Archive of Our Own ^beta

In all the time that Tim’s been watching Wayne Manor through his window, there’s never been a face in the window of the third bedroom along on the east side - the only bedroom window he can see clearly from his own.

But tonight, he can see someone moving around in there. He dives down onto the floor, heart thudding a million miles an hour.

Watching Wayne Manor is the guilty pleasure he indulges in when he doesn’t think he can sneak away into Gotham to take photos. Because there’s so much distance in between his house and the Waynes’, he can never get a good view of anything, really - only the driveway, a little bit of the garden, and the window of the third bedroom on the east side.

It means that he can catch glimpses of Alfred Pennyworth, the butler and Agent A, when he steps out to water the roses and take care of the garden, and he can see when a car rolls up to the front gate, and now he can see the boy in the window.

Tim carefully gets up again, just barely peeking over the windowsill. The boy flits in and out of the window frame, and from what Tim can see, he’s got dark hair, he’s kinda short, and he might be around Tim’s age?

It’s not Dick. Tim knows it isn’t Dick, for one because the boy is too pale to be Dick, but also because he knows that Dick has moved out. Dick is Nightwing now, fighting with the Teen Titans instead of with Batman. Tim is a little sad about it - Dick was the first Robin, and he gave Tim a hug when Tim was little. A real hug! It’s still one of Tim’s most favourite photos, ranking above any of the photos Tim has taken himself.

But then again, there’s a new Robin. The reason Tim isn’t very sad about Dick not being Robin anymore is because the new Robin is, in his opinion, so much cooler. He’s going to be mad forever that he wasn’t out taking photos on his first patrol, but for nearly every patrol since, Tim has been out at night snapping pictures of his new Robin. And his Robin is pale, with dark hair, and is kind of short.

In other words, the new boy fits the description.

Tim sits down on the edge of his bed, still staring at what he can see of the other boy. He’s wearing a ratty old jacket - it’s dark, maybe leather? - but as Tim watches, he takes the jacket off, instead wiggling his way into an oversized jumper that Tim has definitely seen Mr Wayne wearing in paparazzi photos. Even from all the way in his own bedroom, Tim can see the way a smile lights up the new boy’s face as he tugs the sleeves over his hands.

He’s wearing one of Mr Wayne’s jumpers. Tim can see so clearly in his mind’s eye the comfort and belonging that it must give Robin, to have something gifted to show how much Mr Wayne cares about him. He briefly toys with the idea of sneaking into his own parents’ bedroom, and stealing one of his father’s jumpers - and then he dismisses the idea. If he were ever caught, he’d just get told off. And Tim doesn’t really think it’s the same, anyway, if he takes the jumper himself, rather than his father giving it to him.

Dick and the new Robin don’t know how lucky they are, Tim decides. Dads come in all shapes and sizes, but sometimes he wishes his dad were a bit more like Mr Wayne. He loves his dad! But sometimes it’s a bit hard to remember that his dad loves Tim, too.

Robin paces around the room a little more, frequently heading into areas of the bedroom that Tim can’t see, but eventually he settles down on his own bed, clutching a small object that might be a book in his hands. Tim is desperately curious to know what it is - does Robin like to read? Is it a tablet, and so could Robin like technology, like Tim? Could it even be a batarang?

There’s a line that Tim won’t cross, even though he really really wants to, which is pulling out his camera and using his sophisticated and expensive zoom lens. He already feels a little bit like a stalker, and even though he would be so excited to figure out the title of the book Robin is reading - it’s definitely a book, he can tell now - he’s not going to do that. He’s just going to sit and watch Robin read.

Long after the new boy has closed his curtains and the bedroom light has flicked off, Tim sits and watches the third bedroom on the east side.

No one’s noticed Tim sneaking out to take photos yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t, so one night while Tim’s parents are actually in the house, he packs away his camera equipment and perches on the very end of his bed to watch Wayne Manor.

It’s after dinner and dark outside, so there’s only a slim chance of spotting anything on the driveway or in the garden, so Tim fixes his attention to Robin’s bedroom.

