Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In Gotham, the impossible becomes possible. A giant croc terrorizes the streets, stepping on the wrong weed can be a death sentence, and the police just keep sending criminals to the exact same asylum that they just keep escaping from.

Based on this fact of life, one would think the Drakes would have questioned if any of the hundred of artifacts in their mansion were haunted. 

For the record, Tim did.

When you’re old enough to not need a nanny anymore, an empty house can get pretty lonely. It gives you a lot of time to think. And when you have the same penchant for true crime as Tim, those lonely thoughts tend to incorporate the dead, death, and other related states of the afterlife. This includes ghosts.

Tim has puzzled through the possibility of ghosts extensively. What causes a soul to remain on the mortal plain as a ghost? How is their haunt decided? Do they have to stay near the object they’ve chosen/been forced to haunt?

The natural conclusion to all of these questions: there are too damn many artifacts in his house for not a single one to be haunted.

If ghosts haunted possessions that were valuable to them while alive, then Drake Manor was chalk full of potential haunting material. The Drakes own tons of jewelry and accessories from long-dead monarchs. Some of them had even been excavated from their very skeletons.

Ancient vases that were tediously crafted with lead paint are a frequent fixture of the manor. These are double trouble for ghosts as they could be both a murder weapon and something important to the ghost’s identity.

All of that to say, there are totally ghosts in Tim’s house.

When normal ten-year-old’s think there may be a ghost in their house, they tend to freak out.

Tim, however, is not a normal ten-year-old. (See: parents who travel the world and visit maybe thrice a year, no friends, home alone all day in a manor of all things, stalks Batman at night, access to a credit card without a credit limit, etc.)

As soon as he considered the possibility of there being ghosts in his home, he actually felt kind of comforted. It made him feel a little less alone. Who needs to make friends to watch movies with when there’s a ghost somewhere around to hang out with instead?

“Arthur, you would not believe the pictures I just got!” 

Tim huffs as he carefully sets his camera bag on the floor of his bedroom before throwing himself the rest of the way into his room. 

“Nightwing’s in town for the first time in a while, so I got some shots of his newly altered suit. And he always adds more flare to his grapple-swings.”

Taking out the SD card, Tim plugs it into his desktop and starts uploading the new files.

“I’ve been wanting to practice some of the more challenging frames for action shots, so it was just perfect. Oh! And there was a mugging — which isn’t anything new — but I think they’ve upgraded their batarangs…”

Tim continues to ramble as he begins sorting through his photographs, purging his shutter shots and sorting photos that made the cut into different folders.

“Oh…”

He pauses when his eyes land on a picture of Nightwing and Robin sitting on the ledge of a building. It had been towards the end of patrol, and they were waiting for Batman to finish with the police before heading back for the night.

In the photo, Nightwing has his arm swung around Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing’s grin is contagious and Robin is full on cackling, his nose wrinkled up under his domino. Batman is presumably the butt of the joke. He’s scowling when he eventually makes it into the camera’s frame.

Tim ended up having to call it a night after that. It was getting late, and while there wasn’t anyone at home to care, he needed to rest before his next night of Bat-hunting. And he still had to deal with the surplus of photos he’d taken tonight.

“Look how happy they all are, Arthur.”

Tim’s throat is suddenly rough as he says it. He waits in the resounding silence, hoping against hope for a response. He then sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m being silly. I’d better finish up, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Cleo, huh?”

He clears the rest of the images and files them away. Then, he carefully wipes the SD card and replaces it in his camera, ready for tomorrow night. 

Stumbling into the ensuite, Tim yanks off the black sweatshirt, bulletproof vest, and joggers that comprise his own personal Bat uniform. Twisting the shower on, he steps in without waiting for the water to heat up. After quickly rinsing off, he barely remembers to brush his teeth on the way to his bed. Collapsing on top of it, Tim checks the time on his phone. Shortly after, he finally succumbs to sleep.

“4am? Not bad. ‘Night Arthur…”

Chapter Text

“Uuuughhh…”

A groan is heard beneath the lump of Tim’s comforter as the Star Wars theme blares from his bedside table. He wiggles his arm around until it eventually finds an escape from the blanket-trap. It then flops around until before accidentally knocking his phone to the floor, abruptly cutting his alarm off.

“Shit.”

Struggling his way out from the blanket, Tim blearily looks down next to his bed where a shattered phone lies. He stares for another moment before allowing himself to face-plant back to his pillow.

“I think the world genuinely hates me”

…

“I can’t handle your attitude this early in the morning Cleo.”

…

“I can full-name you too Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator. So hah.”

…

“Fine. Fine! I’m getting up. See? This is me. Getting out of bed. Oh look, I’m even putting on clothes like a real boy.”

Tim’s voice is all snark as he throws on jeans, one of his dad’s old sweatshirts, and some fuzzy socks. He then shuffles his way down to the kitchen where he prepares himself a delicious and nutritionally balanced breakfast (can you still call it that at noon? No you can’t Timothy. On that note, fix your eyebags Timothy. You look half-dead and it reflects poorly on us). 

Huh. It’s not often the voice in his head sounds like his mother.

“So, what’s everyone up to this fine afternoon? How’s your newest play coming along William? Oh! And has anyone figured out—”

Tim stops pouring the milk into his cereal to momentarily survey the room before continuing at a whisper.

“---what we should get Agnolo for his birthday?”

“... that’s what I thought. I don’t know why I bother asking you guys anything!”

He throws his arms up in exasperation before grabbing his tablet from its charger by the coffee maker.

“Ooo! Brilliant idea, William. No, no Cleo. He’s right. I definitely need coffee. Arthur, don’t you dare start mother-henning me too.”

Tim huffs as he pops the Keurig pod into the coffeemaker. He scrolls through the Gotham Gazette on the tablet while he finishes his cereal and waits for his coffee to finish.

Tim spends the rest of the day submitting photos from last night to a couple news stations to build his portfolio, finishing up his homework for the weekend, studying for his private classes (this week is for all of his language tutors), and searching the web for ideas on what to get Agnolo.

“Apparently jousting was still popular when he was still, you know, alive . But how am I supposed to recreate jousting if the rest of you are immaterial?"

After a late-evening dinner, Tim heads upstairs to prepare for tonight's activities when he stumbles upon this morning’s crime scene. He’d forgotten that he had managed to break his phone so completely. The screen was shattered and no tapping, plugging in, or further-throwing seemed to revive the device. It was too late in the day to stop by one of his phone company’s stores and buy a new one.

“I guess that's tomorrow's problem.”

Tim shrugs as he proceeds to switch into clothes more suitable for scaling buildings in Gotham at midnight.

“I’ll be back especially late tonight. If Dick is back in town, either Bruce and him have made up or Batman needs him badly enough that they both had to get over it. And let’s be honest, it was definitely the latter.”

He wheezes as he cinches the straps on his bullet-proof vest.

“God — wait, is that, like, offensive to you guys? — sometimes I wish at least one of you were real and could help me get this on sometimes. Especially whenever I’ve managed to bruise a rib or something. No, my ribs are currently fine Arthur. What did we say about mother-henning? Plus, it’s not like you can actually do anything to stop me. No. Don’t give me that look. I have nothing to be guilty about, I earned all seven coffees I’ve had today. It’s the weekend.”

Tim continues his conversation as he finishes getting dressed. Setting his timed lamp to turn off at midnight, he then triple checks his camera’s battery before putting it back in his camera bag.

“Alright, I’m headed out. Don’t wait up!”

Sliding the window up and throwing his leg over the sill, he salutes the ghosts before making his descent. It always makes him feel all warm and fuzzy at the idea of them missing him while he’s gone. Who else would talk to them? Treat them like real people, even if they’re dead?

Once down, Tim starts his trek from Crest Hill to the nearest bus stop in Bristol. He still has about an hour before midnight, which is pretty early to Bat-hunt, but Gotham’s public transit is rarely efficient. He spends the first forty minutes alone walking to the nearest bus stop.

“Hey Liam!”

Tim calls as he hops on the bus once it’s arrived. Receiving the usual grunt in response, Tim slides into an available seat and starts planning his spots for the night. While he’s gotten pretty good at keeping up with the Bats, he’ll never be fast enough to keep up with their grapples. It’s easier for him to pick a couple spots their patrol routes pass through that he knows he can get to before they arrive. Now that he thinks about it, he could really go for some french fries. Maybe he’ll stop by The Creamery or something. If Nightwing is in town, they’re more likely to swing by there. Hah, swing. Anyway, he loves getting shots of the Bats sharing ice cream and just acting like a family. Alright, but that should be his last stop. The bus jolts to an abrupt stop, jolting Tim from his thoughts.

“Thanks Liam!”

Tim hops off and starts making his way towards the Bowery, careful to skirt Crime Alley. He’s been keeping up with the news and doing his own research. If Nightwing was brought in to deal with a case, Tim’s willing to lay odds on the bust happening there. The Bats weren’t likely to go on their normal Saturday night patrols anyway if they're on a case tonight. Tim will just have to lay his bets. If he hasn’t heard any reports from the police or explosions by 2am, Tim can call it and head for The Creamery. Maybe it won’t be his best night for photography, but busts rarely are. Tim cannot wait for the day he finally figures out how to hack into the Bats’ comms. Then he’ll know exactly where to be and when for his best shots. Now he just has to figure out where in the Bowery to set up. Somewhere near all of the warehouses should work, right? Criminals love big buildings they can load with gun—

“Look’it! What’ve we got here?”

A thick Gothamite accent sneers as the speaker’s sweaty palm slaps over Tim’s mouth. The offender uses their other hand to grab Tim’s upper arm and yank him into the nearest alley. He’s then twisted around before another goon yanks Tim’s sweatshirt hood off his head.

“Last catch of the night. And so early too! Who knew there would be so many 10 to 15 year-old boys out and about this late at night? In Gotham? You’d think they’d be smarter than that.”

Goon 1 produces a cloth and ties it around Tim’s mouth as a gag. His camera is removed from his neck and thrown over Goon 2’s own neck. Then Goon 2 helps to hogtie Tim. HOGTIE HIM. He’s then unceremoniously thrown over Goon 1’s shoulder, though not without wiggling his objection with muffled shouts. He’s then carried over to a van hidden further down the alley and tossed inside.

‘Scarecrow’ll be thrilled.”

That’s the last thing Tim hears before the back doors are slammed shut and the engine revs as the van starts backing it’s way out of the alley.

Okay, okay. So getting kidnapped had not been on Tim’s itinerary for the evening. Or any of his evenings honestly. Think. Think! They don’t know who Tim is, at least not yet, so this isn’t some ransom thing. And Scarecrow. Not great, definitely not Tim’s preferred kidnapper. And other 10 to 15 year old boys. That feels too specific. It must be who they wanted to kidnap, not who they’ve happened to kidnap. Did they say how many? Tim doesn’t remember, he doesn’t know! God, he’s such an idiot, why wasn’t he paying more attention?!

…Okay breath. At least for now, until Scarecrow decides to throw gas at him. Gas! Scarecrow loves gases. The puzzle pieces are there, he just has to figure it out. Not that it matters, knowing what they’ll do to him and why they’re doing it doesn’t really change that fact that Tim is HOGTIED and gagged in the back of their van completely at their mercy. Unless he can change any of that.

Tim starts shifting, trying to determine what all of himself he can move where. HA! His arms are right by his pockets, he could at least call the police or something and maybe they’ll send Batman! He reaches his hands to the back of his dark denim jeans, but he can’t find his phone. Was he really stupid enough to drop it? Really? Oh. Wait, no. He was just stupid enough to wander around Gotham late at night without a phone at all. 

He mentally face-palms. Why did he not think to have at least a walkie talkie or something in case of emergencies?! Okay, so no calling for help. Got it. What if…?

Tim bends his knees in an attempt to bring his feet to his hands. Almost…! 

The doors to the van slam open. How did Tim not notice the van had stopped? It hadn’t been that long! Come on, at least give him enough time to try and escape!

He’s once again thrown over a shoulder. It’s Goon 2 this time though, so points for variety. Also, Tim kind of feels like he should be blindfolded right now. Like, he can see exactly which warehouse he’s being carried into right now. What if he got away? He could tell literally anyone which warehouse they’re bringing an unknown number of kidnapped teen boys to.

Oh God. They don’t care. That does not bode well for Tim’s odds at survival.

