladders that you see in movies, and a walkway so you can reach them as well. He probably has his own system, too. A Wayne-decimal system. He lets his eyes fall onto the lounge in the center. Plush couches and chairs sit around a wide coffee table that houses stacks of books, magazines, and scattered papers. Side tables hold plants and candles. And he can’t help but notice the towering windows displaying a well-groomed garden. Vibrant late-autumn flowers are speckled all over. Chrysanthemums, Tim recalls. It’s gorgeous. He slowly walks toward the lounge area and notices something odd. Obviously, the party is out there, so why is a cup of tea still steaming on the coffee table?

Before Tim can get his answer, the slamming of a door answers for him. 

“Who the hell are you?” Tim whips his head around, caught in the act. This is the second time he’s been caught outside that party, and the second time he recognizes the accuser. This boy is familiar. But he can’t tell from where. 

“Uhmm…” Tim can’t get the words to come out of his mouth. 

The boy mumbles under his breath, “Bruce said no one was going to be in here.” No wait, could this be…? Tim backs away from the couch and begins preparing himself to abandon ship- or abandon library. “No, this is fine, Todd. He’s just a kid, he didn’t know any better. 

“Did you get lost or something, kid?” No…

“Yes. And I’m not a kid. I turned nine a couple of months ago.”

“Ohhh, so I bet you’re all grown up now, isn’t that right?” Tim nods. He can’t tell if deemed ‘ Tod’ is genuine or not. “Well, uhm… just get out of here and go back to the party.” Tim watches as the boy sits down on the couch and waits for Tim to leave. He also visibly rolled his eyes when Tim made the split-second decision to stick around longer. Tim doesn’t know, something about the boy wants to make him stay around longer, plus he can get some knowledge on the potential new Robin.

“Are those your books?” Tim asks as he moves over toward ‘Tod’.

“Obviously not, we’re in a library.” Tim nodded as if that wasn’t a stupid question he had asked. The well-worn armchair sinks under him when he sits down. This is more awkward than he anticipated, but it would be awkward now to just get up and walk away. He’s in a stalemate with his decisions. Thankfully, Tod speaks first. 

“Are you just escaping the party or something?” Tim nods and picks up the top book off of one of the stacks. “Oh, that’s Picture of Dorian Gray. In my opinion, Oscar Wilde’s best book. He was able to portray his own personal thoughts in his book. It really reflects the parallels between the classicism of the modern world and the late 1800s. It also serves as an allegory for the double lives that people lead and how rich people can really get away with anything they want. And for Oscar Wilde specifically, he sees himself reflected in the main character and the couple of hundred words where he and another man shared a kiss, of course, his publisher made him remove it, but those double lives were really an essential meaning to the overall arc of the story.” And then the teen just stops talking. And looks down at his lap, almost as if he were ashamed. Which confuses Tim. It was a very insightful look at the book, and Tim’s sure that if he actually read it, he would agree. Tod looks up as if he had said something wrong.

“Of course, I didn’t mean you, you’re probably a nice rich person, someone like your parents- I mean, I’m sure your parents are very nice people. There are just some rich people that aren’t very good, and I’m going to stop talking.” Tod picks up a book and brings his knees up to his chest. 

Tim’s kinda left speechless. This guy was just odd, he was T-odd, one might say. “Let’s uh… start over. I’m Tim, well, Timothy Drake. But I go by Tim.”

Tod seemingly perks up and puts down the book. “I’m Jason, Jason Todd. But I go by Jason.” Oh, Todd is a last name. But also, he got the full name, he does a miniature, internal celebration. 

“Do you live here? Like, are you Bruce’s son? I haven’t seen anything announced about you.” Jason hesitates but nods. 

“I’m not that big at being in public. I’ve never been in the spotlight, like ever, and being Bruce’s new son means I’ll only have that light on me. I just don’t think I’m ready for that, so I asked him not to say anything.” Tim fiddles a little bit and notices the time on his watch. 

“Oh no.”

“What?” His parents definitely might notice if he’s not mingling, if he’s not back at the gala within a couple of minutes. He needs to get back to the quiches and sequins. He stands up and starts walking away.

“I need to go back to the gala. My parents will be looking for me.”

“Oh, ok- Oh Alfred!” Behind Tim, the door had opened, and the butler who had given him a ride walked in with a tray of mugs and small meals that he saw at the gala. 

“Master Todd, I didn’t know you had a guest. I would’ve brought more hot chocolate.” 

“No, it’s fine. I was just leaving. I have to get back to the gala before my parents realize I’m not there.” The butler nods, and Tim walks out the door. 