Well - should Tim still call him Robin? He’s made it into the newspapers as Jason Todd, eccentric billionaire Bruce Wayne’s new ward from Crime Alley. But then again, maybe it’s weird for Tim to be calling him Jason, even in his head. They’re not exactly friends - although Robin did spot Tim once while patrolling, and told him firmly to get home because it wasn’t safe in Gotham streets at night.

Tim had absolutely not listened, but the thought that Robin was looking out for him had kept him buoyant and happy for the whole rest of the school day afterwards. He’d barely even felt tired!

So maybe they count as friends. Tim looks into Jason’s bedroom, and is pleasantly surprised to see that he’s already in there, sitting on his bed and reading.

Jason likes reading a lot. Tim doesn’t really understand why he likes reading so much. Reading is boring! He can always guess what’s going to happen in the stories, and it’s all old information in non-fiction books. There’s so much more interesting things that happen online, like when he hacks into the GCPD’s case files and tries to figure out what’s going on there, and there’s so much more information! One of his little hobbies is editing Wikipedia articles because it’s like a little investigation every time.

Tim’s not sure that Jason would like editing Wikipedia articles. A lot of his quips haven’t been 100% factually accurate. Tim can understand a little fudging to make a good pun, but some of the arctic jokes he cracked on the Penguin were painful to listen to.

In all honesty, Tim’s a little surprised that Jason is already in his room. If he had the chance to eat dinner with Batman and Agent A, he would drag the meal out for as long as possible. Maybe Jason’s just really, really close to finishing his book, and he wants to find out the end immediately? Tim can’t say he relates, but he’s done some reconnaissance on the book club in his school and apparently there’s a lot of suspense involved with being an avid reader.

It isn’t the first time that Tim has sat here and wondered what’s so fun about reading. He hacked into the Gotham Academy library database to see what Jason had taken out, but two of the books weren’t available in Tim’s elementary school library, and the third one was just Matilda, which Tim has already read and didn’t understand the hype about.

This time, though, is a little different. Tim’s sitting in the same place, watching the same window, and Jason’s sitting in the same spot on his bed where he normally sits to read - only this time, Jason finishes his book. He tosses it onto the red duvet cover, and stands up, walking to the window.

Tim ducks down, heart hammering just the same as when he first saw Jason in the window. He pops up quickly, squinting across the dark street to peer through the illuminated square showing Jason’s bedroom.

Jason is staring right at him.

There’s no point in hiding again - Tim has been made! Only, he doesn’t have a Batman to swoop in and make it all better. He has two parents who he can sort of hear shouting at each other downstairs, and a concerned maths teacher who he feels is somewhat adjacent to a mentor role. No one is going to appear at Tim’s side and offer him a hand. He has to be the man of the house.

Tim waves.

After a moment - Tim is glad for the distance, suddenly, because it means he can’t really parse Jason’s expression - Jason also lifts a hand.

Every worry disappears from Tim’s head. He beams, and his heart feels light as air, like suddenly he’s become Superman, and his organs are learning to fly. Jason waved at Tim! That means he doesn’t think that he’s a crazy stalker or a disgusting voyeur or a budding supervillain or a weirdo!

Well, he still might think he’s a weirdo. Tim will be the first to admit that he’s not necessarily like all the other children at school. But Jason doesn’t really seem like the bullying type. Robin doesn’t really seem like the bullying type, and Tim has closer experience than most might.

Jason disappears from the window, and Tim takes a moment to catch his breath after the painful way his heart wrenches. It’s apparently discovered gravity again, and if he weren’t already sitting on his bed, he worries that his knees might have buckled. The sight of Jason leaving just makes him feel a tiny bit like he wants to cry.

To Tim’s utter surprise, though, Jason reappears in the window, holding a large piece of paper. Tim has no clue what kind of person just has A3 paper in their bedroom, but whatever, maybe Jason is into craft. Maybe whoever did up his bedroom in advance of his stay thought he might be into drawing or origami or paper collaging. The paper has some writing on - chunky black pen, spelling out words.