“Here’s the last one.”

Goon 2 scales a set of stairs outside of a huge metal box with windows in the center of the warehouse. Tim only has seconds to notice there are other boys in the pit before he’s dropped inside.

He can’t even scream or catch his fall as he lands hard and his vision goes black.

Chapter Text

Jason had been having a great week.

Actually, scratch that, Alfred just put his homemade waffles on the table. This week was the fucking bomb!

“Don’t forget to breathe between bites, Little Wing!”

“Shhuh-it di-phas.”

“Please wait to speak until you’ve swallowed, Master Jason.”

An audible gulp is heard before Jason responds.

“Sorry Alfie, I meant to say: shut it Dickface.”

“GASP. How could you say that?!”

Dick yanks his hand to his heart in mock offence while he veritably drowns his waffles in syrup. 

“Wow, Dick. Do you want some waffles with your syrup? Also, did you actually just say “gasp” instead of gasping?”

A grunt is heard as Bruce makes his entrance, shuffling zombie-style in the direction of the kitchen’s breakfast nook. A mug of steaming hot life-juice is placed in front of him by the archangel that is Alfred. A pleased grunt is given in response.

“You’re quite welcome Master Bruce.”

Anyways, Jason was having a fan-fucking-tabulous week. He hadn’t seen Dick in a bit, so he was excited to have some brother time (even if he’d rather die than tell Dick that). He also had been saving his new Mario Bros game for whenever Dick and Bruce had reestablished enough of a truce for Dick to visit the manor again.

Jason had done well on his most recent English paper too. He’d worked his ass off on that thing and Jason Todd will never receive anything less than an A on a Jane Austen assignment.

The icing on the cake? It was the weekend, so not only did he get to go on patrol with Dickface, he also got to go out as Robin two nights in a row!

After breakfast (can you still call it that at noon? Eh, Alfred served waffles so Jason thinks it counts), Jason drags Dick to the media room for Mario while Bruce sits and waits for his coffee to bring him back to the land of the living.

“Does everyone have any last minute questions about the plan?”

“Speak now or forever hold your peace!”

Dick giggles and an eyeroll from Bruce is audible over the comms. Jason just gives himself a proud grin.

“Save the chirping for Scarecrow, Robin.”

“Ooo! B being pun-y too? I thought the day would never come!”

Nightwing crows (hah, get it? Okay, fine, not my best work). He cuts off almost immediately at Batman’s signal.

“Go!”

Jason swings towards the east side of the warehouse. His rebreather is at the ready and he places himself on the roof right next door with hazy visuals into the building.

“Report.”

“South side is clear. Not even a boat at the dock. There are four white vans parked 10 feet from the exit, but no goons in or around as getaway drivers or as watch on the west side.”

“East is clear, no watch. I’ve got some visuals into the warehouse but nothing clear without getting closer. The windows are all smudged and foggy.”

“Alright. North has two on guard for the entrance. Nightwing, be ready to breach from the west. Robin, you’ll move to guard their vans on the west. I’m going to do one last round of interior recon and take out the two north guards. Then we’ll move on my signal.”

Jason only barely noticed B swinging up to the warehouse’s roof. He sways side to side impatiently as Batman does his final survey inside.

“The box in the center seems to be what they plan on using to contain the test of Scarecrow's new gas. It already has test subjects inside, but I still can’t tell how many from this distance. Presumably civilians. Robin, have the commissioner ready an ambulance three blocks away. Scarecrow is on the north side of the interior and there are at least 10 goons around the interior. Difficult to confirm firearms, but a safe assumption. Heading for the exterior guards.”

Jason switches his comms to call Gordon quickly and give him an update. He watches Batman repel down the warehouse wall and immediately subdue the two guards at the door. Jason then switches back to the Bats’ channel just in time for B to shout.

“Now!”

Jason shoots his grapple gun at the corner of the warehouse before launching himself into an arching swing. He lands on top of the third van just as the doors behind Nightwing slam shut. The sounds of gunfire echo on the walls of the warehouse and all Jason can do is sit, make sure no one tries to sneak out to the getaway vans, and listen to the comms in case they call him for backup inside.

Apparently, Jason is still too “new at Robin” to go in directly for stings. Something about Jason still being in high school and not wanting to subject him to rooms chalk-full of armed thugs. Especially if Nightwing is willing to come in. Which he usually is as soon as B mentions that Jason would fill his spot.

Jason scoffs to himself. He’s has been Robin for two fuckin’ years you pussy! He’s helped with so many operations at this point! 

But NOoOo! Jason’s too little . Jason shouldn’t have to do that . Jason’s just a baby .

Well screw you too, Dickface. See how you like it when Jason’s the one who always reaches the tops of flagpoles at the end of Mario levels. Ha!

Oh shit, goons!

Jason grapples and swings down onto the two goons trying to slip out the back.

“Hey guys, where ya’ goin’? The party’s inside!”

Landing with a kick to the first goon’s face, he then twirls around to face the other. 

“Nice camera, are you the photographer? Here, let me show you my good side!”

Jason tuck-rolls away from an incoming punch before twisting and throwing backkick to this goon’s neck.

“Uh oh, hopefully it didn’t break. Looked expensive too. Woah, buddy! I think you partied too hard. You should stay down.”

Watching the first goon start to rise again, Robin knocks his head back to the ground. This time, he doesn’t make a move to get back up.

“Great, one down one to go. Crap—”

Jason takes a punch to the gut as the fist slams into him. Oookay. No need to tell B about his lack of situational awareness. That will not help his case in the future.

“Did that get you to finally shut the fuck up?”

Bouncing back, Jason uses the moment from the goon’s punch to crouch down before sweeping his leg out and whacking the back of the guy’s knees. He collapses in moments.

“Nah, I sound too pretty when I sing!”

Jason then shoots back up before dropping his knee down onto the goon’s back, knocking the air out of him.

“You on the other hand could definitely afford to save my ears and stop your twittering.”

Receiving only a groan in response, he pulls zip ties out from the back of his utility belt and begins restraining the subdued bad guys. On an impulse, he decides to snag the camera from the guy’s neck, then assesses his surroundings. The sound of gunfire has died down dramatically, but it seems neither Batman nor Nightwing has called him in yet. Typical.

Jason grabs the back of the two goons’ shirts and drags them out of the way to the side door. Gotta make things easy for poor ol’ Gordon. Finally, Nightwing’s voice crackles as the comm comes to life.

“I’ve gotten the gas to stop pumping and I’ve managed to open the box. However, I don’t know how all 12 of these kids are going to react to whatever they got dosed with. I need Robin for extra hands. Are we good to call in the ambulance?”

“Affirmative.”

Jason barely hears Batman’s response as he throws on his rebreather and races through the doors. The site on the other side is rough. Batman is engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the three remaining goons. Scarecrow must have escaped through the northern door while Jason was dealing with the two outside. At least fifteen goons are unconscious around the warehouse floor and against different metal canisters containing who knows what. A mysterious purple haze is in the air, presumably whatever was used to dowse the kids. Wait, kids?

Jason’s eyes lock on the metal box in the middle of the room. He immediately connects his comm to a call with Gordon to have the ambulances and police sent over.

“We’ve got 12 kids who’ve been gassed, we don’t know what this new one does. It hasn’t been drained from the warehouse yet, so wait for our signal before sending help in. There are also at least 20 detained or unconscious criminals. It has not yet been determined if the criminals inside have been gassed or whether they have precautions protecting them.”

Gordon confirms that police and ambulance crews are arriving and will be at the ready, Jason reconnects to the Bat comms once more and runs over to help Nightwing. He climbs the stairs up to the box taking the steps two at a time.

“Agent A says he should be able to come up with an antidote for the new gas, but he’s going to need a sample,” Nightwing informs Robin in lieu of a greeting.

“The sooner the better. Can you watch them for any reactions while I run a vial of it to the Batmobile outside? I’ll have it upload the chemical makeup to the Batcomputer for Agent A so he can start ASAP. Then I’m going to work on smashing the windows near the ceiling to ventilate the gas, that way first responders can come in and do their thing.”

Without waiting for a response, Nightwing takes off for the Northern door. Batman has finished with his remaining adversaries and is now securing them and all the others with zip ties from his utility belt.

Jason looks down into the metal box and almost gags. Nightwing wasn’t lying (not that Jason thought he was), there, at the bottom of the box, lay fifteen boys. All around his age. Fuck. Well, the intended purpose of this new gas isn’t much of a mystery anymore.

He almost hops down to start untying them before he remembers they haven’t determined the reaction to the gas yet. Jason feels useless, just watching these victims to see what would have happened if they’d nabbed him instead. If they’d only tried it on their target instead. This was meant to be him. And then it would have only been him instead of twelve innocent kids. Shit.

“Robin. Report.”

“Sorry, B. They all seem to be stable right now. But I think it was to test the drugs on me. Maybe that’s a little presumptuous on my part, but they're all younger teen boys. Nightwings working on ventilation right now—”

As if to emphasize his point, another window shatters as Nightwing makes sure the glass shoots out of the warehouse instead of onto the warehouse floors or, worse, onto the trapped boys.

“—so that first responders can check vitals and such. Agent A should have access to the gas’ chemical makeup by now so that he can fabricate an antidote.”

Jason startles as Batman appears, suddenly at his side.

“You did good, Robin.”

Jason breaths a sigh of relief. A weight he didn’t know he was holding leaves his shoulders as B talks into the comms.

“Agent A, status report.”

“Almost done, sir. I should have a chemical compound to dilute into IVs shortly. I will upload them to the Batmobile and let you know as soon as it’s finished.”

“Thanks, A! I’ll send them over to Gordon as soon as I get ‘em.”

Jason pipes up, always eager to please Alfred.

“Very good, Master Robin.”

Jason absolutely beams.

“Alright, you can send them in! The gas should have been sufficiently cleared from the air.”

Nightwing shouts from the rafters. Jason contacts Gordon and the warehouse devolves into chaos once more, but with less gunfire and more medical personnel this time.

Chapter Text

Tim is now certain the world hates him.

He comes back to consciousness choking on purple gas. He knew it! He knew the gas was coming! It was Scarecrow after all. The only thing that helps him is that, in Goon 2’s hurry to throw him in the box (I mean, did he really have to throw him?!), his gag wasn’t removed. So, now that Tim has regained consciousness, he just has to focus on breathing through his mouth.

This is easier said than done since it’s thick fabric and people are definitely not intended to breathe through it. But, hey. Tim’s just gonna take what he can get for now.

Focusing on not using his nose, Tim takes stock of his surroundings. Craning his head, he’s surrounded by other kids. They were permitted the decency of being sat against the walls of the box while hogtied. HOGTIED. Then again, they also don’t have gags. You win some, you lose some.

Is it just Tim, or are his thoughts even less coherent than normal? Priorities! Gunshots? Huh. 

Tim tries to peer out from the metal box’s glass, but there are too many kids in the way. Hello? You guys are being really unhelpful right now. Don’t you wanna know what’s happening too? Oh. Right. No gags. Sorry, that’s Tim’s bad. Really.

Suddenly, the top of the box makes a popping sound as the seal is broken. The haze starts clearing as it escapes its container. Which isn’t, like, the biggest improvement since there’s still a ton of gas. But maybe it’s clear enough for Tim to breathe through his nose again. Cause honestly? Kinda getting light-headed from the lack of oxygen making it through the gag.

…or maybe that’s the gas that he has inhaled?

Whelp, honestly Tim wouldn’t mind passing out right now. He’ll just start breathing through his nose anyway.

There’s a sound from above him. A voice? Ugh, yeah, if Tim has to listen to a villain monologue, he’d rather just pass out please. Wait.

Tim attempts to wiggle and flip himself but instead his whole body lights up in sudden excruciating pain. Crap crap crap! What was that? Oh, right, he got thrown who knows how far down into a metal box and couldn’t even make an attempt to catch himself. Maybe he should blame a concussion instead of the poor innocent gas. Tim’s very sorry for wrongly accusing you. Well, if the fall didn’t kill him, the gas still could.

Ooo, Arthur is gonna be so pissed. And Cleo. And poor Agnolo! Tim had finally come up with the perfect birthday gift! Well, maybe Tim will get to become a ghost and apologize. What would his tether be?

