Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was for the best.

Tim knew it with more certainty than he’d ever felt anything in his life.

He was dangerous.

He was dangerous, and he needed to be alone. For the safety of others. 

It was for the best.

It all started a month ago, a few weeks before the end of the school year.

It started when Tim lost one of his teeth. He didn’t realize at the time that this would be the start of all his troubles. But later, looking back, Tim was able to pinpoint that one lost tooth as being the snowflake that set off the avalanche that destroyed his life.

Well, teeth, to be exact. Within a day of losing his top right canine he lost the left one too, leaving obvious gaps in his smile.

Thank goodness his parents weren’t around to see this. He could hardly provide a proper “gala smile” under these conditions. Though, maybe he was still young enough to be cute with gaps in his teeth. Ten wasn’t that old, right?

He lost the first one at school, and when his teacher noticed she gave him a necklace with a large hollow tooth attached.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A tooth necklace!” His teacher said enthusiastically. “You can put your tooth in here to keep it safe.”

“Why would I want to keep it safe?” Tim asked, confused.

“So you can put it under your pillow tonight for the tooth fairy.”

Oh, this was a little kid thing. Like Santa or the Easter Bunny. But Tim wasn’t a little kid, and he hadn’t believed in those for a long time. He leaned in close to his teacher to whisper. “Ms. Holly, I know there’s no tooth fairy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the other kids.”

“Oh.” Ms. Holly looked sad for some reason. “Well, you can still have the necklace, Tim. I’m sure your parents will want to see your tooth when you get home.”

Tim’s parents hadn’t been home in nearly three weeks, and weren’t due back until the end of summer. Also, the first and only time Tim had shown his mom a lost tooth, she told him to “throw it away, no one wants to look at your gross body parts, Timothy.” Tim had deposited all of the teeth he had lost since then straight into the trash. 

He got the sense that it wouldn’t be good to reveal these things, however. “Okay, Ms. Holly.”

He was grateful that the second tooth came out on a Saturday, and he could avoid any other awkward encounters.

The first real symptom made itself known about a week later. It probably actually started when Tim lost the teeth, but it snuck up on him so gradually that it took about a week to notice.

It was a feeling of thirst that wouldn’t go away. 

At first, Tim thought that he was just dehydrated. He knew he was probably always at least a little dehydrated, since he always forgot to drink water and had at least two cups of coffee a day (and night, since he mostly drank the caffeine to stay awake while following and photographing Batman and Robin, a hobby he had picked up a year ago). 

So, when he started feeling thirsty more often, he didn’t think much of it. He made it a point to drink at least one glass of water at every meal and figured that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t. Even with drinking three extra glasses of water a day he still felt thirsty.

So, he invested in a personal water bottle, one of those large ones that held an entire liter of water. He carried it around with him, day or night.

At first, it would take him a whole day to finish it off. But after about a week Tim noticed that he was filling it multiple times a day. Unfortunately, no matter how much he drank or how many times he refilled the bottle, he still felt thirsty.

He was having to make more trips to the bathroom though, but at least he knew the cause of that.

By this point Tim was starting to get concerned. If his parents had been around, he would have definitely spoken to them about this by now. Perhaps suggested seeing a doctor (even though he knew that would be a long shot. His parents hated taking time out of their days for things they considered nonessential, like having Tim visit the doctor. One time the school sent home a letter asking if Tim had his last tetanus shot, and his dad told him he didn’t need one: “Just don’t step on any rusty nails son, and you’ll be fine.”).

But it didn’t matter; his parents weren’t around, and wouldn’t be for awhile. Before leaving, they had stressed about how important this trip was for their business, and how they didn’t want to be interrupted or distracted from it. “But you’ll be alright with that Timothy, won’t you? You were able to watch yourself just fine in December, and four months isn’t that much more than one. You’ll be the responsible boy we know you are, right?”

Right. Tim could handle this. So what if he was a little thirsty? It was fine. He could handle it, even if his mouth and throat were starting to feel dry constantly and he was up to five bottles of water a day.

He was fine.

The next symptom was also slow to appear. Or, maybe it started the same time as the other, but Tim didn’t notice until Gotham had one of its rare sunny days.

Tim knew that he, like many Gothamites, was both incredibly pale and used to overcast weather. As such, he was prone to burning if he spent all day in the sun. He was familiar with aloe vera and knew how to treat himself for sunburn.

But, usually it didn’t come on this fast. Tim went out for recess with his class, and when he came back inside thirty minutes later his teacher gasped upon seeing his face and arms lobster red.

She sent him to the nurse, who got him some lotion and encouraged Tim to drink extra water that day (an easy task for him). She tried to call his parents too, but Tim was able to convince her that he was fine, and that his parents were busy working, and that he would be sure to tell them as soon as he got home. She looked skeptical, but let it go, which Tim was grateful for.

The burn took a week to fully heal, a week of feeling heat constantly radiating off his body and rubbing lotion hourly and watching his skin flake off in chunks. He had the slight hope that maybe he would at least get a tan from this, but when it was all healed his skin was as pale as ever. 

(Actually, it almost looked paler, but Tim was sure that his eyes were just playing tricks on him.)

He would have let this slide if it was a one-time thing, but the same thing happened again on the next day with clear skies. That time Tim made sure to spend most of his time outside in the shade. It helped some, but the few minutes he spent in the sun going from the bus to inside the school, and from inside the school to under a shady tree at recess, were enough to cause himself to burn again.

He was barely able to convince the nurse not to call that time, but somehow was convincing enough. He liked to think that it was his incredible persuasive skills, and not the fact that he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

Ever since then Tim was sure to wear long-sleeved shirts and a hat whenever he went outside during the day. Sure, some people might have been hot, wearing layers when it was almost summer, but fortunately for Tim this actually helped with his next symptom. 

He was always cold.

At first he only noticed it at night, when the temperature dipped lower. He started wearing a jacket consistently when watching Batman and Robin. 

He added one extra blanket to his bed. Then two. Then he dug around in a closet and found an electric blanket and added that. Then he just dumped all of the blankets he could find (outside of his parents’ room; he wasn’t allowed in there) on his bed and burrowed himself underneath.

Then he went online and freaked out about suffocation and fevers making people think they were cold but were actually hot and boiling their brain and pushed them all off his bed.

That only lasted ten minutes before he found himself on the floor, diving beneath the blankets again, teeth chattering and body shivering so much he was giving himself a headache. 

It didn’t help. Just like he could drink and drink and still feel thirsty, he could wear as many layers as he wanted, pile as many blankets on his bed as he could, and still he felt cold.

By this point Tim was really starting to worry.

He tried Googling his symptoms, but everything he found just said he had cancer, or a brain tumor, and he was dying.

One night, after lying awake for hours, shivering and parched, he gave into temptation and dialed his mom’s number. 

She didn’t answer. He told himself that was a good thing. She wouldn’t want to hear how weak and pathetic he was being. This was probably just a cold or something. It would blow over, and when his parents returned in August they’d be proud at how independent he was being.

He left a voicemail anyway, telling her he missed her and dad and that he hoped they were having a good trip. She never called back.

One day, when Tim’s school provided a lunch of spaghetti with a side of bread, Tim found himself coughing hard after one bite. A second bite made it feel like it was hard to breathe. It went away after a few minutes, but Tim resolved to not eat spaghetti again.

It helped, and it didn’t happen again. If only his other symptoms were so easily treated.

The last symptom was by far the worst one.

He found himself staring at the people around him. A lot. To the point where his classmates started asking him what his problem was.

He didn’t know. He would find himself staring off into space, and then realize that he had been staring at his desk partner’s skin unblinkingly for the past ten minutes, and his mouth was watering, and the holes where his canines used to be ached.

It was weird. He was weird. The other kids started avoiding him. He couldn’t blame them, he wouldn’t want to be around someone like him either.

He tried researching this symptom too, and spent an entire night crying in his bed. He didn’t want to be a pervert. 

It was when he started noticing himself thinking about how good the people in his class smelled that he knew something had to be done.

So, for the first time in his life, Tim skipped school. Not that his school was aware of that. To them, he had come down with chicken pox, and was staying at home to recover. 

Tim didn’t feel bad about missing the last two weeks of school. Everyone knew that the last week was just end-of-year parties and movie days and field days, anyway. He wouldn’t be missing much. Plus, he already knew pretty much everything being taught to him in class, so he was unlikely to fall behind. His parents had been talking about having him skip middle school and jump straight to high school; he highly doubted missing a week or two in fifth grade would matter that much in the long run.

He kept going out at night, however. Even overcast days were starting to make his skin turn red now, so it was the only time he could safely go outside. 

And there was something comforting about watching Batman and Robin take down bad guys, just like they always did. It showed Tim that some bad things could end, that some battles could be won.

Even if it felt like he was losing his, day by day.

But, a week after school let out, Tim started noticing that his stakeout routes were starting to veer towards more populated areas. That instead of seeking out places where no one was around and he wouldn’t be seen, he was starting to look for the opposite. He was looking for where people would be. And Tim would find himself on roofs, staring down at people, tense, aching, thirsty, and he realized that this was another thing that was lost to him now.

Now, Tim stayed home, day and night. It wasn’t worth going outside. Outside burned. Outside was risky. Tim would get hurt, or he would hurt someone else; he could feel it.

Mrs. Mac came by three times a week to drop off food and clean. Tim started barricading himself in his room on days he knew she was coming by, putting on headphones and blasting music so he wouldn’t even hear her, not wanting to be tempted to leave and seek her out and do… something. Tim didn’t know what he wanted so badly from people, but he knew it wasn’t good. It was better for everyone if he just stayed by himself.

His parents would be back at the end of summer. He just had to last until then.

Chapter Text

It was during Tim’s second week of self-imposed isolation that he started doing something he had sworn never to do again in his life.

He started making noises.

Not noises like talking (who would he talk to?) or crying (that would have also been bad). But noises that he hadn’t made since he was a little kid, little chirps and barks and other horrible animalistic sounds.

He used to make them all the time, back when he didn’t know any better, didn’t know how to behave like a proper person. Whenever he found himself alone for a long time, which to him back then was only a day or two, he would find himself releasing these little peeps and clicks, that got louder the longer he was alone.

They would stop when his parents returned. Only once did he make the mistake of releasing one of the noises with his parents around, letting out a small bark-like noise at his mom when she was getting ready to leave for the day.

“Timothy Drake!” she snapped at him. “Are you a boy or an animal?”

“...boy,” Tim whispered, ashamed. 

His mother tutted. “Well, then I expect you to sound like one. What if someone heard you? Do you want to bring shame on the Drake name?”

She paused like she expected him to answer. Tim shook his head no, not trusting himself to talk.

“Well, then I’d better not hear you make any of those disgusting sounds again.”

She hadn’t. It had taken Tim longer to be able to control himself when his parents were out of the house for a long time, but eventually, as they started staying away for longer and longer periods, the noises seemed to give up, and Tim had almost forgotten about them completely.

Now they were back with a vengeance. 

If Tim wasn’t actively thinking about it, he would find himself releasing small repeated chirps. If he focused he could stop, but if he let his mind wander they would come back.

At first it wasn’t so bad. The noises weren’t much louder than a whisper in volume. But as the hours and days wore on, they increased not only in both pitch and frequency. 

Now Tim became worried about Mrs. Mac hearing him, and on days she came over Tim would stuff his mouth with a washcloth to muffle any sounds. If he really tried he could make them stop for a minute or two, but only for that long before they inevitably returned. 

Honestly, this wasn’t even Tim’s top concern at present. His persistent chill had turned into a bone deep freeze that made it difficult for him to want to leave his room, or even his bed some days. Nothing he ate or drank seemed to satisfy him, and thirst was a constant companion. 

Tim couldn’t even sit by his bedroom window during the day any more. Even with the blinds closed, what light would peek through would sting him if it happened to touch his skin.

As such, Tim had developed a new habit of opening and sitting by his window at night. Now that it was summer it wasn’t too cold (or maybe it was, but Tim had stopped being able to tell the difference as he was always cold now). It was the only time he could get fresh air, and see at least a little of the outside world. What he could see of his backyard, at least.

It was on one of these nights that Tim’s life finally took a turn for the better instead of the worse.

Tim had been sitting in a chair by the window, under four different blankets, wallowing in the misery that was his life, unable to make himself stop making increasingly louder clicks and chirps, when something flew in his window, startling Tim so badly he fell off his chair.

He let out a loud panicked chirp before slapping a hand over his mouth. Another chirp still rang out in the room. 

But not from him.

Tim looked up to see a dark silhouette flying around the ceiling of his bedroom. It let out a screech before diving down towards Tim, landing on his knee. 

It took Tim a second to realize what he was looking at in the dark. 

It was a bat. A small bat no bigger than the size of Tim’s hand.

The first word out of Tim’s mouth, embarrassingly enough, was a shocked, “Batman.”

Tim blinked. “I mean, no, not Batman, obviously. You’re a regular bat. Sorry. You’d think I’d know that, but word association, haha. I’m actually much more used to seeing Batman than a normal bat, which I know is weird, but not as weird as rambling at a bat, which I am going to stop doing now, sorry.”

The bat didn’t seem to care about Tim’s social faux pas. It swiveled its ears all around the room, twitching its little nose, the whole time keeping its head directed towards Tim.

Tim waited a moment, but it made no effort to leave. “Um, sorry again, but I think bats are supposed to carry diseases or something, so it might be good if you left, no offense.”

Of course, not like I can get much sicker , Tim thought as he shivered. He let out another loud chirp.

The noise immediately caught the bat’s attention, who made a series of clicks at Tim.

“Oh. Oh! Did you think I was another bat? I’m not, sorry. I’m not an animal. Well, my teacher says humans are animals, so I suppose I am, but I’m not a bat. Sorry for any confusion.”

The bat just looked at him.

Slowly, so as not to startle it, Tim stood up, holding up the blanket the bat had landed on. Tim carried the bat over to the window.

“Here,” he said, holding it up. “You can go now.”

The bat made no effort to move, and just continued to watch Tim. 

After a few minutes Tim’s arms were getting tired, so he set the blanket and bat down on the sill.

“I guess you can just go when you’re ready,” Tim said. He shivered, completely blanket-less for the first time in over a day. Quickly, he dove into his bed, covering himself from head to toe for what little help it was.

Tim laid under there shivering for some time, before he eventually passed out. He woke up to a beam of sunlight hitting him in the face, burning where it touched his skin.

Quickly, he used one of his blankets as a shield, and bolted to his window to close it and the blinds as quickly as he could. 

Only as he shut it did he remember his nocturnal visitor. He peeked all around his room, checking corners and even his closet, but there was no sign of the bat.

Probably for the best, Tim thought as he started on his first cup of water of the day. If humans can catch bat diseases, that means bats can catch human ones. And I wouldn’t want to spread what I have. 

Somehow, Tim made it through another day. He spent a lot of time researching bats and their behavior. It seemed that bats flying into houses was a common occurrence, but they tended to avoid people and rarely were able to leave without help.

It seemed like his bat was special, then. Tim almost wished he could see it again. It was nice to talk to someone, even if that someone was a small flying mammal.

Tim found himself making those noises again, and kept his hand over his mouth for the next hour in an attempt to muffle them.

That evening, the instant Tim opened his window a familiar shape flew in screeching, and he felt himself smile for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Text

Tim’s new friend quickly became the one bright spot in his life. Every night, once the sun went down and it was safe for him to do so, Tim would open his window. Sometimes, the bat was there right away, and dove right in. Other times Tim would have to wait.

Every time that happened he told himself not to panic, that the bat was probably just out catching dinner or something, that they would come back. They had every night, so there was no reason to think that they suddenly wouldn’t come.

Tim was never successful at convincing himself of this. He could last about an hour before his swirling anxieties would fully convince him that he had done something wrong the night before, and had finally chased off his one friend for forever.

When this happened, Tim wouldn’t be able to stop himself from releasing incredibly loud, panicked chirps and clicks. Sometimes, Tim even found himself screeching; that was a new sound that shocked him the first time he made it. 

It was embarrassing and overwhelming, this lack of control. 

But, the thing was, it worked.

It never took longer than ten minutes of “being noisy,” before his bat would dive through the window, flying around Tim’s room frantically as if inspecting it for danger. Once satisfied that the place was safe, the bat would dive for Tim, climbing over parts of his body before settling down, in either his lap, his arms, or, frequently, his hair.

Tim would still make noises even with his friend around, but they were quieter, less screeching, and more just chirping at the bat, who would respond in kind. Tim had no idea what the bat was saying, and often wondered if the bat thought they understood Tim, or if they just thought he was speaking gibberish.

It took one week of consistent nightly visits before Tim decided that enough was enough.

“You need a name,” Tim told the bat, who was nibbling on a piece of strawberry Tim had cut up for it. 

He hadn’t been sure if his bat was a kind who could eat fruit at first. He knew that they could eat insects - since Tim had started leaving his window fully open at night a lot more bugs had been getting into his room. Fortunately, his bat took care of that problem quickly and efficiently. 

But, just in case, Tim had started providing different pieces of fruit for the bat, which it overall seemed to enjoy. It particularly liked the mango and banana, and was less into the apple slice. So far strawberries seemed to be a hit as well.

“I mean it,” Tim said. “If we’re going to be friends, I need something to call you.”

The bat twitched their ears but kept eating, giving no indication that they cared one way or another. 

“What about Vespertilio?” Tim asked casually, like he hadn’t spent the entire day before making a list of potential bat names and this was his favorite one. “Google says it's Latin for bat.”

The bat gave no clear response.

“Um, that’s okay, I have other options. What about Stellaluna?”

Nothing.

Tim kept listing names, going through his whole list. Echo, Shadow, Vlad, Bartholomew, and Boo were all out.

“Maybe I should just call you Strawberry, since that seems to be all you care about,” Tim said, huffing. 

The bat finally did look up at Tim at that, clicking at him. It crawled over to Tim and up his arm, nuzzling him by his neck.

“Sorry,” Tim said. “I didn’t mean to sound short, or ungrateful.” 

The bat kept nuzzling.

Tim sighed. “I bet Batman never has any trouble naming things. His stuff probably has really cool names.”

The bat stopped what it was doing and screeched right in Tim’s ear.

He winced, and gently took the bat off his shoulder, placing it down in his lap (he had quickly overcome his fear of bat germs, figuring friendship was worth the risk. He still made sure to wash his hands well at the end of every night, just in case).

“What?” Tim asked. “You don’t think Batman would name stuff cool?”

Another screech.

Tim waited for a moment. “Batman,” he tested.

Screeeeetch!

“Do you… want to be called Batman?”

A chirp, and then the bat circled the room a couple of times, eating a mosquito before going back to the strawberry.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tim said. “A bat called Batman… Well. Okay. As long as Mr. Wayne never finds out about this!”

Batman, or Batty as Tim had taken to calling him (he had never given a friend a nickname before!), was remarkably smart, for a bat. At least, Tim thought so. He didn’t have much to compare it too. But he could swear that Batty seemed to understand a lot of what he said, and Tim had taught him a couple of simple commands, like “come here,” “stay there,” and “eat the bug.”

Okay, maybe that last one was a stretch, since Batty was always inclined to do that anyway. 

Tim had also decided that Batman was a boy bat. He wasn’t sure the difference between girl and boy bats, and didn’t particularly want to examine him that close to be certain. But Tim figured that it would make sense for a Bat man bat to be a boy.

“You’re okay with that, right?” Tim asked Batty. “I’m not sure how much a bat would care about pronouns, but I don’t want to offend you if you do care!”

Batty, who had perched himself in Tim’s hair, voiced no strong opinion one way or another.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Tim said. He leaned back in his bed, under his many blankets, and rested with his friend. 

Unfortunately, even with Batty, Tim's symptoms hadn’t gone away. They were the same as they ever were, and Tim spent most of his day feeling completely miserable. He still felt physically miserable at night, but he could forget it for a short time because of how happy the rest of him was.

Over time though, not even visits from Batty could stop Tim’s most recent symptom: complete exhaustion.

It was getting harder for Tim to have the energy to do much more than open and close the window at the start and end of night, and get up to get food and water and use the bathroom a couple of times a day. He’d taken to keeping a bunch of food in his room, so he wouldn’t have to go down to the kitchen as often. The last time he went down the stairs he got lightheaded and had to sit down and take a break halfway through. He worried a little about getting ants in his room from the stored food, but figured that Batty would just eat them.

At first, Tim would stay awake all night with Batty, and try his best to sleep through the day (though his body often kept him awake, shivering and parched). But now, he could only be awake for a few hours at a time before drifting off to sleep, at least until his shivers woke him up.

Batty, at least, was always down to cuddle with Tim while he slept. At least at first. As Tim started sleeping more and more frequently Batty almost seemed annoyed with him. He would screech at Tim, startling him awake, if he felt like Tim was sleeping too much.

For a time, it worked. Tim would take a nap or two a night, spend the rest of the time talking to or playing with or cuddling with Batty, and sleep fitfully in the day.

But, it didn’t last. Tim started having a harder and harder time staying awake. It felt impossible to leave his bed now. He had run out of food in his room, but couldn’t bring himself to go get more. He still had some bottles of water, but those were also running low.

He couldn’t remember when his parents were due back. He couldn’t remember what day it was. He started telling himself that they would be back tomorrow. They would return, and they’d check on him, and they’d know how to fix him. Or they’d take him to a doctor, who’d give him some medicine and he’d make a full recovery.

“Just one more day,” Tim would whisper to himself, throat dry and voice hoarse. “One more day.”

He didn’t know how many days in a row he told himself this.

He didn’t know how many days it had been since he had last left his bed.

All he knew was that he was cold. And tired. And so, so thirsty.

But not lonely. Not anymore.

When Tim closed his eyes in his bedroom for the last time, the last thing he saw was Batty. 

Tim smiled, and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Bruce was not unused to bats, considering who he was. 

(Considering what he was.)

It was a nightly occurrence to see bats flying around the roof of the Batcave. By mutual agreement they and Bruce each kept to their own spaces. Bruce did not attach anything to the ceiling of the cave that would disturb their nests, and the bats made sure to do their business outside.

Overall, they were, if not exactly friendly, certainly unobtrusive roommates.

Until now.

Bruce had never quite seen anything like it. The second he had returned from patrol that night, stepping out of the Batmobile, a small brown bat had dive bombed him, screeching at him like he had just murdered its entire family.

“Whoa there B!” Jason, who was settling into his new role as Robin, exclaimed as he too exited the vehicle. “What’d you do to the little guy?”

“Girl,” Bruce corrected absently as he dodged another attack. “And nothing I am aware of.”

“How can you tell it’s a girl?” Jason asked curiously, watching Bruce getting attacked and doing nothing to stop it.

Settling into his role as Robin, indeed.

“Females tend to be slightly bigger than males,” Bruce explained over the sound of screeching.

“Bigger? But she’s tiny!”

“Brown bats are not known to be particularly large.” The bat latched itself onto Bruce’s chest the best it could with his hard kevlar armor, looked up at his face, and screeched again.

“What does it want?” Jason asked, peering at it curiously.

“Not sure,” Bruce said. “I’m a little rusty.”

“She wants you to follow her,” Alfred, appearing out of nowhere, said. Bruce did not jump, well used to Alfred’s form of humor by now, but Jason startled a little. “Her pup is in danger.”

“Wow,” Jason said in awe, looking at Alfred. “Can you teach me how to speak Bat?”

Alfred smiled. “Some, perhaps. Mostly it is a skill that develops with time. Though consistent practice does help.” He gave a pointed look to Bruce, who chose not to acknowledge it.

“Robin,” Bruce said, his tone making it clear that he was about to give an order. He was proud of the way that Jason immediately straightened up, serious, ready to listen. Ready to obey was a different story, but he was good about at least listening before potentially arguing.

Usually arguing. 

“Change and go upstairs. Prepare yourself for the day. I will be back in no more than an hour.”

“Aw, can’t I come with?” Yep. Usually arguing. “I want to see a baby bat! I bet they’re adorable.”

“No need,” Bruce said. “It has been a long night, and you need rest.” At Jason’s disappointed look he added, “I will try to take a picture to show you later.”

“Fine,” Jason gave in. “But I expect exceptional cuteness! And be back on time Bruce, or I’m tracking you down, daytime or not.”

Bruce smiled the way he only did for his sons. “Of course, Jaylad.”

Bruce wasn’t worried about keeping his promise. In all likelihood he wouldn’t even need to leave the cave. Perhaps this bat’s pup just got stuck in a crevice somewhere. Such things had happened before.

He was thus surprised when he was led out of the cave, the little bat darting back and forth to show Bruce the way, screeching at him all the while. He may not know the exact words, but he could pick up the tone of panic in her voice. He picked up his pace, until he was running after the bat as she flew quickly in a straight line, clearly leading him somewhere with a set destination in mind.

It was only a few minutes before that destination came into view. Drake Manor, while not as old or famous as Wayne Manor, still made an imposing figure as the bat and Bruce approached it.

The bat wasted no time, and flew straight into an open window on the second floor. 

Perhaps her pup had gotten stuck inside, Bruce thought.

He paused and thought through his options. He was still dressed as Batman, so knocking on the front door was out. Besides, he was pretty sure the Drakes were gone for the summer. He seemed to recall Jack Drake mentioning it to him in passing the last time they crossed paths (how long ago had that been?). 

Based upon that, and the way the house gave the sense of being empty and unlived in (he couldn’t sense or smell any sign of humans being around recently), Bruce decided it should be safe enough to enter.

He did take a moment to check for cameras, and failing to find any, ran and jumped for the window ledge, catching it easily. Grapples were useful for appearances and for great distances, but they weren’t strictly necessary.

Pulling himself up, Bruce took stock of his surroundings. He seemed to be in a boy’s bedroom. He vaguely remembered that the Drake’s had a son. The boy must be on the trip with his parents; there was no sense of any human having been here for a long time.

Or, was there? As Bruce looked closer he took notice of food wrappers scattered around the floor. Wouldn't a housekeeper or maid have cleaned those by now? Not to mention the half-full water bottles gathered on a nightstand. 

And, now that he thought about it, wasn’t it odd that the window was left open, even though no one was currently staying here?

But perhaps the biggest clue that something was wrong was where the bat had ended up. She had placed herself upon the pile of blankets heaped upon the bed. She was crawling back and forth over the mound. As Bruce watched she swiveled her ears in his direction, gave her loudest screech yet, and crawled under the covers.

Bemused, half-thinking he was about to find a baby bat trapped beneath, Bruce lifted the blankets.

And froze in shock.

Here was why the bedroom did not feel as empty as it should. A pale, dark-haired boy was occupying it. 

Or, had been occupying it. Because based upon the lack of heat and the stillness of the body, this boy was no longer living.

Bruce stopped himself before he could get emotional about it. There would be time for that later (or never, preferably). Now was the time to figure out what had happened to this boy, what tragedy had befallen him while Bruce lived less than a mile away.

The bat had crawled up next to the boy’s body, and was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Bruce reached down to move her aside.

Only to get bitten for his efforts.

Bruce just sighed, the pain hardly worse than a papercut. At least he was up to date on his shots. “Please release me,” he said. “I need to examine the boy.”

The bat seemed to narrow her eyes, before releasing Bruce and crawling up the boy’s pillow, to nestle in by his hair.

Slower now, so as not to startle her, Bruce reached down to feel the boy’s skin. Sure enough, the temperature was freezing, and Bruce would have assumed this meant the boy had been dead for some time.

He would have. If not for the fact that upon touching the body, it gave a small sigh and turned its head towards Bruce.

Bruce froze. The boy made no other movement. There was no possibility, was there…?

Bruce reached for the boy’s neck and felt for a pulse. It was slow, incredibly so, but it was there. 

Worried to confirm his suspicions, hoping that this would be one of the rare times that he was wrong, Bruce parted the boy’s lips.

The second he saw the two missing canines he was getting out his phone.

“Yes?” Alfred said, answering as always on the first ring.

“Alfred, prepare the Medbay,” Bruce ordered. “I have a dying vampire pup who needs immediate medical assistance.”

A quick inhale was the only sign Alfred gave of his shock. When he spoke his voice was steady (everyone always got on Bruce about suppressing his emotions, but where did they think he learned it from?). “Of course sir. Anything in particular I should prepare?”

“Blood,” Bruce said, right before he hung up and gathered the pup in his arms, ready to sprint him home. “Lots of blood.”

Chapter Text

“Whoa B, whatcha got there?” Jason asked a minute later, as Bruce practically flew into the cave, a bundle in his arms. The little bat was flying close behind.

Bruce wasn’t surprised to see Jason still down in the cave. Bruce had really only been gone a few minutes. Jason seemed to have just changed out of his Robin uniform and back into civilian clothes when Bruce returned. 

“This is our neighbor, Tim Drake,” Bruce explained as he headed straight for the Medbay, placing Tim on a cot Alfred had already prepared. The man was currently placing some supplies, including tubes and blood bags, on a nearby tray.

“Tim, huh?” Jason asked, following and peering down at Tim. “He doesn’t look so good, B. Is he…?”

“Dead? No. But he needs immediate assistance. Alfred?”

Alfred finishing hooking up one of the bags to an IV stand. “Here, Master Bruce. I have everything prepared.”

Jason started rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, a tell he only showed when he was really worried. “B, are you sure he’s okay? He’s really pale and I’m not sure if he’s breathing.”

Bruce spared a second to place a hand on his son’s shoulder, both in an attempt to comfort and to prepare him for what he had to say next. “He’s like us, Jay.”

Jason’s eyes went wide with shock. “What, really!? But, wait, that means…” Jason paled.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder once. “I know. We’ll deal with it later. Right now we need to make sure he survives.”

He turned his attention back to Alfred and the boy, and proceeded to do what he could.

He prayed it was enough. 

Tim felt bad. His head felt like someone was driving an icicle into it.

Or maybe he was an icicle. He wasn’t sure. 

All he knew was cold and pain.

He whimpered.

“B? I think he’s waking up-”

Tim fell back asleep.

There was something in his arm. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it felt weird. Tim batted at it with his other arm.

Someone gently grabbed his hand and brought it away. “No, Tim, leave that alone. It’s to help you get better.”

Tim sniffed, eyes welling up. That was a lie. If it was supposed to be helping him, then he wouldn’t still feel so cold, and thirsty.

“What was that, Tim?”