—

Timothy honestly wishes he hadn’t gone back to the gala. Hot chocolate sounded really good, way better than talking to more boring people. He didn’t even get to talk to Bruce again before he got back to his house. The only perk he got out of it is that now he knows who the new Robin is. 

Well, he thought he knew who the new Robin was. He got the name and the face, but nothing else. His computer is turning up nothing, and it’s frustrating Tim to no end. What do you mean THEE Timothy Drake, the best detective in the world, can’t find out the history of one teenage boy? He’s got to be active at some point. A profile on literally any website or app, or perhaps maybe a text message sent with sms, or maybe even a loan, apartment, or property taken out in his name. But alas, nothing. The guy is a ghost, and there’s still nothing in the tabloids about his adoption. 

Tim gets a knock at his doo,r and he quickly closes all of his tabs, they weren’t yielding anything anyway. 

His mom speaks on the other side. “Timothy, a boy, is here to see you. He calls himself Jason.” Why is Jason here? It’s like 6 in the morning. Tim checks his clock, 5:53 actually. 

“Uhmm… ok, I’ll be right down.” He throws on his robe and ties it as he’s walking down the stairs. Jason is waiting in the shoe area. His mom pops up behind him. 

“Timothy, can you take him upstairs? It is much too early for you to be down here.” Tim nods.

“Yes, ma’am. Uhh.. Jason, this way.” He leads the other boy back up to his room and thanks whoever that he thought to close the tabs before coming down. Tim sits down on his bed and watches as the teen looks around. 

“Your house is very… modern. White.” Tim thinks it’s a compliment, but it also looks like Jason came here with little to no plan. 

“Thank you? So, uh, why are you here? Not that I don’t want you here, but it’s just a little early.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Tim nods along. “Well.” It seemed like Jason finally figured out a plan. “ You’re not going to like, tell the news or anything, are you?”

“The news?” 

“Yeah. Like you’re not going to go to the news about me and tell them about “Bruce Wayne’s new son” or anything, are you?”

“Oh no! No way. Your privacy is important, and it should stay that way.” At least your public image should stay that way. Privacy doesn’t apply to Tim or the internet, which is why Tim is still puzzled about this Jason guy. 

“Ok, good. Well, I’m going to go back to sleep. Alfred is still waiting outside, and it is way too early.” Tim leads Jason back to the front door and shuts it behind him. That was odd, peculiar, bizarre, and more synonyms. I really need to get a thesaurus.

He pushes aside his vocabulary and goes back to his room to dig deeper. Maybe he missed something. Closing all of his tabs gave him a clean slate, maybe he should back up a bit and look at the bigger picture. He essentially started with anybody with the last name Todd in Gotham, which was a surprisingly medium-sized amount. A Todd in Crime Alley, perhaps? Tim didn’t really have any other leads other than this, so he went through the entire list of public records provided to him. 

He eventually found someone who fit the potential description. One Catherine Todd. Her obituary specifically. Catherine was a beloved mother of one young son and a protective wife. This supports the orphan theory. Tim needed more access to public records, though; his little laptop can only do so much. He checks his watch and cross-references with his computer's answer. The Gotham City Public Library should be open by the time he could make his way downtown, he figures.

—

In all truth, for as many times as Tim has been to the Gotham Downtown area, he’s never actually gone into the library. He’s not that big of a book reader. He’ll research the hell out of a topic if he’s interested, and if that means reading a book or two, then yeah, he’ll read. But he doesn’t crazily read novels. 

He couldn’t sleep after his research began, so Tim got there early and had to stand by the door until the opener came. It ended up being a nice woman with her red hair tossed in a loose ponytail. 

“What are you doing here so early?” Tim offers to hold some of the books she’s carrying, but she nudges his hand away. 

“I have some research I need to get done before school.” 

“Ahhhhh. Traditional or electronic?” 

“Electronic, hopefully.” 

“Well, the computers are over there. It’s nice to have such young people using the library, even if it is for computers.” She says that like she doesn’t look 20-something. Tim follows the directions and walks over to a line of box computers. All of a sudden, he misses his Wayne Industries laptop. He shrugs off his yearning for high-tech devices and logs in using the guest account. 

He searches for Catherine Todd again and tries to make connections. He finds a marriage certificate to one, Willis Todd. Odd name, Tim concludes. And eventually, he uncovers basically all of the public information about Jason and his would-be family. Originally, he had a mom named Sheila who divorced Willis almost immediately after Jason was born. I would leave, too, if I married a man named Willis. Willis found Catherine and, through some kind of financial misfortune, turned to petty crime. Well, Tim assumes he turned to petty crime because there’s a series of mugshots for minor crimes, including gas station robberies, restaurant robberies, breaking and entering, burglary, and, get this, candy store theft. 