Drake manor? Certainly not. His parents? Funny joke. Hmm… maybe his camera? It certainly means a lot to him. His camera! What happened to it…? Oh right, Goon 1. Or was it 2?

…Maybe Tim’s tether could be Batman or something. Then at least his afterlife would be entertaining. Is it rude to haunt Batman and not Bruce Wayne? Does the haunting work for identities separate from people? His parents would be pissed if he haunted a potential business partner.

Who is poking him right now? OW! OW! OW—

Oh! Tim’s gag is gone!

“Huzzah!”

Tim attempts to croak, but his throat burns and his lips hurt from being pulled taught for so long. There’s distant arguing and then someone mumbles something at him. It’s probably meant to be soothing, but he’s got no clue what they’ve said.

Something is being pressed against his lips. Whatever it is runs down his face, leaving a cool trail in its path. Water. It’s delicious. Tim’s never had better water in his life. He attempts to tell whoever has given him the water as much but— OW!

Stop trying to move him! Can you not tell that Tim is fragile and currently very broken?

“Sorry lil’ dude, notes taken. Don’t touch. Very ouch.”

…did he say that out loud?

“Yeah bud.”

Tim peers at the voice that sounds too bemused in Tim’s opinion, only to be met with Robin’s dominoed face.

“Are you feeling any better? Even though we can’t move you, we’ve got an IV with an antidote running. You should start feeling it soon if not already. Once we know it’s in your system and getting rid of the gas, we can cut your bindings off.”

Tim forgot about the bindings. But honestly? It would probably hurt worse if they came off now.

“Are you lucid enough to answer a couple of questions while we’re both just hanging here?”

Tim narrows his eyes in suspicion. What kind of questions? Robin is cool and all, but Tim’s got secrets. Super secrets. Secrets that are not to be spoken out loud.

“That’s okay, I totally get it. Everyone's got secrets. Can you tell me your name though?”

Crap, Tim has got to get a hold of this speaking-aloud-without-noticing thing. He makes a very conscious effort to control his mouth and instead responds with his own question.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Hah! See, Tim’s so smart that he’s smart when stupid!

“Sure! I’m Robin, though I think you mentioned that you knew that already. Your turn!”

That is the smuggest grin Tim has ever seen, so he scowls like a mature adult and most definitely does not pout.

“I’m Tim.”

“Do you have a last name perchance, Tim?”

“Do you have a last name perchance, Robin?”

“Nope!”

“What a coincidence! Neither do I!”

Wow, Tim is really rocking this right now. 

“Look, Tim, we’re just trying to figure out who you are so we can help you. You know? Like, contact any family or friends or trusted adult you may have. Get you to the hospital closest to your house.”

“My parents DO NOT need to know any of this happened and if I told William about this, he would be so dramatic I’d rather go huff the purple gas again.”

Robin’s face changes minutely, poised itself as if he’s detected prey, as he asks as casually as possible:

“William who again? I’ve forgotten.”

“Shakespeare. Though, he’s nothing compared to what Cleo would do. And poor Agnolo. He’s just a little guy, he'd be so sad. And Arthur will be so pissed.”

“William Shakespeare? Like, the playwright?”

“Exactly. Come on, Robin. Keep up! William Shakespeare— like the playwright, Agnolo di Cosimo— as in Brozino, Arthur— King of Camelot? Ring any bells.”

“Umm, yeah. How exactly do you know them?”

“They’re my ghosts. Well, technically, I have no idea who my ghosts are. Or how many there are. But the number of artifacts at the house? I definitely have ghosts. And they’ll be so upset if I almost die. Especially since they don’t like when I wander downtown in the middle of the night anyway.”

“...and where are your parents?”

“Probably possibly Egypt, but I only bother to check their email updates every two weeks so who really knows”

This last bit is said with such a natural shrug that ends with a screech because Tim forgot basically his whole body is broken.

Oh shit. Wait. What did Tim just say?

“ You just said that you don’t know for certain where your parents are and haven’t for at least two weeks. And you have ghosts.”

Panic immediately seizes Tim. This is not good. This is not how he wanted this to go.

“Did I say that? I meant, uh, well they’re definitely in Egypt. Yeah. And, uh, when I said ghosts? That was more of a metaphor. Or symbolism. For all the many adults I have watching me. Haunting me. Ya’ know? Just so many adults. It’s kind of suffocating sometimes. Makes you just want to run off in the middle of the night. But, uh, lesson learned—”

Tim winces, though to emphasize that he’s learned this lesson very physically or because this sounds painful even to him, who’s to say?

“So, I definitely do not need any hospitals or people called.”

Robin heaves a giant, weight-of-the-world sigh. Then, he levels Tim with a look .

“Unless you give me actual names of these many adults, I can’t call anyone. You could also give me your name, but I think we’ve established that that won’t be happening either. However, the hospital is non-negotiable. You can’t even shrug without being in immense pain. So, what’s going to happen is once enough gas has been flushed from your system that we know it’s not impacting you anymore, we’re cutting you from the ropes. It’s going to hurt. You’re then going to be lifted onto a stretcher. That is likely going to hurt even worse. The stretcher will be loaded into an ambulance and you’ll be taken to a hospital that can x-ray you and figure out just how much of a cast is required. And if you don’t give anyone any names of an adult who will take responsibility for you, CPS will get involved and act as your guardian until you are claimed.”

Shit.

The world really, really hates him.

Chapter Text

Good news? Tim only broke 2 bones. His upper left arm and collarbone. They think he would have also shattered some ribs if it weren’t for his bulletproof vest (“why were you wearing a bulletproof vest?” ”It’s Gotham” he’d shrugged— Ouch! ). Instead they’re just bruised.

Bad news? Tim also incurred a concussion and has to wear: a wrap to keep his collarbone in place, a neck brace because he also pulled a muscle there (that’s bad), and a cast for his arm. He also dislocated a shoulder, since he fell directly on it while HOGTIED, hence the broken upper arm. This means he gets a sling to go with his cast.

In summary, Tim does not look great.

He also, just as Robin predicted, is currently under CPS’ guardianship. No one knows his identity yet and Tim plans to keep it that way. So, he’s working on breaking out of the hospital. 

He’s been granted a tablet for entertainment upon emphatic request (a tablet is easier to use with one hand than a keyboard). What they don’t know is that Tim is a genius and no longer hopped up on what turned out to be an amplified truth-gas and a concussion. The first thing Tim had done with the tablet was call in sick to school so his absence wouldn’t be missed.

Tim doesn’t need the first phone call from his parents in months to be them shrieking at him. How could you be kidnapped, Tim! And why did you have to get yourself to beat up while doing it? Do you not realize how bad that reflects on us as parents?! He shudders at the very thought.

Now, time to make his escape before the hospital releases him to CPS’ full custody.

It’s evening and Tim has enough time post-dinner and pre-lights out to finish remotely hacking into the hospital’s servers. He’s already replaced his DNA samples with some other kid’s without the hospital noticing. Whoever the hospital turned the DNA files over to for determiningTim’s identity will find Timothy Lackston (a very cool looking kid in Boston, who won’t have a single broken bone when they go to track him down). He’s also already reprogrammed his monitors to another patient’s healthy vitals. Now all Tim needs to do is schedule the security feed to loop tonight when he makes his escape and slip past the couple guards that wander the halls at regular intervals.

Wait, are you surprised? Come on, Tim stalks Batman regularly without ever getting caught (by the Bats at least), and you think he can’t escape a hospital? Please!

It takes a little more effort than Tim would like to admit, but in his defense he’s working at half power. His brain can go as fast as it wants, but he only has one hand to type with. Regardless, he succeeds, shutting down and wiping the tablet moments before a nurse comes in for lights out.

After a final check up, Tim is left to his own devices. He waits an extra hour for nurses to finish lights off through the hospital before unplugging his monitors. When nothing sends alerts, as expected, Tim makes his move. First he removes the better-safe-than-sorry neck brace, because as far as Tim’s concerned it's better-free-than-trapped.

He then slides out of his room and makes his way down the hall to what he’d previously discovered is this floor’s staff lockers. Staff who, luckily, don’t feel the need to actually lock said lockers.

It takes him precious moments to scavenge adequate visitor clothes. Just as he’s opening the third locker, footsteps pass outside the door. Tim’s breath catches. Rummaging through the locker as quickly and quietly as possible, he spots a change of men’s jeans and a sweatshirt. 

Slipping on his disguise, Tim takes a moment to check himself in the room’s mirror. He slides the empty arm of the hoodie into its front pocket. Then, he gathers the fabric forward so that the bulge of the sling underneath is subtler. Better. While a little on the disheveled side, he should pass for a stressed family member.

Now all he has to do is walk out.

Standing right inside the door, Tim waits for the sound of footfalls. Hearing none, he opens the door and exits as casually as possible. That’s right. Nothing to see here. Just a family member who stayed too late. Yeah, yeah. Tim knows. He’s so incredibly sorry and won’t—

“Excuse me sir.”

Fudgesicle sticks.

“What are you doing here? Visitors were meant to have left by 7pm.”

A burly man in a security uniform looks Tim up and down with a raised curly black eyebrow. 

“Uh — family — late… sorry?”

Smooth, Tim. In fact, probably the least suspicious anyone has ever sounded in the history of ever. All this planning and scheming and hacking and he can’t get his mouth to work?

He clears his throat and starts again before the guard can look any more skeptical.

“Sorry, it’s been such a long day. What I meant to say before my brain had caught up was: I was visiting my mom in the Oncology Wing upstairs. I fell asleep while waiting for her to come back from her last test of the day.”

Tim gestures to his less-than-polished appearance, complete with his very real bedhead.

“I think she and her nurses took pity on me, ‘cause no one woke me up. I left as soon as I realized I had overstayed the hospital’s welcome. But you know how these places are.”

Add a quick shrug for effect, and…

“Absolute mazes. It doesn’t matter how many of them I’ve had to go to with her. I get lost every time.”

The guard is completely sympathetic. Who wouldn’t be? He’s just a kid doing his best to look after his sick mom. He’s not making any trouble, just trying to leave.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t worry about it, kid. Let me radio in real quick and we’ll get someone to lead you to the entrance. Do you have someone coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah, my dad works late at an office nearby. I was going to take the bus home, but I’ll just hitch a ride with him.”

He receives a pleased nod and, a couple minutes later, a tired looking nurse swings by to quickly lead him out. The nurse doesn’t even wait for pleasant farewells, just immediately turns on his heel and heads back to work. Oh well, Tim’s certainly not going to complain. Bye-bye Mr. Security guard and co.!

Finally free from his unexpected week-long hospital stay, Tim heads home. He hails the taxi he preordered from the tablet and pays with cash he borrowed from a couple of the nurses’ lockers. It’s fine, he’ll load double what he took to each of them into their bank accounts tomorrow. The closer he gets to Bristol, the fresher the air gets and Tim is flat out giddy.

Pulling up the front gates of Drake Manor is heaven. He slides out of the back seat, handing the driver his tip before heading home. His bedroom lamp is still on since it’s before midnight. Perfect. Except… Tim did not think through how to get back into his own home. He can no longer scale walls and climb through his window.

Okay, that’s okay. He just jailbroke a hospital, he can break into his house. He just has to… shoot. Huh. Maybe that concussion isn’t gone yet. Well, you can’t win them all. At least he’s out of the hospital. It’s been a week since… that night. So Mrs. Mac should come to clean tomorrow morning after the weekend. Then she can let him in with her key. Perfect!

Finding adequate foliage to both hide his sleeping form near the front door and keep him warm during an autumn night, Tim hunkers down to wait out the night.

“Dear god!”

Ah yes, exactly the phrase someone wants to wake up to. Slowly, Tim squints his eyes on the shrieking form.

“What on Earth are you doing there? Did you sleep there?! What in heaven’s name told you that was a better idea than sleeping in your parents’ very expensive, very nice, very heated house???”

Right. Slept outside. Kinda in pain. Shrieking aggravating his healing concussion.

“Sorry to frighten you Mrs. Mac. I went to hang out with some friends last night and lost my key somewhere along the way. I knew you’d come by this morning though, so I wasn’t too worried about it.”

He shrugs, going for nonchalance, and ends up having to hide a wince as he jostles his healing shoulder.

“Why didn’t you text me? At the very least I could have come sooner!”

“Ah, I also broke my phone in all the excitement and haven’t had a chance to go get it replaced.”