Cold, Tim was cold. Always cold.

“Oh, Tim. Don’t worry, we’ll get you warmed up. Alfred, can you-?”

Tim fell asleep.

Tim woke up, and found himself under a thick blanket. 

He still shivered.

“B, I don’t know if it’s working.”

“Give his body time to process.”

“But can’t we just feed him now?”

“I’m worried if we feed him now, we’ll set off a frenzy. Such an influx to his system could send him into shock, or kill him.”

“So what, we just let him suffer?”

“No. We do what we can for him while his body regains its strength. Once he’s awake and out of danger we’ll try a feeding.”

“...he’s so little, Bruce. I’ve never seen a pup this little be so sick.”

“I know, Jason. I don’t like it either.”

“...he’s not going back.”

“No. Never.”

“Good.”

Tim opened his mouth to ask the voices what they were talking about.

“Wha?” was all he got out before he passed out.

Tim woke up to the feeling of something crawling under his shirt, poking him slightly before curling up on his chest. 

“Should we be letting her do that?”

“I assure you, Master Jason, that she would never do anything to harm Master Tim, and having her nearby will only aid in his recovery.”

“Yeah, but don’t bats carry diseases or something? And Timmy’s already so sick…”

“None that we can get.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Our immune system is particularly strong. No mortal illness can touch us.”

“That’s pretty cool. Almost makes up for never getting to eat garlic bread.”

“Yes. Almost.”

Tim woke up, to the feeling of a hand petting his hair. It felt nice.

The hand continued for a while, relaxing Tim more than anything he could remember, before moving away. 

What? No! Not allowed!

Tim screeched .

Now there were two hands, feeling all over his body. “Tim? Timothy, are you okay, are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong was that the hand still wasn’t doing what it should! Tim didn’t have the words to explain that, though.

He screeched again, louder.

Footsteps, running and getting closer. “B! I heard that from my room upstairs, what’s wrong with Tim?”

“I’m not sure, one moment he was fine and the next he was doing this.”

“Well get him to stop!”

“I’m trying, I don’t know what caused this.”

“Well what were you doing before?”

“I was…”

Silence. Tim filled it with another screech. He felt his eyes start to water and started jerking his body around, trying to find the comfort again.

“For fuck’s sake old man, we don’t have time for your emotional constipation, he’s going to rip out his IV at this rate. Look, I’ll even turn away if it’ll help, just hurry up!”

“You don’t have to… fine.”

The hand was back. The hand was back, and it was petting Tim’s hair like it had never left. 

It was the best thing Tim had ever felt.

“Please,” he whispered, begging.

The hand paused, and Tim let out a sob. It resumed moving, and he relaxed. 

“Please what, Tim?”

Tim felt himself going under again, and found enough strength to answer. “Don’t leave me.”

He had just enough time to hear a response, spoken in a firm tone that left no room for uncertainty,  before he fell asleep.

“Never.”

Chapter Text

Tim woke up, feeling like he had done this before.

Blinking his eyes open, he peered around at his surroundings. It took him a moment to make things out, and when he did they didn’t make much sense. He seemed to be in a cave of some kind? And laying on the most comfortable cot he had ever felt in his life. 

He scooted back a little in an attempt to sit himself up, and heard a small squeak from the top of his head. 

Batty made himself known, crawling off of Tim’s pillow and onto his chest, peering at him and swiveling his ears around. He squeaked again.

“Hi, Batty,” Tim whispered. Though he knew it was unlikely, he voiced his only theory. “Did you bring me to your house?”

A chuckle from Tim’s left made him freeze. “In a way, I suppose she did.”

Tim slowly turned his head to see Bruce Wayne sitting in a chair by Tim’s bedside. He smiled at Tim. “Batty, huh? That’s a good name for a bat.”

“It’s short for Batman,” Tim said unthinkingly. Too late his mind caught up with him, and he realized who he was talking to. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” Jason Todd, current Robin, said as he approached the puddle of embarrassment that used to be Tim Drake, where he laid next to Bruce Wayne, aka Batman. “Tell me you didn’t name the bat Batman. That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I, um, I..” Tim stuttered. “It was the only name he responded to?”

Jason sat down on Tim’s other side, reaching out to ruffle Tim’s hair as he did so. “No worries Timbert, I’m just teasing. It’s a great name, I promise. Right B?” Jason asked, smirking at Mr. Wayne.

“It’s a great name,” Mr. Wayne repeated seriously. 

Tim desperately wanted to change the subject. Perhaps Batman could read minds, because Mr. Wayne did it for him.

“Tim,” he said. “Do you know what happened?”

“I’m… not sure,” Tim said hesitantly. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“Batman made Bruce break into your house,” Jason snickered to himself before sobering up. “And he found you mostly dead.”

“Oh,” Tim said, not sure how to react to that. “I’ve, um, I’ve been sick.”

“Yes,” Mr. Wayne said. “You still are.”

Tim had figured as much. He still felt the usual chill deep inside him, along with a general achiness. 

“Maybe, um, maybe you could take me to a doctor?” Tim suggested. He had wanted to wait for his parents, but now that Mr. Wayne was here, maybe he could take him instead.

Mr. Wayne and his son both glanced at each other, frowning in the same way. “I’m afraid a doctor wouldn’t be able to help, Tim.”

“I’m dying!?” Tim said, jolting up.

“No!” Mr. Wayne said, at the same time Jason said “Sort of.” Mr. Wayne shot him a look, and Jason crossed his arms defensively. “What? He is.”

Tim felt his eyes start to well up.

Jason looked at him, contrite. “Hey, I’m sorry Tim, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But hey, there’s some good news!”

Tim sniffed. “Yeah?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. I know exactly what will make you feel better.”

Tim perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Jason said enthusiastically. “A nice large bag of bl-” He cut himself off, looking at Mr. Wayne, and Tim turned in time to see Mr. Wayne finish shaking his head.

“Bag of what?” Tim asked when no one continued speaking.

Jason bit his lip. “Bag? Did I say bag? I meant, um, bowl. Of soup. Yeah, a nice big bowl of soup, that’ll cure you.”

Wow. Tim would have thought Robin would be a better liar. Still, he wasn’t about to call him out.

“I tried soup,” Tim said instead. “Chicken noodle and tomato. Neither worked.”

“Ah, but you haven’t had Alfred’s tomato soup,” Jason said sagely. “That’s been known to cure many illnesses.”

“Indeed it has.” A new voice came out of nowhere, startling Tim and thus startling Batty, who gave out a small screech before settling down on his chest again.

Tim saw a man dressed as a butler approach. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I serve as the butler for the Wayne family.” Oh, that would explain it. 

Mr. Pennyworth carried a tray in one hand that had a dome lid over it. Tim thought those only existed in TV. “Master Bruce, if you would sit the young sir up?”

Mr. Wayne pushed a button on the side of Tim’s cot, and Tim realized that he was on more of a medical cot than a camping one as the part Tim’s upper body was on rose up, ending with Tim in a mostly sitting position.

“Master Jason, if you would be so good as to remove his blanket.”

“Sure thing, Alfie.” Jason reached out, and Tim grabbed the edges of it in a moment of panic.

“No, please, I need it,” Tim tried to explain in a rush. Even though blankets barely helped, Tim hadn’t been fully without one in weeks. If he was this cold with one, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel without one.

Jason glanced at Mr. Pennyworth, who looked sad but gave a nod. “It will just be for a moment while you eat, my boy. Just so you don’t spill anything on it. You can have it back right afterwards.” 

“Please,” Tim repeated, but this time Jason just gently unlatched his fingers and pulled it off the bed, tossing it in a bundle a few feet away.

Batty had crawled off the blanket as it started moving, and made his way over to Tim’s shoulder. He tried to take what comfort he could from the bat, as he shivered miserably. 

“I know, young sir,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Still, this will help.”

He lifted the dome off of the tray, and without quite knowing why Tim zeroed in on the bowl resting on it. 

He stared unblinkingly at it as Mr. Pennyworth brought it closer. A large part of him wanted to leap up and grab the bowl out of Mr. Pennyworth’s hands, and only his parents' words on proper behavior echoing in the back of his head managed to stop him, barely. 

Mr. Pennyworth handed the bowl over to Mr. Wayne. “Be sure to feed him slowly,” he warned. Mr. Wayne nodded at him.

There was no spoon, the part of Tim’s mind that could still think noticed. Most of his brain was taken up with how much he needed that bowl. 

Mr. Wayne brought it slowly up to Tim’s lips, and it took everything in him not to yank the bowl out of his hands. “Small sips, Tim.”

When the first drop of soup hit Tim’s tongue, it was like an explosion. Tim went from still feeling half-asleep to feeling more awake than he’d ever felt. And every bit of him was lasered in on the soup that must have been made from liquid ambrosia. It was the best thing Tim had ever tasted, and he needed more of it, now.

He reached his hands up to grip the bowl, wanting to pour more into his mouth, but Mr. Wayne held firm. “Swallow that sip first, Tim.”

Tim did, and felt warmth flow from his throat down to his stomach, and he needed more. He whined, uncaring of decorum, and tried again to take the bowl.

He was unsuccessful, but Mr. Wayne did let another sip enter Tim’s mouth.

Tim’s world narrowed down. All that existed was the bowl, the soup, and him. And Mr. Wayne if he really focused, but even he became less important as Tim fell into a trance of repeated sipping and swallowing.

The warmth was traveling from his stomach outward, now. Tim swore he could feel his toes. He hadn’t felt those in a while.

A second and an eternity later, the bowl was empty. Mr. Wayne finally relinquished his hold of it, and Tim immediately stuck his face inside, using his tongue to get every remaining drop.

When he finished he wiped his face with the back of his hand, then licked off what was on there too. “More?” He asked when he was done. 

“Not yet, Tim,” Mr. Wayne said. “Your body needs some time to adjust. Soon, though.”

Tim felt his eyes water. Soon wasn’t now. He needed more now . “More,” he said again. 

“More later, Tim. Soon.”

Tim felt himself growing angry. He narrowed his eyes at Mr. Wayne and sat up straighter. “No. Now. More now.”

“Um, B…” Jason, who Tim hadn’t realized was still here, said hesitantly. 

“Jason, go upstairs,” Mr. Wayne said, not breaking eye contact with Tim.

“But…”

“Now, Jason.”

Jason got up to go, and Tim was filled with rage. Oh sure, Jason got now, but all Tim got was soon.

It was unfair!

Tim raised his head to the ceiling and screeched, long and loud, letting his frustration echo off of the walls. A chorus of bat screeches followed his, including one made by Batty, who flew off Tim’s chest and flapped around his cot in a panic.

“Alfred, get the sedative,” Mr. Wayne ordered. Tim prepared to leap off the cot, ready to find his own soup. He wouldn’t let anyone stop him.

Mr. Wayne immediately stopped him by putting his hands on Tim’s shoulders and holding him down. Tim yelled and tried to kick him off. When that didn’t work he used his fingernails to scratch at Mr. Wayne’s skin. 

Mr. Wayne didn’t move an inch. “Now, Alfred!”

There! Another now, but not for Tim, never for Tim, Tim didn’t get a now, he got later, he got next time, he got “We’ll for sure be home for your next birthday son.” 

It was unfair, it was unjust, and Tim just wanted his soup! 

While he squirmed and tried to escape, Mr. Pennyworth snuck near him and poked him in the arm with something. 

Tim hissed at him, snapping his teeth, but Mr. Pennyworth backed away before Tim could even get close.

A minute later, still fighting and being held in place, Tim felt himself getting sleepy. He blinked slowly but still squirmed, trying to keep himself awake.

“Shh, Tim, it’s alright. Just go to sleep. You can have more when you wake up.”

Choosing to trust Mr. Wayne (not that he had much of a choice) Tim let himself drift off into dreams of warmth.

Warmth and soup.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up to the sound of someone saying his name. “Tim, are you awake?”

Tim tried ignoring them. The voice was persistent. “Tim?”

“Nooo,” Tim groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Imma sleep.”

Chuckling. A hand reached down and rubbed the top of Tim’s head, the only part of him that was uncovered. 

It felt so good, Timmy felt himself rubbing up into it. Another chuckle. Tim let out a trill of pleasure.

Wait.

Now Tim was awake, and panicking. He bolted upright, letting the blanket fall off his upper body as he did so. There was his superhero neighbor, looking down at him.

“Mr. Wayne!” Tim shouted. Then, getting a hold of himself, repeated quieter. “Mr. Wayne. I apologize for, um, my lack of control.”

Now Batman was frowning at him. Oh boy, Tim had really done it now. “You have nothing to apologize for Tim. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Ha. Show’s what he knows. Tim was always doing something wrong. His parents pointed stuff out all the time. But Mr. Wayne was nice to give him an out.

Tim looked around, realizing that something was missing.

“Your bat friend is out hunting right now,” Mr. Wayne said. “She said to tell you that she’ll be back soon.”

“Bats can’t talk, Mr. Wayne,” Tim said, taking no notice of how Mr. Wayne’s lips quirked up. “Wait, she?”

“Yes, Tim. She’s a female bat.”

“Oh.” Tim felt bad about guessing wrong. He’d have to apologize when she returned.

“So, um…” Tim said after a moment of silence. “What can I do for you, Mr. Wayne?”

“It’s more of what I can do for you, Tim. Are you hungry?”

Tim checked himself. “No,” he answered honestly.

Mr. Wayne looked surprised.

Tim continued. “I’m really thirsty though. Could I have some water?”

“Ah,” Mr. Wayne said, understanding crossing his features. “I can give you some water Tim, but I’m afraid it may not help much. I was wondering if you might like another bowl of soup?”

Memories of the last time Tim had been awake came crashing back into him. All of them involved soup.

“I can have more?” Tim asked, pleading. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Mr. Wayne confirmed, and Tim felt overwhelming gratitude. This, this right here, was why Mr. Wayne was a hero.

“But,” and Tim felt himself freeze. Mr. Wayne continued. “I need you to understand something, Tim.”

Oh no. A catch. A roadblock preventing him from soup. Was Mr. Wayne actually a villain this whole time? 

“What?” Tim asked hesitantly.

Mr. Wayne looked at him seriously. “Your body is very sick right now. If we tried to feed you too much at once, you could have a very bad reaction. To prevent that from happening, it’s better if we space out your feedings. So instead of having a lot of soup now, you can have one bowl now, and another in a few hours, and another a few hours after that. Do you understand? We will keep feeding you, we will not stop feeding you, there will just be some times where you will need to wait before eating. Do you understand?”

If Tim was honest, he didn’t catch most of that. Still, he was pretty sure he caught the important part. “Soup now?”

Mr. Wayne sighed. “Yes, Tim. Some soup now, and more later, okay?”

Tim liked that, the promise of future soup. “Okay.”

Mr. Wayne glanced behind him, and just like that Mr. Pennyworth appeared, carrying the same kind of tray as last time. It was only now that Tim noticed Jason’s absence. He thought about asking where he was, but then Mr. Wayne reached for Tim’s blanket, and he felt himself panic.

“Wait!” he said, too loudly. Mr. Wayne paused and looked at him. Tim knew he was overreacting, but the thought of being without a blanket brought back memories of ice, and he couldn’t stand it. “Could, um, the blanket stay? Please? I promise I’ll eat really neatly, I just, um, I just…”

Tim couldn’t find a way to explain himself without sounding like a baby. He looked down at his lap and tried not to cry.

Everything was quiet for a moment. Then Mr. Wayne turned to Mr. Pennyworth. “Blankets can always be washed,” he said. “And we have plenty of others he could use in the meantime.”

“Quite,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Besides, the young sir had impeccable manners last time. I am not worried.”

Tim perked up. He got to keep his blanket? And get soup? “This is the best day ever,” he said out loud without thinking.

Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth just smiled at him, while he tried not to die of embarrassment.

Mr. Pennyworth saved him by lifting the dome off of the tray. Just like last time, all of Tim became focused on nothing but the bowl. Perhaps even more so than last time, knowing now what it contained.

Tim made grabby hands at the bowl as Mr. Wayne took it off the tray. “Soup,” he whined pitifully.

“Yes, Tim, soup,” Mr. Wayne said, bringing the bowl closer. He allowed Tim to place his hands on top of his around the bowl, but still poured it at his own pace.

Just like last nice, Tim’s world narrowed down to nothing but the taste of soup, and the feeling of warmth.

When it was gone, after Tim had made sure to get every last drop, he looked up at Mr. Wayne. “Can I have more, please?” he asked.

Mr. Wayne shared a glance with Mr. Pennyworth. Was Tim imagining their postures tensing? “Yes Tim, you can always have more,” Mr. Wayne said slowly.

Tim beamed. “Now?” he asked.

Definitely tensing this time. “In a few hours.”

A few? How long was a few? Three? Five? Never? Tim’s panic must have started to show on his face because Mr. Wayne spoke again.

“Here,” he said. He took off his watch and gave it to Tim. “It is just past one now. You can have more soup at four o’clock.”

Tim held the watch close to him. It was analog, which wasn’t his favorite, but he could still read it. He watched the little second hand tick around, moving closer to the moment when he could have soup again. 

“Thank you,” Tim said, and tried to hand it back to Mr. Wayne, who shook his head. 

“Keep it,” he said. “I’ve got plenty.” Mr. Wayne then helped fasten it to Tim’s wrist.

Tim felt so grown up, like when he used to dress up in his dad’s clothes, before his dad caught him and yelled at him to stop messing with his things. “Thank you,” he said again.

“You’re welcome, Tim.”

Tim smiled and eyed the place on Mr. Wayne’s arm where his watch used to be. Only now did he notice that his arm was wrapped around with bandages. He looked closer, and noticed the other arm was as well. 

“Did you get into a fight?” Tim asked.

Mr. Wayne saw where he was looking. “Don’t worry about it, Tim,” he said. 

Maybe Batman got in a fight with a villain, Tim thought. Poison Ivy could have attacked him with her plants. Or maybe Catwoman scratched him with her claws. Or maybe Scarecrow caused someone to have a fear reaction and attack. 

Suddenly, more of Tim’s memories came back, and he remembered fully how he had acted the last time he had been awake.

Oh no. He had attacked Batman. He was a villain.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne!” Tim apologized, tearing up. 

“Tim, it’s okay,” Mr. Wayne said, reaching out to grab one of Tim’s hands. Tim quickly tucked them under the blanket, safely put away where they couldn’t hurt anyone. 

Mr. Wayne paused, then rested his hand on Tim’s knee, the blanket a barrier between them. “Timothy.” 

Oh no, full name, Tim really was in trouble.

Mr. Wayne continued. “It’s not your fault. You are very sick right now, and your body is just trying to get better. I don’t blame you. They hardly hurt, anyway. I wouldn’t have put any bandages on at all, but Jason and Alfred are worriers.”

“Well, someone has to care about your health, if you are not going to do it,” Mr. Pennyworth tutted. “As it is, you can safely remove the bandages in an hour.”

“See, Tim?” Mr. Wayne said. “No lasting harm.”

Slowly, Tim brought his hands out from under the blanket. Mr. Wayne took one of them and smiled at Tim reassuringly, as if to say ‘See? Everything is fine.’

Tim felt himself getting tired again, and Mr. Wayne rubbed his thumb across the palm of Tim’s hand in a soothing motion. “Go ahead and sleep, Tim, your body needs the rest.”

Tim hardly needed more prompting than that. He turned on his side, bringing Mr. Wayne’s hand in close and cuddling it like it was a teddy bear. A moment later he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Tim fell into a routine. 

He would wake up to find one of the Waynes by his side. Usually it was Mr. Wayne, but sometimes Jason was there with him. One time it was just Mr. Pennyworth, who explained that he had sent Mr. Wayne upstairs to have a full rest.

Even with him gone, Tim still had his own Batman, who was often either cuddling him or hovering nearby when he woke up. One time he woke up to find Batty preening his hair, and it made him wonder when he had last had a shower.

He tried to ask Mr. Pennyworth. “Do not worry about it, my boy,” the man replied easily. 

One of Tim’s many quirks was worrying more when people told him not to, so this did not relax him.

“How about some more soup?” Mr. Pennyworth continued.

And just like that Tim’s worries were gone.

Usually he fell asleep soon after eating, but every time he ate managed to stay awake for just a few minutes longer. It was when he stayed awake for thirty minutes after eating that Mr. Pennyworth pronounced him ready to leave the cave.

“You still need a lot of rest,” he warned Tim, who had been about to leap off the cot. “Your body is still recovering, and will be for some time.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to take it easy,” Tim said. He told himself that the next time he went out to follow Batman and Robin he’d return before two in the morning as opposed to his typical cutoff of four.

Tim turned to Mr. Wayne, who was in his usual chair by Tim’s side. “Thank you for watching over me,” he said, trying to sound as grateful as he felt. He couldn’t remember the last time someone stayed with him the whole time he was sick.

The last time Tim was sick his parents had been around for the first day or two, and then left on a business trip. They told him that it was important for the company; he didn’t want to put the company at risk just because he had the sniffles, did he? He didn’t, and they left, and when they had returned Tim was all better.

(That cold had turned into a sinus infection that lingered for weeks.)

“You are welcome, Tim,” Mr. Wayne said, pulling Tim out of his reminiscing. 

Tim tried not to squirm, nervous about making his next request. “Maybe, maybe you could come over to my house and visit me sometimes?”

“Or not, you totally don’t have to!” Tim was quick to add when he saw Mr. Wayne frown. “You’ve already spent way too much time looking after me, I get that you have to go back and focus on your work and stuff now, I can handle watching myself, I’ve done it a bunch, maybe just give me a recipe for soup though, cause I’ve tried making it before but my stuff’s never tasted like yours although-”

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said before Tim could explain that all of the soup he’d had before had come straight out of a can. “Take a breath.”

Tim did. He took several, in fact.

“There we go,” Mr. Wayne said as Tim breathed. “Now, I feel like I need to clarify some things. Do you know where we are?”

“The… Batcave?” Tim asked. He thought it was obvious, what with all the bats and the general cave-like atmosphere. Plus Mr. Wayne being here. Tim hadn’t been able to see much from his section of what he had been told was the medbay, but he could almost make out some computers against the far wall.

“That’s right,” Mr. Wayne said. “And do you remember why you’re here?”

“Um…” Tim said, thinking back to what Jason had told him. “Batman found me in my house, and saw I was sick, and brought me here to get better.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Wayne said. “After bringing you here Batman tried to get in touch with your parents, but was unable to contact them.”

“They’re on an important trip right now,” Tim said. “They don’t get a lot of cell phone coverage at some of the sites they go to. They’ll be back at the end of summer, though.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Wayne said. “Well, after Batman was unable to talk to them, he reached out to me, since he knew we’re neighbors.”

Tim blinked. “He…did?”

“Yes. He knew you needed immediate help, so he brought you to his cave. But he was unable to look after you full-time, so he asked if we would help.”

“Um…” Tim said. Should he tell them he knew? He shouldn’t, right? They were clearly putting a lot into keeping this secret. He decided to just go with it. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Mr. Wayne said. “And now you’re well enough to leave, but not fully recovered. You’ll still need someone watching over you.”

“That’s okay Mr. Wayne, I can look after myself,” Tim said. “I do it all the time.”

Mr. Wayne just hummed at that. “Regardless, this is not the type of illness you can fully recover from on your own. So, Tim, how would you feel about staying at my place for a while?”

“Really?” Tim asked. “I’ve never had a sleepover before.”

“Well, now you can,” Mr. Wayne said. “So how about it, Tim? Would you like to stay with us at Wayne Manor?”

Tim knew the polite thing to do would be to refuse, to insist that he could look after himself, to cause the least bit of trouble or inconvenience to others that he possibly could.

But. Mr. Wayne looked so earnest, and Tim still didn’t feel well, and he didn’t particularly want to go back to his empty house and his room that held memories of misery. 

“Yes, please,” Tim said, for once doing the impolite thing. “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s alright.”

“Hell yeah it’s alright!” Jason, popping up from around a corner and causing Tim to jump a foot in the air, shouted. “C’mon Timmy, I’ve had your room ready to go for days, let's go see it!”

Jason grabbed Tim’s hand like he was going to drag him out of bed.

“Not so fast, Jaylad,” Bruce said. Jason stopped tugging, and he and Tim turned to see Mr. Pennyworth rolling over a wheelchair.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Tim protested. “I can walk.”

“Short distances, perhaps,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “But your body still needs to save its energy for recovering and healing. Resting as much as possible will help you get better faster.”

“Oh. Okay.” Tim liked the sound of being better. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be well.

Mr. Pennyworth helped him down off the cot and into the chair, making sure the blanket he was under covered him the whole time. Batty stayed latched onto Tim’s hair during the process, squeaking only a little as she was moved around.

Jason wasted no time in going behind Tim’s chair and pushing him forward as soon as he was settled. “Come on, let’s get out of this dingy cave,” he said. “This place is lame.”

As Jason rolled Tim through the cave he could see parts of it that had been hidden to him before, including a wall of computers with dozens of screens, a collection of bat-shaped weapons, another wall with cases of Batman uniforms, a giant penny, and a full-sized T-Rex.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed weakly. “So lame.”

They eventually approached an unassuming wall. “Now this,” Jason said. “This is actually cool.”

Tim looked around, but he couldn’t see anything he could classify as cool. Just a pair of what looked like elevator doors. “What is it?” he asked.

Jason replied, “Well, you know how we have to get from Batman’s cave to B’s house? This is how we’re going to do it.”

Jason gestured to the doors. “This device is known as a matter transporter. It can take matter from one place in the world to another in a matter of seconds! Isn’t that cool?”

“Um…” Tim looked closer. It still looked like the outside of an elevator. It even had buttons next to the side of the doors, just like an elevator would.

Jason pushed one of the buttons, and the door opened. “Side effects can include a buzzing sound, and a feeling of upwards movement,” he said as he wheeled Tim in. “Don’t worry, that’s normal, it’ll pass.”

He turned Tim around inside of what looked like the interior of every elevator Tim had ever been in. 

“Look,” Jason said, and pointed at something on the wall. Where buttons would normally be in an elevator, there were still buttons, but two of them had sticky notes taped over them, with words written in permanent marker. The bottom one read “Batcave” while the one on top read “Wayne Manor.”  

“Batman set it up just for us to use now,” Jason said proudly. Tim looked up at Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth. Their expressions could have netted them thousands at a poker table in Vegas.

“Would you like to push the button?” Jason asked generously. 

Wordlessly, Tim reached out and pushed the Wayne Manor sticky note. The doors closed and Tim felt himself going up. 

When the doors opened again Jason pushed Tim out into a hallway, Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth exiting behind them.

“And just like that, we’re here!” Jason announced. “Isn’t technology great?”

“Uh-huh,” Tim said, turning to watch the for-sure elevator doors close. “Sure is something.”

“Come,” Jason said, taking Tim down the hall. “Your room is upstairs.”

“The matter transporter couldn’t bring us to the second floor?” Tim asked before he could stop himself.

Jason looked at Mr. Wayne. “A design flaw,” Mr. Wayne said easily. “I’ll have Batman look into it for next time.”

When they reached the stairs, Mr. Wayne offered to carry Tim up, but Jason refused him, saying that he could do it. He proceeded to give Tim a piggyback ride up the stairs, while Mr. Wayne carried Tim’s wheelchair up behind them. Mr. Pennyworth had split off from them, saying that he needed to go prepare dinner. 

They went down a few corridors before they reached their destination. “This is my bedroom,” Jason said, pointing to a door as they went by. They stopped at the very next door. “And this’ll be your room.”

Before Tim could get over his shock of rooming so close to Jason Mr. Wayne opened the door.

At home, Tim’s room was rather impersonal. His parents didn't like clutter, and though they weren't often around to see any mess Tim had found it easier to just keep the things he liked tucked away, least his parents return unexpectedly and get rid of anything they didn't like (Tim had lost his second-best camera and most of his stuffed animals that way. His first-best camera now lived in the back of his closet, and his two remaining stuffed animals at the bottom of his underwear drawer). 

This room, though Tim had never set foot in it before, already felt much more comfortable to him. The bed was large, with three thick blankets already on it and a pile of more at the foot of it. There was a desk against a wall, by a window which was covered with thick black-out curtains, and a half-full bookshelf nearby.

“I brought some of mine over,” Jason said. “These are all ones I liked and thought you might enjoy.” 

There were at least fifty books on the shelves. Tim wasn't sure he had read fifty books in his life.

Best of all, placed next to the desk was what looked like a bird perch. Batty immediately detangled herself from Tim's hair (he had to help her a little when she got stuck) and flew over to it, hanging herself upside down and chirping in a pleased manner.

Looking closer, Tim could also see a bowl of fruit and a bowl of water placed on the side of the desk, with mat below them both, likely for any spills.

“She'll be on her own for any insects she may want,” Mr. Wayne said. “But that's what the window’s for. You can let her come and go as she needs.”

Tim felt himself tearing up. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he protested.

Mr. Wayne put his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “It’s alright Tim. We wanted to.”

“Yeah, and if there’s anything else you need, just let us know,” Jason added. “Alfie and I are planning a trip back to your place now that you’re awake and can tell us what you want from there.”

Tim immediately thought of his stash of photos, and hoped that they wouldn’t look around too much. Good thing he had the perfect hiding spot.

“Thank you,” Tim said again, feeling there was little else he could say. Jason helped him up so he was sitting on the bed. 

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Tim said. “A little cold, though. Any chance I could have more of that soup?”

Jason immediately set to spreading out another blanket over Tim while Mr. Wayne shook his head. “Another hour still. At dinner you can have more.”

“Alright,” Tim said, disappointed. By this point though he trusted Mr. Wayne to be reliable enough about soup time that he felt he could wait.

“Do you feel tired at all, Tim?” Mr. Wayne asked. 

“No, not really,” Tim said. “I think I can stay awake until dinner.”

Mr. Wayne smiled. “That’s great Tim.”

“Because actually, there’s something important I’d like to talk with you about.”

Chapter Text

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said. Tim looked at him from the bed, almost wishing he had said he was tired. He didn’t like the serious tone Mr. Wayne had taken.

“How much do you know?”

Oh no. They were onto him. They knew that Tim knew they were Batman and Robin. He should have acted more shocked at the elevator.

“Um, know?” Tim asked, stalling.