Tim also found out that there was a death certificate for Willis, where the cause of death was listed as unknown. Which aligns with most mob deaths. Of course, in true Crime Alley fashion, Catherine died a couple of months before from a drug overdose. It’s a sad life, to be frank. 

Tim almost feels bad about uncovering this much about Jason, the boy wanted his privacy. The emphasis is on the almost. It’s sort of a sick feeling, knowing information about someone and not knowing what to do with it. But Tim is nine and is essentially oblivious to the power his information holds. So he shrugs it off and packs it away for later while also closing his tabs. He says goodbye to the librarian and grabs a sandwich at Murph’s. When Tim looks in his to-go bag, he notices a little can of tuna nestled in the bottom. 

Chapter Text

Today is Timothy Drake's big day. The day he becomes a man. No more wishing for lame toys as presents, not that he did, but it’s the thought that counts. No more having the staff make all of his meals. He gets more allowance, and he swears he sees a hair popping up on his chin. Today, on this fine summer's day, Timothy Drake turns 13. 

He probably would’ve thrown a ginormous party if he had more friends. And the ginormous party would be filled with alcohol and drugs, and weed. He would get noise complaints, and the cops would show up. Everyone would make a mad dash for the exits and he would get locked in a bathroom with a complete stranger (in which they would eventually fall in love) while trying to hide from the police because no 13 year old, even a rich 13 year old should have access to alcohol, drugs, or weed. Or, at least, this is what TV and movies tell him would happen. 

He drinks the last couple of drops of his coffee left over from the day before. He doesn’t want to seem all alpha male-like, but he prefers his coffee black now. Tim just finds that the caffeine reaches his bloodstream more easily that way, and sees how much money he made off of one of his recent photos. Tim discovered that he makes more money (not that he needs it) selling his photos to The Gotham Gazette than posting them on Instagram, so he more or less stopped using his account. Most people in the comments assumed he got sued for rights or something, so he doesn’t really worry about any backlash he receives.  

A knock at his door. “Master Tim! Please come downstairs. Your parents want to say goodbye before they leave. You know just how much they hate missing your big day, so please come down.” Tim rolls his eyes even though no one else can see them. Sure, he’s happy that at least his parents aren’t leaving until the day of, but it’s still annoying that they’re leaving in the first place. They couldn’t have pushed their flights back a day or two? We’re rich enough to rebook flights. 

Nevertheless, Tim opens his door and walks down the hall to the stairs. When he makes it down, he’s greeted by a ginormous hug. It wraps around his shoulders and lifts his feet off the ground. Tim is disoriented after being set down; he feels a hand ruffle his well-shaped bangs. 

“Hey, Timothy! Happy birthday, my little, or should I say, big man.” His dad has this big smile, and Tim acutely smiles back as he fixes his hair back down. “Now, I know we can’t be here,” His dad checks his watch, “And we have to leave very soon, but we got you presents.” His dad shows him a collection of paper-wrapped and bagged gifts. 

“Darling, we need to go.” His mom pipes in. She starts putting on her shoes. 

“Ok, sweety, I just want to see Tim open this one present, and then we can go.” His dad stands up and rushes over to the table, he picks up a slightly large box. “Here, open this one first.” 

It’s a little heavy, and as Tim shifts the box from side to side, he can feel the contents inside shift around. He sits down on the couch, placing the box on his lap, and pulls the lid off. Inside, a sleek white box sits perfectly in the center. Smaller, velvet bags sit beside it. 

“It’s- it’s a camera.” Tim can feel joy bubbling in his gut. 

“Yes! Astute observation, Timothy. But not just any camera, you see, this is one of the best models I could find that wouldn’t be outright film level.” His mom walks up to his father and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, of course, sweety.” His dad hugs him. “I can’t wait to see what photos you’ve taken when we get back.” 

His dad ruffles his hair again, and Tim doesn’t look back. A new camera. He has a new camera. He picks up the velvet bags that are also in the box and pulls back the drawstrings to reveal more lenses, filters, and other camera accessories. Tim sets the box down to indulge in later and reaches for the other presents. 