He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. Mrs. Mac stares at him a moment longer before sighing and heading into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow. Tim hears a mutter of something that sounds suspiciously like “this is what happens when you leave a teenager unattended for extended periods of time.” Honestly Mrs. Mac, he’s not even a teen yet, he’s twelve! It’s like she doesn’t even know him.

Shutting the door behind him, Tim immediately heads upstairs. First, he logs into his computer and shoots off an email letting the school know he’ll be home sick for one more day, but that he’ll definitely be back tomorrow, sincerely Jack and Janet Drake. Then, he heads downstairs, snags a trashbag when Mrs. Mac isn’t looking, and strips so he can start waterproofing his cast.

Tim has earned a nice, long, hot shower thank you very much.

Following the best shower of his life, reality sets in and Tim gets to work.

First, he gets a running list of all the assignments he’s missed for the week (and one day) he’s missed. Then, he catalogues everything he needs to replace. Number one on that list is his freakin phone, but number two is apparently his camera. His very nice camera that he was emotionally attached to. Cleo had helped him look into specs for it. Less devastating, but still upsetting, is his bullet proof vest and very comfy pair of dark denim jeans.

Now he just has to get his life back together.

He orders what he can online so that it’s delivered to the manor. The rest, like his nice fitting jeans, will just have to involve a shopping trip once pulling pants on and off hurts less (and he can use two arms).

It’s at the moment he settles in to catch up on homework that they strike.

“...hey everyone!”

Tim’s eyes widen comically.

“Do you think I wanted to be kidnapped?”

“Of course I didn’t do anything stupid! They just happened to be looking for ten to fifteen year-olds!”

“No, Agnolo, I’m fine. Really. It’ll heal up in no time. Three months at most and I’ll eat so healthy it’ll be more like two!”

“Cleo, I really don’t think the cast is meant to be flattering. Hey!”

“Arthur, I swear, my ribs are barely bruised. I swear. Please. I promise!!!”

“... can you wait at least another week before turning my tale of woe into your next big hit, William?”

Chapter Text

Okay, Jason is man enough to admit that when Tim disappeared he capital p Panicked. How would you feel if the kid you felt responsible for with serious injuries up and disappears from a hospital without a trace???

Bruce attempts to talk Jason down, Dickwing agrees to come visit next weekend, and (most importantly) Alfred makes Jason tea and they read quietly in the library when he finds out about Tim’s disappearance after school on Monday.

Whatever, kids go missing all the time. Hell, Jason was declared missing a couple times. Sometimes they show up, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes it’s better they don’t. “Ignorance is bliss” is an expression for a reason. That doesn’t mean Jason didn’t use the tools at his disposal to see what he could find. He and Bruce spend that night in the cave looking into all known “Tim”s in Gotham to see what they can track down. They don’t find anything right away, but Gotham is a big city. And Jason isn’t giving up.

Jason is treated to homemade pancakes from Alfred and a pat on the head from Bruce the next morning before he’s carted off to school invariably.

Jason hates school.

That’s a lie, or an untruth. Jason loves his classes, and learning, and being in clubs. What he really hates is the kids at his school.

He has attended Gotham Academy for three years now, and the kids here still treat him like ‘Alley trash. That or they suck up to him because of Bruce. They inevitably realize they won’t get anywhere, though, and also treat him like ‘Alley trash before long. It’s exhausting.

He makes it through his first three classes without much issue.

(“Wow, Jason, that’s a very thought-provoking interpretation of our text! Well done!”

“WoW, JaSoN, So PrOvOcKiNg. Provoke these nuts , you suck up!”)

Lunch is when it gets interesting. Not because anything in particular happens. Nothing in particular usually happens during Jason’s lunches. He gets in line, grabs his food, and sits at the end of the closest, mostly empty table. While he eats, he continues whatever book he’s reading at the time. The end. 

Today, though, Jason spots a kid ahead of him in line with a cast. On his left arm . And since nothing in particular happens at lunch, Jason has laser focused on the possibility of something .

Keeping an eye on the mystery, Jason tries to hurry through the lunch line. Once checking out, he beelines it to where he saw the head of raven-colored hair disappear. Bingo .

Off to the side of the cafeteria, on the empty end of a table sits mystery-cast-kid. So naturally, off to the side of the cafeteria, on the now mostly-empty end of a table, sits Jason Todd.

“Hi, I’m Jason!”

The kid looks up at Jason from his lunch and blinks owlishly.

“Well, what’s your name?”

More owlish blinks.

“That’s okay, I don’t talk much at lunch either. Mind if I read my book?”

Slowly, the head shakes. Jason takes this as his cue to pull out his weathered copy of Moby Dick and flip to the book-marked page. When the kid seems to decide all Jason intends to do is read, he turns back to his own lunch. This provides Jason the opportunity to use all of his super cool vigilante skills and analyze him surreptitiously.

The kid is definitely younger than Jason. And most kids in high school too. He can’t be more than eleven. He's so tiny. He’s also definitely Bruce’s MO: black hair, blue eyes, and a Gotham Academy outcast. The question is why is a kid in high school? Maybe he’s just in special classes that puts the high school lunch period on his schedule?

Most importantly of all? This kid looks a whole heck of a lot like Jason’s Tim.

Like, a little less worn out and drugged, but otherwise? Jason’s no fool. And if he wasn’t so sure, the matching injuries confirms it. The question is still who this kid is though. What Gotham Academy student was in the Bowery late enough to be kidnapped?

“Ah, lunch’s almost up. How was yours?”

The kid glances back up at him, startled.

“Wow, you’re real chatty. I mean, I haven’t been able to get a word in edge-wise for this whole meal.”

Silence.

“Alright, well unless ya’ wanna walk to class together, I’ll see ya’ same time tomorrow?”

This gets a reaction. The kid practically does a double take, before slowly pointing to himself in question.

“Well yeah! Who’d ya’ think I was talkin’ to this whole time?”

“Um…”

This is accompanied by a tiny, uncomfortable shrug. “Um” counts as a word in Jason’s book, so that’s progress!

“Bye!”

Jason waves as he heads to Biology, grinning ear to ear when he receives a hesitant little wave in return.

“Alfred, you will not believe who I ran into at lunch today!”

Jason is practically hovering over the seat as he buzzes with energy after sliding into the car and slamming his door.

“I shall refrain from any guesses until your seatbelt has been buckled, Master Jason.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry Alfie!”

Jason yanks his seatbelt on before staring intently at Alfred.

“I can’t wait any longer. Tim! I saw Tim at lunch today!”

If the butler is surprised, he doesn’t betray it. He simply turns on his blinker before pulling out of the school parking lot and merging into highway traffic.

“And you’re quite certain this was Tim who happened to be at lunch?”

“How many black haired, blue eyed, runts with broken left arms in slings do you think there are?”

Jason groans his exasperation, throwing himself dramatically against the back of his seat in a huff.

“Did he introduce himself as Tim?”

“Well, no, but he didn’t actually say anything. He mostly just seemed startled that I was talking to him.”

Jason shrugs and Alfred’s lips tick up every so slightly that if you squint you could detect bemusement.

“I wonder why ever that could be, Master Jason. A strange boy you’ve never spoken to before showing up and declaring friendship is perfectly natural.”

A half-hearted glare is swiftly aimed at Alfred. This is no laughing matter! Tim has been found, why couldn’t he see that?

Well, the best way to get something done is to do it yourself.

That night, Jason uses the Batcomputer to comb through school records and figure out which one is his Tim.

Chapter Text

Tim had kind of really hoped that would be the end of it. One little moment of interest and Jason would move on. However, as smart as Tim is, he underestimated Jason. He underestimated not only how stubborn he is, but also how curious and how lonely.

This was demonstrated to Tim the very next day.

“Hi again!”

Tim startles as Jason Todd once again sets his tray down across from Tim. This wasn’t even the same table, it was a new one!

“Did you do anything fun after school yesterday?”

Maybe if Tim sits really still, Jason won’t be able to see him.

“Ooo, baby carrots? Those are so good! May I have one?”

All Tim can seem to do is shrug. Darn it, he was really hoping the T-rex thing would work. Okay, no problem. New strategy: blatantly ignore.

“Yeah, we should probably eat before the period ends.”

That’s kind of the direction Tim was aiming for! Maybe, just, in different locations. He watches as Jason pulls out the same worn down copy of Moby Dick and begins reading. Oh well, that’s close to peaceful silence. He can almost pretend Jason isn’t there.

“Man! Have you ever read Moby Dick? It’s one of my favorites. I mean, Jane Austen has my heart of course, but there’s something about the depth to Moby Dick that just… it’s a classic for a reason. Ya’ know?”

No. Tim did not know. Tim had no clue why Jason was talking right now. He thought they were going to sit in silence through lunch and part ways. Silently. Or at least, that’s what he’d hoped for. Back to ignoring, don’t make eye contact. Don’t engage.

“Oh, maybe Moby Dick kinda old for you, huh? What do you prefer? Harry Potter? Percy Jackson?”

Too— too old?! Tim has been reading since he was two years old, thank you very much! Tim immediately darts his gaze up to glare at Jason. Loathing beams from his eyes. Apparently, Jason is either immune or too stupid to notice.

“My bad! I forgot kids don’t like when ya’ point out how little they are.”

Is… is Jason Todd bullying him? Is that what this is? There couldn’t possibly be another explanation for this. Right? Some of his bafflement must have shown.

“Sorry, I just mean, you’re like eleven, right?”

“I’m twelve, actually.”

Whoops, there goes the ignore him strategy.

“My bad! I hope I didn’t offend ya’. What class are you in that puts you in the high school lunch period? Middle schoolers are normally twelve, right?”

“All of them? I skipped a couple grades, now I’m a freshman.”

Tim shrugs as he says it and then quickly scoops up his trash before running away to his next class like the mature kid he is.

Alright, Thursday’s strategy is avoidance. If he can’t find you, he can’t bother you. Right?

Well, theoretically correct. In practice? Jason Todd is Robin and Robin can figure out which classroom twelve year-old Tim is hiding in.

“Yeah, sometimes the cafeteria gets a little too loud and busy for me too.”

Jason says this as he sits down. Next to Tim. As if he is not the “too loud and busy” Tim is avoiding.

“The library is my favorite hideout. I’m pretty good friends with the librarian at this point too, so she lets me eat my lunch there sometimes if I promise to be tidy.”

Noted. Thank you. Please leave.

Spoiler alert: Jason does NOT leave. He leans his shoulder against Tim’s right shoulder. He is leaning like they are friends. Like they know each other! And sure, would this be Tim’s absolute dream if this was Robin? Yes. But while Jason and Robin are one in the same, they’re also completely different. And Jason is going to figure out that Tim is also Tim if Tim isn’t careful!

“Has anyone ever told you how cool you are?”

Record scratch. Tim thinks he’s missed something here. What?

“I mean, how many twelve year-olds skip to high school and are still top of their class? That’s insane! And you’re so chill about it too.”

Okay, Tim does not receive compliments. That is not something that happens. What is happening? Is he crying right now?

Tears are starting to drip down his cheeks. Maybe he’s a little overwhelmed by all of this sudden attention. Who’s to say?

“Woah, hey, sorry little dude. I didn’t mean to. Come ‘ere.”

He says it in his Robin voice. That’s what breaks Tim. Next thing he knows he’s sobbing into Jason’s shoulder on the floor of a random classroom and being held like he’s something fragile. Like he’s something precious.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you, Tiny Tim.”

A startled laugh bubbles up in the middle of Tim’s sobbing at the nickname.

“W-what kind of ni-*hic*-nickname is that?”

“Whatever do you mean? I’m great at nicknames! You should hear the ones I came up with for my brother.”

Tim devolves into crying-giggles, cuddled up safely against Jason’s chest.

“So, why have you suddenly insisted on hanging out with me?”

“Cause I saw a kid sitting by themselves in a giant cafeteria. And normally I sit by myself in the giant cafeteria. So I figured, why not be lonely together. Ya’know?”

“Not really. No one’s ever wanted to be my friend this badly.”

“That’s okay. You’ll get it eventually. You’re pretty awesome.”

And if tears well up in Tim’s eyes again, well that’s his business and his business alone.

“Alright Timbo—”

“Wait. Hold up. Timbo?!”