“Yeah,” Jason said. He had sat down crisscross at the foot of Tim’s bed, looking at him, while Mr. Wayne chose to stand by his bedside. 

For a moment, at least, until he noticed Tim looking nervously up at him. Then he went and brought the desk chair over and sat down in it, positioning himself just like he used to when Tim laid on his cot in the Medbay. 

Jason kept talking. “Like, do you know?” At Tim’s blank stare, Jason unfolded one of the blankets nearby, wrapping it around his shoulders and then using one arm to wrap it around him like a cape, hiding the bottom half of his face. He raised his eyebrows at Tim repeatedly.

Well, there was no confusing that hint to mean anything other than Batman. Tim sighed. “Yes, I know.”

“Wait, you do?” Jason asked, lowering his blanket cape.

“You do?” Mr. Wayne asked skeptically.

“Yes, I do,” Tim said. “I’ve known for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Tim thought. “A few years now.”

“Years?” Jason asked. “But, then how did you let yourself get so sick?”

“What does my being sick have to do with it?” Tim asked, confused. 

All three of them stared at each other for a moment. “Tim, what do you think we’re talking about?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Tim was about to answer honestly, before he saw the trap for what it was. “What do you think we’re talking about?” he asked instead. Tim was a master of deflection. 

“About what you are.”

Tim blinked. “I’m… what?”

“So you don’t know,” Jason groaned. “Great. I had a whole thing planned, too.” He deepened his voice as much as he could, speaking with a British accent. “Yer a vampire, Timmy.”

Tim felt his mind buffering. “Wait, that’s… what? I mean, vampires aren’t real.”

“Really, Tim?” Jason asked, one eyebrow raised. “Think about the kinds of people you see on the news all the time. Not only in Gotham, but in the world. You’re telling me vampires existing is taking it too far?”

Couldn’t argue with that, it was a strange world they lived in. 

“Okay,” Tim said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m one.”

“Well, let’s think about it logically,” Mr. Wayne said. (Batman, always so reasonable.) Tim didn’t know why he was stuck on this ridiculous theory, but he appreciated a logical explanation as much as any ten-year-old. 

Mr. Wayne held up one finger. “Do you struggle with being out in the sun?”

“I’m just really pale,” Tim explained.

Mr. Wayne held up another finger. “Do you have an allergy to garlic?”

“No,” Tim replied easily.

“Hmm. Are there any foods you’ve eaten recently that you’ve had negative reactions to?” 

Tim thought about it. “I had spaghetti and toasted bread at school one time, and I coughed a lot afterwards and my throat felt like it was closing up. So, spaghetti, I guess.”

“That’s textbook allergic reaction,” Jason said. “And are you sure it was to the spaghetti, or was it perhaps to, dun dun dun, garlic bread?” 

Tim’s opinion of Robin sure was changing a lot in this past hour.

(Who was he kidding, Robin was still his favorite hero. Even if he was being a bit dorky.)

“I don’t think that was it,” Tim said. “I’m pretty sure it was the spaghetti.”

“Alright,” Mr. Wayne said easily. “What about Batty?”

Tim felt himself growing frustrated. “She’s my friend, and she found me. Look, Mr. Wayne, Jason, I can’t be a vampire. If I was a vampire I’d have to drink blood, and I don’t, so I’m not.”

Tim didn’t like the way Mr. Wayne didn’t say anything to that. He especially didn’t like the way Jason opened his mouth to say something, only to stop when Mr. Wayne shot him a look.

“Right?” Tim asked weakly.

Mr. Wayne pursed his lips. “You’ve done a lot today,” he said. “Why don’t we let you get some rest before dinner?”

“Oh, um,” Tim spluttered. Now he’d done it. He’d offended the Waynes, and now they were giving up on him. He should have just pretended to be a vampire. How hard could it be? “Uh, alright, that’s fine.”

Mr. Wayne looked at Tim with concern. “Tim,” he said. “I’ll stay if you want me to. I just thought you might appreciate some time to yourself to think.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Tim said. He had used up too much of Mr. Wayne’s time already. “You’re right. I’d like to be by myself now.” He grinned as wide as he could, trying to be both convincing and reassuring.

It must have at least partially worked, because Mr. Wayne stood up. “We’ll come and get you in forty-five minutes for dinner,” he said. “Do you still have my watch?”

Tim held up his wrist to show it off. He hadn’t taken it off once.

“Good,” Mr. Wayne said. “Come, Jason.”

“In a minute, old man,” Jason said. Mr. Wayne rolled his eyes, but left the room after giving Tim a firm pat on the shoulder. 

Jason fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, before sighing and looking at Tim.

“Look, Timbers. I know it’s a lot to take in. I’ve been there. But denial not only wouldn’t last, it may actually hurt you. So, at least consider it, alright?”

Jason got up to go. Tim called out to him before he did. “Why are you so convinced I’m a vampire?”

Jason looked over his shoulder to respond. “Takes one to know one, Timmy.”

With that Jason left, leaving Tim to try and figure out what he meant. 

Because surely, he couldn’t have meant to say what Tim thinks he said.

Because that would mean… that Robin was…

…

Oh.

…

Well.

If Tim’s favorite hero was a vampire, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Tim was too. Not that he was! But, well, it would be kind of cool, to have something in common with Robin. 

Tim’s thoughts ran wild as he laid in bed, until he almost wished that he was a vampire. 

Too bad he wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Tim spent the time alone before dinner trying not to overthink and failing miserably. What did it mean, that Jason was a vampire? Did that make him a bad guy? No; Tim dismissed that thought immediately, because Robin was a good guy (the goodest guy, if that was a thing), and so there was no way being a vampire would make him a bad guy. 

But then, why were they so sure that Tim was one? Okay, so he had some health issues, that didn’t mean that he was automatically a creature of the night. 

Plus, he would know if he was a vampire, right? He’d be feeling the urge to drink people’s blood or something, and that hadn’t happened to him.

Unwillingly, Tim thought back to weeks ago, when he first went into isolation. How other people had started looking (smelling) to him. Like something he had to be near, like something that he needed, like something that smelled so good …

Aaaaand that was enough of that. Tim shook his head to clear his thoughts. Nope, no, no thank you. There had to be some other explanation. Tim just hadn’t thought of it yet. He just needed to put all of the puzzle pieces together in a configuration that wasn’t in the shape of Dracula.

(Wait, was Dracula real? No, Tim, focus.)

By the time Mr. Wayne came to fetch him for dinner Tim still hadn’t found a good answer. Mr. Wayne helped him back into the wheelchair and out of the room. Batty had fallen asleep upside down on her perch a few minutes into Tim’s contemplation, her wings wrapped around herself adorably, so she stayed behind (Tim asked Mr. Wayne to leave the door open behind them in case she woke up and wanted to get out, to which he agreed). Tim wished he had his camera to photograph her.

“Do you think Jason and Mr. Pennyworth could grab my camera for me when they go to get my stuff?” Tim asked Mr. Wayne.

“I’m sure they’d be happy to,” Mr. Wayne said. “Just let us know what it looks like and where it is.”

“Oh, it’s in the back of my closet,” Tim said. “It’s kind of buried under some stuff, but if you open the door and look to the right on the ground there’s a bunch of shoeboxes. It’s in the second box from the bottom.”

“Why do you keep your camera in a shoebox, Tim?” Mr. Wayne asked curiously.

“Um,” Tim panicked. “No reason.”

“Anyway!” he continued, desperate to change the subject. “It’s a hybrid camera actually, with a full-frame sensor and twenty-four MP. It can take up to twenty fps with no restriction, and up to one hundred and twenty fps in APS-C crop! It’s really cool. Some people have complained about how this brand hasn’t had a resolution upgrade in the series for a few iterations, but I think that compared to the previous iteration that there is in fact a noticeable difference-”

“Wow, Timbers,” Jason interrupted. “I didn’t know you knew so much about photography.”

To Tim’s embarrassment, he realized that while he had been rambling Mr. Wayne had brought him not only downstairs but into a kitchen, where Tim was now seated next to Jason. Not in the wheelchair, but in a dining chair. That meant, including the stairs, Mr. Wayne had picked him up twice without him noticing! Mr. Wayne was seated on the opposite side of the table, while Mr. Pennyworth was arranging something at a counter. All of them had soft smiles on their faces, directed at Tim.

Tim felt his face heat up, and he ducked down in his seat. He reached down to his lap, to pull a blanket up over his face at least, if not his whole body.

Only to not feel one. 

Tim looked down, and had never felt so alarmed at the sight of his own legs before. He looked around frantically, to see his blanket draped over the back of the wheelchair a little ways behind him. 

Tim lunged backwards, just barely able to grab the blanket.

“Whoa there!” Jason exclaimed, reaching out to catch Tim before he could fall out of his seat and onto the floor. Jason lifted Tim back up, and Tim quickly wrapped the blanket around himself, covering everything but his arms and head.

“Are you cold, Timothy?” Mr. Wayne asked. He looked worried. “I would have kept the blanket on you had I known.”

“Oh, um…” Tim realized that while he felt a little chilly, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been feeling. In all honesty, he hadn’t even been thinking about being cold. In the moment, all that he knew was that he needed the blanket. 

That sounded both ridiculous and like something out of a Peanuts cartoon, so Tim didn’t say that. “Yes, I’m a bit cold.”

“Well, it’s good then that I have just the thing to warm you up,” Mr. Pennyworth said. He approached the table, a bowl in his hands.

Tim gasped. Soup! 

“Yes, soup,” Mr. Pennyworth said, and Tim realized in his excitement he had spoken out loud. “Now, I have provided you with a spoon with the expectation that you feed yourself slowly. If this does not happen, Master Bruce or myself can assist you.”

“Don’t feel bad if it’s hard, Tim,” Mr. Wayne said. “There’s no shame in needing help.”

Internally Tim scoffed. He had been feeding himself out of bowls for years (cereal was one of the few meals he could reliably make on his own). He had used a spoon countless times. This wouldn’t be hard.

It was so hard. All Tim wanted to do once the soup was placed in front of him was slam his face directly into it. It took every bit of willpower he had to pick up the spoon and bring just a single sip to his lips. 

Mr. Pennyworth watched him do so a couple of times. “Well done,” he said after a minute, politely not mentioning how tightly Tim’s fist was wrapped around the spoon, and how he was shaking just enough to spill a couple of drops on the table. Tim told himself he’d wipe it up later.

(And not with his tongue, no matter how much he may want to.)

“So, Tim,” Mr. Wayne said. “Did you give much more thought to our conversation?”

It took his words some time to reach Tim’s soup-clouded mind. When they did, Tim’s eyes widened. He immediately looked over at Jason’s meal.

He didn’t notice anything in particular about the pasta Jason was eating. It wasn’t even red sauce; it looked a lot like fettuccine alfredo, with a side of salad. Mr. Wayne had an identical plate in front of him as well.

Tim almost felt disappointed, until he noticed the glass Jason was sipping from. That drink looked rather dark, didn’t it? And was that a tinge of red? Tim peered at it as he took repeated sips of soup.

Jason noticed where his attention was. He laughed. “I know what you’re thinking Timbers, but no, this isn’t blood.” He held up his glass. “It’s actually cherry soda.”

“Oh,” Tim said. He almost felt disappointed. It would have been interesting at least to see someone drinking blood.

Tim had another spoonful of soup.

“No, I drink my blood at breakfast,” Jason said, almost making Tim spit out his mouthful. He swallowed quickly.

“Jason, what did you tell Tim after I left?” Mr. Wayne asked seriously.

“Only that I was a vampire like him,” Jason said defensively. “Now he knows he’s not alone.”

Mr. Wayne sighed.

“Is it true, Mr. Wayne?” Tim asked. “Is Jason really a vampire?”

Mr. Wayne was silent for a moment. Tim watched him enraptured, his hand bringing soup to his mouth automatically as he stared.

“Yes, it’s true,” he said after a moment, and Tim felt his worldview shatter.

“As am I,” Mr. Wayne continued. 

“And I,” Mr. Pennyworth said, back behind an island counter.

Tim was surprised, stunned, and shocked. “Prove it,” was all he could think to say. He would have maybe taken them at their word before, but now after the whole “I’m totally not Batman” thing and the elevator debacle, he wasn’t sure he should automatically trust them.

Mr. Wayne smiled, and as Tim watched he saw two of his front teeth get longer and longer, until they were over an inch long and undeniably fangs. Mr. Wayne opened his mouth wide and hissed. 

The sound was echoed from Jason and Mr. Pennyworth, and when Tim turned to look, the other two also had fanged smiles.

Oh, gosh. They were vampires.

“Please don’t drink my blood!” Tim shouted, hunkering down, doing his best to hide his neck, pulling his bowl of soup closer to him.

Jason laughed while Mr. Wayne chucked. As Tim watched their teeth shrank again until they looked normal. Though, had they always been that pointy?

“No, Tim, we would never,” Mr. Wayne reassured him. 

“Yeah,” Jason added. “For one thing, you barely have enough blood in you as it is. Wouldn’t be worth it.”

“A vampire cannot drink another vampire’s blood,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Their blood lacks the proper nutrients needed to gain energy, and does not taste appetizing.”

“But most importantly, we would never harm you,” Mr. Wayne said, with a look at the other two. “You are safe here.”

Tim furrowed his brows, thinking about what Mr. Pennyworth had said. “You still think I’m a vampire?”

“We know you are,” Mr. Wayne said gently. 

“But how?” Tim asked. “I don’t even have fangs.”

“You will,” he responded.

Tim’s tongue reached out and felt the two gaps where he was missing teeth. The holes were in the same spot the others’ fangs had been.

“Oh,” Tim said. “I’m a vampire.”

Chapter Text

Tim didn’t know what to think about his revelation. He was a vampire? Since when? How? What did this mean for him? Should he invest in a large cape like Batman’s? Where did one even buy capes?

A yawn so wide it made his jaw pop interrupted Tim from his thoughts.

“We should get you to bed,” Mr. Wayne said to Tim. “This is the longest you’ve been up in days, and you’re still recovering. We can talk more after you sleep.”

“But…” my soup! Tim thought. He looked down into the bowl, however, to find that it was completely empty. At some point when he hadn’t been paying attention he had completely finished it off. Not even the drops on the table remained.

Oh gosh, he hoped he hadn’t licked the table.

“Nope. You wiped them up with your finger and then licked that,” Jason said, and Tim realized that he had once again spoken without realizing. 

“Yes I am very tired and would like to go to bed now please and thank you,” Tim quickly rushed out as he practically flew back into the wheelchair, ready to be brought upstairs and hide away where he couldn’t embarrass himself anymore.

Jason was kind enough not to laugh at him. “Have a good sleep, Timbers. See you in the evening.”

Evening? How long did Jason think he was going to sleep? 

Mr. Wayne started to push him out of the room as Tim waved goodbye to the other two. He helped Tim back upstairs, and once in his room placed him on the bed.

“There’s a few spare clothes in the dresser, if you would like to change now or in the morning,” Mr. Wayne said. “There’s a bathroom next to the closet with supplies, if you need anything at all just call out for us.”

“Oh, do vampires have super hearing?” Tim asked, wondering how else Mr. Wayne would hear him if he was out doing important Batman business.

Mr. Wayne smiled. “That, and our rooms are to either side of you. Either Jason or I should be close by at any point. I was going to leave your door cracked open if that was alright with you?”

“Um, sure,” Tim said. He was a bit befuddled, to be honest. Normally, Tim’s parents made sure that Tim knew not to bother them if he needed anything; they expected him to be able to solve his own problems. Most likely, Mr. Wayne was just being polite. Tim resolved to be unobtrusive and to not disrupt Mr. Wayne more than he already had.

Mr. Wayne reached out a hand, slowly, and when Tim didn’t react touched his head, running his hand across it in a way that immediately put Tim at ease for some reason. Then, with one last, “Have a good rest,” he left, leaving the door open an inch but turning the lights off.

Actually, it was more like keeping the lights off. Tim realized in that moment that not once had they turned on the lights in his room, and thinking back on it, he couldn’t be sure if the ones in the kitchen had been on either.

He flopped himself backwards, laid on the bed, and sighed. That noise was somehow enough to wake up Batty, who chittered, stretched her wings, and then flew over to Tim, landing on his chest.

“Hey, Batman,” Tim whispered as softly as he could (conscious of the open door and potential super hearing), feeling funny about greeting Batman when the real one just left. “You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

Tim proceeded to fill Batty in on what he had learned that evening.

“So not only are all the Waynes vampires, I am too,” he concluded. “I guess it does explain some things. But like, I was fine a few months ago! Why am I only now being all vampire-like? Was I bitten and didn’t know it? Can vampires erase memories, did one bite me and make me forget? And what about blood? Am I going to have to start drinking it?”

There was something to that last thought, something he was missing, like he had two puzzle pieces and just needed to turn one to get it to connect with the other. But Tim was tired, and the pieces were blurry anyway, and he felt the thoughts slip out of his mind before he could see the image they made.

Tim sighed. “There’s just so much I don’t know, Batman.”

Batty, who until that point had been content nuzzling Tim’s chest, letting him pet her with two fingers as he spoke, squeaked and crawled up Tim. She stopped on his face, letting her wings cover his eyes.

Tim smiled and gently lifted her off. “Okay, okay, I get it, no more thinking for tonight, time to sleep.” He laid Batty on the pillow next to him and rolled onto his side. “Goodnight, Batman. I’ll see you in the morning.”

If Tim had super hearing of his own, he might’ve heard the responding whisper of “Goodnight, Tim,” from next door.

Tim woke up slowly, to the sense of something being off. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first. All he knew was that something was missing. With his eyes still closed, he felt around him. Nothing. 

In a split second, without really knowing why, he went from nervous to fearful.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, to do what he wasn’t sure. But before he could do whatever it was, there was a knock at the door. The sound was enough to wake Tim up the rest of the way and get him to open his eyes.

“Tim? Can I come in?” The sound of Mr. Wayne’s voice immediately put Tim at ease. 

“Come in,” Tim said, sitting up.

Mr. Wayne entered and smiled at him. 

“Good evening, Tim. How did you sleep?” 

“Good. That is, I slept well, thank you,” Tim answered. He blinked. “Wait, evening? What time is it?”

“Just past nine,” Mr. Wayne said. “You slept through the day.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tim said reflexively. 

“Don’t be,” Mr. Wayne said. “It’s a perfectly normal sleep schedule for our kind.”

Did this mean Tim was nocturnal now? He supposed that would mean more time with Batty. Still, it might cause some problems.

“What about school?” Tim asked. “I don’t think my parents would let me take night classes.”

“You don’t have to worry about that yet,” Mr. Wayne said. “It’s summer, and school doesn’t start up again for another two months. Until then, you should just let your body do what feels natural.”

“Um, alright,” Tim said hesitantly. Once again his worrying-when-he-shouldn’t disease was acting up, and Mr. Wayne must have been able to tell because he elaborated.

“Come September, there'll be a few options for you,” he said. “You could always transfer to an online school, which would allow you to work at your own pace. If you’d rather keep attending your school that could be arranged, you’d simply have to adjust your sleep schedule for a couple weeks before to get used to being up in the daytime again. Perhaps take a break midday for a nap. Jason used to do that. It would be hard, but not impossible if that’s what you want.”

Having concrete information helped ease Tim’s nerves. “Thank you,” he said gratefully. 

“Of course,” Mr. Wayne said. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask if you don’t understand something, Tim, or if you want to know something. I’ll always answer if I can, and what I don’t know Alfred usually does.”

He smiled at Tim at that, and Tim smiled back, taking the joke for what it was.

“Do you need any help getting ready?” Mr. Wayne asked, and Tim shook his head no. “I’ll wait outside then. You can call out when you’re ready for me.”

He left, and Tim got himself ready for the day. He found a long-sleeved shirt and pants, as well as thick, cozy socks that went halfway up to his knees that he was quick to put on. After squeezing them into a pair of slippers he declared himself ready. 

It was hard getting dressed while still at least partially under a minimum of one blanket at all times, but Tim managed. Why he had to do it that way he wasn’t sure. He also didn’t know why he automatically wrapped a blanket around himself when he was done, but he couldn’t make himself put it down. Hopefully Mr. Wayne wouldn’t mind.

Batty, who had been watching Tim get dressed, flew herself over to the window pointedly when he was done.

“Oh, of course. Here, you can go outside, Batty,” Tim said, lifting the curtain (slowly, just in case there was any sunlight. There wasn’t, fortunately) and then the window. Batty chittered happily and flew out, presumably on her way to feast on bugs.

Tim’s stomach growled, and he was worried for a moment that he too was hungry for bugs, before he decided that no, he was just hungry.

“I’m ready,” he called out. Mr. Wayne quickly came in and helped Tim into the wheelchair. He made sure Tim stayed covered by a blanket without Tim even needing to ask.

“How much longer do I need this chair?” Tim asked as he was brought out of his room.

“Alfred wants to get a few more good meals in you first. In a couple of days we can try going without it, as long as you take it easy.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Can we get breakfast now?”

“Of course, Alfred practically ordered me to bring you straight to him as soon as you woke up. He said you would be hungry.”

Actually, Tim felt ravenous, but didn’t want to be impolite by demanding food. “A little,” he said instead.

They entered the kitchen just as Mr. Pennyworth was setting down a plate of pancakes in front of the spot Tim had sat in last night.

“Impeccable timing as always, Alfred,” Mr. Wayne said, helping Tim into his seat.

“I do try, sir,” Mr. Pennyworth said. 

Tim looked around, confused by what was in front of him. “Where’s the soup?” he asked, looking around the table and not spotting any. He even lifted up a pancake, checking just in case there was soup hiding underneath. There wasn’t.

“I’m afraid I did not prepare any soup for this meal, Master Timothy,” Mr. Pennyworth said.

Tim felt his eyes narrow. “No soup?” he asked.

Mr. Wayne, in the seat next to him, stiffened slightly, while Mr. Pennyworth remained relaxed. 

“It is good for a body to have a variety of food,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Even bodies like ours.”

“But, but… soup!” Tim said mournfully, not sure of how to put what he was feeling into words.

“Perhaps at lunch, dear boy.” Before Tim could burst into tears or flip the table (likely both, with the way he was feeling), Mr. Pennyworth brought out a jug from the refrigerator. “How about some juice with your pancakes?”

As soon as the lid was off the jug all of Tim zeroed in on it. He watched unblinkingly as Mr. Pennyworth poured some juice into a cup, mesmerized by watching the dark liquid fall. He was just barely able to hold himself back from jumping out of his seat towards it. 

His restraint crumbled the second Mr. Pennyworth placed the cup on the table in front of Tim. As soon as his fingers stopped touching it, Tim reached out to grasp it tightly, bringing it to his mouth and downing it like he had just spent a week in the desert.

It was delicious, almost as good as Mr. Pennyworth’s soup. Actually, the taste was remarkably similar, with only subtle differences. 

In no time at all Tim’s cup was empty. “Can I have some more juice, please?” he asked, cup held in both hands, reaching out towards Mr. Pennyworth. He made his eyes as big as he could.

Mr. Pennyworth seemed persuaded by his Oliver Twist impersonation. “I suppose one more cup should be alright,” he said. “Eat your pancakes first, though, then you may have more.”

Though Tim really wanted more juice now, he figured he could do this for Mr. Pennyworth. The pancakes did look delicious. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something for breakfast that didn’t require a spoon.

Looking around the table, Tim could see a few toppings spread out, including butter and strawberry jam, and even peanut butter. What he really wanted though was the syrup which was on the other side of Mr. Wayne, just out of Tim’s reach.

Tim opened his mouth to ask Mr. Wayne to pass the syrup.

What came out of his mouth was a terribly loud, high-pitched, ungodly screech, that caused both Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth (who had been walking back to the counter) to startle and look around themselves wildly.

“Tim, Tim, what’s wrong?” Mr. Wayne asked frantically, his hands hovering around Tim’s body as though checking for injuries.

Tim started breathing heavily. “I, I…” he stuttered. 

Mr. Pennyworth spoke up. “If you want more juice that much, I can get you some now,” he said.

“Was that it, Tim? Did you just want some more juice?” Mr. Wayne asked. He was still scanning Tim, as if he was about to keel over.

Tim shook his head, but couldn’t find the words to explain; he barely understood what had happened himself. “I…”

At that moment Jason burst into the room. His hair was a mess and his eyes were wide and panicked. He had sweatpants on but no shirt, and one single slipper. “What is it, what’s wrong with Tim? I heard him call from upstairs.”

“We don’t know,” Mr. Wayne said. “He appeared to be fine moments ago. Then he cried out and now he’s breathing too fast.”

Was he? Tim checked himself. Oh, he was. He tried to slow down and found himself unable to.

“Move,” Jason said, pushing Mr. Wayne out of his seat and taking it. He took Tim’s hands. “Hey Timbers, it’s Jason. I’m here, you’re safe, everything’s okay. I need you to breathe with me, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four. Ready?”

Jason counted, and Tim breathed, at first too much, but after several minutes he was able to slow down and match Jason’s pace, Jason reassuring him and comforting him all the while. Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth both hovered on the other side of the table.

When Tim felt like he could breathe on his own again he pulled his hands back out of Jason’s, who let him go.

“Good job, Timmy,” Jason said. Tim knew he shouldn’t accept praise for something so basic as breathing right, but with the way he was feeling he would take whatever comfort he could.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Tim searched, and was able to find at least some of the words he needed. “I was going to ask for the syrup,” he admitted in a whisper.

“You wanted the syrup?” Jason confirmed. Tim nodded.

“Yes. And then I…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t be making noises like that, I don’t know why I did that, it just came out!”

“Whoa, whoa there, Timbuck,” Jason said. “Who said you shouldn’t call for help?”

Tim dodged the question. “I wasn’t calling for help. I was screeching. Like a wild animal.”

The frowns on the other faces in the room told Tim he had gotten something wrong. 

“Timothy,” Mr. Wayne said slowly. “What you just made was the sound of a young vampire calling out for help. It is a perfectly normal sound to make.”

“Though it is often used in more serious situations than the breakfast table,” Mr. Pennyworth added. “Still, there are plenty of other, typical noises a vampire of your age might make. Chirps, clicks, and squeaks are all fairly common.”

Jason didn’t answer, and instead chose to demonstrate, releasing a series of clicks that reminded Tim of Batty. He supposed that made sense.

Tim bit his lip, still unsure. “It’s not… bad?”

Jason pulled him into a hug. “No, Timmy, it’s not bad, and I’ll beat up whoever told you it was.”

“Please don’t,” Tim begged.

“Yes, Jaylad, no need to put yourself at risk," Mr. Wayne said. “There are other ways of sending a message.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Pennyworth agreed.

“No, it’s fine,” Tim tried to convince them.

“It’s not, but we’ll work on it,” Jason said. He then reached over and grabbed the bottle of syrup. “For now, let’s solve what problems we can, hey?”

As Jason proceeded to drown his pancakes in syrup Tim felt his worries get equally smothered. Not gone, but covered in enough sugary goodness to ignore for now.

And who knows, Tim thought as he took his first delicious bite. Maybe it was a one-time thing.

Chapter Text

After eating Jason asked Tim if he would like to join him in the gaming room.

“It used to be the second-floor seating room,” Jason explained. “But Dick asked for a gaming system for Christmas a few years ago, and B kinda went overboard. So now we have a room with literally every gaming system and like hundreds of games.”

“Really?” Tim asked. That sounded amazing. “I’ve only played Mario Kart before.”

He didn’t play it much. It wasn’t as much fun playing a multiplayer game when there was only one of you. He played it for about a week straight when he first got it, and hadn’t touched it since.

A month after that he had started following Batman and Robin around, and had found that to be a much more engaging hobby.

“Mario Kart is good,” Jason said. “Mario Party is better.”

“I’ve never played,” Tim said. He wasn’t even sure what that was.

Jason waited as Tim got back into his wheelchair, then went behind him and started pulling him away from the table. “Well, then we’d better get you trained up, before Dick gets here and destroys both of us. He’s ruthless at Mario games. No Mercy Grayson, they call him.”

“Who calls him that?” Tim asked curiously, as he waved goodbye to Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth, who waved back.

“Me, mostly. But it’ll catch on. I’ll give you ten bucks if you call him that to his face.”

“Um, maybe,” Tim said hesitantly, torn between his wanting to please Jason and his loyalty to the first Robin.

Jason patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it Timbers, I’m only joking,” he said. “Now, let’s get gaming.”

They had a slight hurdle when they reached the stairs. Tim was in favor of going back and asking Mr. Wayne for help, but Jason was staunchly opposed. Tim then offered to climb the stairs on his own, but Jason refused that too.

In the end, Tim rode piggyback on Jason just like he had the day before, while Jason used one hand to drag the wheelchair up behind him. It thudded hard on every step, and often banged into the banister.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to bring me up first, then go back for the chair?” Tim asked halfway up.

Jason denied him immediately. “Never take more than one trip for anything, Tim. It’s a matter of honor.”

“Oh,” Tim said. “I hadn’t realized.” He had been bringing in groceries wrong this whole time.

Jason placed Tim back in the wheelchair when they reached the top, and they were in the gaming room shortly. Tim, who didn’t know a lot about games, could tell that a person who did would be very impressed with the set-up. There was a large flatscreen TV, with at least five gaming consoles hooked up to it or near it, as well as a display of countless cases of games.

“Wow,” Tim said. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I know, right?” Jason said. He helped Tim out of the wheelchair and onto a plush couch. “When Dick asked for his Xbox, B couldn’t remember what game he said he wanted. So he just bought one of every Xbox game he could find. And then did the same for several other consoles, just to be safe.”

“Wow,” Tim said again, because it bore repeating. “I can’t remember the last time my parents got me a gift.”

“Really?” Jason asked, voice steady, as he set up the TV. “Not even for Christmas or your birthday or anything?”

“Well, they gave me a credit card with a pretty high limit a couple of years ago,” Tim explained. “Since then, they kind of just expect me to buy my own presents for the holidays.”

For some reason Jason didn’t say anything for a minute, just breathed hard through his nose. Tim guessed setting up the system was pretty hard.

When Jason turned around and came to sit down at the couch, he seemed alright. He handed Tim a controller that was different from the one he was used to, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too complicated to figure out.

“What about when your teeth fell out?” Jason asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, when you lost your baby fangs? Did they get you anything for that?”