HELLO MY NAME IS JASON! WHO ARE YOU?

Tim gives a little cry of surprise, his own voice loud in his ears and death-silent room. He runs for his own desk, grabbing two sheets of plain printer paper and his best pencil. Without a big black marker, he has to write in block letters, and his signs come out terribly compared to Jason’s. All he can do is hope that they’re legible, and he holds up his own papers.

HELLO JASON! I’M TIM! WE’RE NEIGHBOURS

The last word is very squished because he didn’t have room for any more big block letters like he wrote the first sentences in, so he really hopes Jason can read it well enough. He must, because he grins back - and Tim can definitely tell that that’s a grin, he could picture Robin’s grin if he were blind and half-dead - and reaches for more paper.

Trading notes for nearly an hour, Tim tells Jason that he’s ten, that he goes to Bristol Elementary and that this is his second year in a day school not a boarding school, that his favourite book is the Encyclopaedia Britannica and he mostly likes photography and cars and coding.

He doesn’t learn much new about Jason, other than the fact that he likes science-fiction books best, but it does settle a knot of anxiety in his chest that he had barely noticed until it was gone. He feels a lot better knowing things about Jason that Jason himself has told him, rather than things he’s learnt from his admittedly awkward stalking career.

As the clock ticks closer to eleven - not late for Tim, who’s used to pulling all-nighters when the bats are on a particularly eventful patrol, and presumably not late for Jason, who is literally Robin, but possibly late for Agent A, who despite being competent and ruthless is still technically an old man - Jason apologises but says he has to go to bed. He poses one last question for Tim, grinning across at him.

WHO IS YOUR FAVOURITE SUPERHERO? MINE IS BATMAN.

Tim is charmed by the fact that Jason’s favourite superhero is his dad, and he’s tempted to say the same - after all, more than one of Tim’s best dreams have involved Batman taking Tim away with him to work on the digital side of Gotham vigilantism - but Tim wants to tell Jason the truth.

MY FAVOURITE IS THE NEW ROBIN.

As Jason’s closing the curtains, Tim can see the delighted smile on his face.

The third bedroom on the east side undergoes a lot of change in the span of a year. Tim watches Jason’s duvet covers rotate between different superhero themes - the Wonder Woman was the nicest pattern in Tim’s opinion, but Jason has the Superman cover most often - and the curtains change from navy blue to green and eventually settle on a deep red. More books get brought into the room, until eventually there get to be so many books piled up on the windowsill that Tim and Jason can’t communicate any more, and Jason sheepishly gets a new bookshelf.

Tim meets Robin once more, which is good because it means his stealth skills are improving! Jason is clearly frustrated with having to pretend he doesn’t know Tim, but to his credit, he doesn’t push too hard about Tim being out at night - neither as Robin or as Jason. Batman still hasn’t spotted Tim, which he considers a point of pride.

Originally, Tim bought a big pack of A3 paper, thinking it would last him months and months of communication. It lasted about three weeks, and he had to invent an excuse about a school project to convince his parents to up his allowance.

That email had been followed up with a $100 increase in his monthly allowance and not even a phone call to check up on him, so it was a mixed blessing.

By the time September rolls around, Jason has grown into the pixie boots, filling Robin’s role with confidence and aplomb. Tim has seen Dick’s car in the driveway enough to recognise it, with its Bludhaven plates and glittery decals. The bumper sticker proclaiming “My other car is an elephant!” has its own place in Tim’s photo album, but that’s as far as his photographs of the house go.

The day that Tim and Jason have been waiting for arrives with a crack of thunder. Tim walks the fifteen-minute journey to the bus stop in driving rain, and by the time he sits down on the bus that will take him to his first day at Gotham Academy, he’s drenched, and dripping all over the patterned seats.

Jack and Janet Drake had left for Kuala Lumpur four days before. They hadn’t left instructions for Tim to get a school uniform, textbooks, or a ride to school. But that’s okay! Because Tim is the man of the house, and he doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand through anything, and he’s not a baby. He had argued hard to be allowed to go to Gotham Academy as a day student instead of Gotham Heights or - heaven forbid - yet another boarding school, he’s not going to start complaining now.