“Yeah, I’m trying a couple out. I’m getting you alternatives to Tiny Tim. Then again, he’s got a bad leg and you’ve got a bad arm so…”

“You realize both of those “nick”names are longer than my name, right?”

Tim mimes quotations for emphasis.

“Nicknames are meant to be diminutive. Lengthening it contradicts the entire point!”

“Nah, the point is to have a fun name that only your best-est friends can call you!”

Jason doesn’t allow any air-quotes or eye-rolls to stop him while he’s on a roll.

“More importantly, Timberlina, how do you feel about Shakespeare?”

Tim’s eyes immediately light up, ignoring the new awful nickname altogether.

“As in William Shakespeare? He’s only the most morally complex, but linguistically clever playwright of all time!”

“My thoughts exactly! Would you want to come over after school and read some of it at my place? I live right next door, if you ignore the fact that manors are excessively large so your front door is actually like an acre away from mine.”

“Yes, please !”

“William, you will not believe what I’ve just come home from doing!”

Tim shouts into the empty house as he shuts the door that afternoon.

Chapter Text

Jason had not only gotten Tim to talk, but to come over and hang out! Alfred drove them both from school to the manor. Tim had seemed a little hesitant, but once Jason got a light-hearted conversation about their different after school snack options, Tim seemed to forget his nerves. When they arrived the two boys barreled out of the car, Jason tugging Tim through the foyer and down the hall into the library. From there, Jason yanked out all copies of Shakespearean playscripts and they started flipping through their favorites and reenacting different scenes.

When Alfred walks in with chopped veggies and dip as a snack, Tim is on the ground by the window with Jason’s foot standing on his chest waxing poetic to friends, Romans, and countrymen. Setting the tray of snacks on the nearest couch’s side table, the butler slips back out.

Upon his return, this time with a tray bearing a carafe of water and glasses, the two boys look in the midst of a faux-argument about biting thumbs. “Please refrain from any actual thumb biting, young masters” is all he deigns to say before once again removing himself.

Alfred’s final foray into the library of theatrics greets him with Tim pretending to stab Jason through the window’s curtain.

“How now, a rat?”

“O, I am slain!”

Jason groans as he slowly slides down against the window, before collapsing to the floor. It is at this moment Tim notices Alfred and quickly retracts his bookmark from Jason’s chest, holding his hands up to demonstrate innocence.

“Master Bruce will be disappointed to hear of Master Jason’s demise, though it will save him many weekend trips to the library.”

The butler winks at Tim conspiratorially, who realizes he’d forgotten to breathe, right as Jason jolts back to life and gasps from the floor.

“No! Alfred, I’m his favorite! He’d be heartbroken. Inconsolable. Truly wrecked.”

“Quite so.”

“...well, I really ought to head home now. This was really fun, but I’ve got homework and stuff.”

Tim shuffles his feet awkwardly, obviously unsure of how to navigate this particular departure.

“Aw, really? You can’t even stay for dinner? Alfred’s cooking is the best!”

“Uh, yeah. My, uh, nanny will be missing me. She made dinner, so…”

“Oh, I get it. Here, hand me your phone!”

Jason throws out his hand and makes a grabby motion as Tim sets the device in his palm.

“Dickface, my brother Dick I mean, is coming into town tonight. I’ll text you and we can find time tomorrow to hang out? He’s been dying to meet you. We could play Mario Bros or something?”

Rapid-fire typing his contact in, Jason shoots himself a quick text from Tim’s phone and then starts to hand the device back. Tim tries to grab it, but Jason hasn’t released his hold yet, making Tim look up. Jason looks back, forcing eye-contact before continuing.

“Please?”

“...yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Yes! Then I’ll definitely text you about it so we can find a time!”

“Maybe I could also coordinate with your nanny, Master Drake? That way they could contact the manor, should it be necessary. Or I could likewise contact them if you were staying for dinner for example?”

Tim shrugs the butler off.

“No, it’s okay. I can text them from my phone. I just didn’t think I would be staying. I really do need to go now.”

“Alright, Alfie and I’ll walk you to the door. Don’t forget your school bag!”

“And you’re sure this is the same Tim?”

“I told you, there are too many similarities for them not to be— oof!”

Nightwing sweeps Jason’s feet out from under him. He rolls out of the way of Nightwing’s stomp just in time, popping back up.

“Bruce is gonna love ‘im! He’s tiny and has black hair and —”

This time he jumps in time to avoid Nightwing’s leg.

“Baby blue eyes! He screams “please adopt” in the best little social-outcast way!”

This time a flurry of punches are sent his way. He manages to dodge most of them, but has to absorb one or two.

“Aww! Do you wanna adopt your own lil baby brother?”

Nightwing coos, finally settling out of his sparring stance and backbending his way to the roof’s ledge.

“...no.”

Jason is sixteen, he’s not pouting as he makes his way to sit next to Dick. Anyone who says otherwise is a fuckin’ lier.

“Aww! Jaybird! You’ve got baby fever! You want a little brother!”

An arm is slung around Jason’s shoulder as he’s dragged into his brother’s side and forced into cuddles. Very much against his will.

“Did you introduce him to B, yet?”

“Nah, I… wanted you to meet ‘im first.”

The last half of Jason’s sentence could barely even be considered a mumble, but Dickface seems to understand him just fine.

“I’d be honored babybird! When are you introducing us?!”

Jason struggles against the octopus hug around his neck that threatens to choke him.

“Tomor– or I guess later this afternoon.”

It’s almost 2am, so that's today, right?

“He’s coming over for a couple hours around 2-ish so we can play Mario Bros. Maybe some Smash. I don’t know, whatever we feel like.”

Jason shrugs.

“I can’t wait!”

Jason yanks the front door open at the first knock. Tim looks startled at first, but it settles into a look that was not altogether surprised.

“TimTam! You’re here!”

“Object permanence can be kind of hard, huh?”

Tim’s snark is lost to Jason’s mostly-crushing hug (always careful of the still healing left arm and collarbone). Then, Jason grabs Tim’s right hand and yanks him deeper into the house after closing the door. 

“Com’on! Ya’ gotta meet Dickface!”

Weaving through the halls of the manor, this time Tim is brought to a media room where Dick is practically vibrating with anticipation on the couch. As soon as he spots Tim and Jason, he shoots up.

“Tim, this is Dick!”

Jason watches as Tim collects himself and offers Dick a very professional handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Dick. I’m—”

“OMG Tim! It’s so great to finally hug you! I mean, meet you. And hug you!”

Dick scoops Tim up into a hug of his own for a whole minute before releasing the poor kid.

“Oookay Dick. Let my friend go, otherwise he can’t play Mario Bros with us.”

Jason pries Tim’s body from Dick’s octopus grip. Acting as Tim’s Dick-shield, Jason guides him to the couch before pulling out a bin of Joycons.

“Are you a lefty or a righty?”

“Minus please.”

Jason hands Tim a hot pink Joycon before grabbing its green other-half and leaving Dick to choose between blue and red (he chooses blue, who’s surprised?).

Jason thinks this is going really well.

While Dick’s initial enthusiasm had spooked the kid, Tim relaxes after a couple levels of Dick’s character being relegated to the bubble of shame from falling so often.

The kid is also wicked good at Mario Bros. Dick might have just been replaced as go-to game partner.

When Dick complained enough about not really getting to play (see: kept getting stuck in a bubble), the two younger boys finally relented and switched games. Tim proved just as adept as Mario Kart, but his gaming proficiency was called into question when Just Dance loads.

“Ooo! You don’t even know what beast you both have just released!”

Dick is crowing from his perch on the arm of the giant couch. He smoothly slides off and braces himself in a position similar to when he prepares for combat, not that Tim would notice.

“So, what I’m hearing, and please correct me if I’m wrong, is that you hate this game and we should pick another one?”

“NO!”

Jason smirks at Dick’s predictably feral objection, self satisfied by the reactions he’d gotten from both boys when he notes the giggling coming from Tim’s corner of the couch. And yeah, maybe Jason loves that they’re gettin’ along. Sue him.

With Dick’s talents in mind, Jason does him the biggest favor and the planet and cues Rasputin.

The peace of the mediaroom quickly devolves into chaos. Tim, it turns out, does not regularly train to fight criminals and must have skipped leg day. He gives it his all for the first half of the song before collapsing onto the couch to watch the two brothers battle it out. Jason holds his own a little longer and gets better scores than Tim was, but he eventually cries uncle to watch too.

Dick, however, is in his element. Not a single “Super” appears on the screen, just “Perfect”s all around are Dick expertly kicks and crouches and leaps back up.

“Holy crow…”

“I know, right? This is, like, his thing.”

They continue to watch in aww, Tim googling different difficult levels and Jason cuing them, only for Dick to still come out victorious.

“You showing them what’s what, chum?”

Jason feels Tim freeze next to him, his near-constant giggle cutting off and grin smoothing to a blank mask.

“You know it, B!”

Dick’s oblivious as he twists around and throws a quick wink Bruce’s way.

“Alfred just wanted me to let you boys know dinner’s almost ready. So maybe call it quits after this one and go wash up?”

“Sounds good, bye!”

Was it a little rude? Probably. But Jason did not like how stalk-still Tim had become next to him.

Bruce sends him an odd look, but must decide to leave it be. At least for now. Dick finishes up Smells Like Funk before working on shutting the console off and cleaning up. Jason peers back over at Tim. He’s way more relaxed than when B was here, but nowhere near as comfortable as he’d been minutes prior.

“Here, Timmers, follow me. I’ll show you where we can wash up.”

Dick glances over when he processes Jason’s Robin voice, but ultimately leaves Tim to Jason and heads to clean himself up.

After a moment, Tim nods and follows Jason as he leads them both back down the hallway and upstairs. When they get to Jason’s room, he shuts the door and guides Tim to the ensuite and fetches a washcloth from under the sink.

“Here, you can wash your hands and your face real quick. Do you wanna borrow one of my shirts or did yours not get particularly sweaty?”

“I’m okay.”

Jason nods at the quiet response and leaves Tim to rinse while he switches into a clean shirt. When Tim pops out of the bathroom, Jason guides him to his bed and leaves him sitting there while Jason washes his own hands and face. When he returns, Jason crouches down in front of where Tim is seated on the bed.

“Can we talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Tim’s eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at Jason.

“B freaked you out.”

Is all Jason softly says.

“No he didn’t.”

Jason waits in the silence.

“He really didn’t. Maybe I was a little startled , but I wasn’t freaked out .”

“You looked really nervous and you still did even after he left the room. I’m not saying this to interrogate you or anything. But I need to know if there’s something he did that made you uncomfortable. He can eat in another room or something.”

Tim looks shocked for a moment, but schools his features again quickly.

“No, it’s fine. He’s fine. I’m not uncomfortable and you don’t need to kick your dad out of his own dining room.”

“Okay, then let’s go.”

Chapter Text

This is so totally fine. Tim is fine.

It’s not like he’s about to have dinner with the world’s greatest detective or anything. It’s not like Tim has been hiding anything at all. His parents are very present, his nanny is very real, he very much never stalks the Bats at night to take pictures, and he is very much not the same boy with a broken arm and collarbone as the one from the Scarecrow incident.

See, Tim has nothing to worry about.

Except even if he really didn’t, he’s made Jason worried. Apparently he was as sly in the media room as he had thought. He wasn’t lying though! Bruce didn’t freak him out, just the idea of who Bruce is .

Tim is startled from his thoughts as he and Jason arrive outside the dining room.

“Last chance Timber. I can kick him out. Or the two of us can make a great escape.”

“I’m okay, it’s okay.”

“Just let me know if you aren’t anymore.”

That’s the last thing Jason says to him before pushing past the doors to the dining room. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of the manor. High ceilings, ornate wood accents, and – of right – the Batman sitting at the head of the table. Tim squeezes Jason's hand and he feels a little squeeze back. He’s led to the side of the table opposite Dick and Jason places himself firmly between Bruce and Tim before glaring at his father.

“I don’t know about you, Tim, but I feel like a whole new person after freshening up.”

Dick seems like he’d full-on showered. Though, now that Tim thinks about it, he had been pretty sweaty from all the Just Dance songs.

“I, uh, like your Superman sweatshirt.”

Damn it, Tim! Speak clearly, only fools stutter. And unclench your hands from your pants, they don’t need any extra help wrinkling.

Okay, Janet, if you could get out of Tim’s head now that’d be great. He’s stressed enough as is.