The rest of the gifts are pretty typical for his family. Various clothing items, which include 3 polos of various muted shades, 2 pairs of shoes (one dress and one street wear), a slim-fitting pair of jeans (that make him kind of uncomfortable), a bunch of little things (which he doesn’t feel like listing them all), and one more box. A box he hasn’t opened yet because it feels different than the rest. Something about the box doesn’t seem to scream deluxe clothing item. Tim looks behind the armchair to double-check that his parents have actually left, and the coast is clear. He gathers all of his presents and races up to his room, dumping the gifts on the floor and shutting the door with his foot. 

He starts to peel off the wrapping paper, and a logo is revealed underneath. It’s an action figure, but no, no, not just any action figure, Tim notices. It’s thee action figure. He manically rips off the rest of the paper to unveil the most precious thing that he now owns. It’s a 2010 limited edition silver-era year three muted shine Batman action figure. One of 6 in the entire world. It was discontinued almost immediately after the idea hit the factory because of the sheer amount of detailed input into it. A fully functioning grappling hook, Batman's utility belt fixed with all accessories, microfiber silk cape that mimics the real-life physics of the actual bat cape. A miniature bulletproof chest plate that actually works. It’s everything that Tim could hope and dream of. Tim also has no idea how his parents would’ve bought this for him. 

Tim knows that Jackson and Janet Drake do not have the sheer level of nerd knowledge required to acknowledge the significance of this object. No, this item belongs to a man of culture, of dorky skill. This could be none of his servants either, they can’t afford this. The only person Tim could think of who has this much money and has as much of a fascination for Batman as he does would be Jason. 

Tim and Jason had become quite the friends over the couple of years since Tim first researched the hell out of him. He wouldn’t say that they’re close, but they’ve hung out more than enough times to know each other. Tim knows about Jason’s struggles with poverty (even though, sadly, he can't relate), and Jason knows about Tim’s fascination with Batman and photography. Jason also knows about Tim’s worship of this figure. That’s the only explanation for who gave this to him, and in true mystery fashion, there’s nothing that connects the giver of the artifact. 

Also, another reason why this has a chance of not being Jason is the fact that Tim has not seen Jason in about 2 weeks. They haven’t hung out. None of his messages have been responded to. None of his calls have been answered. And any attempt that Tim has had at contacting Jason in the physical world has been met with silence. He also hasn’t dared to talk about it with Bruce or Alfred, the two have had this air about them, and Tim hasn’t dared to get himself mixed up in the center of it. The air makes Tim nervous, makes him feel like Bruce and Alfred know why Tim hasn’t seen Jason, but Tim will not admit it out loud now; he doesn’t want to go down that road. 

Tim shakes himself out of his little hole and marvels over the action figure again. It’s still in its original packaging, which only boosts Tim’s serotonin. He sets it right dead and center on his shelf; he’ll get more stuff to deck out the presentation of the figurine later, but for now, he can just stare at it in all its glory. 

One glory stare later, and Tim’s ready to pack up to go to his other birthday plans. Tim glances at the new watch he’s acquired today and realizes the library is open now. 

He replaces the spot that the old camera sat in with the new one and shoves some of his more ratty-looking clothes in his backpack. He grabs some old jeans and a band T-shirt he got at the thrift store, throws those on and heads back downstairs, and grabs more coffee. 

“Bye, Arnold!” He actually learned one of their names this time.

“And where will you be going, master Tim?” 

“Just to the library. I promise I’ll be back before dinner.” He probably won’t, but Tim realized that the servants trust him more if he gives them a general time of his return.”

“I’m sure. Now, please be safe, Master Tim.”

“I will.” Tim smiles and throws on some Converse before he practically leaps out of the entrance. Leaps into a giant puddle that had formed at the base of the stairs leading up to the porch. Crap, he forgot it was raining. Tim brings out the umbrella he packed (It’s always somehow raining in Gotham) and makes his way to the bus stop. 

The traffic on the way to the downtown area of Gotham is unusually busy. It’s almost 11 by the time he makes it down to the library, and Tim’s starting to get a bit hungry. He was planning to go to Murphs after the library, but the musty book smell can wait. 

The door jingles when he enters. 

“That’s new, Murph.” 

“Yeah, kid. A bunch of teens keep tryin’a sneak in and steal my produce, so I ‘ave some extra security measures now.” Tim wonders why teenagers would want to steal deli meat, but pushes it off to the side of his otherwise occupied mind. 

“I have something for you.” Murph's eyebrows raise a little bit, and Tim pulls his backpack around to the front to open it. He rummages around for a little bit to acquire the trinket he picked up about a week ago. Tim sets it on the counter.