“No?” Tim asked, confused. “Why would they? It’s just teeth.”

“Just teeth!” Jason exclaimed. He paused the game, or tried to at least but it was still on the loading screen, so he just turned the volume off and put down his controller. 

“Listen up Timbers, cause I’m gonna learn you a thing or two.”

“...wouldn’t it be teach?”

Jason held up one finger. “Vampire 101, lesson one: Never disrespect another vampire. You have no idea how old they really are, and they could be centuries your senior.”

He hadn’t thought of that. “You’re right, I’m sorry!” Tim cried. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen! You’re only like three years older than me!”

Jason wagged his finger at Tim. “Regardless, I am older, and therefore wiser. Plus I have been a vampire way longer than you.”

“Fine,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “Continue then, oh wise one.”

Jason smirked. “I knew there was some snark hiding under that shy demeanor.” Before Tim could protest or apologize he continued. “Lesson two: A baby vampire losing their first set of fangs is a huge deal. Think like a quinceañera. It shows that the baby is taking their first steps to becoming a mature vampire.”

There was a lot that Tim could question there. So he focused on the most important thing. “I’m not a baby!”

Jason snorted. “To beings that can live for hundreds of years, you are.”

Tim fumed, and Jason let him, picking up his controller and moving through the main menu. He made it to the character selection screen, and Tim picked up his remote to choose his player. He went with Yoshi. Jason chose Mario. 

As the game reached its final loading page, Jason asked quietly, “But seriously, didn’t your parents ever tell you this stuff?”

“No, why would they?” Tim asked. “They’re not vampires.”

Jason glanced at him. “Right,” he said. The game finished loading. “Well, enough of that for now, Timmy. Time to show you how to lose at Mario Party!”

And Tim did learn how. Three times in a row. He almost won the last time though (if the stars hadn’t swapped last minute!) so he considered that a win.

Chapter Text

The rest of the morning (no, wait, evening, Tim kept forgetting he was nocturnal now) was spent the same way. When Jason got bored of beating Tim at Mario Party they switched to Mario Kart, which Tim with his meager understanding did somewhat better at, even beating Jason a couple of times.

And sure, one of those times was because Batty suddenly flew into the room, screeching, starting Jason so bad he dropped the controller. When he picked it up he had gone from first place to tenth, and wasn’t able to catch up before the race was over.

Jason claimed that Batty had timed that on purpose, which Tim denied. How could a bat understand the rules of Mario Kart, much less how to cheat at it? Jason didn’t have an answer for that, but vowed to take his revenge on Batty. She seemed not to care much for the threat, judging by the way she contented herself with nestling into Tim’s hair, but Tim couldn’t help but worry.

Jason noticed immediately. “Sorry Tim, didn’t mean to scare you. I wouldn’t hurt your friend. I might just try and sneak up on her sometime to scare her, if that’s okay with you?”

Tim thought about it. He supposed that would be an even trade. “Okay. But you have to promise not to hurt her!”

“I promise,” Jason said easily and seriously, crossing his heart.

Batty chirped in a way that could, potentially, be taken as mocking. Jason narrowed his eyes at her.

“Gonna scare you so bad though,” he promised. “I’m an expert at sneaking up on people, a tiny bat should be no problem.”

“Why are you an expert at sneaking up on people?” Tim asked, before realizing: oh, duh, Robin.

Jason seemed to freeze. “Umm…”

“Pranks,” Mr. Wayne said, entering the room, taking the spot on the other side of Jason. “Jason and Dick are always playing some sort of trick on one another.”

Jason latched onto the lifeline. “Yes, pranks! Timmy, you have to promise to join my team the next time Dick and I get into a prank war. He always ends up beating me, but you could be my secret weapon! No one would ever suspect your cute, innocent face to be up to anything nefarious.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to hesitate. “Umm, I…”

“It is harmless fun,” Mr. Wayne reassured him. “Dick wouldn’t mind in the slightest, nor would anyone else in the household.”

“Well, okay then,” Tim agreed. Jason cheered.

“Where is Mr. Grayson, anyway?” Tim asked. 

Jason made a face. “Ew, gross. Please, call him Dick, he’s barely eighteen, no way he gets to be a mister yet.”

“Dick is spending some extended time with a few of his friends,” Mr. Wayne said. “If all goes well he shall be returning in a day or two.”

“Why would things not go well?” Tim asked, before realizing: oh, duh, Nightwing.

Now it was Mr. Wayne’s turn to hesitate. “Well…”

“Car trouble, mostly,” Mr. Pennyworth said, his turn to enter the room. “One of his friends has a vehicle that regularly breaks down, and it could cause some delays.”

“Oh, okay,” Tim said, watching as Mr. Wayne and Jason subtly relaxed. Tim wondered if the car in this case was actually supposed to be something else, like a spaceship. That would be cool. 

“In the meantime, it is time for lunch,” Mr. Pennyworth said. 

Soup! Tim thought. Without his permission, his mouth opened, and let out an ear-splitting screech, just as loud as he had made at breakfast. It went on for only a second, before Tim caught himself and threw his hands over his mouth, silencing the call.

“Whoa, Timmy, where’s the fire?” Jason asked, rubbing his ears. Tim slouched down in his seat, tempted to pull the blanket on his lap over his head. 

He blushed furiously, looking down. “Um, I’m sorry.”

Mr. Wayne reached over and put a hand on Tim’s knee, squeezing it gently. “Tim, it’s okay. Is something wrong, though? That was a pretty intense call.”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Tim whispered. “I’m just excited for lunch, I guess.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a good appetite,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “And I’m pleased to know that my culinary talents are appreciated. Come along, lad, let’s get you back downstairs.”

“Alfred has a rule that meals have to be eaten in the kitchen or dining room,” Jason said, standing and stretching before turning off the game. “He likes to keep an eye on us, make sure we’re taking breaks and eating enough and all that.”

“I will, however, allow certain snacks outside of the dining areas,” Mr. Pennyworth elaborated. He helped Tim back into his wheelchair and started the journey to bring him back downstairs, Mr. Wayne and Jason following. “So if there is something you would like to have on hand in your room, do let me know and I will add it to the shopping list.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Tim said. “I don’t usually eat much in my room. Well, I did a lot recently, I guess. But that’s because leaving my room made me really tired and it was easier to just keep a bunch of food in my room rather than pass out on the stairs or something.”

“...I see,” Mr. Pennyworth said. 

“Your parents didn’t bring you food?” Mr. Wayne voiced from behind Tim. 

Tim waved a hand. “They don’t even know that I was sick. I didn’t start getting sick until after they left.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunted. “And you said they won’t be back until the end of summer?”

Tim nodded.

“Wasn’t there someone else around who could have helped?” Jason asked. “Like, who was bringing food to your house?”

“That would be Mrs. Mac, our housekeeper,” Tim said. “I don’t see her much. She just brings food sometimes and does some cleaning.”

“Could you have asked her?”

“Asked her what?”

“For help, Timbers!” Jason said, exasperated. “You were literally dying, did you not think to ask someone for help?”

Tim went quiet. He didn’t know how to explain. By the time he really got sick he was avoiding people, not liking the way he was reacting around them. And when he got really, really sick after that, sure, maybe he could have called a doctor or something. But he was stuck on the idea of waiting for his parents.

And, if Tim admitted it to himself, by this point in his life he knew better than to try asking for help with his problems. It usually didn’t come.

Tim didn’t say any of that though, and after a minute of silence Jason spoke again.

“Well, you have us now. So you can always ask us if you need anything, okay Timmy?”

“Okay,” Tim said, not sure if he meant it.

When their group entered the kitchen once again, and Tim, Mr. Wayne, and Jason were seated in their usual spots at the table, Mr. Wayne addressed Tim. “Tim, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Tim gulped. He was still feeling anxious from the last conversation, and this wasn’t helping the feeling. “Um, what is it?” 

“It’s nothing bad,” Mr. Wayne said. “It’s just… Tim, how much do you know about vampires?”

“I guess not a lot?” Tim shrugged. “Just what I’ve seen in books and movies and stuff.”

Mr. Wayne pursed his lips. “And what did you learn from those?”

Tim thought. “Well, vampires can’t go out in the daytime, or eat garlic. They have to be invited into people’s houses, I think? And they have to drink…”

“Blood,” Mr. Wayne finished for him. “Some of that is right. While we can go out in the sun, or eat garlic, doing so unprotected can cause us immense pain. The thing about asking permission to enter a dwelling isn’t true at all: vampires, typically being older, just tend to be polite, and rumors grew from there. There’s a lot more to being a vampire, and we’ll get into that, but first, I wanted to address your last point.”

“I have to drink blood?” Tim asked, having figured out what Mr. Wayne was getting at.

“Yes,” Mr. Wayne confirmed. “All vampires do, and young vampires especially.”

Tim didn’t like the sound of that. “Do I really have to?”

“It’s not that bad,” Jason said. “It actually tastes pretty good to us. Like homemade sou-”

“Yes, it does generally taste appetizing to us,” Mr. Wayne interrupted. “Would you be willing to try some, Tim? It would help you feel better.”

Tim thought. “Do I have to drink it from people?” he asked.

Mr. Wayne immediately shook his head. “No. While the blood does need to be human, there is no difference between drinking it straight from the source, or from a separate container later. Some vampires prefer blood bags or pouches, some prefer drinking from wine glasses; it can vary.”

“Some prefer bowls,” Jason contributed, but stopped talking when Mr. Wayne shot him a sharp look.

Mr. Wayne looked back at Tim, face relaxing. “We would do whatever feels most comfortable for you, Tim.”

Tim thought about it. He had no reason to distrust what Mr. Wayne was saying. Tim was a vampire, and vampires needed to drink blood, so Tim would need to drink blood. It seemed straightforward, laid out like that.

But, logic aside, the thought of drinking blood was icky. Tim wasn’t sure he could do it. Plus, right now he still felt mostly like a sick human, albeit one who burned easily. If he started drinking blood, it would be like admitting he was no longer human. He wasn’t sure he could take that step.

So, in the end, Tim shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. But do I have to do it today? I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

Mr. Wayne sighed. “I understand if you don’t feel ready, Tim. But you’ll have to do it sometime.”

“Sure,” Tim said. “I will.” Though really, he had gone this long without drinking blood, what was a little longer?

“In the meantime,” Mr. Pennyworth, who had been busy in the back of the kitchen, said. “I have lunch prepared.”

Tim brightened up immediately.

Oh boy, soup time!

Chapter Text

“So Tim,” Jason said once lunch was over. “What do you want to do next?”

Tim looked at his (Mr. Wayne’s) watch. According to it, it was just past midnight. “Um, don’t you have things to do?”

Jason tilted his head. “Like what?”

Like go be Robin! Tim didn’t say. But come to think of it, it was weird that Mr. Wayne was still around.

Right as he thought that Mr. Wayne dismissed himself from the table. “I’m going to go get some work done in the office. You boys have fun, alright?”

“Okay, Mr. Wayne,” Tim said.

“Okay, old man. I’m gonna sell all of your tires on the black market for forty dollars and a bag of chips,” Jason said.

Tim gasped at Jason, but Mr. Wayne just smiled and ruffled his hair. “Get two bags, then you can share with Tim.” And on that note he left.

Note to self: office is code for Batcave, part of Tim’s mind thought, but the majority of him was still stuck on that interaction.

“You can’t just say that!” Tim hissed at Jason, who for his part shrugged nonchalantly, like he said such things all the time.

“Why not? I say stuff like that all the time.”

I knew it! “Well, you shouldn’t!”

“Again, why?”

“Because!” Tim struggled to explain what seemed to him a basic fact of the world. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and, “You should respect your parents!”

Jason huffed. “Okay, well, for one, B’s not my parent, so let’s get that straight first. Second, have you met the guy? He’s a ridiculous man. Did you know he once went to the store with only a one hundred dollar bill, and when the store said they couldn’t break it he bought a hundred dollars worth of bananas? Alfred only needed three for the banana bread, we had to freeze the rest. Pretty sure there’s still a few left in there.”

“Indeed, we still have seventeen bananas left over,” Mr. Pennyworth, who was working on the dishes, added. “I should make another loaf, does banana bread sound good for tomorrow’s breakfast Master Jason?”

Jason gave him a thumbs-up. “Sounds great Alfie, thanks. Put the same amount of chocolate chips in that you did last time, that was perfect.”

He turned back to Tim. “See? Ridiculous. Respect people as much as they deserve, no more and no less, that’s what I say.”

Tim supposed that made a sort of sense. Not the kind he would want to test with his parents though, that’s for sure. 

“But really, what do you want to do now?” Jason asked. 

“I would suggest doing something without screens,” Mr. Pennyworth said. 

That severely limited the options Tim was thinking of.

Jason shrugged like he didn’t care about that restriction. “Okay, Tim, what sort of non-screen game do you want to play?”

Okay, so they were definitely doing a game now. A non-screen one. What sort of game could they play?

…

Oh no. Tim’s mind was blank. Had he ever played a game before? Surely he had, right? At least one? Why couldn’t he think of one? And now Jason would think Tim was an idiot because he couldn’t name a game and he’d probably get bored and send Tim back to his house and he’d be all alone and

“Hide and seek!” Tim blurted out. Thank goodness, he remembered one in time. Lucky he didn’t panic.

Jason gave him an odd look, but went with it. “Sounds great, Timbers. Just to be clear, I’m definitely gonna have home field advantage.”

“That’s okay,” Tim said. “I think I’ll be alright.”

After all, he had plenty experience finding Robin when he was trying not to be seen.

“Oh ho ho, cocky now, are we?” Jason teased. “Well, just for that, you go and hide first, Timmy.”

“If a room is locked, that means it is off-limits,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Other than that, feel free to explore.”

That sounded great to Tim. “Can Batty play?” he asked. She had been content to nest in Tim’s hair all through lunch, but chirped at the sound of her name.

Jason narrowed his eyes at her, but shrugged. “Yeah, might as well let Batman join. If she’s anything like her namesake, she’ll be great at hiding.”

“Okay,” Tim said, taking her off of his head and handing her over to Jason, who took her with surprise. “You two try and find me first.”

Batty barely stayed in Jason’s hands for a second before screeching and flying over to perch on a kitchen chair instead.

“Oh, it’s on, Blue Shell,” Jason directed at her. “Okay Timmy, we’ll stay here and count to a hundred. You go and hide, okay?”

“Okay!” Tim said excitedly. As soon as Jason started counting he took off.

Or tried to, at least. The sound of Mr. Pennyworth’s voice had him stopping. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Was he? Tim looked around before it clicked. “Oh, the wheelchair!”

“That’s right,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Now, for the sake of your game, and because you have done an admirable job in resting and recovering your strength, I will say you can try to go without it until dinner. However, absolutely no running or roughhousing, and if you get tired you must inform someone immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Pennyworth,” Tim said. Those were agreeable terms.

“Very good,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Now, I would go: Master Jason has not ceased his counting.”

It was true, now that Tim was paying attention he could hear Jason whispering under his breath: “Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…”

That was a quarter of Tim’s time, gone! “Bye!” he said quickly, and walked out of the kitchen as briskly as he felt Mr. Pennyworth would allow. 

Batty immediately tried to come with him. “No, Batman, you need to stay with Jason,” Tim told her. “When he says ‘ready or not, here I come,’ then you can come find me, okay? It’s part of the rules of the game.”

Batty screeched in a way that let Tim know exactly what she thought about those rules, but with a little more prompting went back into the kitchen. 

Alright, Tim thought. Now, where to hide?

Upstairs was out. There was no way that Tim would be able to make it up the stairs before Jason finished counting. He could try to make it to the other side of the manor, but again, he’d probably only have time to make it there and no time to hide.

Hmm, Tim thought. Didn’t Mr. Wayne imply that vampires have good hearing?

With the loudest footsteps he could manage, Tim walked down the hallway. Once he was about five doors down he opened a door at random. It turned out to be a library. Perfect: there were a ton of shelves Jason would have to check behind.

He shut the door as loudly as he could while still in the hallway. Then, as quickly as he dared while staying completely silent, he made his way back towards the kitchen. The room next to it had a door open just wide enough that Tim could slip through without touching it, making it look like no one had entered.

Inside was a sitting room of some kind, with a big fireplace and a few couches and armchairs. Tim wasn’t interested in any of those (no matter how comfy they looked. Okay, he was a little interested, but right now he had more important things to do than pick out a good nap spot). Instead, his eye was drawn to an end table in the corner. It had a lamp on top of it, and a fabric covering that went all the way down to the floor. Perfect.

Trying to disturb things as little as possible, Tim lifted up the fabric and crawled underneath. 

It was a tight fit, but if Tim pulled his knees up to his chest he was fully underneath and completely obscured.

Perfect! Now to wait. With nothing else to do Tim started counting to a hundred to see how much longer Jason would be.

He had barely made it to twenty when he heard the sound of footsteps running by outside the room.

Success! Jason fell for his trick! Now to wait for Jason to search the library, realize he wasn’t there, then come back and find him.

Tim started counting again. He figured it could be a competition between him, Jason, and Batty. Whoever found him first, what time they had, and what the difference in time between them and the second place person or bat was. 

At one hundred Tim was feeling pretty good.

At five hundred he was feeling really good. He found a really great hiding spot! He was great at games. Jason would be really impressed, and then Tim would get an A plus in friendship, something that was both normal to want and possible to achieve. 

At a thousand Tim started to worry a little. Maybe his hiding spot was too good?

At two thousand he was well past worried and entering panic. 

Oh no. Where were they? Did they forget him? Did they leave him? No, Jason wouldn’t do that, right? He was Robin, Robin was the goodest guy. Or Batty, she was the goodest bat, a title Tim was bestowing upon her right now in this moment. She’d never leave him. She saved his life! She’d be coming soon. Or Jason would.

Unless.

Unless they got bored and quit without telling Tim. And then decided that they were bored of Tim in general. So they went to Mr. Wayne, who was like, I fully agree, let’s send him back to his house. And Mr. Pennyworth was like, he’s well enough to walk, he can walk home now. If he leaves now he might not even get burned in the daylight. And then Jason was like, eh, he can find his own way back, Bruce do you want to go on a vacation to look for rare artifacts for months and leave right now and not tell Tim? And Bruce was like, that sounds amazing honey, let’s go right now, Tim can watch the house for us, he’s so big and responsible now, he doesn’t need us around. And Batty was like, I’d rather go back to living in a cave with all my cool bat friends, I’m leaving too. And they all left and Tim was alone and they were gone and Tim was alone.

The thoughts in his head were so loud that Tim barely noticed the shriek that erupted out of him.

Chapter Text

Tim had just enough time to let out a second scream before his call was echoed, and something small hit the cloth blocking Tim from under the table, sending the fabric flying inwards towards Tim. The something hit the ground and screeched again. 

Tim lifted up the end of the fabric and Batty was revealed on the floor. She wasted no time and flapped up to his chest, like an arrow to the heart. Tim gripped her tight, tighter than he probably should, and held her close.

“Batty!” Tim sobbed. “You didn’t forget about me! You didn’t leave me to go back to your cool bat friends.”

Batty nuzzled up into him and chirped at him over and over, in a way that constantly communicated I’m here, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, the other bats aren’t as cool as you. Okay, Tim might have been projecting with that last one, but still.

They were only by themselves momentarily, before there was the thudding of approaching footsteps and the sound of a door ricocheting off a wall from being opened too quickly.

“Tim!” Jason’s voice called out in a panic. “Where are you?”

“Here!” Tim was quick to answer. In a moment Jason was by the table. As Tim watched the fabric was raised a little, and then pulled sharply away.

There was a shattering sound as the lamp on top of the table hit the floor and turned into about fifty pieces of broken ceramic shards.

Oh no.

“Hm, I thought that would work,” Jason said. “Oh well.” Jason bent down so he could see Tim, and Tim could see more than just his legs. “Hey Timbers. You doing okay in there?”

Tim sniffed and shook his head no, eyes watering.

“Yeah, I figured,” Jason said. “How about coming out of there and joining me on one of these comfy seats, okay?”

Tim nodded slowly, and Jason held out his hand and helped him crawl out. “Watch out for the lamp pieces,” Jason said, brushing some out of the way so Tim wouldn’t step on any. 

Tim had just stood up when more footsteps approached. Mr. Wayne burst into the room. “Tim, are you okay?” He took in the scene, with Tim on the edge of tears, Batty and Jason holding him tight. “Tim, did you break the lamp?”

Tim inhaled sharply while Jason snapped, “B!”

Oh no. 

Tim didn’t break the lamp. Jason broke the lamp. But he only did so because of Tim. So in a way, Tim broke the lamp. Tim was a terrible guest and a burden and now he’d be sent home for sure!

Without wanting to or being able to stop it Tim leaned back his head and shrieked again, the sound only making him feel worse about himself.

“B!” Jason yelled over it. “Tim, it’s okay. B, I broke your dumb lamp, it was ugly anyway.”

“I’m sorry Tim, I didn’t mean to scare you, you’re not in trouble,” Mr. Wayne was saying at the same time. “Don’t worry about the lamp, I never liked it anyway, I’ve been trying to convince Alfred that we should get a new one for years.”

Like a spoken of devil, Mr. Pennyworth stormed into the room. “Just what is going on here!”

Mr. Wayne and Jason both stumbled over each other trying to explain.

“Right!” Mr. Pennyworth clapped his hands, cutting through the noise and casting silence upon the room. “Master Jason, please help Master Tim to the couch.”

Jason did so, bringing Tim over to the middle of the biggest couch closest to the fireplace. Jason sat to Tim’s right.

“Master Bruce, please go fetch a broom to clean up this mess.” 

Mr. Wayne nodded, but he didn’t even make it halfway to the door before Tim made a startled noise. He came rushing back, sitting down at Tim’s other side. He immediately picked up one of Tim’s hands and started rubbing the palm of it with his thumb, a motion that helped release some of the tension in Tim’s chest.

Jason had also scooted himself closer, and was sitting so that his leg was right up against Tim’s.

“I suppose clean up can wait,” Mr. Pennyworth amended. He went to sit down in an armchair nearby, keeping an eye on the huddled group.

After a few minutes, when Tim’s breathing had gone back to normal, Mr. Wayne spoke. “Do you think you could tell us what happened, Tim?”

Tim nodded. He still felt a little upset, but mostly embarrassed. He wasn’t about to go flying off the handle again. 

He reached down to pull his blanket up to his chest for comfort before he spoke. Only to not feel anything but his pants. Looking down there was a clear lack of blanket, a blanket-shaped space where one would be, if he had one. Which he didn’t.

Oh no no no no no.

He had left his blanket behind in the kitchen after lunch! He hadn’t noticed, being too wrapped up in the game, and then being under the table was similar enough to being under a blanket that he didn’t think about it. Only now did he notice its absence. He didn’t know if the chill creeping up on him was real or imagined, all he knew was that he needed a blanket, now.

He opened his mouth, but was quick enough to cover it with his hand. Despite his efforts, some noise still escaped anyway.

Now Jason was looking frantically around like there might be a threat hiding somewhere, and Mr. Wayne was hovering his hands over Tim, scanning him like he might have unknown injuries.

They were both trying to say things to him, but Tim wasn’t sure what, as he was so consumed with trying to keep himself quiet. It wasn’t working out great, frantic calls were still leaking out around the edge of his hands.

Until suddenly everything went black. Blinking, Tim realized that he (and Batty, who he still was holding tight to his chest with the hand not around his mouth) was now covered head to toe with something large and soft, and vaguely blanket-like.

He felt himself relax.

“Is that better, Master Tim?” Mr. Pennyworth’s voice asked.

Tim pulled on the fabric, just enough to let his head pop out and be exposed to the others. Looking down, he saw that he had been wrapped in the same cloth that had been hiding him under the table before. It wasn’t exactly a blanket, but it would do.

“Yes, thank you,” Tim said softly. He then turned to Mr. Wayne, who was watching him nervously. 

He’d made Batman scared. He was just like a villain.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne! I don’t know why I got so freaked out. Jason and Batty and I were playing hide and seek, and I kind of panicked for no reason while I was hiding, and then Jason accidentally broke the lamp trying to get to me, but it’s definitely my fault and I can pay for it, I have a credit card. And then just now I realized I left my blanket in the kitchen, and I freaked out like a baby, and I’m really sorry.”

Mr. Wayne took a breath before responding. “Tim,” he said in a way that Tim knew meant he was in trouble. “You’re not in trouble.”

Or maybe not.

He continued. “As I said before, I do not care about the lamp. If anyone was to pay for it, it would be Jason with his allowance, but as it was an accident and he was just trying to help you I will excuse him from doing so.”

“Big of you, B,” Jason said in a teasing manner, but Tim could tell by the way his shoulders were tense and his leg was shaking slightly that he wasn’t fully calm yet.

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne continued. “You have recently been through something really hard and really scary. You were sick and alone and scared for a long time. Your brain is really scared that something like that will happen again. So, it’s trying to find ways to make you feel better.”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

“Like needing a blanket so you feel warm and protected,” Mr. Wayne said. “Or needing someone around so you know you’re not alone.”

“Oh,” Tim said. Thinking about it, he supposed that was exactly what he had been worried about. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, so he panicked and made the others come to him. And every time he went without a blanket now, he was scared that the freezing cold would come back.

“My brain is stupid,” Tim declared. 

Jason flicked him in the leg. “Hey! Don’t talk about my friend that way.”

“Well it is!” Tim protested. “It’s a stupid, broken brain. Am I going to be like this forever?”

“No,” Mr. Wayne said, holding Tim’s hand with both of his. “Of course not. Tim, don’t forget, your body is still recovering. You’ve only just gotten well enough to walk around on your own. Give your body and your mind time to heal. For now, don’t feel like you have to push yourself. You can have as many blankets around as you want.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “And if you think Batman’s going to let you out of her sight anytime soon, then you really are stupid.”

“Jason,” Mr. Wayne scolded, but the thought did make Tim feel better. 

“Thank you,” Tim whispered to her, finally feeling okay enough to loosen his grip. She held on just as tight. 

Tim looked up at the others. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m so much trouble.”

“Nonsense, Timmy,” Jason said, flicking him again. 

“What’s family without a little trouble?”

Chapter Text

Family.

The word rattled around Tim’s brain. It bounced off the edges of his mind, ping-ponging like a DVD screensaver. It would fade for a moment, then hit a different wall and would echo in Tim’s mind again.

Maybe Tim needed to sleep.

The fact that he kept yawning was another rather large indicator of that.

Mr. Wayne smiled at him. “Would you like to go and take a nap before dinner, Tim?”

“No, I’m alright,” Tim declined. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a nap. (Being sick didn’t count). “I can stay a- a-” a huge yawn rudely inserted itself into the middle of Tim’s sentence. “Awake,” he finished lamely, blushing a little.

“Sure you can, Timmers,” Jason said sarcastically. “That totally wasn’t the cutest yawn I’ve ever seen. Like a little fangless kitten.”

“I’m not cute!” Tim pouted, crossing his arms and glaring at Jason from under his makeshift blanket. “I’m not!” he said again at Jason’s raised eyebrow. “And I don’t need a nap!”

“There is no shame in resting when it is needed,” Mr. Pennyworth said.

Tim looked at Mr. Wayne, who nodded in agreement.

“But… aren’t naps just for little kids?” Tim asked. 

Jason bit his lip and looked like he was trying really hard not to say something. Mr. Wayne spoke for him. “I still take naps from time to time, especially if I have been busy during the day or I am feeling unwell.”

“That last one is debatable,” Mr. Pennyworth said, at the same time as Jason whispered under his breath, “Comas don’t count.”

“Regardless,” Mr. Wayne said, “People of any age can nap, and our kind, who often have to go against their body’s natural rhythms, are more inclined to them than most.”

“Oh,” Tim said. He supposed that made sense. Vampires probably had to keep pretty weird sleep schedules. “Okay. I guess I am a little tired.”

“You don’t say,” Jason said. “Well, then let’s get you to bed, Timmy.”

Tim moved Batty to his shoulder, and stood up, moving the basically-a-blanket around himself so it was wrapped around his back instead of his front. He took a step and felt his knees wobble a little. 

“Um, could someone go and get my wheelchair from the kitchen, please? I think my legs are tired from hide and seek.”

Certainly couldn’t be because Tim was exhausted from having three different freak-outs in the space of ten minutes. Definitely not.

“Sure thing,” Jason said, getting up to go.

Mr. Wayne stopped him. “Actually Tim, if you’re okay with it, I have another idea.” 

He stood up next to Tim, then held out his arms. “Can I pick you up?” he asked.

Tim blinked. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Please let him,” Jason said. “He wouldn’t stop looking sad for three days after I told him he couldn’t lift me anymore.”

“I still could,” Mr. Wayne said.

“For the last time, I’m too big!” Jason exclaimed. “And you have an old man back!”

Mr. Wayne huffed. “None of my boys will ever be too big for me to carry.” He turned back to Tim. “Only if you’re okay with it, Tim. Jason can still go and get your wheelchair. I just thought this would be faster.”

Tim thought about it, but supposed it would be alright.

(A little part in the back of his mind was jumping up and down in joy. “Being carried? Being held? Like a long hug? Yes yes yes please!”)

Tim tried his best to shrug casually. “I don’t mind.”

(Yes yes yes yes yes!)

Mr. Wayne smiled at him again, then slowly lifted Tim up into his arms. He was being held in a princess carry, his head against Mr. Wayne’s chest. Tim felt himself tense a little, and wrap his arms around Mr. Wayne.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Mr. Wayne said reassuringly. “I won’t let you fall.”

Mr. Pennyworth stood up as well. “I shall go and start dinner preparations,” he said.

“I’m gonna go to the library,” Jason chimed in.

“You,” Mr. Wayne said to him, “Will go and fetch a broom to sweep up the lamp you broke, and then wait here for me so we can talk.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed. He walked out of the room with Mr. Wayne and Tim, but then went down the hall in the opposite direction, presumably on his way to find a broom.

“I am sorry about the lamp,” Tim said again as Mr. Wayne carried him up the stairs. 

“I know,” Mr. Wayne said. “I hope you understand that I mean it when I say it does not matter to me. But if it helps, I forgive you for whatever role you may have had in its demise.”

“Thank you,” Tim said. That did help.