“Thanks! He’s my favorite member of the Justice League. I mean, who doesn’t want to shoot lasers out of their eyes and fly, right?”

Tim nods enthusiastically, relaxing a little more already. Jason seems to take this as permission to stop glaring at Bruce and join the conversation.

“My favorite is Wonderwoman! The lasso of truth is fu— uh, I mean — freakin’ epic! Who’s your favorite?”

“Uh… honestly probably Nightwing? I mean, it’s cool that he doesn’t have any powers but still manages to defy gravity and physics with his tricks.”

Tim shrugs nervously, only glancing around enough to see Dick’s grin, Bruce’s bemused smile, and Jason’s scowl.

“Doesn’t Robin do the same stuff though?”

“I mean, kinda, but he does, like, normal cool tricks. Nightwing does impossible ones. It’s kinda like he proves that the impossible's possible if you work hard enough, right?”

Jason looks appeased by the answer, but still bitter. Dick looks like Christmas came early.

“I guess so, huh? His uniform is pretty cool too. I mean, black is practical and all—”

Tim doesn’t think Dick expects him to notice the quick eyeroll in Bruce’s direction.

“---but I think Nightwing’s pop of blue still makes the suite fun and, you’re totally right, inspiring.”

Okay, Dick, you don’t have to lay it on so thick. Except, Tim loves talking suit design. So maybe he’ll bite just this once.

“I think it’s very clever. Plus, the recent alterations he’s done to the suit make it more flexible. I think the padding or armor or whatever before limited his movement too much. While it was practical, it didn’t lend itself to Nightwing’s fighting style.”

“I knew I liked you.”

Dick is glowing, now Bruce is scowling, and Jason is thoroughly entertained.

Alfred breezes in with dinner, setting plates down and ensuring everyone’s satisfied before disappearing through the doors once more.

The conversation switches to school and work and Tim finds himself increasingly comfortable. The Waynes are easy to talk to and are more than capable of keeping up with Tim’s trains of thought. It’s not just refreshing, it makes something in Tim’s gut feel all warm and cozy.

“Do you have any plans now that school is starting to wrap up before Thanksgiving?”

Dick asks this absently as he twirls some remaining pasta around on his fork.

“Um, next weekend is one of my friends’ birthdays. So I’ll be hanging out with him and helping to plan his party.”

Tim barely hears himself as he finishes the homemade strawberry ice cream a la Alfred. It’s delicious, Tim’s not sure he’s ever had anything this wonderful in his life.

“Wait, which friend?”

Jason sounds confused. Did he not think Tim had other friends? That’s kind of rude!

“Agnolo. He’s turning… I don’t know, old, on Thursday. But I have school, so we’re celebrating Saturday. That way I have time to set up, buy treats, and the whole shabang. Does Alfred know how to make real, Italian gelato?”

“You don’t know how old your friend is?”

This comes from Bruce, finally causing Tim to look up from the heaven that is his ice cream. Oh. Um, yeah that doesn’t sound great, does it? Hold on, Tim can backtrack this. He shrugs as casually as possible and aims a grin at Jason.

“Well, once you’re past sixteen you’re basically ancient. It’s not worth keeping track.”

Tim must succeed at selling it based on the offended huff from Dick.

“GASP! I’ll have you know nineteen isn’t even old enough to drink, it’s definitely not ancient!"

“Did you just say the word “gasp” out loud?”

“Right? Isn’t that so weird??”

For some reason, Jason looks so vindicated at that moment.

“And anyway, nineteen definitely qualifies as ancient.”

Because Tim does not need to imply that his friend is even older than that. When he glances at Bruce, he becomes a little less confident. The detective's worries do not seem assuaged.

Now, Tim feels as though he only has a couple options here:

1. Maintain generic ancient age details on a friend named Agnolo.
2. Make Agnolo and his imaginary nanny one and the same.
3. Pretend he has an imaginary friend named Agnolo instead of a very real ghost friend named Agnolo.

Before he has time to pick his best option, Jason pipes up.

“Leave him alone, B, it’s fine. I’m going to the birthday party too.”

“I don’t believe I recall you receiving an invitation, Master Jason.”

Wow, Alfred’s timing is impeccable, Tim thinks, as the butler appears to remove the plate Dick is toying with as well as other dishes.

“It wasn’t an invitation, invitation. Tim asked if I wanted to come too. It’s a casual thing, not some whole rich-kid production with bouncy houses and parents networking.”

Okay, new options for Tim. He can either run with what Jason is saying or call Jason a liar and end up having to admit that he is, in fact, also a liar. Really, there isn’t a choice.

“Yeah, Bruce, it’s just at Drake manor. Friends only. Nothing wild. Jason will make sure of it.”

That last comment alone seemed to cause three new grey hairs to pop out of Bruce’s head.

“Will there also be adult supervision?”

“It’s at Drake Manor, of course my nanny will be there.”

“Fine.”

“I mean, I wasn’t really asking permission?”

Tim cocks his head, confused. He might look kinda like Jason and Dick, but he had free reign to do whatever he wanted. Especially if that involves throwing parties for the ghosts haunting his house.

“I believe Master Bruce was merely providing Master Jason permission, considering he hadn’t brought up his attendance of the event.”

Alfred interjects smoothly, though not without arching a quick brow at his oldest liege.

“Oh, my bad.”

Now Tim feels kind of silly for being so defensive.

“So, back to an earlier question: As wonderful as this ice cream was, Alfred, how’s your gelato?”

Chapter Text

At lunch the following Monday, Jason leads him and Tim to the library for lunch. He briefly nods to the librarian before beelining it for a secluded nook. Tim looks apprehensive, but makes no move to object. Once they’re settled, Jason starts on his lunch and waits for Tim to succumb to the uncomfortable silence. And… bingo.

“So, um, why’re we eating in the library? And, I guess, why did you lie about me inviting you to Agnolo’s birthday party?”

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about your ghosts in the school cafeteria or at the Wayne Manor’s dining table.”

Jason says it with a shrug, trying to act as casual as possible while still reading Tim’s body language.

“My– my what?”

Tim looks panicked for a moment, before leveling it to something closer to manic-surprise.

“Your ghosts, remember?”

“No???”

“We were nerding out about Shakespeare and you mentioned how you knew William personally because he’s one of your ghosts.”

Tim looked very much like he did not remember that. Which, in all fairness, is because that didn’t happen. But Jason wants to be Tim’s friend, but Tim told Robin about the ghosts, not Jason. So instead of admitting to being a vigilante, Jason’s just going to do a healthy bit of gaslighting. And gatekeeping, he supposes, since he’s hiding the whole Robin thing. And let’s all be honest here, Jason is the walking, talking definition of a girlboss.

“I– No I didn’t! I don’t have ghosts!”

Fine, Jason can stubborn right back with the best of them. Because he did research, god damnit!

“Yeah you did! How else would I have known about your ghosts? Plus, who doesn’t want to celebrate Agnolo di Cosimo’s birthday?”

The full name silences Tim for a moment. How many people just happen to know the painter Bronzino’s real name off the top of their head? If they’ve heard of Bronzino at all. Let alone a high school student from Crime Alley. See? Jason’s totally ready for bigger stings. Better yet, send him undercover. He’s rocking this!

“What did I say about William?”

Tim’s face is all skepticism. This is it, this is Jason’s moment. And luckily, Jason is not only a theater kid, but also the adopted son of the world’s greatest detective. All he has to do is figure out what Tim would have managed to let slip and play off. Something obscure enough that doesn’t scream ghost, but implies he’d spoken to the dead playwright.

“Something about him being dramatic—”

Because Tim did mention that while high on Scarecrow gas.

“---and how most people don’t know just how much of a theater kid he really is. And that we’d have gotten along.”

The last part he says with a grin, mixing his tenses and making Tim’s brain work overtime to determine the truth of the farce.

“Yeah, he was really jealous that he wasn’t there to watch us reenact his productions. Though I’m glad, I don’t think I could have put up with all his critiques.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“So while I kinda know Shakespeare since I’ve read all his plays, what’s Agnolo like? And how does one celebrate with someone they can’t see or hear?”

“Easy—”

And it was, wasn’t it? Now there’s nothing Robin knows that Jason doesn’t. Really, double lives aren’t that hard. Get good Bruce.

“Jason!”

“Tim-of-thee!”

The boys hug as Tim opens the door. Then, Tim notices Alfred.

“Hello, Master Tim. Do you mind if I speak with your nanny quickly?”

“I wouldn’t, but they’ve just stepped out on a weekly call with my parents. They’ll be busy right up until the party starts, sorry!”

“That’s quite alright—”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Timmy, I’ve got Al’s gelato right here! And I can help you hang any of the streamers in the kitchen your nanny hasn’t already.”

Jason bounces his way into the house, leaving Tim awkwardly wave goodbye before closing the door in his slightly-startled face.

“Hey, Tim! I don’t see any streamers hanging! Did your nanny really not get anything ready before their call?”

When he looks back over at Tim, there’s a distinct impression of guilt.

“Um, well, you see…”

“What’s up T?”

“My nanny doesn’t actually…”

Jason waits for him expectantly, but not without a little concern ticking it’s way into his eyebrow.

“...watch me on weekends. They’re, uh, more of a during the week thing. To take me to my private lessons and such. I’m twelve, so they get weekends off. But, like, I have their number if I need them for something. Or, like, for emergencies.”

That is not what Jason had expected. Sure, Tim’s pretty responsible and grown up. But, honestly, the house is so empty that Jason would rather the nanny only come on weekends in an either/or situation.

Plus, how far away does the nanny live? What if there was an emergency and Tim needed help right then and there?? All Jason ends up saying in response is:

“Phone.”

Jason holds out his hand expectantly. He then programs Bruce, Dick, Alfred, and the manor’s contacts into Tim’s device before handing it back.

“I don’t know where your nanny lives, but please text or call one of us if you need anything. If you’re, like, dying on the floor without anyone but your ghosts around, we’d be able to get to ya’ way faster.”

Tim nods his assent.

“Cool. Alright. Well, then let’s get our ghost-party on!”

“Okay, let me get this straight: We’re going to skateboard at one another with the backs of brooms and see what happens. While your arm and collarbone are still broken?”

“They are not still broken. They’re healing. I can’t help that I’m a glass-half-full kinda guy.”

Jason levels him with his best impression of Alfred’s look . Tim has the decency to look a teensy tiny bit remorseful. But only the teensiest, tiniest bit.

“Okay, how do you propose we reenact jousting? This was a favorite pastime of most upper class Europeans in the mid-1500s.”

“Maybe with, oh I don’t know, something less likely to re-break your bones? Like pool noodles?”

“Huh, not bad.”

Jason is baffled as Tim wanders over to a tablet sitting on the kitchen counter and starts seeing if any can be delivered via Uber or Instacart or something in the next hour. Sometimes he doubts just how intelligent Tim is. How can someone skip three grade levels and think jousting with wooden sticks with a broken arm is a good idea?

This is why Jason needs to be his best friend and brother. Who’s gonna look out for this kid? He officially should not be trusted with his own physical safety.

“I would have been careful.”

Jason catches Tim mumble. However, when he turns to provide him with a glorious eyeroll he realizes that the mumble was not aimed at him.

“No, I was just excited to make this special. How long do you think it’s been since someone last cared about his birthday? Huh?”

…

“You’re right, you’re right. I’ll be more careful. Arthur? Don’t you dare get onto me about my ribs again. They’re fine . Jason is—”

Tim’s gaze shoots over to Jason, seemingly just remembering his live company.

“Umm, sorry. Usually there isn’t anyone home to hear me talk to them.”

“All good. I’m just glad there are other people around to keep you from doing something reckless. If I hadn’t said anything about the brooms, the ghosts would have at least.”

Jason shrugs, unsure of where to go from there.

“My bad, I was rude. I should have at least introduced you to everyone. Jason, I know you can’t see them, neither can I, but… this is Cleopatra or Cleo, my resident critic, Arthur, the mother I never had, William, who’s a big fan of yours by the way, and Agnolo, the birthday boy.”

“Happy birthday Agnolo! …what do you mean the mother you never had?”

“Ah, just, she’s not really around and Arthur takes that as a personal insult.”

Jason looks to where he assumes Arthur is and shares an approving nod.

“Good man.”