He is very wet, though, and the big woollen blazer is soaked, and sits heavily on his shoulders. Tim shivers, the oversized jumper not doing much to warm him up.

It doesn’t take long for the bus to arrive at Tim’s stop, and he dashes through the rain, running the last leg of the journey through the tall gates of Gotham Academy and into the crowded corridor.

He really wants to find Jason, meet up with him before class starts, but the whole bus journey took longer than he expected, and the bell for homeroom rings before Tim can locate him.

Tim doesn’t know anyone here. He’s sure it’s just first-day blues, and he’ll make friends eventually, but something about the forbidding halls of yet another boarding school - even one he’ll be attending as a day student - puts a sick feeling in his stomach.

By lunchtime, Tim’s still not exactly made any friends, and the boy he got halfway through a discussion of the latest Warlocks and Warriors module with is nowhere to be seen. He gets his food from the canteen, and then has to face the soul-destroying agony of trying to find a table.

Tim does not have friends. Tim has classmates who he’s not friendly with yet.

He’s almost worked himself up into a full blown panic when he spots Jason’s familiar messy mop of hair. Jason doesn’t see him, but Tim hurries over anyway, knuckles white where he’s clutching the tray.

“Tim?” Jason says when he turns round, face stretching out into a classic Robin grin. “Timbo! I can’t believe we’re finally meeting!”

“Sorry,” Tim says automatically, giving Jason a shy smile of his own, “I’m pleased to finally meet you properly! Terrible weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Jason blinks at him. It’s jarring for Tim, to see Jason’s face so close, in such detail, and with his eyes not covered by the domino mask. It really is like they’re meeting for the first time - and for the first time, Tim reads bafflement on Jason’s face. “Dude, I did not expect you to talk like my butler. Although I guess you have been raised rich, I shouldn’t be surprised. God, it’s so weird to see you all up close like this! Beats paper and marker, right, Timbit?”

Timbit, Tim marvels over. It’s incredible how quickly Jason makes friends. They’ve literally been vocally communicating for less than a minute, and Jason’s already nicknamed him twice.

“Yes,” Tim admits. “It’s nice to be able to talk in person.”

There’s a moment of silence, where Tim stands like a lunatic with his cafeteria lunch still in his hands, and Jason just looks up at him from his seat. Then Tim snaps out of whatever spell Jason’s uncovered eyes have put him under, and takes the seat opposite Jason.

“So tell me about that book you’re reading,” he says quickly. “The one about the falcon wizard.”

“Sparrowhawk,” Jason corrects, rolling his eyes. “But fine. Hush and listen, Timothy, to my incredible A analysis on why Ursula Le Guin is actually a goddess.”

He does hush and listen, and his heart fills up again in the same way it does every time he sees a note from Jason in the third window on the east side - like it’s learnt to fly before the rest of him.

Tim’s parents don’t like Bruce Wayne, and Jason’s investigated and apparently Bruce Wayne doesn’t like Tim’s parents either, so they keep their friendship mostly contained to notes in the window, meetings at school, and occasionally trips out into Gotham proper.

It’s on one of these trips that Tim gets to see Jason as Robin in a much closer capacity than on his night-time jaunts. Jason has convinced Alfred to delay his pickup for an hour and a half, citing an extra book club meeting as an excuse, and seeing as Tim has already shown him O'Shaughnessy's, Tim’s preferred fast food stop, Jason’s taken Tim with him into his old favourite diner in Crime Alley.

The truth is, Tim isn’t new to the Park Row Batburger. He’s perched on the opposing roof while Batman’s taken various Robins here for post-patrol burgers, he’s taken photos from street level, and he’s even been inside once, hoping to catch a closer shot of Dick’s Robin. He’s been here before, and he knows how seedy a spot it is.

He also knows how important Jason’s background is to him, so he doesn’t speak a word about how the two of them turning up in Gotham Academy uniforms will look incredibly out of place. Jason definitely already knows, and besides, it would be incredibly hypocritical of Tim to say anything.