Soon enough they were back in Tim’s bedroom. Mr. Wayne shifted Tim so he was being supported with one arm, then pulled back the covers on Tim’s bed. He laid Tim down, and Tim definitely did not feel a pang of sadness when he let go. He pulled the covers back over Tim.

Batty made herself comfortable in the crook of Tim’s neck.

“Do you want to pass me the tablecloth?” Mr. Wayne asked.

Tim thought about it, but it seemed like too much effort to shimmy out of his makeshift blanket. “No, I’m okay, if that’s alright.”

“Perfectly fine,” Mr. Wayne said, completely unphased. “Have a good nap, Tim.”

He turned to go. 

“Wait!” Tim cried out. 

Mr. Wayne turned back. “Yes, Tim? Did you need something?”

“I, it’s just, well, I…” Tim hesitated.

Mr. Wayne looked at him, then nodded. “Actually, Tim, I have a few emails I should really catch up on, and your room gets some of the best Wifi in the house. Do you mind if I stay here for a few minutes to work on those?”

Wow, and just when Tim was trying to ask him to stay, too! That was some fortunate timing. “Perfectly fine,” he agreed easily.

Mr. Wayne went to sit in the desk chair, angling his body so that he was facing Tim. He pulled out his phone and started typing.

Tim watched him for a minute, until the rocks tied to his eyelids became too heavy to resist, and he drifted off to sleep.

When Tim woke up, the first thing he did was look towards the chair. It was empty. Of course it was. What did Tim expect, that Mr. Wayne would just hang around for hours, just to be here when Tim woke up? He had important Batman things to do, Tim couldn’t take up all his time.

The second thing he did was feel for Batty. He had a moment where his heart skipped a beat when he couldn’t feel her, but then looking around noticed that she had gone to her perch to sleep. She hadn’t left him.

Tim smiled at her, but decided to let her sleep.

He sat up, and noticed something new on his nightstand. There was a lidded cup, with a stopper over the hole of the lid, and a note next to it. Tim read the note.

Dear Tim,

I came to fetch you for dinner, but you were sound asleep. I decided to let you rest. Alfred has provided a cup of juice for you-

Tim stopped reading to rip the stopper out of the lid. Immediately the smell of his juice filled the air. He tilted his head back and drank from it deeply without stopping to breathe, until it was all gone. With a gasp he pulled the empty cup away from him. 

He then went back to the letter.

-please make sure to drink it slowly.

Oops.

Depending on when you wake up, I may be out, or Jason may be asleep. Feel free to knock on our rooms if you need anything. Alfred is also planning to make cookies in the kitchen soon, he says you are welcome to join him if you wish.

Pleasant dreams,

Bruce

That was nice of them. Tim thought about going to check Jason or Mr. Wayne’s room, but decided that if they were kind enough to let him sleep, he should return the favor.

Cookies did sound good, though. He should look into that.

Tim took a minute to detangle himself from the blankets and blanket-adjacent fabrics that had wrapped around him as he slept. He kept the tablecloth with him, and glanced at Batty. He knew he would be with Mr. Pennyworth soon, but still, he didn’t like the thought of spending any time by himself right now, even if it was only a few minutes in the hallway.

Gently, Tim detached Batty from her perch, and she miraculously stayed asleep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispered to her as he cradled her in his arms. “I won’t let you fall.”

Tim left his room, quietly closing the door behind him. He carried the empty cup with him, wondering if Mr. Pennyworth might allow him a refill.

He was so busy thinking about future juice that he didn’t notice someone else was in the hallway until he bumped into them. 

Thankfully not hard enough to fall, but enough to go “Oof!” and take a step back.

Tim looked up to see who he had run into.

“Hello,” Dick Grayson said. “Who are you?”

Chapter Text

“Dick Grayson!” Tim yelled in a decidedly-not-indoor voice.

Tim couldn’t believe it. Dick Grayson, the Dick Grayson, was standing right in front of him.

And sure, he had known in theory that he was coming. But it was one thing to know something in theory, and another to have your idol standing right in front of you.

And yes, he knew that he had said that Robin was his favorite hero, and Dick Grayson was technically Nightwing now, but he had been Robin first. 

Seeing Dick Grayson do a quadruple backflip that night at the circus, and then seeing him do another one years later while Tim had been wandering around Gotham, unable to sleep, literally changed Tim’s life forever. He would forever be grateful to Dick Grayson for everything he had done to improve Tim’s life. He had given him a purpose, even if it was a secret purpose, and a way to fill his sleepless, lonely nights.

(Sidenote, but was being a vampire why Tim had such trouble sleeping at night sometimes? Did vampirism cause insomnia? He’d have to ask one of the Waynes later.)

And now he was here! Dick Grayson, in the flesh!

Dick Grayson gave a small laugh. “No, that’s my name,” he said.

Tim was confused for a moment, before he realized what he had done. Blushing, he rushed out, “No, I know, sorry, I’m obviously not Dick Grayson, you’re Dick Grayson, there could only ever be one Dick Grayson and that’s you, Dick Grayson, and I’ve said Dick Grayson too many times oh my god.”

Dick Grayson laughed again. Tim wished he was near the matter transporter so he could escape to the Batcave, steal the Batmobile, and drive somewhere far away where he couldn’t embarrass himself in front of his idol anymore.

Maybe he could drive to Transylvania? That was supposed to be a good spot for vampires, right? Wait, could the Batmobile drive over water? Who was Tim kidding, of course it could. This was a flawless plan.

Dick Grayson interrupted Tim’s thoughts just as he was wondering if his credit card would work internationally. “Don’t worry about it. Can’t say I ever get tired of hearing my name. But you can just call me Dick.”

Just-Dick stuck out his hand, an open invitation for a handshake. “Could I have your name?”

Tim adjusted Batty so she was held in just his left arm, put his cup down on the floor, and shook Dick’s hand. “My name’s Tim,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you too, Tim.” Dick looked at Batty. “And who’s this little guy?”

“This is Batman,” Tim said. “And she’s actually a girl. Don’t worry, I got it wrong at first too.”

“I see,” Dick said, blinking. “She’s a lovely little lady. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Batman.”

Dick chuckled, then continued. “Anyway, what are you two doing here, again?”

Tim explained. “Well, I started getting really sick a few weeks ago, and it turned out that I was a vampire. Wait,” Tim panicked for a moment. He leaned in close and whispered to Dick, “Do you know about vampires?” 

He had to, right? He lived with the Waynes.

Dick’s eyes widened a bit, then he nodded. “I do indeed. I’m also one.”

Oh good, Tim wasn’t going to be the cause of any dramatic reveals today.

He continued. “Anyway, I almost died, but Batman went and got Batman to save me. Um, that first Batman is my bat, by the way. Sometimes I call her Batty, that might be less confusing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick said. “So Batman and Batman the person saved you?”

“Yeah. I had to stay in the cave for a while until I was well enough to leave, and then the Waynes brought me here through the matter transporter, and now I’ve been staying here.”

“Matter transporter?” Dick asked, tilting his head. “What’s that?”

“Um, it transports matter to different places?” Still no recognition on Dick’s face. “It connects the Batcave to Wayne Manor?” Nothing. 

Tim sighed. “It kind of looks like an elevator?”

Now it clicked for Dick. “Oh, that matter transporter!” Dick said, slapping his forehead in an exaggerated manner. “I forgot we had one of those installed.”

“Right,” Tim said slowly. “So anyway, Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth and Jason have been helping me get better. Once I’m well I’ll go back home.”

“Well, I hope you get better soon, Tim,” Dick said. “I’m sure your parents are worried about you.”

“Oh, they don’t even know I was sick,” Tim waved off.

Dick’s eyes very slightly narrowed. “Oh?” he asked casually.

“Yeah, they're on an extended trip right now,” Tim explained. “But they’re supposed to be back by the end of summer.”

Tim honestly had been trying not to think about his parents coming back. Because when they did Tim would have to explain how he was a vampire now, and his parents already found enough reasons to be unhappy with him, he was rather doubtful that this news would be something they would find pleasing.

For the first time, Tim found himself wishing that his parents would stay away for longer.

“End of summer?” Dick asked. “It’s June now!”

“Yes?” Tim said, not sure what Dick was getting at.

Dick looked at Tim, looked at Batty, and looked at the hallway they were still standing in, with Tim’s room located between Jason’s and Mr. Wayne’s. 

 Dick nodded. “I think I understand now.”

He then smiled brightly at Tim. “Come,” he said, “Let’s go to the kitchen and get a snack. You only started turning recently, right?”

Did that mean becoming a vampire? “Yes?” Tim guessed.

“And when was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch! It’s well past dinner! You must be starving, poor thing. Come, to the kitchen!” 

And Dick grabbed Tim’s hand, pulling him along in a rush.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to run!” Tim said. 

Dick slowed his steps, but still kept them walking at a brisk pace. 

There was no sign of anyone when they entered the kitchen, but there was a delicious aroma of cinnamon and a rack of cookies cooling on the counter.

“Nice, Alfred made my favorite!” Dick said, letting go of Tim’s hand to go snag one of the cookies. “Delicious! Do you want one, Tim?”

“Sure,” Tim said, mouth watering. Dick tossed him a cookie, and Tim fumbled it (he had to use only one hand, as the other was still busy holding Batty) but managed not to drop it. He took a bite, and instantly floated away on a cloud of cinnamon.

He resisted the urge to stuff the rest of the cookie in his mouth, but did take another large bite.

“Good, right?” Dick asked. “Alfred makes the best snickerdoodles. You want a drink to wash that down?”

Tim nodded his head.

He watched Dick go and grab a glass from a cabinet, realizing only in that moment that he had left his empty cup in the middle of the hallway. Oops. Hopefully he could go and retrieve it soon before anyone noticed.

Dick went to the fridge, and pulled out the pitcher that Tim had seen Alfred pour his juice from before. Dick was amazing, he knew what Tim wanted to drink without even being asked!

He poured until the glass was almost full, and then brought it over to Tim.

“Thank you,” Tim said quickly, and then took a sip. And then quickly another.

“Good?” Dick asked. Tim nodded, and went for a third sip.

“Yep, nothing beats a nice refreshing glass of blood, does it?”

Chapter Text

Tim choked on his juice, coughing and spitting and getting drops all over the table.

“Whoa there!” Dick said, like Tim was a horse. He started patting Tim on the back, keeping a steady rhythm until Tim felt like he could breathe again. “There we go, nice and easy.”

It took Tim a minute to feel like he could breathe again.

“There we go,” Dick repeated. “Are you okay?”

Aside from feeling a bit upset about the wasted juice now splattered across the table, and feeling a lot embarrassed, Tim was fine.

“I’m fine,” he said. Dick didn’t need to know about the first two feelings.

“Glad to hear it,” Dick said. He stood up. “I always hate when blood goes down the wrong pipe.”

There was that word again. Thankfully Tim didn’t have anything in his mouth that time, or he might have choked again.

“Um,” Tim said hesitantly. He was a little nervous to correct his idol, but with a mistake this big it needed to be done. “I don’t drink blood.”

Dick was pulling some napkins out of a drawer. “Don’t be silly, of course you do,” Dick said, his back to Tim. “All vampires do. Young ones like you especially.”

“Well I don’t,” Tim said firmly.

Dick seemed to decide he had enough napkins, and went back towards Tim. He started wiping up the spilled liquid. “Oh yeah? What do you call this then?”

“Juice.”

Dick looked at it, and then, to Tim’s disgust, swiped a finger through one of the puddles and licked it.

“I suppose that could technically be considered juice…” he said.

Tim felt vindicated. “See?” 

Dick continued. “Like ten percent juice. Apple juice, to be exact. And like ninety percent blood.”

Tim blinked. “Wait, no…” he said. “Because that would mean…”

Tim felt like he needed to sit down. He went to do so, and realized he was already sitting. 

So he stood up. And then he sat down.

That didn’t feel like enough, so he set Batty down on the table, then slid off his chair onto the floor. He curled up on his side, and used his tablecloth/blanket to cover his head.

“Er, are you okay?” Dick asked, stepping closer and leaning over Tim.

Tim lifted the cloth off his head just enough to respond. “Yeah, I just need a minute.” Then he recovered himself and set to thinking.

He had been drinking blood? The juice was actually blood? That he had been drinking? Since when? Since the beginning? But it was so good! There was no way that was actually blood. But Dick had seemed so sure, and he was Nightwing, and a vampire to boot, so he probably knew a lot about blood. But, that being said, Tim was a vampire too. Shouldn’t he know if he was drinking blood or not?

Then again, Tim hadn’t been in the habit of slurping down blood like it was soup before.

Wait.

He flipped the tablecloth off his head again suddenly, startling Dick, who had remained in place while staring at him curiously. “Is there any soup in the fridge?” Tim asked quickly.

“Oh, did Alfred make his world-famous soup? Hold on, let me check.” Dick went back to the fridge. “Yeah, there’s several containers in here! Score, I was just craving some.”

“What, ah, does Alfred put into the soup?” Tim asked, worried that he knew the answer.

Dick shrugged. “Oh, the usual. Some tomato puree, some broth, a blend of spices he refuses to share with me. He said he’d leave me the recipe in his will. Can you believe that? We’re vampires, neither of us are dying anytime soon.”

Tim cautiously felt himself relax.

“Oh, and blood. Can’t forget that, that’s the main ingredient.”

Tim relaxed too soon.

With a whine, Tim pulled the tablecloth back over his head and tucked himself together as tightly as he could. 

“Right.” Dick hummed. “Can’t say I really understand what’s happening here, but I’ll just give you a minute to do whatever it is you need to do.”

There were some sounds of Dick moving around the kitchen. Then some clinks, and a slurping noise.

He’s eating my soup! Tim thought angrily. He had half a mind to go and stop Dick.

No, the other half of Tim’s mind thought. He’s drinking blood. 

More questions invaded Tim’s mind. Who’s blood was it? How did the Waynes get it? Was that why Batman actually beat up criminals - to steal and drink their blood? A day ago Tim would have found that thought preposterous, but now, after realizing he had been lied to, he wasn’t sure.

And hey, that’s right - the Waynes lied to him. And not for the first time! They were a bunch of liars! 

“Hello there, Master Dick,” Mr. Pennyworth’s voice, along with the rest of him presumably, entered the kitchen. “Welcome back. How was your trip?”

“Oh, can’t complain. Saw what we needed to see, did what we needed to do. The worst part was when Wally insisted on driving back even though he’s been in the captain’s chair, erm, driver’s seat, one other time. But, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing, and all that.”

“Well, I for one am glad you have returned in one piece,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Now, may I ask what Master Tim is doing on the floor?”

“Master? Always nice to get a theory confirmed, though I will need to have a talk later with Bruce about warning me when I’m about to stumble upon a new sibling. But, I’m not really sure. We came to get some juice, but then he seemed confused and wanted soup instead, but now he’s not eating anything and has been giving his best armadillo impression for the past couple minutes.”

I wish I was an armadillo, Tim thought to himself. They don’t drink blood, and I bet nobody ever lies to them.

“I see,” Mr. Pennyworth said. He stepped closer to Tim. “Master Tim, are you alright down there?”

“All is well,” Tim said. The others, by the way they didn’t move, seemed unconvinced. “Please, go about your business, I’m okay.”

Jason, appearing out of thin air like a true magi, or like someone who had just walked into the kitchen, snorted. “Yeah, sure thing, Agent Pleakly.”

“Ha, I knew you’d like Lilo and Stich!” Dick shouted. “See, you should let me pick the movie for movie night more. Also, hi, I’m back from space- Spain. ”

“Yeah, hi, welcome back Dickhead,” Jason said. “And recognizing a quote from a movie is not the same thing as liking it.”

“You did like it though.”

“Irrelevant.”

Tim didn’t know what they were talking about. But all this chatter was making it hard to have a mental breakdown in peace.

“So is anyone going to tell me why Tim’s on the floor or was I supposed to guess?” Jason asked.

“We’re not sure,” Dick said. “Alfred and I were just discussing it when you came in.”

“Right,” Jason said. “And what have you learned so far?”

“We were talking about juice and soup, and he ended up here. That’s all I got.”

“Oh,” Jason said, voice full of realization and worry. “Um, did he happen to ask what was in it?”

“Yeah, actually, Tim was pretty curious about that.”

“And did you… tell him?”

“Only the ones I knew. Hey Alfred, any chance I can learn some of those spices now?”

“After what has transpired today, I would say the length of time you must wait before I tell you has increased by a hundred years.”

“A hundred years!? I thought you were going to leave it to me in your will!”

“Yes. And now I plan to live a hundred years later so that you will have to wait that much longer.”

Dick spluttered. There was the sound of more footsteps.

“Bruce! Tell Alfred he’s being unreasonable! Also hi, I’m back from Spain, the rain on the plains was mainly a pain, also also, what’s with this pattern emerging of not telling me when to expect a new sibling! Now I look like a jerk because I didn’t know they existed. Not cool.”

Mr. Wayne started to say something in response to that, but Tim didn’t hear it. At the sound of his voice, something inside of Tim snapped.

He sat up straight, and ripped the tablecloth off his head in a dramatic reveal.

“You!”

He could push snooze on his mental breakdown. 

Tim glanced at his watch. Just as he suspected.

It was confrontation time.

Chapter Text

Tim stared, no, he glared at Batman.

He was confronting Batman (oh god he was confronting Batman!). Batman was imposing, intimidating, and a little bit scary. Tim needed to show that he was not going to feel imposed, intimidated, or scared. To do so, he needed to become someone who not only would never be those things, but could Uno Reverse anyone who dared try to make them feel that way.

“Mr. Wayne,” Tim said, standing up straight, summoning his inner Janet Drake. “It has come to my attention that you have been dishonest with me.”

Tim had seen his mom talk down to plenty of people in his life, from old housekeepers to teachers to waiters to rival businesspeople. She could convey, “I am smarter and more powerful than you, and should you displease me, I will destroy you,” in her stance alone. Tim stood to his full height and did his best to sneer.

He wondered for a second if he should stand on a chair to be even taller, but decided against it, mainly because he was pretty sure even then he still would be shorter than Mr. Wayne.

“Dishonest, Tim?” Mr. Wayne asked. “In what?”

“In many things,” Tim said. “Starting with that!” He pointed dramatically at the bowl of soup Dick was still eating from. Dick paused with a spoon halfway to his mouth at Tim’s accusation.

Mr. Wayne looked confused. “Dick? We told you he was coming, didn’t we?”

“No, not your son!” Tim said. “The ‘soup.’” He put finger quotes around the last word.

Mr. Wayne blinked, then nodded in understanding. They didn’t call him the world’s greatest detective for nothing. “You found out what was in it.”

“Yes I did!” Tim cried out. “The juice, too. Mr. Wayne, how could you? I told you I didn’t want to drink blood yet.”

Oops, too much emotion in there. He needed to act cool and distant, as though nothing Mr. Wayne said could affect him in any way. He crossed his arms. Then he worried that looked too much like pouting, so he put his hands on his hips. Good. He wagged a finger at Mr. Wayne, the way his mom sometimes did to him. No, that didn’t work, now Jason, who had been frozen in place watching the argument, was fighting back a grin. Tim went back to hands on hips.

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne started.

“Don’t call me that!” Tim demanded. “Only my friends can call me that.”

“Timothy-”

“Not that either!” Being called Timothy by Mr. Wayne in that tone of voice made Tim feel like he was in trouble. Cooly, he said, “You may address me as Mr. Drake.”

“Mr. Drake,” Mr. Wayne said, not hesitating for a moment. “Perhaps we should sit down for this conversation.”

“I’ll stand, thank you,” Tim said. Though Janet Drake could intimidate someone from any position, Tim felt like he needed whatever advantage he could get.

“Very well,” Mr. Wayne said. He sat down at the table on the opposite side of Tim, then looked over at Mr. Pennyworth.

“Master Jason, Master Dick,” Mr. Pennyworth said immediately. “I require your assistance in the parlor.”

“But Alfred!” Jason protested.

“None of that,” Mr. Pennyworth said firmly. “Come along boys.”

Jason and Dick followed him out of the room, Dick still holding his soup and Jason taking several glances back at Tim. Tim pointedly ignored him. He was angry at him too. Friends didn’t lie to each other.

“Mr. Drake,” Mr. Wayne said once the others were gone and the door was shut behind them. “Do you know why you are sick?”

“I…” Tim trailed off. Had they ever actually discussed what had caused Tim’s illness? 

Mr. Wayne took his silence as an answer. “I thought so. That was remiss on my part. I should have explained this to you sooner.”

He continued. “People can become vampires in two primary ways. The first is one you may be familiar with. When a vampire bites a human with the intent to turn them, that human will then turn into a vampire themselves.”

Tim nodded. That was familiar. He had been trying to think of when he might have been bitten himself.

“The second way is less common, though it is known to all vampires. Occasionally, two vampires might conceive a child. The child will present as human for their younger years, but around age ten will start to change. We call this process ‘turning.’ The process lasts anywhere from six months to a year, starting from when their baby fangs fall out and ending when their mature fangs grow in.”

“Vampire children are especially vulnerable during this time. They gain many of a vampire’s weaknesses, including sensitivity to sunlight and garlic, but most of all, an increased need for blood. Their bodies slowly stop producing blood on their own, and they need to gain it from outside sources. But without fangs or adult instincts and abilities, it is difficult for them to gain it on their own.”

“That’s why they must be watched closely during this time. It is common for vampire families to keep their children at home while turning, in order to keep them safe.”

Tim was stunned. Was that supposed to be him? Was Mr. Wayne saying he was a vampire from birth? “What,” he coughed. “What happens to a vampire kid who doesn’t drink blood?”

Mr. Wayne looked at him sadly. “They become very sick,” he said. “Their body starts to shut down without it. They tend to become very cold and lethargic. This sickness typically ends in one of two ways. First, the child’s instincts overwhelm them, and they become feral, incapable of higher thought and doing whatever it takes to get the blood their body needs, regardless of who they hurt.”

Tim thought back to his early days in the cave, when he first tasted soup. How good it tasted, how desperately he felt he needed it, how he was willing to fight even Batman in order to get more.

Tim was afraid to ask his next question. “What’s the other way it ends?”

“Death,” Mr. Wayne said simply. “The child’s body shuts down, and they die.”

Yes. Tim closed his eyes. That was what he thought.

“If Batman had not found you when he did, you would have died within a day,” Mr. Wayne said bluntly. “He brought you to us, since we would know how to care for you. We stabilized you as much as we could. Alfred hooked up some IV’s to you to get you enough nutrients so you could wake up to drink.”

“Why not tell me then?” Tim asked, putting aside the part of him that whispered He’s still lying, for the moment.

“You were on death’s door. You needed to drink as soon as possible. We, I, did not want to put too much on you at once. It was better that you recover first.”

“And later?” Tim asked, getting angry again. “What about when I was here living with you? Don’t you think you could have told me, hey Tim, you’ve been drinking blood this whole time?”

“I considered it,” Mr. Wayne said. “But when I brought up the idea, you expressed disinterest. You weren’t fully recovered, nor are you now, and I knew you would need to keep drinking regularly or you would backslide quickly. So I made the decision to continue the deceit."

“Would you ever have told me the truth?”

“Yes. The plan was to tell you in a week, if you continued to recover. By that point, should you choose to stop drinking, going a day without blood would likely make you uncomfortable, but not kill you outright. Still, before then, we would slowly open you up to the idea of drinking blood, try to normalize it so you wouldn’t be scared.”

Tim took a minute to process. That was a lot of information in a short period of time. 

Maybe, a small part of Tim thought, Mr. Wayne was right.

Tim shut that part down. No! He wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. Would Janet Drake ever let someone who wronged her get away with it? No way! She’d end that person’s whole career. 

Tim wasn’t ready to take it that far, but that didn’t mean he had to let it slide, either.

“I don’t care if it was for my own good,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Wayne. “You lied to me. You, Jason, Mr. Pennyworth. You all keep lying!”

 Mr. Wayne tilted his head. “What else have we lied to you about, Mr. Drake?”

Tim wasn’t about to tell him. Janet Drake would keep all of her cards close to her chest, only revealing them when they would do the most damage.

“I’m going upstairs,” he said instead, scooping up Batty. “I need some time to think.”

“That’s fine,” Mr. Wayne said. “Will we see you for dinner?”

That, the suggestion of food, of eating with the Waynes, of what he would be expected to eat, of acting like nothing happened and everything was fine, was the last straw, and Tim’s Janet Drake persona shattered.

“No!” He shouted. Batty woke up with a squeak and a flailing of her wings. “Leave me alone! I never want to see any of you ever again!”

He ran out of the kitchen, hardly noticing when he bumped into Jason, who had been standing right outside the door. He shoved his way past him, raced up the stairs, made it to his room, slammed the door, and threw himself onto his bed and under the covers.

Alright, Tim thought to himself as Batty crawled around him, chirping at him in concern as she poked at him with her little claws. So he may have lost it at the end there. But surely not even Janet Drake would have kept her cool in the face of such betrayal. 

All in all, he’d give himself an eight out of ten in intimidation. Batman would think twice before getting on Tim’s bad side again.

Chapter Text

Tim was able to hold onto his anger for all of five minutes.

Then the reality of what he had done set in.

He sat up and placed Batty on his knees, needing someone to talk to. 

“Holy fudgesickles,” he told her. “I just yelled at Mr. Wayne. I just yelled at Batman.”

Batty let out a questioning chirp.

“No, not you,” Tim reassured her, stroking one finger along her back. “Human, well, Vampire Batman.”

Tim kept petting her, even as his fears ran wild. “What if he hates me now? What if he sends me home and never wants to see me again? What if Jason hates me now, or Mr. Pennyworth? I don’t want them to hate me! Batty, what am I going to do!?”

Batty squeaked, then flew from Tim’s knee over to the window. She squeaked again, looking at it pointedly, before flying back and forth between Tim and the window.

“Leave?” Tim asked. “You think I should leave?”

Batty let out a series of chirps that Tim took as a yes.

“I don’t know…” Tim said. “Mr. Wayne probably wouldn’t like it…” He was all about Tim staying close and staying safe, after all.

The fire of Tim’s anger, which had been partially smothered by his anxiety, lit up again.

Who cared what Mr. Wayne thought? If Tim wanted to leave, then he was going to leave! Mr. Wayne had no right to tell Tim what to do, he wasn’t his dad.

Nevermind that Tim hadn’t seen his dad in months. Nevermind that Tim’s dad never made Tim feel as safe and cared for as Mr. Wayne did. Tim’s dad never stayed by his side when he was sick, or nursed him back to health, or stayed nearby just so Tim wouldn’t be scared, or hugged him…

Tim shook his head. No. Mr. Wayne was a liar, and he had betrayed Tim. Jason and Mr. Pennyworth were complicit. He wasn’t going to worry about their feelings, or what they would want. In fact, Tim was never going to talk to them ever again, he decided.

That decision was immediately put to the test when there was a knock on Tim’s door.

“Go away!” he shouted, failing the test in seconds. “I mean… pretend I didn’t say anything, but still go away! I don’t want to talk to any of you!”

“Not even me?” That didn’t sound like any of Tim’s top-three enemies. That sounded like Dick, who currently was on the list of the only Waynes Tim could trust. It was a short list.

Dick spoke again. “Tim, can I come in?”

Tim thought about it, but decided to allow it. Maybe Dick would know a way to sneak out of the manor without Mr. Wayne knowing. “Come in.”

Dick opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him. “Hey there buddy,” Dick said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“I am perfectly well, thank you,” Tim said. “I was just about to start packing.”

“Packing?” Dick asked.

“Yes.” Tim stood up, making sure to keep a blanket draped over his back as he did so. “Do you know where a suitcase might be? And if Mr. Wayne has laser traps in his yard, and how to avoid them if so?”

Tim took a few steps as he talked, but the blanket must have been caught on a corner of the bed because it slid off his shoulders. Tim stared at it, eyes wide, and dashed for it, throwing it back onto himself so forcefully that it covered his head completely.

From under the blanket, the sound of Dick’s chuckles were muffled. “Here, let me help you,” he said. He took hold of the corners of the blanket, pushed it back so it was off Tim’s head, then tied it around Tim’s neck like a cape. 

“There, hands-free style,” Dick said. Tim smiled up at him in thanks.

“Now, what’s this about a suitcase and traps?” Dick asked as Tim started moving around again.

“I’m leaving,” Tim said. “I’m going back to my home. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kid,” Dick said, watching Tim open up a drawer, grab all the clothes out of it, and dump them on the bed. “Just wondering how much you’ve thought through this plan.”

“Plenty,” Tim said. Three minutes was a lot of time, right? “If you don’t have a suitcase, do you have a long stick? Maybe I could use one of these blankets to make a bindle.”

“I just so happen to be the proud owner of two large sticks, plus my own set of luggage,” Dick bragged.

Tim was impressed. He didn’t even own a suitcase, nevermind a large stick. “Really? That’s great! Could you go and fetch them while I gather my things?”

“Look, Timmy,” Dick said, in a way that made Tim suspicious that he was actually going to help. “I understand needing some space from Bruce. Believe me. If I had a nickel for every time I stormed out of here, saying I’d never come back, do you know how many nickels I’d have?”

Tim guessed as he wondered how to fit Batty’s perch into a suitcase. “Two?”

Dick laughed. “More like two hundred! But, if I had a nickel for every time I came back and forgave him, I’d have the exact same amount. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” Tim said, looking for a way to dismantle Batty’s perch. “You lack proper dedication and follow-through. You can come live with me, if you want. At least until my parents get back.”

“...not quite the point I was going for, but thank you, I’ll consider it.”

Dick was quiet for a minute as Tim moved on to packing Batty’s other things, including her bowls, which he emptied out in the bathroom first, and a little puff ball that Tim had found in a drawer and would throw for Batty to chase after sometimes.

“Well,” Dick said. “It seems you’ve made your decision. But, in my experience, when making big decisions, it’s always good to take a step back and think it over first. I get that you don’t want to be here right now. How about we start small? What say you and I go get some ice cream?”

Tim spun around to look at Dick. “Really!?” He couldn’t remember the last time he had been taken out for ice cream.

Then he deflated. “Wait, no. I can’t be around people. I’ll just try to suck their blood and stuff.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine,” Dick waved off. “You’ve been drinking blood at every meal for days now, right?”

At a reminder of the betrayal, Tim scowled a little, but nodded.