“Kid! Are you serious?” Tim kind of giggles. He found out a couple of months ago that Murph was a collector of sorts. A collector of dashboard bikini babes. The type of ones that shake around when in direct sunlight. 

“Yeah, I saw it last week and I didn’t remember if you had it yet.” 

“Well, come over here.” Tim walks around the counter and lets Murph give him a big, sweaty, kind of smelly hug. “I swear you’re better than like half my sons, kid. Oh!” He feels Murph release him. “I almost forgot.” Murph turns around and comes back with a small, bite-sized cupcake. He sets it on the counter, places a small ‘4’ shaped candle in it, and lights it with a neon orange BIC lighter he got from his breast pocket. 

“A ‘4’ was the only one I had in my drawer.” 

“It’s ok, murph, I can be turning 4 today.” 

Murph laughs a belly laugh. “Happy birthday, Timothy. Today, you become a man.” Tim takes that as a sign to blow out the already half-melted candle. He takes the lump of wax off and pops the cupcake in one bite. He springs a happy feeling from this. Like that feeling when he first got the camera all those years ago is digging through his organs. Spreading throughout his skin until joy is the only thing in the forefront of his mind. It’s almost enough to make him cry. But Tim can’t cry, he’s a man now. Maybe Murph’s uber masculinity has finally gotten to me. 

“Well, kid, do you want your usual?” 

Tim thinks for a moment. “I’m a new man now, Murph. Today I try something new.” 

“Wow, kid, that’s a big reach. Are you sure you want to renew yourself that much?” 

“Absolutely sure. What do you recommend?” Tim scans the walls that display the sandwich ingredients. Looking over all the other options, it strikes Tim that he’s never actually tried another sandwich from Murph. 

“Well…” Murph scratches his chin in an old wise man way. “I recommend the Bloody Mary. Roast beef, tomatoes, Swiss, ketchup, and a mystery ingredient.”

“Eugh, that sounds gross. Sandwiches shouldn’t have mystery ingredients.”

“Hey kid, don’t be dissin my third wife’s favorite.” Tim shrugs. It does kind of sound gross, but today is the day he mans up.

“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs. What’s the worst that can happen? Murph puts on a big smile.

“Atta boy.” The man stands up and waddles over to the sandwich-making area. There are some clanking sounds, one weird slippery sound, and the whirring sound of a toaster oven that is hanging on by its last two legs and pure will, well, at least as much will a toaster oven can have in the first place.

Murph finishes the sandwich and serves it up on a sheet of wax paper, steam rising from the red-slop-covered mystery meat. “All done!” Murph has this huge grin plastered on his face and reaches to light another cigarette. 

Time grabs the sandwich and moves the half around between his fingers. If this kills him, he wouldn’t blame Murph, he would instead tell Murph to tell his parents that it was something cool, like a motorcycle accident or a gang fight. “Ok…” Tim steals himself. “Better late than never.”

After Tim takes a bite, it takes him and takes him a couple of seconds to register all of the flavors. He moves the food around in his mouth, trying to understand why someone would ever want to voluntarily eat this. Tim tries to keep it in his mouth for a couple more seconds before he abandons it by running over to the small, bag-lined trash can and coughing it out. 

Murph laughs behind him. “Damn kid! I didn’t think it was that bad…” Tim stares back with a fake hatred as he plots some sort of revenge to mess with Murph for that vile sandwich. “I didn’t even think the mystery ingredient could ruin it.”

“What was the mystery ingredient?” Tim reaches for one of the free cups so he can grab some water.

“I don’t really know.” What?

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who made the sandwich!?” Tim is bewildered, shocked, downright offended.

“It was a mystery to all of us.” Murph waddles over to the sandwich-making area and comes back with a slightly opaque bottle that has no label, and an indeterminable liquid sloshes around on the inside. Well, time lied about the no-label part . It does have a label, but all it says is expiration date 19XX . 

“THAT THING IS 32 YEARS OLD!? You haven’t even been in Gotham that long!” All Murph did was shrug and put the bottle back in its place. “It’s a wonder that you even stayed open this long, Murph.”

“Unless you’re high-end or start a pandemic, then ain’t no one cares for small bodegas in a mouse hole.” Tim fears that Murph has a point and returns his attention to his next task. He has to find Barbara next. 

“Well, Murph, today was fun, but I have to get going.” Murph nods and sticks a finger out, like he’s forming a thought. 

“Alright, but take a can of tuna with you.” Tim grabs the can that was placed on the counter, picks up his backpack, and waves to Murph as he leaves the bodega. 