Not that Jason knows just how hypocritical it would be.

The tired-looking server behind the counter dressed in the stupid Batman cowl gives them odd looks as they walk in, but Tim dismisses it, sticking close to Jason. It’s insane how quickly Jason’s grown - Tim knows that just a year ago, they were pretty close in height. But now, with Alfred’s cooking, Jason’s sprouted up like a weed. He’s only thirteen! It’s not fair that he’s already beginning to not only grow upwards, but to fill out in the shoulders as well. In a few more months, Jason will be broad.

He’s taller than Tim, and he’s always had a good face that says don’t-mess-with-me when he wants to, so Tim’s not scared at all. He’s been in Crime Alley more times than he can count chasing capes, and more than that, he’s next to Robin. Nothing bad can happen when he’s with Robin.

Evidently, Tim was wrong. No sooner than Jason has handed over the cash for their milkshakes, a man in a ratty black hoodie with blazing eyes stands up and pulls a gun on them.

“Nobody move,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “You, kid, empty your pockets!”

Tim jumps as the man stabs a finger at him. He pulls out his wallet and throws it on the counter, bills spilling out onto the worn formica. He keeps his credit card in the zipped-up inside pocket of his blazer, so he’s just hoping the man doesn’t ask for anything more than the cash he’s carrying.

Jason grabs Tim’s hand, face grave, and winces. “I promise I’m not leaving you, okay, Timbo?” Jason hisses, and squeezes Tim’s hand. “I promise.”

He steels himself, strength arcing up his spine, and is out of the door in a blur, running faster than Tim’s ever seen him go before. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess that Jason was the Flash, not Robin.

The man’s head snaps up from where he’s been counting out Tim’s bills, and his face contorts into a mask of rage. He fires a shot - Jason’s already gone, so it goes straight through the glass window, shattering the glass outwards and prompting groans from the server, who still looks more tired than scared.

“Please, sir,” Tim says, hating the way his voice trembles. “Please can I go?”

It was a long shot, and by the way the man leers at him, it didn’t work. “Not until your pretty-boy friend comes back,” he snarls.

Tim is uniquely aware that he won’t have to wait long, and he’s right. He only has to suffer a few more minutes of tense waiting before Robin comes crashing through the unbroken window, sending a spray of glass inward.

“Now we have to pay for both windows,” the server mutters as Robin cracks a punch across the mugger’s nose, landing with a satisfying crunch. “Batman and Robin create so much property damage.”

“Next time I’ll let you get shot, dude,” Robin snaps, grabbing the mugger’s wrists and forcing him into a kneeling position. “Hey, you get a craving or something? Fast food’s bad for you. And so are guns,” he finishes, picking up the dropped gun and clicking the safety firmly on. “Hello, civilian with the milkshakes. Your friend Jason sent me.”

Even if Tim didn’t know that Jason is Robin, it’s a flimsy story, considering it’s about half past four in the afternoon, and everyone knows that Batman and Robin mainly patrol after dark. Still, he musters up enough strength for a smile, and collects up his scattered money from the sticky diner table. “Thank you, Robin. You’re my hero.”

That seems to fluster Jason, which is a sight that Tim can’t help but giggle at. Once Jason gets himself under control, he taps his ear three times, tilting his head a little. “I’ve called the police for this guy,” he announces. “You should get home, civilian. Your parents must be worried.”

“They’re not in the country,” Tim says before he remembers himself. “Oh, um, my friend Jason. Was he okay? He said he wasn’t leaving me.”

It doesn’t seem like he’s completely thrown Jason off his stupid mention of his parents, considering Robin’s dubious look, visible even under the domino, but he does stand up a bit straighter, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the street.

“I think if you start heading home, he’ll find you,” Robin says, giving Tim a reassuring smile. “Be safe, Tim!”

Before Tim can remind Jason that Robin doesn’t know his name, he’s already grappling up onto a nearby roof, yellow cape flaring out in the wind. Tim just shrugs, making awkward eye contact with first the server, then the still-struggling mugger.