“The pool noodles should arrive in the next half hour. How do we feel about cake and gelato?”

“Yum! Let’s!”

Jason pulls the gelato from where it had been tucked into the freezer, noting how empty it is. After that he fetches plates, bowls, and silverware from wherever Tim directs. In the meantime, Tim carefully carves three perfect slices out of a tray of brownies.

“Did you bake that yourself, Timbo?”

“Yep. Brownies aren’t really Italian. Or birthday-ish, at least not like cake. But I figured it’d go well with the gelato. Since, you know, ghosts can’t eat… so we’re the only ones who can?”

“Works for me! That third one for Agnolo?”

“Uh-huh… I just… gotta find where the candles… went.”

Tim answers absentmindedly as he hunts through kitchen drawers.

“Keep an eye out for a lighter or some matches too?”

All that elicits is a vague grunt, but Jason’s lived with Bruce for three years. That was practically enthusiastic affirmation. After positioning the brownies on the plates, Jason decides to wait before scooping any gelato. No one wants it melted.

Sighing, Jason takes some time to actually look around Drake Manor. It’s nice. Classic, if a little newer than Wayne Manor. And it’s been updated pretty consistently, different trends and fads visible throughout the home if you look for it. If you could call it that. As beautiful as it is, the building doesn’t give off any warm-fuzzies.

Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, there aren’t any pictures in sight. The house is so generic, you could just pop any ol’ family inside.

“I’m gonna wash up real quick before we sing, okay Tim?”

Another grunt is heard as yet another cabinet is shut. Jason listens to footsteps sound and a door open, before the click of a ladder unfolding is heard. He takes this opportunity to head towards a living room at the front of the manor and slip on his proverbial detective’s cap.

Nothing.

Sure, the home owners definitely have an interest in artifacts. History is strategically positioned throughout the house, allowing vases to be lit by windows and paintings to back couches. It’s not until Jason makes it all the way back to the front door that there’s evidence of the Drakes themselves.

There, in the entryway, a painting is hung. It’s prominently displayed, but not ostentatious. You have to bother to look up to see it. The Drakes. Janet, with her hair neatly placed as the manor’s mistress. Jack, his eyes hard in a way that’s meant to communicate authority. And a little Tim. Sat in a chair between them.

Maybe the artist thought him sitting on the chair would feel like an heir sitting on a throne. All Jason sees is a seemingly four-year-old Tim posed perfectly between his parents in a way that neither are touching him. Their hands don’t even drift close. No arms hugging him close, no hand grasping his shoulder. He looks like an extra in his own family portrait.

“Aha! FOUND THEM!”

The exclamation is shouted through the house, jolting Jason back to the present. He winds his way back to the kitchen, looking at a very triumphant present-day Tim.

Who’s about to fall off his present-day ladder.

Rushing the remaining steps, Jason throws his weight at Tim to steady the smaller boy.

“Woah!--- Tim, I can almost guarantee you that Agnolo would rather you live than him have birthday candles. And I can’t even talk to the ghosts.”

“Sorry, Jason. I’ll be more careful. Also, it’s not about being able to talk to them. It’s just whether you do or not. Theoretically they can hear people even when they’re not the ones being addressed.”

Tim transitions from sheepish to thoughtful as he makes his way down the ladder under Jason’s very watchful eye.

Heading back to the kitchen counter, Tim very carefully pulls out five blue candles.

“How’d ya’ pick the number?”

Jason ponders aloud as they’re meticulously pierced into the middle plate’s brownie.

“He’s turning five hundred and something. Five seems easier, don’t you agree?”

“Right as usual Tim-bim.”

“Eww! Don’t use that one. That’s easily your worst nickname yet.”

“Aww, I thought it was kinda clever.”

“You thought wrong.”

Chapter Text

Batman had been worrying about Tim as soon as Robin informed him that was the name of one of Scarecrow’s victims.

Bruce had been worrying about Jason since the Tim he’d gotten attached to seemed to disappear into thin air while staying at the hospital.

Bruce had been worrying about Tim since his mere presence spooked the kid so bad that he hadn’t giggled the rest of the evening at the manor.

And really, it’s not fair! He’s scrawny and sad and hurt and he looks like Dick Jr. However, Tim’s also Bruce's neighbors’ son. Bruce’s very well-off neighbors who have attended several galas with said son. And that son seemed perfectly enamored with his parents. So he shouldn’t be readying any adoption papers.

Jason marches through the front door like a man on a mission.

“How do you adopt someone?”

Bruce promptly chokes and attempts to clear his airways.

“In – ahem – what context or circumstance?”

“In the Tim Drake context.”

“Dear boy, you cannot just adopt people you become close with. I know Master Bruce has set a poor example of that—”

Ugh, and just when Bruce had figured out how to breathe again.

“---but some people have very good home lives as well as close friends.”

Alfred sends a cursory scolding glance towards Bruce before leaving the room to fetch tea.

“What if he doesn’t have a good home life?”

Bruce sits up straighter and loosely grabs Jason by his upper arms.

“What do you mean, Jay? You can’t make accusations about others’ families just because they look a little different. What you’re implying is serious stuff.”

Jason takes a moment, rolling the words around in his head. Alfred comes back in and sets the tray of tea on the couch’s end table. Bruce directs Jason to settle in on the cushion next to him. Alfred then hands him a cuppa prepared just the way he likes it.

“I don’t think Tim’s parents are great.”

Jason finally says, slowly. He fiddles with the cup anxiously instead of taking a sip.

“He lied about his nanny. He said they have weekends off, but I don’t think even that was true. And there wasn’t a single photograph in the house. Not of a baby Tim or even his parents. At the warehouse about a month ago, Tim said he only gets emails from his parents biweekly. If even that often. He’s always alone, even at home.”

Jason takes a deep breath before carefully releasing it and making direct eye contact with Bruce.

“B, he doesn’t even have friends. Agnolo is just one of the ghosts he thinks is in his house. I feel like you have to be pretty lonely to not only talk to ghosts you think may or may not be there, but to plan one of them a birthday party.”

His breath hiccups.

“B, his house was just so empty —”

Jason breaks into a sob as Bruce carefully takes the cup of tea from Jason’s hands and sets it to the side. He then pulls his son to his lap. Cradling him close, he hushes Jason gently, whispering soft reassurances.

When he’s calmed down a tad, Bruce looks up at Alfred and they exchange a nod.

“Why don’t you and I have one of our library dates, dear boy? I’ll brew you a fresh cup so it’s nice and warm.”

A whimper sounds from Jason, but he still unfurls himself from Bruce’s lap and takes Alfred's waiting hand.

Once Jason has been safely passed to Alfred, Bruce gets up and heads for the Batcave.

It’s worse than he had thought.

The Drakes’ last visit home was in May. That was a little less than six months ago. He’d hacked into their email accounts and saying they made contact even every three weeks was a stretch. They most certainly hadn’t been made aware of Tim’s kidnapping. Or at least they hadn’t left any kind of message hoping he felt better or that they were so sorry something so awful had happened.

Major holidays, birthdays, the Drakes are pretty much parents in blood and financing alone.

There hadn’t been anyone hired with the title nanny in the last four years, meaning Tim had mostly been on his own since… eight-years-old.

There’s a housekeeper on their payroll at least, but she’s only scheduled to come twice a week: Mondays and Fridays.

What are these charges on Timothy’s credit card? A couple thousand dollars for a camera and associated  gear, a bulletproof vest…

More importantly, what are these random account deposits from various publications and newspapers?

Chapter Text

Tim is feeling great!

His arm and clavicle are finally feeling more bruised than scream-y. And it’s only been four weeks. At this rate, he’ll be healed at the six week mark!

Jousting even with just pool noodles had kinda hurt, so Jason and he had had to stop and call it best two-out-of-three. Tim did not win (see: two broken bones). Jason had seemed a little weird about going home after that, but it was fine. 

Agnolo’s birthday party had been a rousing success and Tim had gotten to keep Alfred’s leftover gelato.

He’d spent the rest of the weekend gorging himself on said gelato and finally getting around to messing with his new camera. It functioned pretty similarly, but this one had two extra shutter options, a second lens for further zoom definition, and three levels of flash. These provided ample entertainment for Tim as he tried out new setting combinations late into the night.

The following week, Jason had been especially clingy. Like, super cling levels. Now instead of just at lunch, he would seek him out during a couple passing periods to check on him too. He also insisted on carpooling to and from school together.

While Tim appreciated not having to wake up as early to catch his bus, the time it took up in his afternoons was vital to ensuring Tim killed some time before bed. Which was brutal, since Tim couldn’t go out and Bat hunt.

All that to say, Tim is getting cabin fever and has decided he feels well enough to scale the buildings of Gotham.

“My ribs aren’t bruised anymore, Arthur.”

Tim moans at the unseen figure while he struggles to get his vest over his cast.

“No, no. This is a great idea. If I stayed home any longer, I would start walking on banisters to see which way I tilt. And I’ll only stay out until 1am at the latest… unless I’m kidnapped.”

…

“It’s not too soon, William thinks I’m hilarious, Cleo! Dick’s in town again, I’m dying to use my new camera, and I still don’t have any good swinging shots of him in his new suit.”

Tim looses another huff as he finally fits the vest snug over his chest and wraps. Then Tim slides on a dark hoodie and some slightly-less-perfect dark jeans.

“I checked and the lamp program is on. I’m just going into downtown, nowhere near the Bowery or Crime Alley, to try and get a couple shots. What could go wrong?”

“Okay well, assuming I don’t get mugged, I have a key this time Cleo. Arthur! It’s fine! I’m fine! I need this, I need to do this!”

That seems to silence the already silent room.

“Like I said, I should be back by 1am at the latest. Don’t wait up.”

Tim heads downstairs and exits the kitchen door. While he’s planning on climbing some of Gotham’s buildings, those have fire escapes. Tim’s arm isn’t quite ready for flat-wall climbing.

Locking the door as he leaves and zipping the key inside his new camera bag, Tim starts his trek down the street to the bus stop.

“Thanks Liam!”

Tim steps off the city bus and heads for Gotham’s botanical garden. Poison Ivy doesn’t make attacking unassuming kids a habit. The garden will give Tim something more scenic to practice shooting in the dark with his new camera. Plus, all the greenery usually lends itself to some creative use of contrasting camera flash and shadows.

While Arthur and Cleo believe differently, Tim does pay attention to his surroundings as he makes his way along sidestreets and alleyways. When there’s a scuffle he turns, when there’s a click he weaves through cover, and when there’s silence he runs for the hills.

Finally making it to the botanical garden, Tim takes his time. He pulls out his camera and does a couple test shots before deciding what settings he wants to try first. Then, Tim meanders around, immortalizing different plants on a whim. He finds a tree overhanging a patch of flowers and spends extra time trying to photograph the buds while using the shadows from the branches. A little artsy-fartsy, but they’re just for fun.

It’s when his face is buried in the branches that his apparent stalker strikes.

“Funny seeing you again, out so late in Gotham!”

What leaves Tim’s mouth could only be categorized as a screech. 

“Oops, my bad! But you should really pay more attention. No need for another kidnapping, hm?”

Finally yanking his head free from the tree, Tim looks over at Robin in all of his judgmental glory.

“How’s the arm? And collarbone for that matter?”

Tim opens and closes his mouth a couple times, unsure how to respond. How did Jason find him? This isn’t Robin’s normal route!

“Aren’t there people that’ll be missing you this late? Parents? Friends? Neighbors?”

Finally gathering his thoughts, Tim begins packing his camera away.

“Not really, and my arm’s mostly fine now. Just a couple more weeks and it’ll be back to normal.”

“What do you mean not really? I’ve got it on good authority that you’ve made some new friends who care about your safety an awful lot.”

“Huh? Who?”

Tim’s really confused now. Does Jason not like that he’s out this late? This isn’t even that bad! He’s climbed rooftops and shot big bad villain fights from only ten or so feet away!

“A little birdy told me that you’ve gotten pretty close with the Waynes.”

Ha ha, very funny Jason. Tim gets it, you’re a bird. Can he stop speaking in riddles now?

“You still don’t get it do you?”

Oh good, a question Tim can answer!

“Not really, no. I’ve got no clue what you’re on about.”

Robin stares at him for a minute, seemingly contemplating something. Then, he taps on his comm.

“Heading back to DM with T. What’s it’s status?”