“So, you’ll be fine,” Dick said. “People might smell a little bit like rare steak to you, or I suppose in your case, delicious soup, but I didn’t see you attacking me when I ate the soup in the same room as you earlier, so I doubt you’ll attack anyone for their blood.”

“But, if it makes you feel any better,” Dick continued when Tim still looked worried. “I’ll be with you the whole time, and we can get drive-through ice cream. No need to leave the car, or be around walking bags of yummy soup.”

“Ew. Please never describe people that way again.” Tim shivered in disgust.

Okay, that might work. Ice cream was back on! Until another thought occurred to him.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Just past two,” Dick said.

“No, I know that,” Tim said. He had a watch after all. “I mean, is it daytime?”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s the afternoon.”

Tim deflated again. “I can’t go. I’ll get burned. Unless your car is sunlight-proof?”

“Afraid not,” Dick said. 

So, that was that. Now not only could Tim not go and get ice cream, but he’d have to wait hours for the sun to go down before escaping.

“Fortunately, there are ways to work around that,” Dick said.

Tim looked at him questioningly.

“Haven’t you ever seen any of us out and about in the daytime before?” Dick asked.

Thinking back on it, Tim had. He saw Jason at school all the time, and he was never doing anything different than the other kids, no big hat or umbrella or anything. Tim nodded. “Yeah. How do you guys do that?”

Dick smiled. “Have you ever heard of sunscreen?”

“...you’re kidding,” Tim said flatly.

Dick grinned wider. “Nope, completely serious. Have you ever wondered why stores sell sunscreen with SPF 100, when most dermatologists agree that there’s little difference between that and SPF 50?”

Tim thought he saw the headline to an article about that once (though he didn’t read the article; he wasn’t about to sign up for a $5 subscription just to read what he could ignore for free). He shrugged.

“Well, that’s the difference between 98% and 99% of UVB, or sunlight. That one percent makes a big difference to us. Means we can spend some time in the daylight without worrying about turning into a lobster, or turning to dust. Not a ton of time, we have to reapply every hour, but you get used to it.”

“So, wait…” Tim said. “All the spf 100 sunscreen sold at stores is just for vampires?”

Wait, what was that about dust?

“Well, not just for us.” Dick shrugged. “For some reason humans think just because the number’s higher, it’ll protect them better? So plenty of them buy it too. They’re just not who it was designed for.”

“Wow,” Tim said, reeling. This changed everything. This opened up the world to him again. He was an oyster, getting pried open by the knife that was Dick. Wait, that metaphor meant Dick was going to eat him, or steal his pearls… eh, figurative language was never Tim’s thing. Jason would be the one to go to for that.

The thought of Jason made Tim even more determined to go.

“Let’s go right now.” Tim stormed to the door, before stumbling over the edge of his blanket. He then realized he was still wearing it around his neck.

“Oh…” Tim said. “I still can’t go.”

For the third time Tim deflated. He felt like a faulty balloon (there, that metaphor was okay).

“Why not?” Dick asked.

Tim held up the sides of the blanket wide to show the problem.

“I don’t see the problem,” Dick said, even though TIm was making it incredibly obvious. “You can bring the blanket with you, if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Well I do!” Tim said. “I can’t go outside wearing a blanket! I’m not a baby! It wouldn’t be proper!”

At least that’s what his parents would say, if they ever found out.

Dick tapped his finger against his chin for a moment in thought. “Hmm… I got it! Wait there.”

Dick sprinted out of the room, and before Tim had the chance to react was back again. 

“Here,” Dick said, and threw something at Tim’s head. Thankfully it was soft. He fumbled, but caught it before it hit the ground.

He held it up to look at it. “A… hoodie?”

“A hoodie!” Dick confirmed. “Specifically, one of my old ones I don’t wear anymore, but still hang on to for some reason. Go ahead, try it on.”

“A hoodie’s not a blanket, Dick,” Tim pointed out. “I don’t know what they told you, but my brain is broken and I need to have a blanket with me at all times or I flip out.”

“First, never say you have a broken brain,” Dick said. “There’s a difference between broken and healing, and yours is the second one. Second, they make blankets with sleeves. This is basically the same thing! Even better, cause it can wrap around your front and your back and you don’t have to worry about it falling off. Go ahead, try it.”

Skeptical, Tim untied the blanket from around his neck. He took the hoodie from Dick, and readied himself. In one motion he let the blanket fall behind him, and pulled the hoodie on over his head, quickly sticking his arms through.

He braced himself, but after a moment realized that he didn’t feel an inkling of cold, real or imagined, and didn’t have even the slightest urge to screech. 

“It works?” Tim asked, surprised. He took a few tentative steps away from the bed and any blankets. He still felt fine. “It works!” he cheered.

“Yay!” Dick said. “I’m glad. Sorry that it’s so big though.”

The hoodie was at least two sizes too big for Tim, and possibly three. The sleeves hung well past his fingertips, and if he was wearing shorts no one would know if he had any pants on at all. But he didn’t mind.

“I don’t mind,” he informed Dick, waving his arms a little so the sleeves flapped. “It’s cozy.”

“Aww,” Dick cooed. Tim crossed his arms and glared, not pouted, at him. He was not cute! 

Batty chirped and flew over to Tim, quickly making her way into the pocket of the hoodie. 

Dick laughed. “Looks like it’ll be three for ice cream! Don’t think they’ll have bug flavor, but maybe she’d like strawberry?”

“She likes strawberries a lot,” Tim informed him.

“Perfect!” Dick said. “I know a place that has the best strawberry ice cream. Come, Timmy. First, my bedroom for sunscreen! And then, ice cream!”

Tim happily followed Dick out of his room. A warm hoodie, a bat in his pocket, and the promise of ice cream were enough to put aside any negative feelings he still had.

At least for the moment. He still planned on packing when he returned.

Chapter Text

Dick insisted that Tim cover himself completely in sunscreen. His face, neck, and hands Tim could understand, since they would be largely uncovered. But Dick also insisted that Tim do his arms, legs, chest, and back (Dick had to help with that last part). Tim didn’t think he had ever put that much sunscreen on in his life.

“Why do I need this much?” He complained to Dick. They had spent nearly ten minutes on sunscreen, and that was ten minutes without ice cream: a travesty. “I’m not going to take off my clothes.”

“It’s a good habit,” Dick said, finishing up the tips of Tim’s ears, which he had forgotten about. “What if there’s an emergency? What if your clothes catch on fire and you have to take them off?”

“Why was that your first idea for an emergency?”

Dick continued as if Tim hadn’t spoken. “What if Poison Ivy attacks and gets pollen all over your clothes? What if it rains? What if it rains acid? Better to be protected in case of unforeseen circumstances than be a pile of dust later.”

“You said that before. Can we really turn to dust?”

“And, done!” Dick announced, capping the bottle of 100 SPF sunscreen. He had taken time to rub the lotion onto himself as well. “Now who’s ready for ice cream?”

“Me!” Tim squealed, all other concerns forgotten.

Tim was a little worried about running into any of his enemies on the way out of the manor, but somehow the way out was clear of Waynes. 

When they reached the front door, Tim felt a last-minute wave of nerves hit him. He hadn’t been outside in what felt like forever, and not outside in the daytime an eternity before that. 

Dick saw him hesitate. “It’s safe, Tim.” Dick proceeded to prove it by stepping out into the daylight (overcast as per Gotham’s usual, but it still counted). His short-sleeve shirt meant he had a fair bit of skin showing. He spun around a little, then came back to Tim, holding out his arms. They looked unharmed. “See? Safe.”

Tim bit his lip, and put one hand in his hoodie to hold onto Batty. She wrapped her wings around his hand, giving Tim the exact kind of hug he needed.

As Dick smiled encouragingly, Tim took a step outside. Just one. Then he stopped and braced himself. 

Nothing. He felt okay.

He took another step. Still good.

He kept walking all the way to Dick’s car in the driveway, forcing himself to go slowly and not to run. Dick matched him step for step, and opened the backseat door for him. Tim got in the car and buckled up.

Dick moved around to the driver’s side and got in the car himself. “You did it!” he cheered, turning around in the seat and beaming at Tim.

“I did it!” Tim cheered right back. Batty let out a series of proud-sounding chirps and nuzzled herself into Tim’s palm.

Dick turned back around and started the engine.

“Now, to the ice cream shop!” 

“Dick, I don’t know about these flavors.”

Tim had had ice cream before. He had been to birthday parties or galas before where it had been served. Sometimes, if his class was good, his teacher would give them all an ice cream party. And Mrs. Mac would get him a tub of whatever flavor he wanted on his birthday. 

So he had experience in ice cream. Maybe not enough to put on a resume, but enough to know real flavors from fake ones. And this store seemed full of fake flavors.

“Nonsense!” Dick waved him off. “These flavors are great! Look, they’ve got chocolate, vanilla, caramel…”

“Yeah…” Tim said, peering at the tubs from behind the glass barrier. They were currently the only ones in the store, but only because Dick knew the person behind the counter by name, and when he asked if they could have the place to themselves for fifteen minutes (“My little brother gets nervous in crowds.”) she readily agreed (“Anything for my best customer!”).

Tim was beyond grateful for that. Already he had caught himself twice wondering which of the weird flavors smelled so good, only to realize it was coming from the employee. Fortunately, Dick seemed to be right, and so far Tim hadn’t had to fight any urges to, say, jump over the counter and go for the jugular, but he was glad for the barrier between them, all the same.

Tim continued his thought. “But some of these others!” He read out the flavors near him. “Chocolate Chip Zucchini Bread? Pickled Cucumber Sorbet? Tomato Gelato with Olive Brittle? Olive Oil?”

“Arbequina Olive Oil,” Dick corrected, as if that was supposed to mean something to Tim. “And don’t knock it til you try it.”

“What are you getting?” Tim asked. He wasn’t sure what he wanted yet (but he knew it wasn’t any of the ones with cheese. Because, really? What hath science wrought?).

The ice cream employee laughed. “Oh, Mr. Grayson here likes to pretend that he’s a fan of all our flavors, but he still gets the same thing ninety percent of the time.”

“Well, it’s my flavor-ite,” Dick said with a wink to her.

She laughed. “Yeah, which is why we always keep a tub of it in the back for you, even though our menu’s supposed to be rotational.”

She went into the back room for a minute, and when she returned she had a large bowl full of three scoops of ice cream. “Here you go, Mr. Grayson.”

“Please, call me Dick,” he said, taking the bowl eagerly. He wasted no time in grabbing a spoon and taking a huge bite, smiling in pleasure. “Here, do you want a bite, Timmy?”

Tim looked at the ice cream dubiously. “Is that… cereal?”

“Sure is!” Dick crowed, taking another bite. “Best Lucky Charms ice cream you’ll find out there, and believe me, I looked.”

“No, thank you,” Tim declined politely. 

“Is there any you’d like to try?” the employee asked.

“...do you have any strawberry flavors?”

As it turned out, they had two. The employee got a scoop of each on two little spoons for Tim to try. He turned around, and Dick distracted her in conversation as Tim put each one at a time into his pocket for Batty to taste. 

She wasn’t a fan of the sherbert flavor. But she devoured the one mixed with honey. Tim had to cover her happy chirps with a cough.

He asked for a small bowl of it, and the employee was happy to oblige.

“Will that be everything?” she asked when it was all scooped.

“No, we’ll get one more,” Dick said quickly, before Tim could just give up. “Look again, Timmy. Just get whatever looks good to you.”

Tim scanned the flavors again, feeling hopeless. Maybe he should just get vanilla? But right before asking, he saw it: the perfect flavor.

“That one, please,” he asked, pointing.

“Cinnamon Snickerdoodle,” the ice cream employee nodded, reaching for a bowl. “Excellent choice.”

“Alfred’s cookies really got to you, didn’t they?” Dick asked. “Just to warn you, this probably won’t be as good as his.”

“That’s okay,” Tim said. “I thought I could save some for later, and then make an ice cream sandwich with two of the cookies.”

Dick was speechless. “Tim,” he said eventually, seriously. “You are the innovator this generation needs. Marlene, we’ll take the tub.”

“You got it, Mr. Grayson,” Marlene the ice cream employee said, as though that was something normal that people asked for all the time. And what did Tim know, maybe they did. 

“Let’s go, Timmy,” Dick said, once he had paid and had his arms wrapped around a giant tub of ice cream, his bowl of cereal flavor perched precariously on top. Tim held his bowl of Snickerdoodle, along with Batty’s Strawberry. “Let’s get back before these melt.”

Oh. Back. Back to the house of liars and betrayers.

“Actually,” Tim said, getting a different idea. “I have a different idea…”

Chapter Text

Dick was not a fan of Tim’s idea at first. But after some clever persuading on Tim’s part, Dick eventually agreed. 

“Clever persuading? You started scooping my ice cream and throwing it out the window until I gave into your demands! I’m being blackmailed! I’m doing this against my better judgement!”

Eh, as Tim’s mom would say, “A close is a close, no matter how it came to be.”

“Don’t say that like it’s a normal thing!”

Tim resumed eating his ice cream; hopefully that would help keep his thoughts inside where they should be. Occasionally, he scooped out a little bit of ice cream from Batty’s bowl using one of the tiny sample spoons he’d been allowed to keep. He’d put it by the opening of his pocket, and Batty would stick her little head out, licking at the treat. 

They made it almost all the way back to Wayne Manor. Then, when they were less than a mile away, they made a sudden right turn. They had to stop for a minute at a large gate, and Tim relayed a code to Dick to punch into a keypad. After he did so the gate swung open,  and Tim found himself traveling up a path he knew well.

“Here we are,” Dick said when they pulled up to the front of Tim’s house. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come to my place? I have every Disney movie on DVD.”

“I have Disney plus,” Tim countered. He never really watched it, though. He would much rather spend his time analyzing Batman’s latest patrol routes, or editing his photos of Batman and Robin to adjust the composition, or packing for another night out in Gotham tracking down his heroes.

Oh, wait. He was mad at Mr. Wayne. And Jason. Did this mean he couldn’t be a fan of Batman and Robin anymore? But all of his hobbies and free time revolved around them! What was he supposed to do with himself now?

Dick seemed to catch his change in mood. “Hey, it’s okay. If you really want to go in to your place, we can do that. I’m sure you miss it.”

Actually, Tim hadn’t thought much about his house at all for the past few days. It wasn’t like he could tell Dick what he was really upset about, though. “Yeah. Missed it a bunch.”

Dick opened his door, and Tim did the same. It may have been his imagination, but being outside made him feel just a little bit more warm than it had before. 

“Come on,” Tim said, moving quickly towards the house. 

Dick followed him, but seemed confused when Tim walked past the front door. “Um, Tim?”

Tim motioned for Dick to keep following. “I don’t have my key.”

Tim led him around the side and then to his backyard. He scanned the ground for a moment, before finding a rock he had, a long time ago, scratched a rough design of a bird into. He lifted it and got his backup key from beneath it.

Dick took the rock from Tim before he could put it back. “Is this a… penguin?”

Tim snatched it out of his hands. “It’s a robin!” he said hotly, before realizing who he was talking to.

It only took Dick half a second to realize what Tim would much rather he didn’t. “Oh ho, I see! A robin! In Gotham, that usually means one thing. Are you a fan of Robin, Timmy?”

“I just think he’s neat,” Tim mumbled as he unlocked the backdoor. Then, before he could stop himself or think through his actions, “I like the first Robin more though.”

Then, realizing what he had said and who he had said it to, Tim rushed inside, closing the door and locking it behind him. 

“Oh gosh, Batty,” Tim whispered, crouching down to the floor, back to the door, holding his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I told him that!”

There was a knock at the door.

“No one’s home!” Tim yelled.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work for a couple of reasons,” Dick’s voice said. “Please may I come in?”

Tim gave himself five deep breaths to calm himself, then got up and quickly opened the door before he could talk himself out of it.

Right when Dick was reaching out to knock again, so he ended up rapping his fist against Tim’s forehead.

“Ow!” Tim said more out of shock than pain, taking a step back.

Dick floundered. “Oh jeez Tim sorry! I didn’t know you were opening the door. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tim said, rubbing his forehead. 

Dick entered the house, and closed the door behind him. “Here, let me take a look at it.”

He reached out to Tim, but before he could touch him Batty flew out of his pocket, screeching and flapping towards Dick like an avenging angel. 

“What, hey!” Dick said, trying to dodge Batty as she dive-bombed him repeatedly. She looked like she was going for his eyes.

Tim, after a moment of shock, came to his senses. “Batman, Batty, stop! Please, I’m okay!”

With one more swipe towards Dick and a final screech, Batty flew back to Tim, placing herself on his shoulder. Tim used a finger to reach up and rub between her ears, trying to calm her down.

“Batman’s rather protective of you, isn’t she?” Dick asked, brushing himself off. Apart from some ruffled hair, he seemed unharmed. 

“Yeah, a little bit,” Tim shrugged apologetically. 

Dick nodded. “Good. Batty, that was perfect. Any time someone hurts Tim, you go for the eyes, alright?”

Batty didn’t exactly nod, but her glare she had been directing towards Dick lessened, and she allowed him to pet her exactly once along her back as an apology.

“Now, let’s get something on your forehead, just in case. Do you have anything cold around?”

Tim thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “There might be some frozen peas in the kitchen freezer?”

“Perfect,” Dick said, marching off down the hall, turning a corner when he reached the end of it. Tim watched him go silently.

Dick was back a moment later. “So, which way to your kitchen?”

Tim pointed in the opposite direction. 

“Figures,” Dick said. He followed Tim down the hall, passing a few closed doors on the way. 

For some reason, Dick seemed particularly interested in the walls. Tim didn’t know why. What photographs there were showed his parents on their various trips, posing in front of historical artifacts or memorable landmarks. His parents liked to use them as talking points when guests were over, as rare as that was.

“Not a lot of pictures of you here,” Dick noted off-handedly. “Do your parents keep your pictures on the mantle?”

“No, why would they?” Tim asked, confused. His parents had never even seen his pictures, let alone displayed them.

Dick shrugged. “I know Bruce liked to keep mine and Jason’s school pictures there.”

“Oh, school pictures. No, mom says they’re a waste of money, since they already know what I look like, and if I ever needed a picture taken I’d get it done professionally.”

So far the occasion hadn’t arisen, but Tim knew it would arrive sooner or later. He was getting older. His parents would want to make an announcement at some point about him, showing off the next face of their company. They hadn’t talked about that in awhile, but then again, they hadn’t been home in awhile. Maybe when they came home he’d ask what the plan was.

“That’s, um…” Dick said, but didn’t finish the sentence. That was okay, Tim sometimes lost his train of thought, too.

They made it to the kitchen, going through and closing the door behind them, and Tim was able to find a bag of frozen brussel sprouts in the freezer, which weren’t his favorite but it wasn’t like he was going to be eating them.

“You sit with that against your head for a minute,” Dick said, looking around for a chair. Good luck. Tim’s parents didn’t believe in eating in the same place the food was prepared. Tim wasn’t even sure they had set foot in the kitchen before. 

Giving up, Dick lifted Tim up so he could sit on the counter. It happened quickly before Tim could protest, and once he was up he rather enjoyed being up so high, so he didn’t complain.

“Are you hungry at all, Tim?” Dick asked. “Do you want a snack while we’re here?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I am a little hungry.”

Or, Tim thought to himself as Dick started looking through the fridge. Was it that he was thirsty, actually?

With a bang, the door to the kitchen burst open, hitting the wall behind it and almost making Tim jump off the counter.

“Stop right there, brother thief!”

Chapter Text

“Jason?” Tim asked, stunned to see him in his house.

“Jason!” Dick said reproachfully, shaking his head.

“Screeeech!” Batty cried out. With zero hesitation, she flew off of Tim’s shoulder and went straight for Jason’s face.

“Batty?” Dick asked, not understanding what was happening at first.

“Batty!” Tim said, his turn to sound reproachful. He knew exactly what was happening.

“Argh!” Jason cried out, covering his face with his hands. He was trying to avoid Batty and her wrath, but having a hard time doing so with his eyes covered. Any time he would lift a hand away Batty would go straight for them, doing her best to get her little claws in there.

Tim snapped out of it first. “Batty, stop!”

Batman did not stop. It was amazing how much vengeance a single bat could hold. 

Dick came to his senses as well. He fumbled around with his pockets for a moment. Tim wondered what he had that might help in this situation. A net, possibly? Or something to throw, to distract her?

Dick pulled out an item and held it up towards Jason v. Batty. It was his phone. 

“Say cheese!” he said gleefully, before taking a series of pictures.

“Get her off of me!” Jason shouted, too preoccupied to notice what Dick was doing.

Tim scanned his immediate surroundings for any ideas. He couldn’t throw anything, he might hit Batty. And he didn’t have anything on hand she might be drawn to. He wished he had some strawberries, even something strawberry-flavored would do, but alas, he had no such thing (something about that nagged at him, but it was immediately forgotten in his panic).

Finally, he glanced down at himself. Oh. He did have something Batty would always be drawn to.

Him.

“Ow!” Tim cried out, as loud as he could. He held one arm, letting his hand droop down.

Batty paused her battle cry. Hovering, she looked over at Tim.

Tim tried again. “Ow, my hand! It really hurts!” He gave a pretend sniff, as if he was holding back tears, and tried to make his lip wobble.

In an instant, Batty was by his side. She chirped at him reassuringly, crawling over his lap and sniffing at his hand.

Tim smiled. “Thank you, Batty. I feel better now that you’re here.”

Batty chirped again, nuzzling her head into Tim’s hand.

She then looked up towards Dick and narrowed her eyes.

Dick, his phone still out, though now pointed at Tim and Batty, gulped.

“No, no, Dick didn’t do anything!” Tim said quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. 

“You’re darn right he didn’t,” Jason muttered. He had been brushing himself off. Now that he was standing and uncovered, Tim could see that he had a few claw marks on his face. Mostly they were just red, but one was bleeding a little.

Batty started moving her head back towards Jason, lifting her wings. Thinking quickly, Tim shoved her into his hoodie pocket. She squeaked in surprise, but when Tim started petting her she seemed content to curl up and stay put.

“Thanks for the save, Timmers,” Jason said, wiping his cut with the back of his hand. He glared at Dick. “I thought it was the older brother’s job to protect the younger ones?”

“You haven’t been an older brother for very long,” Dick said casually, swiping through his photos. “You don’t understand the scale yet.”

“Scale?” Jason asked.

Dick nodded. “Yep. Level eight and above danger, older brothers help, no questions asked. Five through seven, we’ll still help, but for a cost. And four or less is to be ignored, laughed at, or used as blackmail if applicable.”

Dick held up his phone, showing off a picture of Jason cowering from a bat less than half a foot long. “This was a level two.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, fingers twitching. “And what if I punch you in your stupid face?”

Dick smirked. “Level one.”

With a yell, Jason ran towards Dick, who somehow, in one movement, managed to jump backwards onto the counter, then leap over Jason, twisting around and landing behind him. Before Jason could turn around he embraced Jason from behind in a bear hug.

Jason let himself go limp, and he and Dick dropped to the ground. Tim watched them roll around the floor for a minute, Dick content to hug and squeeze, Jason yelling and pinching where he could.

Now Tim was holding onto Batty for two reasons. To keep her from adding to the fight, and for comfort. 

Eventually Jason glanced up at Tim, looking at the expression on his face. He immediately tapped Dick on the arm three times, and Dick let go, standing up and holding out a hand to help Jason up, which he grumpily took.

“I’m sorry about Batman,” Tim said, as the two brushed themselves off. 

“Yeah, me too,” Jason said. “But don’t worry about Batty. She was doing the right thing. Hey Batty!” he called out. “Eyes are all well and good, but you’re small enough to slip into people’s clothing before they could stop you. Look like you’re going for the eyes, then when your victim covers them, slip into their shirt and slash them to ribbons. Got it?”

Batty chittered. Tim didn’t like the way she started purring against him.

Tim changed the subject. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

“The back door was unlocked,” Jason said. At Tim’s look he relented. “Yeah, I know that’s not what you meant. I came to apologize."

“So do it,” Dick said, having hopped up onto a counter adjacent to Tim’s. He had pulled a bag of chips from somewhere and was eating them by the handful as he watched the other two.

“I was trying to do that!” Jason snapped at him. He sighed, then looked Tim in his eyes. “Look. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for not telling you what was in your food. That really wasn’t cool of me. B said it was to make sure you got better, and I really wanted you to get better, but that’s no excuse. I betrayed your trust. I promise to always be honest about blood and other vampire-related topics with you. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away-”

“I forgive you,” Tim interrupted. He had done so right away, from the first “I’m sorry,” Jason uttered. Tim was not used to being apologized to. Maybe sometimes at school, like if someone bumped into him. And he supposed Mr. Wayne had apologized to him a couple of times now. But no one had ever said sorry to him in this house before. Here, Tim was the one expected to apologize, and if someone else did something to upset him, then “That’s just the way it is, Timothy. You can’t expect everything to go your way.”

“Oh,” Jason said, stunned. “Are you sure? I have more I can say.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said. “I’m okay.” He looked down, feeling shy, and opened his arms a little in invitation.

Jason looked at him, scanning his face, then grinned. He jumped up onto the counter next to Tim, and pulled him into a hug. 

“Thanks,” Tim whispered.

Jason squeezed him tighter. “No, thank you.”

It was funny. An hour ago Jason had been his worst enemy. But now he was his best friend.

But perhaps, a small part of Tim thought, that’s just what having a brother is like.

Chapter Text

“How did you know we would be here?” Tim asked Jason once they had separated from their hug.

“I didn’t,” Jason said. “I had no idea you were going to be here, actually.”

“So you just decided to break into Tim’s house?” Dick asked. He was brushing chip crumbs off of him and onto the floor. Tim hoped Mrs. Mac wouldn’t mind cleaning them up, usually Tim tried his best not to leave a mess for her.

“No!” Jason said hotly. Then, quieter, “Yes. But it was for a good reason! I realized that we still didn’t have any of your things at our place, Tim, and I was going to pick some stuff up for you. Help you feel more comfortable.”

Tim wondered if he should find that creepy, having someone break into his house and go through his things. But, really, he liked the idea of Jason thinking about Tim when he wasn’t around, trying to come up with ways to make him feel better. He decided that in this instance he appreciated it. If the roles were reversed, he would probably do the same thing.

As long as Jason didn’t find any of his hidden stuff. Then that would be bad. 

“Do you want to see my room?” Tim asked. Internally he was vibrating with excitement. He’d never had a friend in his room before!

“Sure thing, Timmers,” Jason said, hopping down off the counter. 

Tim prepared himself to do the same thing, but before he could, Dick appeared in front of him, lifting him off the counter and setting him gently on the floor.

“I could have done that,” Jason said grumpily. 

“Maybe once you have another growth spurt or two,” Dick said. He patted Jason on the head. “Keep eating your vegetables.”

Jason muttered something about where Dick could shove his vegetables that Tim didn’t quite catch, particularly because Dick chose that moment to cover Tim’s ears for some reason.

Dick let go when Jason was done talking. “Lead the way, Timmy,” Dick said, gesturing towards the kitchen door.

Tim started walking there but hesitated. “Actually, could I get a glass of water first?”

Dick and Jason exchanged glances. “Feeling thirsty, Timmy?” Dick asked.

“A little,” Tim admitted. It wasn’t so bad yet, but his mouth was starting to feel a little dry.

Another glance, full of meaning Tim couldn’t decipher. “Sure thing, Timmers,” Jason said. He started opening cabinets at random, until Tim pointed him to the one which held the cups. Jason filled up a glass with water from the refrigerator (even in Bristol, it was still a good idea for all drinking water to be filtered first, if it didn’t come from a bottle. Just in case). 

Tim drank the whole glass, and another when Jason refilled it. 

“Did that help?” Dick asked when he was done.

“Yes,” Tim said, even though the real answer was: not really. 

Dick pursed his lips together. “Let’s be quick getting your things,” he said. “We should head back soon.”

“Good plan,” Jason nodded in agreement. “Which way to your room, Timbers?”

“Upstairs,” Tim said. “This way.”

Tim led the others out of the kitchen and around his house. He could feel Dick and Jason behind him, scanning everything. 

“That room looks nice,” Dick said as they passed the sitting room. “The furniture looks brand new.”

“Thanks,” Tim said. “It’s actually a couple years old now.”

“Impressive that your family has been able to keep all that white furniture so bright.”

“Not really,” Tim shrugged. “My parents never really go in there, and I’m not allowed to.”

“Not allowed?” Jason asked, sounding annoyed for some reason. “It’s your house!”

“My parents just don’t want any stains,” Tim explained. “Kids are messy, it’s better if we stay out of areas with important things.”

“Oh?” Dick asked casually. “Is there anywhere else you’re supposed to stay out of?”

Tim shrugged. He started listing places as he led Dick and Jason up the stairs. “My dad’s office, the artifact’s room, my parent’s bedroom, any hallway that has something displayed in it, the guest rooms, any bathroom that’s not mine…”

Dick laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “If I had known this would be such a long list I would have asked for what rooms you were allowed in.”

“It’s not so bad,” Tim said. “My parents are away a lot. As long as I make sure not to leave anything lying around, or make a big mess, I can pretty much go where I want.”

Not that Tim did, really. Hanging out in the common areas when no one else was around made him feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t explain. He mostly just stuck to his room, the hallways, and the kitchen. 

Jason zeroed in on something Tim had said. “You’re not allowed in your parent’s bedroom?”

“Nope,” Tim said, popping his lips. 

“But, that’s…” Jason waved his hand around, as though he lacked the words to describe what that was. “What if you need them? What if there was an emergency?”

“I know how to call 911, and we have a saferoom,” Tim said. He chose not to mention that the saferoom was attached to his parent’s room. “But they’d let me in if there was an emergency.”

Probably.

Jason wasn’t satisfied. “What if you just need them? Like you have a nightmare?”

Tim remembered the last time he had woken his parents up, some years ago when he had been a lot younger. He had known better, but the light in the hallway to his bedroom had been out, and Tim was scared to go through the dark by himself. He had gone into his parent’s room, and asked if they could walk him back to bed.

He should have known better. His parents had just gotten back from a week-long business trip, and their flight had been twelve hours. He didn’t blame them for losing their tempers. 