“Guess I’m out of here,” he says, feeling awkward, and picks up his milkshakes and leaves.

As he walks down the dingy pavement of Park Row, Tim is mostly kicking himself that he didn’t have his camera with him to take any photos of Robin. They would have been epic from the super-close range, but there is no way in the world that Tim could have been subtle about it, and he wasn’t at a great angle, either.

“Tim!” Jason calls, frantic, and Tim turns around to see Jason tearing up the street. He’s back in his uniform, but he doesn’t seem to have realised that he’s got his utility belt on instead of his regular brown belt. “Timmy, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Tim says, holding out Jason’s milkshake to prevent him from trying to hug him. Jason is a hugger - Tim suspects it’s because Dick was a hugger, and the trait has carried over. Tim, however, is not one for physical affection. Sometimes he just has to hold Jason off whatever way he can, and today, that way is a milkshake. “Robin came, I was never in any real danger.”

Jason bristles, face outraged. “Timbo, you were held at gunpoint. I’d call that real danger!”

Tim doesn’t know how to show Jason that he trusts him, that he feels safe by his side, so he hands him his milkshake and leans into his side. “I trusted you,” he says quietly. “And I trusted Robin.”

“Well,” Jason says, looking inordinately pleased. “We’re never leaving Bristol in uniform again. And we can never, ever tell Bruce.”

Bruce Wayne doesn’t like Tim’s parents. Neither does Jason, for some unfathomable reason - any time Tim brings up a story about them, Jason goes all tense and angry, and starts scribbling in a little notebook with the Batman logo on the front.

Tim, in all honesty, doesn’t much like his parents sometimes. He loves them, he really does, but when it comes to a day like today…

It’s just that Tim’s been feeling really, really sick. And it’s fine that he’s on his own, because he’s the man of the house and he can take care of himself, but he threw up the last time he ate something so he’s been avoiding eating anything and Jason got a bit worried at school, but Tim’s fine, he’s just hungry and his stomach hurts and his head hurts and he’s cold.

There isn’t any food in the fridge. Tim hasn’t had a chance to go shopping or to order a delivery or anything, so if he wants to eat anything he’ll have to leave and go to O'Shaughnessy's or something, or maybe ring the doorbell of Wayne Manor and ask for a sandwich, except Bruce Wayne doesn’t like Tim’s parents, so that’s a bad idea.

He’s hungry and sick and cold and tired, so Tim abandons his homework on the kitchen table and goes upstairs, pulling all the blankets he can find along with him.

They’re all the wrong texture and he doesn’t like it, but at least he feels marginally warmer, so Tim curls up on his bed in his makeshift nest of blankets and falls asleep while trying not to cry.

When he wakes up, he’s not cold anymore. Tim takes a moment to be grateful that his feet no longer feel numb, but he swiftly realises that he’s not cold anymore because he’s actually on fire.

Tim shoves away the blankets as best he can, crying out as he kicks at the fabric prison he’s burning under. Even the cool air in his bedroom doesn’t soothe his skin - it feels like his heart is a sun, spinning wildly out of control. He runs across the room on unsteady legs, bumping into his desk, and struggles with his sash window.

It won’t open - whether it’s painted shut and Tim’s never realised or whether he’s just not strong enough to open it, it doesn’t matter - he’s trapped inside and he can’t get out into the cold.

He’s trapped inside and he’s on fire. Maybe there’s a secret villain in Gotham that’s trying to burn Tim to death! His parents will be so angry if Tim lets the documents in their study burn down.

There are papers. Those are… probably their documents and research, right? Except Tim can’t see any words on the paper. There’s an evil villain trying to burn down the house and he trapped Tim inside and there’s nothing he can do even though he’s the man of the house and his parents are going to be angry and Jason will be sad and Batman will fight the supervillain because he lives right next door.

Batman lives next door! The idea strikes Tim like a ray of sunlight bursting through the clouds. All he needs to do is get Batman. Batman doesn't like his parents but maybe he likes Tim enough to save him from the fire.