Until Murph gave him the tuna, he almost forgot about Bruce. It’s been a while since he visited the alley. He doesn’t even know if Bruce is still there, but he’ll check. 

He arrives at the alley and opens the can, placing it at the part where the grey concrete sidewalk cracks away to grimy asphalt. Through feeding Bruce, Tim discovers that he doesn’t mind the smell of processed fish and even finds it a little comforting. He believes that it’s not that bad and has the possibility to taste great, despite his parents' demanding belief that states the contrary. 

After waiting for a couple of seconds, Tim hears a couple of little patters of rough pads and crouches down in front of the can. A now large tuxedo cat struts out and looks cautiously at Timothy and the new food. It’s only been a couple of months, Bruce shouldn’t be this avoidant of him. However, Tim looks at the patterns more closely. That’s not Bruce. That cat has two white paws, while Bruce has none at all. Tim calls out for the cat.

“Bruce?” A meow sounds off from further down the alley, presumed behind the dumpster about 10 feet in. Tim picks up the can, noticing that the not-Bruce cat trails slowly behind him, and peers around the overfilled and most likely forgotten dumpster. 

Bruce is curled up on a damp-around-the-edges slab of cardboard, one small kitten nibbling on him (Her?). 

“I mean, I guess I never tried to check Bruce’s gender.” He says to himself. He kneels and sticks out his hand. “I just kind of assumed you were male, girl.” Bruce (would a male version of Bruce be Brucette or something? Maybe Martha fits better.) sniffs his hand and sticks her head against Tim’s hand. A low purr blends into the bustling sounds of Gotham at midday. 

Tim looks around. “I don’t think I can take you, girl. Especially not all three of you right now.” He scratches behind her ear, and Brucette nudges baby Bruce towards Tim. 

“I can’t take it yet, girl.” He’ll be back tomorrow with an animal crate, and he’ll drop them off at one of Gotham’s animal shelters, preferably one that was funded by Bruce Wayne. Tim places the tuna back down and wishes that he had gotten more at Murph’s. He stands up and sends one apologetic look back at the cats before leaving the alley.

—

It started to rain about half of the way through the walk to the Library. By the time Tim got to the towering arch of sun-paled brick, his jacket and shirt had been soaked through, and he was pretty sure he had accumulated an entire swamp inside of his shoes. He checks his backpack for any water damage and sees everything relatively dry, save the homework he had for some math class he wasn’t paying attention to, and some index cards that were in his front pocket. 

Tim shakes off any loose droplets from his body and wipes his probably muddied shoes off on the worn carpet by the entrance. When he looks up, he spots the familiar red hair of his favorite librarian. He struts over to her.

“Glad to see you out of the hospital, Babs.” The woman spins around and reaches out to hug him. 

“It’s a struggle, but I’m getting used to it,” Tim observes her crippled form, notices how her legs lean uselessly to one side, turned skinnier from months of unuse. It makes him ache. Barbara seems to notice his face morphing into uncontrolled emotions. 

“Hey now, don’t be looking at me like that. I’m fine.” 

“Someone ought to keep Joker permanently in jail.” It wasn’t a secret what happened to her. She didn’t lie if anybody asked why she was wheelchair bound; she just twisted the truth. Well, Tim knew it wasn’t the whole truth. Especially because he was taking photos of the Gotham sunset (stalking Batman) when it happened. 

—

It wasn’t particularly cold that night, so Tim wore relatively light black fabric clothes. 

From the previous night's intel, Tim knew it would just be Batman out tonight. Jason had a school field trip to Central City, something revolving around journalism, and Bruce would not let him skip out. So, now he was watching Batman, who was watching some shady exchange occurring in the alleyway below. A mugging or something, honestly, from this far away, he can’t tell. 

He watched Batman throw a Batarang off the brick, ricocheting off and knocking one of the people out cold. Then he jumped down, a swift and precise punch to the temple, and the other guy was out cold. Tim peeks over the roof ledge, sees Batman secure zip ties around their wrists, and taps something on the weird wrist screen that Tim will have to get his hands on eventually. His deep voice floated its way across the smog that always settled on the streets of South Gotham. 

“Alfred, no word on Joker. Do you have anything?”

“Last I tracked, he was spotted near the downtown clock tower.” Batman stayed quiet for a while. Through his camera lens, Tim could see the thin lips resting beneath the molded cowl, shaping into what could be considered a scowl. 

Something is going down, Tim decides, and he wants to be closer to the action. He watches as Batman grapples up to the roof and starts running at a medium pace, nothing Tim can’t keep up with.  He jumps off onto the next building, and then the next. Making sure to stay about a roof or two behind. 