In the end, Tim slept in the kitchen with the light on. 

The next time Tim tried to enter his parent’s room, he found that the door was locked. He got the message, and hadn’t tried to go into his parents room since.

Tim told Jason what his parents had told him that night. “I’m old enough to solve my own problems,” he said. “I don’t need to bother my parents over every little thing.”

“That’s-!” Jason said, but stopped when Dick put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you’re a great problem-solver, Timmy,” Dick said, smiling at him. 

Tim blushed a little from the compliment. 

At that moment they arrived at Tim’s bedroom door. “This is my room,” Tim said, gesturing. 

“Oh, cool!” Dick said.

They all stood outside his door for a moment.

“Are you going to open it?” Dick asked.

“Yes,” Tim said. He made no move to do so.

Another moment of staring at a closed door.

“Do you need a key or something?” Jason asked.

“No, it doesn’t lock.”

Another beat where the door remained closed.

“...do you want us to wait for you downstairs?” Dick asked gently.

“No!” Tim didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but whatever it was, that would have been the opposite.

“That’s fine, we’ll stay here,” Dick reassured him, and Tim relaxed. He still didn’t open the door.

“What’s the problem, then?” Jason finally asked. 

Tim bit his lip and tried to organize his thoughts. “It’s just, the last time I was in there, I was…” 

Dying. 

Jason and Dick both seemed to understand at the same moment. Dick gave him a hug, while Jason leaned himself against Tim’s side. 

“You don’t have to go in,” Jason said. “Just tell us what you want and we can get it for you.”

“No, I can do it,” Tim said. He could. He could do this.

“We’ll be here with you the whole time,” Dick reassured him.

Tim squared his shoulders, and before he could think about it any more, he put his hand on the doorknob and pushed it open. 

The first step inside went okay. So did the second. But three steps in, Tim saw his bed. The blankets were the same as he had left them, all piled up in a heap in a desperate attempt to keep warm. There were still food wrappers scattered about near it, reminding Tim of when that had been his only choice for food. When he had been worried about running out but didn’t have the energy to get more. 

He remembered the fear, and the unquenchable thirst, and more than anything, the chill that ran bone deep, the feeling that he’d never be warm again.

Letting out a short cry, Tim turned around and ran back out the door so quickly that he bumped into the wall on the other side of the hallway.

“Tim!” Dick and Jason yelled in unison, following him back out. 

Tim couldn’t bear to look at them. He slumped to the floor with his back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest. He pulled the bottom of his hoodie over his legs so they were fully encased, put the hood up, and tucked his head down, completely hiding from everything.

Well, everything except Batty. Tim shoved his hands into his pocket, and stroked her over and over. She was strangely quiet. Tim wondered if she had fallen asleep.

After a minute of hushed whispers over his head, Tim felt someone sit down at his side.

“Hey Timmy,” Dick said. “Can I put my arm around you?”

Tim gave a tiny nod, still hiding his face. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and he was pulled gently towards Dick’s side.

They stayed like that for a minute. 

“Can you lift your head up for me, Timmy?” Dick asked quietly.

Tim shook his head no against Dick’s body.

“That’s okay,” Dick said. “Take your time. You were so brave.”

That made Tim look up at Dick in shock. “No I wasn’t!” He exclaimed. “I freaked out over nothing again! That’s not brave.”

Dick smiled softly at him. “You tried doing something, even though it was hard and you were scared,” he said.

“Yeah,” Tim scoffed. “And then I ruined it.”

“Knowing your limits, and saying no when something is too much for you, is also a form of bravery,” Dick said. He rubbed Tim’s shoulder in small circles. “Accepting help from others is also brave.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, speaking for the first time. Tim looked over to see that he was sitting on the floor too, closer to Tim’s doorway. “You’re doing great, Timmers.”

“But I’m supposed to be able to solve problems by myself,” Tim protested weakly.

“It’s okay to struggle,” Dick said firmly. “And it’s okay to need help.”

“Oh.” Tim wasn’t sure if he fully believed that yet, but it felt true when Dick said it. “Okay. But then how am I supposed to get my things?”

Jason stood up. “If you and Dick wanna chill there, I can go grab whatever you want.”

“Does that sound good, Timmy?” Dick asked. 

From where Tim was in the hallway, he could see a little into his bedroom, but the bed was out of sight, which helped a lot. He figured he could probably direct Jason to his things. “Sounds good.”

“Great,” Jason said. “First, we need something to put all your things in. Got a bag or suitcase or something?”

Tim had his school backpack, which was resting on the floor by Tim’s desk. Jason started asking what Tim wanted to put in it. He didn’t know at first, but Dick helped prompt him towards things he might need. Tim’s laptop went in first, followed by his charger. 

They decided to leave behind any of Tim’s toiletries, since his bathroom at Wayne Manor had everything he could need, and he wasn’t picky about what sort of products he used.

Jason asked Tim if he wanted any of the blankets in his room, but Tim firmly told him no. Even though a blanket did sound really nice right now, he had no interest in reusing any of the ones from his room. They’d just bring back uncomfortable memories.

They moved on to clothes. Jason held up a few shirts to Tim one at a time, asking which he wanted. Most Tim shrugged at, but he was a firm yes on a few long-sleeved shirts. A couple pairs of pants made it in too, along with a pajama set.

“Don’t forget about socks and underwear,” Dick reminded Jason. 

“Oh yeah,” Jason said. “Where do you keep your socks, Timbers?”

“In the dresser, second drawer from the top,” Tim said. Jason opened it and threw several pairs at random into the backpack, which was getting full by this point.

“And underwear?” Jason asked when he was done.

“Um…” Tim hesitated, embarrassed. 

“Don’t worry Timmers, everyone wears them,” Jason said. He opened the next drawer up. “Ah, here we are. I’m just gonna stuff a bunch in, okay?” He started doing just that.

Tim let him, wanting to move on quickly, but as Jason grabbed another handful he realized what he might discover. “No, wait!”

It was too late. Jason had reached his hand into the underwear drawer again, and pulled out something else entirely. 

Jason stared at it for a moment, before turning to Tim. “Is this what I think it is?”

It was. In Jason’s palm was a robin stuffed animal. The bird, not the hero. Well, mostly. Two years back, Tim had taken some black felt and a yellow handkerchief, and had made a little mask and cape for it. They were attached somewhat crookedly, and the robin itself was slightly worn. 

“This,” Jason said slowly, “is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Dick, look!” Jason brought the bird to the door and held it out so Dick could see it clearly. 

“Aww!” Dick cooed. “Just think he’s neat, indeed. Seems to me like someone’s a fan.”

“Maybe,” Tim mumbled. He’d never admit that he had made the bird back when Dick had been Robin.

“It’s great, Timmers, really,” Jason said. “Here, catch.” With exaggerated movements so Tim would know exactly what he was doing, Jason tossed the bird over to Tim. For a moment the robin was flying in the air, cape streaming behind it. Tim had pictures of the real Robin doing the same thing.

Tim caught the bird, and quickly shoved it in his pocket next to Batty where it wouldn’t be seen. He didn’t want the others looking too closely at it.

Well, Tim thought to himself. It could have been worse. At least Jason hadn’t seen-

“Wait, what’s this?” Jason asked, looking back into the drawer. He reached into the back and pulled out something large wrapped in a towel. Before Tim could say anything Jason removed the covering. He took one second to take in what he was holding, and then burst out into laughter.

“What is it?” Dick asked. Still chuckling, Jason held up his discovery.

It was a large, squishy, blue jay. That alone would maybe have been fine, but last year Tim had taken a marker to its chest, to roughly recreate the Nightwing symbol. This one, like the robin, also had a felt mask.

Dick’s mouth did something interesting, like he didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “You do know Nightwing isn’t a blue jay, right?”

“I know!” Tim cried out. “But a nightwing isn’t a real bird. And I wanted to order a hawk, but the store was all out. So then I went with the blue jay, but I accidentally ordered the large instead of the small. And then the store wouldn’t let me return it, and-!”

“Tim, it’s okay,” Dick said reassuringly. “I think it’s great. I’m sure the real Nightwing would think so, too.”

“Really?” Tim asked.

“Really.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Jason said, still chuckling. “You really captured his likeness.”

Jason tossed that stuffed animal over too, and Tim caught it as well, squeezing it to his chest. He wished he could put it in his pocket as well, but it was far too large for that. It was so big that Tim could hide his entire head behind it, which he quickly took advantage of.

“Is there anything else you think we need, Timbers?” Jason asked.

“No,” Tim said into the blue jay. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Neither can I,” Dick said. “We can always come back if you think of something later. Are you ready to head back now?”

Tim thought about it. Originally his plan was to have Dick take him here, and then stay here for some time. Maybe a week, or until he felt less mad at the Waynes. But now, Tim couldn’t think of anything worse than staying here, in this big empty house another hour, let alone days. What rooms he could enter he wasn’t supposed to, and what was supposed to be his space he now couldn’t go in.

Of course, there was the matter of his remaining enemies. But now Jason was back on his side. That made three, four if you counted Batty, which Tim definitely did. Four against two didn’t sound like terrible odds. Until Tim remembered that one of the two was Batman, which made it worse.

But so what! Timmy had two heroes on his side, plus Batty, who would take out the eyes of anyone who upset him (he really needed to talk with her later about that). Between them, Mr. Wayne didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Tim said. 

Dick smiled at him and stood up, holding out a hand for Tim to take. Tim held his Nightwing plushie with one hand, and took hold of the real one with the other. 

“Then let’s go home then,” Dick said cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Tim said. He and Dick started back down the hallway, Jason following behind, Tim’s backpack slung on one shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Due to the “Ice Cream Massa-car”, as Dick dubbed it, the three of them were forced to walk back to Wayne Manor. Not a great distance, since they were next-door neighbors and all, but large enough that Tim, who’s equivalent of a midnight snack had turned into an hours-long emotional rollercoaster, was feeling his legs start to drag. 

It only took one small stumble on Tim’s part for the other two to take notice.

Dick immediately volunteered to help. “If you’re tired, Timmy, I can carry you.”

Before Tim could think about if he should politely decline that offer, as that was his go-to response when someone offered help, or accept it because he was pretty tired and being carried sounded nice, Jason jumped in. He had Tim’s backpack on his back, most of the blue jay plushie sticking out the top.

“No, no way!” he said, shoving Dick to the side (or at least trying to; due to his extra height and probable training Dick hardly moved). “I’m Tim’s older brother, if anyone’s going to carry him it’s me. Besides, you already have his stuff.”

“But I’m older than both of you,” Dick pointed out. “I’m the oldest brother. That means I get to carry him.”

Jason was not to be persuaded. “I was his oldest brother first! I have seniority!”

“By a few days! And only because I didn’t know he existed!”

“And who’s fault was that?”

“Bruce’s!”

Jason hesitated, but reluctantly agreed. “Yes, you have a point. Most things are B’s fault.” 

The two nodded to each other in a commiserating way. Tim was new to sibling dynamics, but he was a fast learner. It seemed that it was brother vs. brother, unless they had a common enemy, in which case brothers joined forces and it became brother vs. parent. This was great for Tim, who had never had people on his side to join forces with before.

Though, in this moment, all he really wanted to do was take a nap. Maybe get something to drink. That water from before hadn’t helped much.

Tim yawned widely, which caught the attention of the brothers.

“We need to get moving,” Jason said seriously. “So we’re agreed, then? I’ll be the one to carry him?”

“We’re in agreement,” Dick nodded. Jason smiled and took a step towards Tim.

Only for Dick to pounce, scooping up Tim in his arms and booking it.

“Wha-hey!” Jason yelled, stunned for a moment but quickly running after them. “I thought we were in agreement!”

“Yeah, Tim and I are in agreement,” Dick hollered back. “We agree that you’re a slowpoke!”

Despite how fast Dick was running, Tim felt remarkably secure in his arms. He wondered how often Dick had to carry others like this to safety, to have it feel this smooth. 

Jason growled. Tim had never been chased by an angry bear before, but he imagined it might be something like this. “I’ll show you slowpoke you mother-!”

“Language!” Dick yelled, interrupting him. “That’s a dollar for the swear jar.” 

“Don’t you dare tell Alfred! Dick? Dick I swear if you tell him I’ll-!”

Whatever Jason’s threat would have been, Tim would never know, because it was at that moment that they reached the front door of Wayne Manor. 

Dick started pounding on the door like his life depended on it, holding Tim in one arm. “Sanctuary, please, grant us sanctuary!”

The door opened only a few seconds later, right as Jason had finally caught up to them. Dick only took a couple steps inside before Jason leapt at him, clinging to his back. In the commotion, Dick lost his grip on Tim, and he slipped out of his arms.

Before he could hit the floor, however, he felt a second pair arms wrap around him tightly.

Looking up, he saw the face of his number one enemy. “Are you okay, Tim?” Mr. Wayne asked, his brow creased.

Enemy, Tim, he’s your enemy. “Perfectly fine, thank you,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes. Janet Drake, be Janet Drake. “And it’s Mr. Drake, to you.”

If Tim hadn’t been so close to his face he wouldn’t have noticed Mr. Wayne’s face slight wince. “Ah. My apologies, Mr. Drake.” 

Tim ignored the small pang he felt at hearing himself be called that, and Mr. Wayne set him down gently. Janet Drake wouldn’t care, Janet Drake wouldn’t want a hug, and certainly not from her number one enemy. 

Mr. Pennyworth appeared out of nowhere. “Master Bruce, I believe there is a matter in your office which requires your immediate attention.”

Mr. Wayne looked at Mr. Pennyworth. Seeing his unwavering expression, he began to leave the room, stepping around Jason and Dick, who were now wrestling on the floor (Tim was relieved to see that Jason had taken off Tim’s backpack before attacking. It was resting by the door, and somehow in all of their commotion and flailing neither Jason nor Dick hit it once). 

Before turning the corner Mr. Wayne paused and glanced back. Mr. Pennyworth gave him a pointed look, and he left without another word.

Mr. Pennyworth, aka Tim’s number two enemy, turned his attention to Tim. “Did you enjoy your outing, Master Tim?”

Tim couldn’t bring himself to ask Mr. Pennyworth to address him differently. Hearing Mr. Wayne do it was enough. “Yes. It was good, thank you.”

“I am glad to hear it.” At that moment Dick let out a yelp as Jason jabbed him in the side. “Boys,” Mr. Pennyworth said in a tone that, had Tim’s parents used it on him, would have meant he was about to go without dinner. Tim ducked his head a little out of habit.

Dick and Jason, so wrapped up in their fight, didn’t respond.

Mr. Pennyworth cleared his throat. Suddenly the two were up off the floor, standing up with equal apologetic expressions.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Dick said, brushing himself off a little, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothes.

“Yeah, sorry Alfie,” Jason said. “But Dick started it! He was trying to steal Tim, when I was his older brother first!”

“Whatever you say Little Wing, you’re just jealous because I’m faster.”

Jason looked furious. “What,” he said in a dangerously flat tone.

Dick smiled brightly. “And smarter, and cooler, and taller, and…”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Alfred, look away, I’m about to commit fratricide.” And he might have done so too, for all Tim knew, if Alfred hadn’t cleared his throat again, halting any movement Jason might have made, murderous or otherwise. 

“Need I remind you both, that we have Master Tim here, who should still be focusing on resting and recovering, not watching who should be his role models acting like wild animals in the front entry?”

Both Dick and Jason looked chastised. “Sorry, Alfred,” they said in unison.

At that moment, Tim let out a loud, jaw-popping yawn, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Sorry,” he said, blushing.

“No need Timmy,” Dick said. “I’m sorry we got so distracted, it’s been a long day for you, and Alfred’s right, you should be resting. Here, we’ll both walk you back to bed, okay?”

Before Tim could agree, Mr. Pennyworth interjected. “Actually, Master Tim, before you rest, I was hoping you and I might be able to speak in the kitchen. I have some rather important things to say.”

Tim looked at Dick, who just shrugged, and then at Jason. “It’s up to you, Timbo,” Jason said. “Whatever you want.”

Tim bit his lip. On the one hand, he was pretty tired, and he didn’t really want to hear what Mr. Pennyworth had to say at the moment, being enemy number two and all.

On the other, turning down an invitation to talk would be rude, and not only that, but rude to an authority figure, and not only that, but rude to an authority figure that Tim didn’t want to disappoint and still kind of liked even though they were enemies now and if that figure became disappointed in Tim he would cry. 

So really, there was no choice at all.

“Yes, we can talk,” Tim agreed, trying to seem cool and casual. “But Jason and Dick and Batty get to be there,” he added quickly. Negotiations, that was the key to dealing with enemies, whether in the boardroom or otherwise. Negotiations, and allies.

Janet Drake might be able to stand up to an entire meeting of enemies and come out with their heads on a platter, but Tim needed backup, even if one of those backups was deeply asleep (she hadn’t even stirred when Tim went falling before), and the other two kept trying to fight each other. Still, allies were allies, and Tim could use all the ones he could get.

Mr. Pennyworth nodded. “Of course. Whatever you are most comfortable with.” He began to lead the others to the kitchen, Jason and Dick staying a step behind Tim. 

(And if some part of Tim, the part that was acutely aware of his increasing thirst, knew what else could be found in the kitchen… 

Well. As far as he knew, vampires couldn’t read minds.)

Chapter Text

If you can read my mind you have to tell me, Tim thought as hard as he could at Mr. Pennyworth. It’s illegal to read someone’s mind and not tell them. Wait, is it? No, probably not. Well, maybe? Wait, if he can read my mind he can hear all of this. Mr. Pennyworth, blink twice if you’re reading my mind!

Tim was currently seated at his usual spot at the kitchen table. Dick and Jason had pulled their chairs over to be closer to Tim, and were seated on either side of him. 

Mr. Pennyworth, for the first time that Tim could recall, was actually sitting at the table, instead of standing nearby or doing something else in the kitchen. He was across from Tim, and though Tim was watching closely, he did not blink twice.

Which is what a mind reader would do to make it seem like they’re not a mind reader! Clever, Mr. Pennyworth, very clever.

Mr. Pennyworth took a small breath. “Master Tim, I wished to apologize for my role in the deception of your blood drinking.”

Oh. Even though Jason had apologized about an hour ago for the same thing, somehow Tim was still surprised. 

Mr. Pennyworth did not address Tim’s obvious confusion. “This is not an excuse, but I have seen quite a few turnings in my time. I have seen young vampires go feral from being blood-hungry. I have never seen one go as long without blood as you without losing their mind or their life. The fact that you were able to retain both is nothing short of a miracle.”

Tim ducked down in his seat, feeling bashful. 

“That’s our Timothy,” Jason said proudly. “He’s tough as heck.”

Well that certainly didn’t help Tim’s embarrassment, nor did Dick nodding in agreement, or Mr. Pennyworth saying, “Indeed he is.” Needing something to do with his hands, he started stroking Batty in his pocket. 

Mr. Pennyworth continued. “At the time, I felt that it was in your best interest for you to regain your health before exposing the truth. However, I see now that action not only went against your expressed wishes, but has broken your trust.”

And that was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? The Waynes lied to him. Tim could understand lying about Batman, but lying about this, about what Tim was or was not eating, left Tim feeling shaken.

Which in itself was odd. His parents lied to him all the time. But somehow, when it was the Waynes, it felt different. Less common. More hurtful.

“I understand if you are upset with me,” Mr. Pennyworth continued. “You have the right to be. You may take as long as you need to forgive me, should you choose to do so.”

“In the meantime, to make up for my actions, you may have this.”

Mr. Pennyworth stood up and went to one of the upper cabinets. He pulled out a thick book with a plain brown cover. He went back to the table, and handed the book across the table to Tim, who took it with both hands. It was heavier than he expected.

“What is this?” he asked.

“This,” Mr. Pennyworth said, “is my book of recipes.”

Dick gasped loudly next to Tim. “No, really?” he asked excitedly. “Alfred, you never let anyone know your recipes!”

“Not until now,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “I decided that if anyone deserved to know the exact items that were in the food I prepared, it would be Master Tim.”

Tim opened up the book to a page at random. It was a recipe for blood sausage. “Do all of these have blood in them?” Tim asked. 

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Plenty of them do. But occasionally I find it nice to cook purely human food, for gifts, or events, or just because. Some recipes are written twice, the first being the human version and the second being the vampire version.”

Dick, whose fingers had been slowly  moving across the table, inching closer to the book, whispered, “And I’m just gonna… yoink!” He said the last word loudly, and gently but firmly yanked the book so it was in front of him. “At last, Alfred Pennyworth, I shall know your secrets!” he cackled maniacally. 

Tim was slightly concerned for Dick’s mental health. He looked at Jason, trying to convey this with his eyes, but Jason just rolled his. “Typical Dick behavior,” he said, shaking his head. “Pay no attention to his theatrics, Timmers.”

Dick finally stopped laughing, and looked down at the book. Only to crease his brow and frown. He flipped the page, then another, then another. “Hey!” he said indignantly. “Why can’t I read this?”

“For the simple reason that I have not given you permission to,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Only those who I have deemed worthy can.”

Tim felt taken aback. “You think I’m worthy?” he asked. “Me?”

Mr. Pennyworth smiled at him. “My dear boy,” he said. “You are worthy of much. Honesty is but the bare minimum.”

Tim looked into the eyes of the person who had been his enemy ten minutes ago, and saw only affection. “Oh,” he said weakly. “Um. Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. This means a lot.”

“Of course, Master Tim,” Mr. Pennyworth said. “Should you ever wish to know exactly what is in any meal I prepare for you in the future, you need only ask. And, should it please you, you are welcome to address me as Alfred, as the others in the household do.”

Tim gave him a small smile. That would please him a lot, actually. “Okay, Alfred.”

Tim didn’t exactly say the words, but he could tell from Alfred’s smile that he knew he had been forgiven. 

“Alright!” Jason clapped his hands together. “Glad that got resolved. Now, I think it’s time for someone to head off to bed, and by someone, I mean little brothers, and by little brothers, I mean you, Tim.” Jason tapped Tim on the shoulder just to emphasize his point, as if there may be another Tim in the room he might be referring to.

Dick, who was still flipping through the pages of the recipe book and whimpering, didn’t say anything.

Tim squirmed in his seat. He could agree with Jason. Go upstairs, go to bed, pretend that he was fine. But… the tips of his fingers were starting to go cold. And Tim wasn’t dumb. He knew what he needed.

It was different, though, actively knowing what he was about to ask for.

“Um, actually…” Tim said, squirming a little more. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Can I have some soup, first?”

Jason looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Dick paused his morose page-flipping, equally stunned. “Really?”

Alfred was the only one who looked understandingly at Tim. “Of course,” he said. “I have some prepared in the fridge right now that needs only to be heated. It is a mix of tomato and blood, along with some spices for seasoning. You can find the recipe on page fifty-six in your book.”

Dick quickly flipped to that page, only to give a mournful cry when that too proved to be unreadable to him. Tim peered over. “Coriander?” he read aloud.

Dick’s eyes widened. “Timmy, I will owe you my soul if you read this page to me,” he said seriously.

“Don’t do it, Tim,” Jason said. “These are just for you. Dick isn’t worthy.”

Tim was torn. On one hand, Dick seemed to really want to know the recipe. On the other, Alfred had said they were only for him. He didn’t want to upset either of them.

Seeing his conflict, Dick relented. “It’s okay Tim, I’m just being dramatic,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Tim smiled at him in relief. Now he didn’t have to upset anyone. And, as another bonus, he knew exactly what to give Dick for his birthday.

While they had been talking Alfred had been preparing a bowl for Tim, and a minute later he set it down in front of him.

Having now gone the longest time without soup yet since being sick, it was all Tim could do not to slam his face into the bowl. He had forgotten how good it smelled. 

And yes, it was weird, knowing what smelled so good to him was actually blood. But, Tim was a vampire. And vampires drank blood. So this was normal. 

If only he could convince himself of that. As it was, Tim found himself just staring down into the soup, too nervous to pick up the spoon. 

Jason looked at Tim, then peered at his bowl, breathed in, and sighed. “Wow, Alfred, that smells delicious! Can I have a bowl, too?”

“Great idea, Little Wing!” Dick said cheerfully, his earlier melancholy seemingly forgotten. “Can I have one too, Alfred, please?”

“Certainly,” Alfred said, sounding pleased. “There’s more than plenty for you both.”

A couple minutes later both Jason and Dick had matching bowls of soup in front of them, just like Tim had. They both wasted no time in eating, Jason picking up his spoon and smiling contentedly after each bite, and Dick slurping his soup directly from the bowl.

“So good, Alfred!” he said between gulps.

“I provided you with cutlery for a reason, Master Dick,” Alfred said dryly. “I do wish you would use it.”

Dick set down his bowl and picked up the spoon guiltily. “Sorry, Alfred, it’s just so good!”

Tim looked at his bowl, the only one still full. He glanced to either side of him, but neither Jason nor Dick were paying him any attention, preoccupied with their own servings.

Slowly, Tim picked up his spoon, and took his first sip. 

Just like that, he was lost in waves of soupy-deliciousness. He took spoonful after spoonful. He found himself humming a little after each sip, wiggling a little in his seat. His bowl seemed never-ending, no matter how many times he dipped his spoon in.

Only when Tim started to feel full did his spoon start scraping the bottom of the bowl. He was able to get a couple more spoonfuls of what was left, and then it was all gone.

Unthinkingly, he let out a contented trill, leaning back in his seat. 

A responding chirp sounded from his pocket. Batty, who Tim had almost forgotten about, crawled out and up to Tim’s chest. She peered up sleepily at him. 

“Hello, Batty,” Tim greeted her. “Did you have a good nap?”

Tim had never seen a bat yawn before, but he could now say with certainty that it was the cutest thing in the world.

“She says she slept very well, and wants to know why you’re still up, as it is far past your bedtime.”

Tim’s head spun towards Alfred faster than the Flash. “You know what she’s saying!?”

Alfred nodded. “I do. If you’d like, I could teach it to you.”

If Tim hadn’t already forgiven Alfred, he would have done it there, at the promise of getting to understand his best friend. “Yes yes yes please!”

Batty chirped questioningly. “What did she say then?” Tim asked.

“She wants to know if there is any more of the ‘cold yummy sweet food,’” Alfred said. He then frowned. “Master Dick, did you feed ice cream to a bat?”

Dick looked sheepish. “Technically, Tim did. I just paid for it.”

“Is that bad?” Tim asked worriedly. “Does she need to see a doctor? Or, wait, a veterinarian? Or a baterinarian? What are bat doctors called?”

“They’re called baterinarians,” Jason said, Dick nodding in agreement.

“There is no need for a doctor, bat or otherwise,” Alfred reassured. “I only ask because Miss Batman seems to be in the midst of a sugar crash.”

Tim looked at Batty, who was still blinking slowly. Ooh, that made sense. Thinking back, it would also explain why she was so hyper and attack-y back at his house. 

“So I’m afraid no more ice cream for her,” Alfred finished. Batty immediately let out a loud, protesting screech. 

Tim stroked Batty’s back. “Sorry Batty, you heard Alfred,” he said loudly. Once Alfred turned away he leaned closer to Batty’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find you sugar-free strawberry ice cream,” he whispered.

She chittered at him happily, flapping up a little and landing on his head, nestling into his hair. 

There was a click, and Tim turned to see Dick with his phone out. “So precious!” Dick cooed. “That’s a new screensaver for sure.”

“Send it to me!” Jason demanded. 

“Already sent in the group chat,” Dick reassured him.

Batty chirped once from her new perch.

“Miss Batman is right. Now that you’ve adventured and eaten, it is time to head back to bed,” Alfred said. 

Tim nodded sleepily, careful not to knock Batty off.  All of that warm soup was making it hard for him to stay awake.

Tim stood up and swayed a little. Dick made a motion towards him, and Jason literally growled. Dick backed off, his hands in the air.

Jason then had Tim lean on him, and they slowly made their way up to Tim’s bedroom. To be honest, Tim wasn’t aware of most of the trip. Tim blinked while he was in the hallway, and when he opened his eyes again he was sitting on his bed and Jason was taking off his shoes. 

“Sleep well, Timbers,” Jason said, leaning Tim back into his bed. 

“You too,” Tim mumbled, or tried to at least. He was out before his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

“So, Tim,” Jason asked him the next evening (morning time, to vampires. Tim had slept the rest of the afternoon away). “What do you want to do today?”

“The same thing we do every day, Pinky. Try to take over the world!”

Tim and Jason gave Dick equally blank looks from across the kitchen table. Dick sighed. “Kids these days. No respect for the classics.”

“You’re only a few years older than us!” Jason protested. “Stop acting like you’re geriatric!”

“Maybe when you whippersnappers get off my lawn!”

“What are you even talking about!?”

“Boys,” Alfred said, in a tone that made not only Jason and Dick straighten up, but Tim for good measure (even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t the one in trouble).

“Sorry, Alfred,” all three said at the same time. Alfred looked at them in a way that made Tim wonder if he missed his true calling as a teacher, then turned back to the dishes.

“But seriously, Tim, what do you want to do?” Jason asked. He took a bite of his toast while he waited for Tim to answer.

Unfortunately, Tim didn’t have one, so he also took a bite of toast, shrugging as he did so.

The toast had come from the store. Alfred had shown him the bag and the ingredients listed on it. There was no blood of any kind to be found on it, unless Tim was greatly misunderstanding what monoglycerides were (he had no idea what they were, but they probably weren’t a fancy word for blood. Probably. He’d look it up later just to be safe).

The jam, however, was a different story. According to Alfred’s book of recipes, this jam was primarily raspberry, mixed with granulated sugar, lemon juice, and pure vanilla extract. 

Oh, and blood. The exact amount being written down as “add to taste.”

Tim had to admit, it tasted amazing. He suspected that if the blood was added to his taste, that the jam would be less of a gooey texture and more of a soupy one.

Or, maybe Tim just wanted more soup. Who’s to say? Of all the ways he had consumed blood so far, that one was still his favorite. Oh, there was an idea for the day.

“Could we have soup for lunch?” Tim asked Alfred. “Please?” 

“Of course, Master Tim,” Alfred responded easily. “If you’d like, you can join me in the kitchen at 11:00 pm and help me prepare a new batch.”

“Really?” Tim asked. “I’ve never really cooked anything before.”

“Then I daresay it’s about time you learned,” Alfred said. 