Silence, presumably as whoever’s on the other end responds.

“Affirmative, leaving now.”

Robin then clicks his comm back off before reaching out a hand to Tim in silent question. Tim grabs it without a second thought and follows him through the dark streets of Gotham. They find the Batmobile parked in the back of an alley two blocks from the botanical garden. Robin opens the door for Tim before hopping in on the other side.

“Do you even have a license?”

Robin scoffs in response and clicks his seatbelt. Once both passengers are secured, the car boots up and begins pulling itself out of the alley.

“Huh. I don’t know why I hadn’t figured that one out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Tim’s quick to brush him off. Jason already knows about his ghosts. He doesn’t need to know about Tim’s late night activities too.

They sit in an odd silence. How do you strike up a conversation with your friend who doesn’t know you know their secret identity? And, thus, you don’t technically know that it’s your friend with you?

The Batmobile pulls over a couple houses down from Tim’s. Once both boys have gotten out, the vehicle drives off, presumably on another mission or other.

“... I thought this was supposed to clear things up?”

“Shh, we don’t have time for your attitude right now. Follow me.”

Tim obediently tail Robin as he leads them to a bit of brush across the street from Tim’s house. Except, Robin ends up having to drag Tim since he’s too busy staring. At the several police cars parked out front and officers wandering the property with flashlights.

“What the heck is happening to my house?!”

“The police are looking for you. When Alfred, the Waynes’ butler, was taking the trash out he heard a crash. He sent Bruce to investigate. While he didn’t see anything, he still wanted to make sure you were okay. But then you were responding and he didn’t know where you’d gone. He filed a missing persons report with the GCPD.”

“Because I wasn’t in bed at 11pm?!”

“Because you weren’t in bed at midnight and were kidnapped by Scarecrow a month ago!”

Both boys are huffing from the whisper argument.

“I was perfectly fine.”

Tim huffs. If Robin knew where he was, Batman probably did too. What’s Jason trying to get at here? Tim’s still missing something and the frustration of not knowing is not helping his temper.

“Bruce had no way of knowing that! He was worried! About you!”

“No one worries about me! It’s me, myself, and I! Always have been, always will be!”

“It doesn’t have to be!”

“YES IT DOES!”

Robin takes a step back and checks to see if they’ve been heard. It seems like the officers are all busy talking far enough away for Tim’s outburst to go unnoticed. Then Robin turns back to Tim, his expression difficult to read with the domino on.

“Why?”

“...because I don’t know how to let people take care of me. I wasn’t — made — to be loved like that. No one’s ever loved me like that. None of the nannies cared enough to stick around and look out for me, my parents certainly didn’t. If my own parents won’t, how can I trust the next person to stick around?”

Tim takes a steadying breath, making eye contact with Robin.

“I can’t handle people only caring about me when it suits them. I can’t be last week's toy. How do you know how long it’ll be before you get bored of me, Jason?”

There’s a heavy pause, the silence choking Tim as he tries to keep breathing through his tight throat. Then, Robin pulls away his domino so that it’s Jason looking at him. He kneels, making himself smaller, and gently holds Tim’s right hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough too. And it sounds like the words hurt just as much too.

“Tim. I will never be bored of you. You’ve brought me more joy in the last month than I could ever begin to tell you. And not because you’re someone to spend time with at lunch or on the weekends. It’s because you’re so clever. You somehow figured out I’m Robin, you rock at most every videogame you touch, you care so deeply for others that you forget yourself. Who forgets their broken arm just to make a ghost happy on their birthday? You deserve to be loved back just as entirely and unendingly. Tim. Let us love you. Please.”

It’s like the ground has been taken out from under him. The very foundations that Tim used to define himself are shaken. If he’s capable of being loved, what doesn’t that say about his parents? If he’s not miserable to be around, how come he hadn’t made a friend until Jason? Something had to be wrong with him. He was the problem. 

…Right?

He’s surrounded by a pleasant warmth. It’s just like the one from the library two weeks ago. Suddenly, Tim can’t get enough of it. He hugs back with all the strength he can muster. Maybe if he never lets go, he’ll never be left? Tears are streaming down his face and Tim can feel his arm and collarbone ache as he squeezes himself against Jason as tightly as possible.

Before Tim even knows what he’s saying or asking for, he’s crying out.

“Please! Please Jason!”

The weight around him shifts until he’s in Jason’s arms. Then, they’re moving. Alfred opens the door as soon as they’re in view. Both boys are ushered in and brought to a sitting room further inside the manor. Jason doesn’t let go for a second, just maneuvers Tim up the stairs and onto the couch with him. He has no idea how long they stay like that, clinging to one another, before Bruce and Dick come in and join the cuddle pile. Now Tim is surrounded on every side and it feels safe.

Tim feels safe.

Chapter Text

The next morning over breakfast, Jason asks a question it seems like he’d been holding on to for a while:

“How’d you figure out I was Robin? How long have you known?”

“It wasn’t really that hard. I’m your neighbor. And I’m kind of lonely. A kid I idolized moved in next door. Not long after, a vigilante appeared that was capable of the exact same quadruple somersault. A trick only a few people in the world can do and Dick Grayson was the only living person capable of the feat currently on the continent.”

“Wait! So you knew Dick was Robin?”

“Yeah, you knew I was Robin?”

Tim suddenly feels all eyes in the room on him.

“Um, yeah? Jason moved into the manor, Robin acted a little differently, and Nightwing appeared in Bludhaven: the city Dick had just moved to. Oh, and obviously Bruce was Batman, if you two were both Robin.”

“Obviously.”

Jason mutters this as he stares at Tim, baffled.

“So when did you start your late night photography business?”

It’s Tim’s turn to be caught off guard at Bruce’s question. Let’s try playing dumb, that usually works so well for him.

“What photography business?”

“Maybe business is the wrong word. Let me rephrase: when did you start taking pictures of the Bats and start submitting them to different publications?”

“He WHAT?”

The almost identical shouts from Dick and Jason are kind of impressive. Playing dumb worked about as well as Tim anticipated.

“Umm, probably around 5 years ago? I was taking pictures for a year or so longer than that, though. But following you all at night was fun, then my photographs were getting pretty high quality, so I figured why not start establishing a public portfolio now? They’re published under a pseudonym and everything and I keep the photos I don’t submit on a laptop that’s never connected to the internet or anything. Aren’t hobbies a good thing?”

Jason and Dick do not look like they agree. In fact, they both look pretty close to a panic.

“Baby, he was just a baby?”

“Gotham is so dangerous!”

“Small, just a bean in a big, dark, evil city.”

“No wonder he eventually found himself in trouble.”

“Rest assured that that particular hobby will not be permitted for the foreseeable future.”

Bruce announces, cutting off the boys’ spiral. Tim gapes at him.

“You can’t do that!”

“I very much can and will. At a bare minimum, you need sufficient training in both self defense and hostage situations. Even then, your hobby will likely look a little different, preferably involving supervision.”

Tim takes it back, he doesn’t need people looking after him. This is an outrage.

The next moment, Jason is running out of the breakfast nook. After a couple minutes he returns, heaving as he walks over to Tim.

“This… I mean— *WUFF* — is this… yours?”

He finally finishes his sentence between breaths, holding up a camera to Tim.

“Wha— huh? How did you get that? It got taken by one of Scarecrow’s goons!”

“I subdued a guy wearing it around his neck. I thought it’d have evidence or something on it, but the SD card was blank. I didn’t know what to do with it after, but it seemed too nice to throw away or something. I guess you got a new one to use at the botanical garden though, huh?”

Tim stares at the camera resting in Jason’s grip. Then lets out a shaky exhale.

“Heh. I can’t keep up with all of you. One moment you’re cutting off my photography, and the next you give me back a camera I thought was as good as gone.”

Grinning, Tim accepts the proffered device and holds it close. Or at least he does before another gruff interjection from Bruce, causing Tim to raise the camera in preparation to lob it.

“To be clear, you still won’t be engaging in late night photography any time soon.”

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING—

The following weeks consist of many attempts to get into contact with the Drakes. The effort is spearheaded by Bruce, but CPS and the detective on Tim’s case are pretty stubborn too.

Lawyers get involved, Tim gets interviewed a bazillion times. It’s not fun.

The cuddles are a nice upgrade though. And Alfred’s cooking is phenomenal. Tim’s been given his own room in the manor. He gets rides to and from school and gets to spend his afternoons with Jason. Bruce gets home from work by the evenings and always makes sure to spend a little time with the boys before dinner. Dick does his level best to come visit most weekends.

It’s a little weird when Tim knows that Bruce and Jason are out Bat-ing and he’s stuck at home. But, Alfred has recently allowed him to help be guy-in-the-chair. Apparently hacking a hospital’s security system proved his competency. Though, Tim’s pretty sure his sad left-behind-puppy-eyes helped too.

Things are good. Life is on its way to settling, Tim got his cast removed a couple weeks ago, and his training is progressing well. Well enough that Tim’s not so sure he wants his role on the field limited to “photographer”.

“So, if you can’t see them, how do you know who’s there?”

“Well, I don’t exactly . I figured: out of all the things King Arthur would have haunted, Excalibur is a good contender. It lives upstairs in my dad’s office, or at least a sword my dad believes is Excalibur. Cleopatra’s Hellenistic Diadem is displayed in my mother’s closet. Mom called it a symbol of female empowerment. She was the last of the Hellenistic rulers and a very powerful queen who managed to seduce many, including Ceasar by the way. You know, as in Julius Caesar. My parents called the third drawing room the Revitalized Renaissance. A sheet of paper believed to be part of one of the first drafts of Romeo and Juliet is framed there, as well as Bronzino’s Allegory of Happiness.”

Jason makes his way to stand next to Tim in the entryway, holding Tim’s hand. He still gives him the space to continue, though.

“When I was ten, I realized there was every possibility that ghosts exist. And if ghosts were anywhere, they’d be in my house full of hundreds of artifacts.”

Tim shrugs suddenly, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Then I just figured which ghosts could be what I need. Arthur was a king among kings and he cared deeply for his kingdom. Who better to be my caretaker? Cleopatra was similarly powerful, but in a way that could serve as my protection. From others and myself. William was fun, creative. He gave me someone to joke with or joke about. And Agnolo? He almost never speaks, I don’t know why. But he gave me someone to take care of. It wasn’t just me always having to look after myself. Agnolo depended on me. I had to be okay, which forced me to make sure that I was okay.”

“Do you want Bruce to get them? I’m sure with all of the legal shit your parents have found themselves in, artifacts that bring comfort to the kid they neglected should be easy to claim.”

Tim thinks about it, considers for a moment freeing them from Drake Manor. What if he brought them to the Wayne estate?

“No, I think I should say goodbye.”

“What? Why? I thought they were your friends?”

“Like I said, they were what I needed. But I’ve got you now. And Bruce, Dick, and Alfred. Why trap them in a different stuffy old manor, if I could have them added to exhibits? They could travel the world instead of being trapped.”

“Okay… you want me to give you a moment, then?”

“Please.”

Tim listens as Jason heads down the hall and heads out the front door, presumably planning on sitting on the porch.

Now it’s just him and the ghosts.

“Wow. It feels kind of weird now. To talk to you I mean. I can’t believe this is it. I’m really going to miss you guys.”

He feels his eyes water, taking deep breaths.

“Just. Thank you. I don’t even know if you know how much it meant to me, but it did. Mean a lot, that is. You guys were the closest thing I had to family. But I have a real one now. They respond to my questions and everything. Heh.”

“Be safe I guess. And know that I will miss you. Hopefully you do get to travel the world. Maybe end up in a museum where some other kid needs a friend. I love you.”

His last words are a whisper. A vulnerability Tim never would have admitted before meeting Jason.

As he leaves, Tim doesn’t see or hear as a kiss is pressed to his head by an older woman. King Arthur holds his sword to his chest. Cleopatra maintains a stiff upper lip as she watches the young boy go, arm slung over a sobbing William. A nun says a blessing. A soldier salutes. And more. There are three hundred and seventeen ghosts in Drake Manor and every single one says a goodbye to the kind little boy who needed a family. One ghost follows, desperate to catch him. To be heard, just once.

“Thank you so much, Timoteo. I will never have a better compleanno than the one you have given me. I hope it is a long time before we finally meet. May you be happy, safe, and healthy. Gratzi.”