He manages to find a pen and writes BATMAN on the paper, right in the middle like he’s supposed to when he wants to make a mindmap. He’s not really sure where to go from there, because he’s not Commissioner Gordon so he doesn’t have a bat signal.

Tim pulls himself back onto his bed to think about it, and falls asleep again with his pen in his mouth.

When he wakes up, he’s freezing cold. Mr Freeze has come in the night to get Tim because Tim is best friends with Robin and now Tim’s going to die or at least be cryogenically frozen and then he’s going to wake up seven hundred years in the future and all his friends and family will be dead.

Batman needs to come and get Mr Freeze, so Tim needs to get Batman to come. He stumbles out of bed, patting the mattress to find the pen he dropped, and sits down at his desk, grabbing a big piece of paper.

BATMAN. Right in the middle where it’s supposed to go.

But Tim’s not really sure where to go from there, because he’s not Commissioner Gordon so he doesn’t have a bat signal.

Maybe he shouldn’t try to call Batman. Batman doesn’t like his parents, but maybe he likes Tim enough to save him from Mr Freeze.

There is… one person guaranteed to help Tim. Someone he always trusts.

Tim takes out a new big sheet of paper, and writes in the middle, ROBIN.

When Tim wakes up, he’s not cold anymore.

BATMAN.

When Tim wakes up, he’s not burning anymore.

ROBIN.

ROBIN.

BATMAN.

When Tim wakes up, he’s drowning in a sea of paper. A note to Jason must have fallen off the window! Sometimes the bluetack Tim uses dries out in the sun, and the paper falls off onto the floor or onto his bed.

So Tim gathers up the papers and the bluetack, and he goes to every window, sticking up his notes for Jason.

Tim hasn’t been in school for two days, and Jason is at his breaking point. He hasn’t heard anything from him - hasn’t seen anything in the window, either, because Tim’s had his bedroom light off and Jason can’t see in when the light’s off.

He’s passed really worried and he’s into Robin mode, when the car reaches the front of their driveway and Jason sees the house.

“Stop!” Jason yells at Alfred, not even sparing a moment to apologise for shouting. “We need to go to Drake Manor!”

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, holding up a hand. “Master Bruce is expecting you, and he’s already told you, there’s nothing we can do about the situation-”

“There is now,” Jason says, pointing a trembling finger at Tim’s house.

Every single window he can see has paper in it, calling out for Batman or Robin. Jason can’t imagine what must have been going through Tim’s head - he must have been terrified, or out of his mind. Alfred immediately swings the car around, pressing a small button on the dashboard that Jason knows triggers an emergency alarm in the batcave.

Locks are for normal people. Jason kicks straight through the door, the loud bang breaking the oppressive silence over the house, and heads straight for the stairs.

Tim’s bedroom is the first one on the western side of the house. Jason’s spent months staring at that window, quietly baffled and pleased that there’s someone out there who wants to talk to him, who doesn’t think that he’s a feral child not fit for society. Tim has become Jason’s confidante, for all the teenage boy problems he doesn’t really want to bother Bruce or Alfred or Dick with. Tim has become Robin’s Personal Project - his own investigation. He’s been collecting evidence that Tim’s parents suck and B needs to adopt him for ages now - and surely this is the final straw.

It must be the final straw, because the house is entirely empty apart from Tim, Jason and Alfred. Jason finds Tim curled up on his bed, shaking, and when he presses his hand to Tim’s forehead, he finds that he’s burning up.

“He’s sick,” Jason whispers, aware that Alfred has appeared in the doorway. The detritus of Tim’s paper communication is scattered around the room, and somehow Jason doubts that there’s enough food in the pantry for Tim to get better on. “Please can we take him home?”

Alfred kneels down next to the bed, checking Tim’s temperature himself and tutting. “Yes, Master Jason, I rather think we must.”

Jason is strong enough to pick Tim up himself - not only because Jason has been getting stronger, but also because Tim is light for his age. He carries him out to the car, aware of Alfred’s quiet presence on his heels, and lays him down across the back seats.