“Okay,” Tim agreed, shy but eager. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Master Tim.”

“I’ll help too!” Dick said, throwing his hand up into the air like he was volunteering as tribute. The effect was lessened somewhat by the fact that he had a bowl of Cheerios in front of him, and a spoon still clenched in his fist.

Jason scoffed. “Nice try Dickhead, but Alfred’s not going to fall for that. I’ll help them out, you go and do whatever it is the elderly do in the morning. Bingo, maybe?”

Before Dick could snap back at him, Alfred interjected. “I’m afraid neither of you shall be helping. Master Dick, you know full well you still have time remaining on the first of your lifetime bans from cooking in my kitchen.”

Tim gasped at Dick. “Lifetime bans? As in, more than one lifetime?” 

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “But I’m almost done with the first one!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you understand how lifetimes work, Dickweed.” 

Tim was stunned and a little bit impressed. How badly did one have to mess up in the kitchen to be banned for multiple lifetimes? And that was Dick, the original Robin. If he failed that badly at something, what chance did Tim have?

“Maybe I shouldn’t help,” Tim said nervously. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred said. “Can you read? Follow instructions? Refrain from filling a pan with marshmallow fluff, put it on the stovetop on the highest setting, and leave the room and forget about it?”

Tim brightened. He could do all those things! He nodded.

“Then you shall do just fine,” Alfred said reassuringly, smiling at Tim. Tim smiled back.

“You try to make crustless s’mores one time,” Dick grumbled around another bite of his cereal. 

“It was three times,” Alfred deadpanned. “One of them in the middle of the day when we were all sleeping. You left the house and we all woke up to the fire alarm. We had to replace the cabinets due to smoke damage.”

Dick shrugged at Tim’s wide-eyed disbelief. “I got a craving for a smoothie and had to go buy one. You know how it is.”

Tim really didn’t. Though, a blood smoothie actually sounded really good. “Can you make smoothies out of blood?” he asked aloud.

“Sure you can,” Jason answered. “It’s best with strawberry banana, or mixed berry, but that’s just so the color blends in. I’ve tried it mixed with chocolate banana before, and it wasn’t bad. I’ll show you at lunchtime.”

Alfred coughed pointedly.

“Alfred, no!” Jason said, spinning to stare at him. “I thought you were kidding!”

“I never kid about who is and isn’t allowed to cook in my kitchen,” Alfred said. 

“But-!” 

Alfred was unrelenting. “I’m afraid you will have to finish your lifetime ban before you can cook in here again. Let this be a lesson not to prank your brother with ghost peppers hidden in communal food dishes.”

Jason looked utterly dejected. Tim felt bad for him, and reached out to pat his arm. 

“There, there,” he said. “It’s okay.” That was how people comforted one another, right? Tim didn’t have much basis for comparison. He supposed he could offer Jason a blanket. He didn’t have one on currently though, just Dick’s hoodie, which he hadn’t taken off since putting on. He would offer it to Jason, but then Tim wouldn’t have a hoodie or blanket, and that would be bad for everyone. 

Tim scanned the room as though a blanket would magically appear. And somehow, it worked! Draped over a stool by the counter was a light yellow blanket, folded onto itself so that none of it touched the ground.

Tim immediately went over and felt it. Yep, it was indeed as soft as it looked. Perfect. He went back to Jason and wrapped the blanket around his back and shoulders, making sure his head was free.

When he was done he stepped back and beamed proudly at Jason, letting out a little trill unconsciously. 

Jason, for his part, just stared at Tim, and the longer it went on the more Tim’s pride turned to self-consciousness. 

Just when Tim was about to apologize for overstepping, Jason lunged forward and pulled Tim into a tight hug. 

“That was so cute, Timmers,” Jason said, squeezing. “Thanks. I feel better now.”

Tim hugged him back, full of pride again. He did it! That A plus in friendship was as good as his.

After a minute Jason let him go. “Seems like we have a few hours to kill until your culinary lesson,” he said. “Do you want to go to the library? I found some books that I think you might like.”

Tim was about to agree, until he remembered that walking to the library meant walking past Mr. Wayne’s office. He hadn’t seen the man yet today, and he wasn’t eager to start now.

“Is Mr. Wayne in his office?” Tim asked.

Alfred shook his head. “He is out running some errands.”

Tim cocked his head. “At night?” 

Alfred nodded, and Tim realized that ‘errands’ was code for Batman-ing. “Oh, okay.” 

He thought for a split second about telling them that he knew, but decided against it. Partially out of habit, partially because part of him (the part still hurt by Mr. Wayne) felt bitter still about being lied to, and lying to them in some way by not relieving what he knew felt fair.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Dick asked, probably for Tim’s benefit.

“Likely not until early morning,” Alfred replied.

Jason and Dick looked at each other, matching mischievous grins on their faces. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Jason asked.

“I knew you got that reference!” Dick shouted. “But yes.”

They both turned to Tim. “Want to prank B?” Jason asked.

Tim had never agreed to something so fast in his life.

Chapter Text

Tim had never pranked anyone before.

Honestly, it had never occurred to him to ever do something like that. Not even on April Fools’ Day. Who would he prank? His housekeeper? She was an employee, that would just be mean. His parents? No thank you, Tim wanted to live to see his teen years. 

So he had absolutely no idea where to even start.

Fortunately, Dick and Jason were both more than willing to share their knowledge and experience with him.

“The key to pranks,” Dick said as they gathered supplies from a closet in Bruce’s office, “is to make sure that they embarrass or bother the target, but cause no permanent damage. Remember Tim: humiliate, not harm.”

“Unless they really made you mad, in which case a little harm is okay,” Jason said, his arms full of 2x4 planks he had gathered from somewhere. Dick gave him a scolding look. “What? Kid’s gotta stand up for himself, not let people walk all over him.”

“I don’t really want to hurt Mr. Wayne,” Tim said. Get revenge on him, oh yes for sure, but if he hurt Batman then he was definitely a villain. What would his villain name even be? Bat-boy? No, that sounded like he was Batman’s sidekick. 

See? He couldn’t be a villain without a cool name, and he didn’t have a cool name so he couldn’t be a villain, so he couldn’t hurt Mr. Wayne.

The fact that he didn’t want to hurt Mr. Wayne simply because the thought of doing so made him feel bad was irrelevant. This was all about the name thing.

“We’re not going to hurt him,” Dick reassured Tim. 

“Well…” Jason hummed.

“No.”

“Just a little?”

Dick glared at Jason, who relented. “Fine,” he huffed. “Not like he couldn’t take it.”

“As I was saying,” Dick said, turning his attention back to Tim. He started passing Tim things down from the closet, including feathers, googly eyes, and glue bottles. “Rule one is do no lasting harm. Rule two is don’t get caught.”

“Now that I agree with,” Jason said. “Not sure how this is going to work for us now though. Usually Dick and I just blame each other.”

“I don’t care if he knows it’s me,” Tim said. 

“Really?” Jason asked.

“Really,” Tim said firmly. He wanted Mr. Wayne to know that he had wronged Tim, and that he was wrong to do so. That Tim was mad at him, and that nothing would make Tim forgive him. 

“Well alright then,” Jason shrugged. “I was going to say that your bat did it, if asked.”

Tim laughed. “I don’t think pranks are her style.”

“You’re right,” Dick said. “I don’t think she’d even be able to follow rule one.”

They were probably right. “I mean, it probably didn’t help that you both were encouraging her violent tendencies earlier.”

Tim still needed to have a talk with her about that. He couldn’t right now though. After leaving the kitchen and seeking out prank supplies Batty had indicated that she wanted to go out. Tim figured she probably wanted some time to hunt and stretch her wings, and let her go. Hopefully she wasn’t getting into trouble. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Dick said apologetically. 

“I’m not,” Jason snorted. “Far as I’m concerned, death by bat is exactly what someone deserves if they hurt you.”

“But not in this instance,” Dick said pointedly.

Jason sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “No Dick, not in this instance. No, this time revenge shall be served in…”

“Pranks!” Tim chirped gleefully. He was starting to get some ideas of just what to do with all the stuff at his disposal. 

“Exactly!” Dick said proudly. He then stopped what he was doing and looked at Tim seriously. He knelt down and put one hand on Tim’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“Tim,” he said. “There is a rule three to pranks, and this one is more important than the other two combined.”

Tim gulped and nodded, ready to listen.

Dick spoke earnestly. “Never, and I mean never, prank Alfred, directly or indirectly.”

Dick and Jason shivered at the same time. “Seriously, learn from our mistakes,” Jason said. His eyes were of an ex-soldier having war flashbacks. 

“Okay,” Tim agreed. Should be easy enough. It wasn’t like he wanted to prank anyone but Mr. Wayne anyway. “Can we get started now?”

“Certainly!” Dick beamed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

“Tim, do you think that’s enough googly eyes?” 

“Um, I don’t know. Lie down and see what you think.”

“Oh, yikes! Yeah, that’s definitely creepy. Probably enough with the eyes.”

“Add ten more just to be safe.”

“Jason!”

“Are you sure it’s okay to mess with his clothes?”

“Yes, Timbers, I’m sure. It’s fine.”

“But won’t he be mad?”

“Thought that was the whole point. Get him mad like you’re mad.”

“Well yeah, I want him mad I guess, just not mad at… me.”

“Aww, Timmers. It’ll be okay. I did the same thing to B’s stuff soon after I moved in, and he didn’t care.”

“He didn’t?”

“He was glad I ‘felt safe enough to test boundaries.’ Can you believe that? So no, he won’t care that we’re drawing on his shirts and ties. He’ll probably think it’s funny and wear it to the next board meeting or something.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“Sure as Robin’s the best hero. Hey Dick, how’s Prank C coming along?”

“How come I have to do all the heavy lifting and you two just get to watch and color?”

“Are you saying that Tim should be moving furniture?”

“No, but you sure could!”

“Sorry Dick, but if a dresser falls on me it could crush me to death. That means it’s at least a level eight danger. And older brothers protect their younger ones from such dangers, no questions asked.”

“...I see you’re working on your own revenge as well.”

“You know what they say, work smarter not harder. Now lift with your legs!”

“Will he even notice that we switched the flavor of toothpaste from spearmint to wintergreen?”

“Trust us Timmy, not only will he notice, he’ll drive himself nuts trying to figure out how we got the other flavor of toothpaste in the tube.”

Tim, Dick, and Jason finally announced their work as completed after five hours. It had taken thirteen pranks, but finally Tim felt like he had gotten all the revenge he could want. 

“We’ve done good work, team,” Dick said proudly when they were done.

“Yep,” Jason said, looking around Mr. Wayne’s room. “Good job, Tim. I never would have thought of half of these.”

“Thanks,” Tim said. “And thank you both for your help.”

“No problem,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Dick said. “We’ll help you get revenge on Bruce anytime. Don’t even need a reason, really.”

Tim smiled at them. “Can we go get a snack?” he asked. They had stopped a bit for lunch an hour ago, but pranking was hard work and Tim was hungry again.

“Sure thing, Timbo,” Jason said. He started leaving Mr. Wayne’s room, and Tim and Dick followed him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Um, maybe a banana? Or an apple? Or a melon? Or-”

“Are you sure you’re a vampire and not a fruit bat, Tim?”

Jason and Dick laughed, and Tim laughed along with them. Somehow, it felt good to be teased. Like brothers do.

As they passed the front hallway, Tim’s laughter faded as he saw the front door open. 

And when he saw who entered, it stopped completely.

Chapter Text

It was Mr. Wayne. Of course it was Mr. Wayne. Who else would it be? 

Even if he was currently trying to disguise himself by holding a bunch of duffle bags in his arms, blocking his face. He had the handles of shopping bags looped around his arms, further obscuring his body. It was hard to count, but he seemed to have about nine bags total. Tim was surprised he could carry them all. Then he remembered Mr. Wayne was Batman and he was less surprised.

Alfred entered the hallway, took one look at Mr. Wayne, and sighed. “You do realize that you could go back to the car, you don’t need to bring every bag in with you at once.”

“It’s about honor, Alfred,” Mr. Wayne said as he started setting bags down on the floor. Jason nodded seriously in agreement. Alfred just sighed.

Mr. Wayne seemed to notice Tim for the first time. “Oh. Hello T-Mr. Drake.”

Tim was really starting to regret that request, but he couldn’t go back now. “Mr. Wayne.”

Jason started poking at one of the bags Mr. Wayne had set down. “Out doing some late-night shopping, B?”

Mr. Wayne frowned. “Unfortunately no. Turns out most home good stores aren’t open past midnight. But I was able to call in some favors.”

“What did you get?” Tim asked, curious in spite of himself.

Mr. Wayne gestured to one of the bags. “Take a look.”

Tim went over and opened up the bag, only to be met with a large bundle of fabric. At Mr. Wayne’s nod he took it out, revealing it to be a large, fuzzy, red-and-blue blanket. 

“Borrowed that from my friend Clark,” Mr. Wayne said. “Do you like it?”

Tim answered honestly, distracted by the nice, soft feel of the blanket. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mr. Wayne nodded. “It’s yours.”

“What?” Tim looked up, startled. “But I already have a blanket. Lots, actually.” And a tablecloth, if that counted. Tim decided it did.

“You can never have too many,” Mr. Wayne said. “I want to make sure that while you are in this house, you feel safe. Having blankets available in every room is the least I can do.”

Tim thought of the blanket he had used to wrap around Jason, and how it had randomly been in the kitchen. “Wait, so all of these blankets…”

“Are for you.” Mr. Wayne spoke earnestly, leaving Tim no doubt that he meant what he said. “I’ll spread them throughout the house. Feel free to use whatever you want. Or don’t. It’s completely up to you, but they’ll always be available should you need them. Though,” he peered at Tim. “You don’t seem to have a blanket, now…”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Dick asked. He was investigating one of the bags, sorting out a few blankets. He looked at a green one scornfully, but nodded at a blue and black one. “Tim’s made the upgrade to hoodies, aka portable blankets.”

“Blankets with sleeves, of course,” Mr. Wayne muttered. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Louder, he said, “Alfred, are there any clothing stores open at this hour? Or opening soon? I know blankets were a bust, but surely some people want to buy clothes at,” he checked his watch, “four in the morning.”

“I know just the place on the other side of town,” Alfred said. “Let me give you the directions.”

Tim was overwhelmed. Dick, and now Jason too, were still pulling out blanket after blanket from the bags. There had to be dozens, all in different patterns and textures, but each appealing in its own way. 

Mr. Wayne had spent his night doing this? Instead of fighting the criminals of Gotham, he had spent his time gathering materials for Tim. So that, what? Tim would be safe and warm? As though Tim’s comfort was somehow more important than Mr. Wayne’s work. That… didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t understand,” Tim said helplessly. He rubbed the edge of a nearby blanket with his fingers anxiously. 

Mr. Wayne looked at Tim, and moved so that he was in front of him. He knelt down on one knee. He reached out a hand towards Tim like he was going to touch his shoulder, but changed his mind and let it fall by his side. 

Looking into Tim’s eyes, so close that Tim was forced to read the sincerity in them, Mr. Wayne spoke. “Tim. You are important to me. I care about you. I want you to be happy, healthy, and safe. I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. If there’s anything I can do-oof!”

Mr. Wayne’s words were cut off by Tim lunging forward and hitting Mr. Wayne’s chest, wrapping his arms around him in the tightest hug he could manage.

Mr. Wayne remained frozen for a moment, before raising his arms and wrapping them around Tim as well, holding him gently. 

“Aww,” Jason and Dick chorused behind them, but Tim ignored them, too busy relishing in the feeling of safety and comfort.

It wasn’t about the blankets. Not really. Well, it was a little. But mostly it was that Tim had been chosen. He had come first. He was the priority, for what felt like the first time in his life. 

After a lifetime of “later’s” and “next time’s” and “soon’s” he finally was getting a “now.”

Tim felt a small buzzing in his chest, which traveled up towards his throat, growing in size as it did so. “What’s that?” Tim asked, his voice shaking like he was talking into a fan.

Mr. Wayne smiled at him and rubbed his back, causing the vibrations to increase, while Dick in the background cooed again, whispering, “Oh my gosh that is just too cute.”

“You’re purring, Tim,” Mr. Wayne explained. “It’s a rather rare vampire trait.”

“I personally have only known a handful of other vampires who could do it,” Alfred said. He had been unpacking the remainder of the blankets while Mr. Wayne and Tim had been busy, and now the room was full of them. Every piece of furniture was covered. Jason seemed to have taken one for himself, a blue one with a golden “WW” on it, and had wrapped it around his shoulders. “You are the first in our family who can.”

Our family. As if Tim was a part of it. Which, he was starting to believe he was.

“How do I make it stop?” Tim asked. The sound kept flowing out of him, like a swarm of bees had gotten trapped in his lungs.

“You’re purring because you’re happy,” Jason said. “So, I guess stop being happy?”

Tim tried, but all he could think about was how nice it felt to be in Mr. Wayne’s arms again, and how he couldn’t wait to try out all his new blankets, and how he was part of a family who wanted him. “I can’t,” Tim said helplessly. If anything the noise got louder.

Dick held his hands in front of his mouth and quietly screamed into them. “It’s too cute, I can’t, I can’t. Jason, pinch me, I must be dreaming.”

“On it,” Jason said, and he went over and punched Dick in the arm.

“What, hey!” Dick said, reeling back, rubbing where Jason had hit him. He glared at Jason. “That was not a pinch!”

“Eh, tomato tomato,” Jason shrugged, pronouncing the word the same way both times. 

Tim couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing, finally cutting off the purring noise.

“Look what you did!” Dick said accusingly, pointing at Tim. “I’ll get you for that!” He lunged at Jason, tackling him to the ground, and soon the two were rolling around and fighting much like they had done before.

Alfred just sighed, while Mr. Wayne ignored them. He smiled at Tim. “Does this mean you forgive me, Mr. Drake?”

“I do,” Tim nodded. He took a half-step back, slightly out of Mr. Wayne’s arms, and stuck out his hand. “And please, call me Tim.”

Mr. Wayne took Tim’s hand and shook it seriously, but with a loving smile still on his face. “Of course, Tim. And please, feel free to call me Bruce.”

Bruce. Tim could do that. Even if it still didn’t feel quite right, as though there was something else that Tim wanted to call him instead. 

“Okay, Bruce,” Tim smiled, pushing away the feeling. He could figure it out later. 

Bruce smiled at Tim one more time, and then stood up. “I’m going to go change into something more comfortable. After that would you like me to help you find good spots for these?” He gestured at the blanket piles.

Tim nodded, even as Alfred said, “I’m afraid I must insist that these be washed first before being put into use.”

“I was promised that all of these were clean when I picked them up,” Bruce said. Alfred looked at the blankets skeptically, particularly at the green one, but didn’t protest.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Tim.” Bruce left the room, stepping around Jason and Dick on his way, who were still fighting on the floor. 

Tim occupied himself with testing the textures of the different blankets. He wondered where Bruce had gotten them, if the stores were all closed. Were they all from his friend Clark?

It took Tim a minute to remember why Bruce going into his bedroom right now was a bad idea.

“Wait!” Tim shouted, running down the hallway, leaping over Dick and Jason on his way.

He hoped he wasn’t too late.

Chapter Text

He was too late.

Tim stood in the hallway and stared in dismay at Bruce, who in turn was standing in the doorway of his room and staring in disbelief at what was inside. At least, Tim assumed it was disbelief. It was hard to tell. Tim had said it before and he’d say it again, Bruce should really go to Las Vegas, he’d make a killing. 

The two of them stood side by side for a minute in silence, before Bruce slowly started to inch his way into the room, being careful of where he stepped. His eyes roamed around, cataloging all of the changes Tim and the others had made to it.

Finally, Tim could take the silence no more. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry! A few hours ago you were my number-one enemy, and I was really mad at you, and somehow I thought this would be a good idea, and I’m really, really sorry…”

Bruce just kept slowly moving around the room, occasionally reaching out to poke something, or to nudge something gently out of the way. He had to keep lifting up his feet to avoid the trip wires, but he was doing impressively well so far. He hadn’t set off a single one.

“This was all your idea?” Bruce asked, peering into the dresser drawer they had left cracked open just a little, so as to be tempting. 

Tim thought for a moment. He had a choice to make here. Did he accept all of the blame, or should he be honest and admit Dick and Jason’s parts in it?

He thought back to Dick’s scale. Level eight and above danger, older brothers help, no questions asked. Tim didn’t know if that counted for younger brothers, but he would assume for the moment it did. Well, getting Bruce, a father/father figure, angry was clearly a level ten danger, eleven if the scale would allow for it.

And so, Tim’s choice was clear.

“It was all my idea,” Tim said, trying to appear honest and contrite (the last part was not hard to pull off). “I came up with the idea to do a bunch of pranks on you. I’m really sorry. I’ll accept whatever punishment you give me.”

Hopefully Bruce wouldn’t send him away over this. Tim didn’t think he would, not after he had spent so much time and effort on him, but again, Tim had never acted out before, not on purpose like this. Maybe this was crossing a line. Maybe he would be sent away, to be alone again.

He felt the urge to screech in fear and pushed it down. He deserved whatever punishment he got, even if it was… that.

There was the sound of running footsteps, and Tim turned to see Dick and Jason sprinting down the hall towards him.

Jason reached him first. “Don’t listen to him!” he yelled, throwing one hand over Tim’s mouth. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying! He’s delirious!”

“Yeah!” Dick, who had caught up, added. “Afterall, I am Spartacus!”

“You? No way!” Jason protested. “I am Spartacus!”

“No, I’m Spartacus!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Boys,” Bruce said, cutting through their argument. “Am I to understand that all three of you came up with the idea to prank me?”

The three of them shared a glance with each other, and then nodded, Jason still covering Tim’s mouth.

“I see,” Bruce said plainly.

Oh no, Tim thought. This was it. This was the part where he doled out punishment and kicked him out, and now Jason and Dick would get in trouble too. Maybe if they all got kicked out the two of them could go and live with Tim? That wouldn’t be so bad, and he could probably hide them when his parents arrived, they had plenty of unused bedrooms after all…

Tim was so focused on his mental doomsday preparation that he almost missed Bruce’s next words. “Good job.”

“Mm m?” Tim asked, before he realized that Jason was still blocking his mouth. He pushed Jason’s hand away. “Good job?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, taking a look around. “You three did all of this in a few hours? That would take some serious dedication and teamwork. Not to mention creativity. Whose idea was all the googly eyes?”

“Timber’s!” Jason said proudly. “It was his idea to make them all facing your bed, too.”

“It’s so the eyes of your sins are always watching you while you sleep,” Tim muttered in explanation, bashful.

Bruce just nodded. “A clever play on the fear of being known.”

Tim didn’t know about that, mostly he just saw a big bag of googly eyes and got excited. But sure, he’d take it.

Bruce continued. “And whose idea was it to raise half of the furniture legs by two inches?”

“Mine,” Jason said, still sounding proud. “Subtle, right?”

Bruce looked at the bottom of the dresser, where the left two legs were both resting on a two-by-four plank of wood that stuck out a foot past the front of the dresser. “Not the exact word I would use, but certainly noteworthy.”

“I was the one who actually put the wood under there,” Dick muttered angrily. “Jason just had the idea and then made me do it.”

Bruce finally opened the casually-left open dresser drawer all the way. He reached in and pulled out a tie, holding it up to look at it. Was that a smile on his face?

“Who’s work was this?” he asked, turning to show off the tie. It had originally been solid gray, but Tim had taken a permanent marker and had drawn, to the best of his ability, a bunch of tiny bats with little fangs all over it. Mr. Wayne glanced back into the drawer, where Tim was sure he could see more of his and Jason’s artistry. 

This time Tim felt brave enough to speak up. “That was me,” he said quietly. Okay, so partially brave, and partially still worried.

Bruce just gave Tim a gentle smile, before wrapping the tie around his neck and tightening it. “I love it. I’ll wear it to the next board of directors meeting. Lucius will be thrilled.”

“Really?” Tim asked. He expected Bruce to get mad. That was what his dad did when he got him a shirt for Father’s Day in the wrong shade. Or maybe he would throw it out. That was what his mom used to do with any artwork he brought home from school for her. 

“Really,” Bruce said in a way that Tim had no choice but to believe him.

“Mostly though, boys,” Bruce said, looking around the room one more time. “I’m just glad that you chose non-violent means of revenge. Pranks are all well and good, but you should never seek to harm somebody, no matter what they’ve done.”

It was at that moment, as Tim nodded in understanding and Dick and Jason cast each other skeptical looks, that Batty flew into the room with a loud screech, going straight for Bruce’s face. In surprise, he took a step back, and landed on one of the trip wires behind him.

Tim spent the next minute watching in horror as what could only be described as chaos in its purest form burst into existence right before his eyes, until Dick slowly reached out and closed the door, blocking Tim’s view.

Tim looked up at Dick, who only shook his head sadly.

“He’s past our help, now.”

Dick placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and steered him away, Jason following behind. The sound of screeches, yells, thudding, and splatting slowly faded until they disappeared from Tim’s hearing altogether.

It was an hour before Tim saw Bruce again. Tim, Dick, and Jason had gone to the gaming room and had spent their time playing video games. Occasionally Tim would feel guilty and ask if they should go and help, but Dick and Jason would talk him down, insisting that there was nothing they could do. So Tim just bit his lip and stayed put, and eventually was so wrapped up in the games that he forgot to be worried.

When Bruce walked into the room, his clothes were back to normal. No sign of whipped cream, feathers, or glitter anywhere, and that last one was an especially impressive feat. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be out of place was a couple Band-aids on the side of Bruce’s face.

Tim winced, and Bruce caught it immediately. “Not to worry, Tim. Just a few scratches; they’ll be cleared up by morning.” He frowned at the other two, who had glanced at Bruce when he walked in and then gone back to their game (Tim had chosen to sit this round out for his own sanity). “I would have maybe appreciated some help though.”

“We thought you seemed to have it pretty well handled,” Dick said, not looking away from the screen.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. He tilted his whole body as he moved the controller to make his motorcycle turn. “Besides, would you have rathered us, your sons, be put in such a dangerous position? You’d never put us in danger, would you B?” At that last line he spared Bruce a smirk, who just sighed and went to sit in an armchair next to Tim.

“Where’s Batty?” Tim asked, having expected that she would come back to him after she was done getting her revenge.

“She’s with Alfred right now,” Bruce explained. “He came into the room not long after you three left and was able to talk her down. The last I saw of them they were in the kitchen, discussing something.”

Tim was curious what the two would have to talk about. “What about?”

“I’m a little rusty in the language,” Bruce admitted. “Best I could tell, it was something about… custody rights and parental roles? Or it could have been if pineapple pizza could classify as a salad.”

Before Tim could respond Dick interjected. “It can!” he insisted.

“No way!” Jason denied. “Pizza is pizza, it’s not a salad! That’s crazy talk.”

“No, but think about it,” Dick said, tapping his temple with one hand and operating the controller single-handedly. “Salad has leaves. Pizza can have spinach, i.e. leaves. Salad has fruit, pineapple is a fruit. Not to mention the tomato sauce. Both of them have baked bread, crust or croutons. It all makes sense!”

Jason paused the game to glare at Dick. “It makes no sense and you know it!”

“You can’t deny my genius!” Dick shouted. “Timmy, back me up here.”

Tim made a show of humming and seeming to mull it over before he spoke. “Sorry, but I don’t think I should take the word of No Mercy Grayson on such an important matter.”

Tim wouldn’t have said such a thing an hour ago. That was before he was blue-turtle-shelled. Three times. In one game. That sort of thing changes a person.

“Ha, heck yes Timbers!” Jason cheered, reaching over to high-five Tim, which he gladly returned. “I’ll get you ten bucks later.”

“No need,” Tim said, enjoying the look of shock and devastation on Dick’s face. Bruce had been right, non-violent revenge really was the way to go.

Jason and Dick started bickering again, and Tim glanced back at Bruce, who had a half-smile of satisfaction on his face.

Tim leaned over and whispered to him. “Batty and Alfred weren’t talking about pizza, were they?”

Bruce shrugged casually. “Hard to say. Like I said, I’m a little rusty on the language.”

“What can you say in Bat?” Tim asked curiously.

Bruce thought for a moment, before letting out a chittering noise. Tim was pretty sure he had heard Batty make that exact sound before.

“Cool,” Tim said. “What does it mean?”

Bruce beckoned Tim over, and Tim stood up and moved so he was standing next to him. Bruce leaned over and whispered in Tim’s ear.

Tim turned red at the words, in surprise, in embarrassment, and a little in joy. “I, um, I…”

“That’s all right,” Bruce reassured him. “Don’t feel any pressure. It can be a tough thing to say.”

“Yeah, Bruce would know,” Dick said, pausing his argument with Jason. Tim supposed his vampire hearing had allowed him to hear Bruce’s whispers. “How long did it take you to say it to me, Bruce? A year?”

“Took several months for me,” Jason added. “And look, not even a month for Timmers. That’s what you call improvement.”

“Character growth,” Dick agreed.

“Boys.” Bruce shook his head, his expression exasperated but fond. 

Tim made a decision. He hesitated for a second, and then slowly moved to sit in Bruce’s lap. Bruce stayed still while he climbed on. Once situated, Tim wrapped his arms around Bruce and leaned his head against his chest.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered. “Thank you for saving me, thank you for helping me, thank you for keeping me, thank you for lov-” Tim cut himself off, not quite ready to say the last part. “Thank you.” Tim looked up at Jason and Dick too, so they knew they were included, and he could tell by their soft smiles that they understood.

Jason responded first, coming over and joining Tim in the chair, just barely able to fit. “Of course, Timmers.”

“We’re happy you’re here,” Dick added. He couldn’t squeeze onto the chair fully, but managed to half-sit on an armrest and run his fingers through Tim’s hair.

Bruce rubbed Tim’s back in a way that felt so gentle and caring. “Anytime, partner.”

Tim didn’t think he could possibly feel happier. But he was proven wrong a minute later, when Alfred walked into the room, Batty on his shoulder. She immediately flew towards Tim, roosting herself in his hair and chittering at him the exact same way Bruce had earlier.

With his family surrounding him, Tim couldn’t be blamed for bursting into loud purrs, to everyone’s joy.

Tim didn’t stop purring for a long, long time.