He had gotten pretty good at the whole parkour thing through his year of observations (stalking), even taking time off from taking photos to go jump around Gotham for a while. Memorizing the streets and drop-offs of each road. Sure, he had a couple of scratches and bruises that he couldn’t hide from his parents, but they didn’t push him too hard for answers. 

Tim’s out of breath by the time Batman finally stops in front of a building. He really had thought his fitness was better now, but it takes a second for Tim to actually be able to take in the pollution-filled oxygen. 

It’s an apartment building about a block down from the clock tower. The blinding light illuminates the crisp hands and numbers. The building is so average-looking that Tim has to question what interest Batman would have with it, but as soon as Tim forms an opinion, he has to resign his judgment. A loud bang rings off from the fifth or sixth floor. It sounds like a shotgun. He assumes that even before the shell hits the ground. Batman is in the building and up the stairs. Tim sits in silence for minutes, unsure of what actions to follow, but soon an ambulance shows up, followed by a couple of police cars. A young woman with bright hair, a woman whom Tim saw as Barbara Gordon, was carried out on a stretcher. Dark red soaking through the abdomen of her shirt. 

—

“You know as well as I do that that is almost impossible. Joker would have to be dead to be stopped, but that is quite unlikely to happen, I’m afraid. And you couldn’t have done anything to stop him, Tim. It’s not like you were holding the gun at my door.” Tim knows this. But he was there. He followed Batman to the building and had a camera in his hands. What he would’ve done with it, he doesn’t know, but the line of thought is worth a bit of consideration. 

“Hey Babs, are you adopting perchance?”

“Adopting what? Kids?”

“No. I mean, any animals. Do you have any pets?” She has two goldfish named Super and Man, after two childhood dogs her father, the police chief, got her for Christmas when she was 4. Ok, so maybe the stalking doesn’t just focus on Batman and Robin anymore. But does it really count as stalking if it’s posted publicly on social media sites? He only had to do a bit of digging on Jim Gordon’s Facebook to see a flashback of the two dachshunds roughing it out on a freshly mowed lawn. With the fish information, however, Babs had just posted about what the discoloration of goldfish scales can mean for the overall health of the fish on a Reddit server under the name babsicle, so Tim connected the dots pretty quickly. 

“Umm, I haven’t really considered getting any more. I do have two fish, though,” I know you do. “But to get more, I’d have to really think about it. Why ya’ asking Tim?” Well, because there are these cats in this alley that I’m too scared to take care of, and I hate that I had to leave them in the dirty and gross alley, especially with a pretty recently born kitten. 

But Tim just goes with, “Uhh… I was just curious.” He’ll ask Babs to grab the cats up at a later time, probably next week. 

“Ok…” Barbara turns around, back towards the desk with a revelation. “I know it’s your special day and all. Wait, it is your birthday, right? I lost a bit of time during recovery.”

Tim nods and follows her around. 

“Ok, good, because I thought I had missed it.” He watches Babs open one of the carved, oak drawers and rummage around in it. She ends up pulling out a thick, textbook-like book. “This isn’t officially published, but public libraries got early access.”

Tim holds up the book and examines the cover; his stomach drops, in a good way. Oh. My. God. It’s a superhero encyclopedia. He flips to the index and looks over the contents. Everyone is here. Batman, clearly, all of his villains, his villains’ enemies, all of the Justice League, and their villains. Even vigilantes and their opponents. It’s a book that has anywhere from basic information to an in-depth dive into the people’s personal lives. Everything a nerd could dream of. 

He dropped the book on the desk so that he could hug Babs.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” Tim feels a giggle, so he pushes off. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just, I knew you would like it.” 

“Obviously, I would like it. Who wouldn’t like this?!”

“I can name a couple of people, but we don’t have to get into it.” 

Tim and Barbara take a little time to catch up after that. It’s an odd thing, talking to someone who’s been through something so life-changing but is exactly the same. The woman still has this nerdy air about her, one that exudes confidence in her craft and a persevering brain. Tim doesn’t think he’d ever be the same if he were forced to confront the fact that he wouldn’t be able to walk, even with all of the technology they have today. It’s astonishing.

“Did you get in anything new?”

“Well, nothing you probably haven’t read already. Despite what you may think, this library isn’t on the cutting edge. The cobwebs aren’t made of nothing.” Tim nods along and starts collecting his stuff. 

He says goodbye to the woman and slides his lightly dampened jacket back on. The downpour from earlier had reduced to a concentrated drizzle, hanging in the humid air of southern New Jersey. Tim had kind of run out of ideas now. He doesn’t have anything relatively planned until night, which is really just more bat-watching with a hopeful chance of a bird sighting. Maybe he’ll experiment tonight, be more artsy with his shots. Especially because he has new equipment. 

Tim checks his new watch, one of the items he did not wish to recap, and acknowledges the time. An hour till sunset. There’s an old district of Gotham that has the architectural feel of what Park Row was and the safety of Bristol, or in other words, it is a financial district where only the rich people of Gotham are socially accepted. This also means that there are relatively untouched rooftops that have exceptional views of both Gotham and the skyline of the surrounding districts. Only one short (thirty minutes more or less, depending on traffic and the time of day) bus ride, and he arrives at the best hidden section of Gotham that is primed for aesthetic photos. 

He catches the next bus out of the crowded station overhang and finds a relatively secluded seat that appears to have the least amount of suspicious stains. He brings out his camera and examines it a bit. 

It’s relatively the same as his last camera, just with enhanced lens possibilities and greater motion capture and focusing possibilities.  He would’ve also brought his action figure, but that was too precious to be carrying through the streets of Gotham. He takes some low-light shots of some of the other passengers, a weary woman and her hyperactive toddler swinging on the metal support bars. A man in an oversized business suit, well, he really only takes photos of the man’s hand. One who is holding an unusually small briefcase. He looks up from behind the shield of his camera and notices a sharp glare from the businessman man so he drops the item back into his bag and stares outside at the moving buildings and passersbys. 

About 15 minutes into his ride, the bus comes to a sudden slow and lurches forward as the traffic ahead becomes much more of an issue than it was a couple of minutes ago. It almost throws Tim out of his seat. 

There are a couple of obnoxious honks from a select number of taxis and personal drivers, as their lanes also slowly stop. There’s another lurch, but this time it wasn’t forward; the bus still hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, the bus went down. Tim looked out the window for anything amiss and took note that he seemed a multitude of inches closer to the ground than he was. He watches the driver stand up and walk down the stairs leading out of the bus, a few more passengers stand up to follow his movement. The old man stalks back up the stairs after a few incoherent curses and calmly announces. 

“Everyone, please, in a quiet and orderly fashion, exit the bus and move out to the sidewalk.” A mass of sighs comes from the passengers, and the toddler throws out some absurd and irrelevant complaint. People mosey out, and Tim is one of the last ones to exit. When he finally gets to the concrete, Tim looks at what could be wrong with the bus, and… all the tires are slashed. They just sit as deflated lumps of rubber with a cool metal center. The crowd murmurs about causes, and Tim can’t get this sinking feeling out of his chest. A feeling that says this was on purpose and their bus was targeted, and that something bad is about to happen. 

He looks around for anything out of the ordinary as the driver gets to the wheel to try and drive the bus to the expanse of street parking spots that just so happen to be right next to the downed bus. Tim doesn’t feel safe next to the bus, so he starts walking in the direction of his destination. If he speedwalks, he might have to possibility of making it there before the sun sets. 

The crowd doesn’t dissipate when he starts walking, so he has to shove his way through masses of coats and pocketed umbrellas. He gets through about half a block before something tugs on him. He feels his backpack come loose from his shoulders as he spins around. A hooded figure sprints in the opposite direction, Tim’s backpack clenched in their grip. What the fuck.

He breaks out into a sprint and tails the person. He starts catching up, and the person takes a hard left into an alley. Tim doesn’t think about it and keeps following. Transitioning from groomed concrete to unstable asphalt. He watches the person run around another corner and, being sure that that direction is a dead end, he slows his sprint to a slight jog and stops at the corner. He looks around, the alley makes it look like the sun has already set. The only evidence of the contrary is that the gold still touches the outstretched roof edges. The rest of the building cast the alley in shadows. 

He looks around the corner, and the person isn’t there. He runs out. Where could the person have gone? There are no fire escapes here, barely any windows. A dark outline surrounds his frame from behind, and Tim doesn’t even have time to turn around. A large hand with something soft underneath it is placed around his nose and mouth. Tim shakes around his arms and legs and tries to scratch the attacker, getting DNA, everything he’s supposed to do when you’re getting kidnapped. That is what’s happening right now, right? I am getting kidnapped. 

He keeps throwing around his extremities, but his will is slowly slipping. A fogginess is clouding his vision, and smog is settling in his mind. He feels his arms sink to his side as his legs stop kicking. Then, he’s out like a light.