“Do you know why his parents were not watching him?” Alfred asks, voice tight, as he pulls into the driveway. “Or, indeed, why they have not given him any medication or care for what I believe to be the flu?”

“They’re probably not in the country,” Jason says, twisting around in his seat to watch Tim. “They travel a lot. I think Tim gets left alone super often, but he won’t say so. There’s a housekeeper but I don’t think she comes by that often. It’s why he used to go to boarding school, but a couple years ago they decided he could stay in a day school.”

Alfred tuts. He goes to unlock the door of the house while Jason picks Tim up again, and by the time that Jason gets to the door, it swings open to reveal Bruce already standing there, worry etched onto his face.

“You’re a good lad, Jay,” he mutters, reaching out for Tim. Jason, selfishly, wants to keep a hold of Tim, wants to carry him in himself, almost doesn’t want to trust Bruce with him. But then he swallows down his pride and mistrust, remembering how gentle Bruce has always been with Jason and Dick when they’ve been sick, and lets him take Tim out of his arms.

Jason stands back and watches while Bruce uses a proper thermometer to check Tim’s temperature, and evidently unhappy with what it says, puts Tim in a lukewarm bath. He watches while Tim’s eyes flutter open briefly, long enough to get some Tylenol in him but not for long enough that Tim gets any sort of lucidity. He watches Tim sleep fitfully in a guest bed.

When Tim properly wakes up, Jason is still watching.

Robin was watching him sleep, Tim thinks with some kind of mania. He isn’t sure where he is - the bed is softer than his own bed at home, and the walls aren’t covered in posters of the Justice League, and there isn’t any paper in the window.

What there is, is Jason Todd slouched in a chair. Tim raises a hand in a weak little wave, and does his best to smile.

“Tim,” Jason sighs. “Tim’s awake!”

The shout draws two sets of footsteps, one far more heavyset than the other. It’s not Tim’s parents - even Tim’s father, who’s fairly tall, wouldn’t be that loud, and his mother usually wears heels in the house. Instead, Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth come through the door, expressions of worry and relief mingling on their faces.

“Master Drake,” Alfred Pennyworth (Agent A!) says warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you,” Tim replies automatically, before realising that it’s true. He’s not too warm or cold anymore - he was never on fire, or a victim of Mr Freeze, but he feels much more normal now. His headache isn’t even that bad, and his stomach only hurts a little bit! “Pardon me, but where am I?”

Bruce Wayne steps closer to the bed Tim’s in, reaching out a hand to check Tim’s forehead. There’s a strange sense of deja-vu attached to the feeling, though Tim can’t recall either of his parents ever doing the same. “In a guest room in Wayne Manor,” he says shortly. “Tim, where are your parents?”

Tim blushes, feeling the red heat paint his cheeks. “Um, they’re in London, sir. There’s a European investors meeting.”

“And they left you alone?” Jason bursts out. “Bruce doesn’t even let me go to school alone. Why did they-”

“That is enough, Master Jason,” Alfred Pennyworth says, furrowing his brows when he looks at Tim. “Master Timothy, how long have you been feeling ill?”

“Since Tuesday,” Tim admits. He hadn’t been feeling normal on Monday, either, but he only started feeling bad on Tuesday. Then he didn’t eat anything on Wednesday, which made Jason suspicious, and then he didn’t even go into school this morning.

Jason frowns. “Five days?”

Five days isn’t right - that would make it Saturday already, and it’s definitely still Thursday.

“Five days is not particularly unusual for the flu,” Bruce Wayne says. “Although, given it’s been most of four days untreated, I expect it’ll be a while longer before Tim is feeling a hundred percent.”

“It’s not five days,” Tim protests weakly. “It’s Thursday.”

The others all share looks, and Tim wilts further into the bed. “It’s Saturday, young sir,” Alfred Pennyworth says sympathetically. “Are you amenable to staying here while you recover, so we can keep an eye on you?”

“And maybe-” Jason starts, until a quelling look from his dad makes him stop talking. Tim’s too tired to puzzle that one out right now, so he just nods.

“You’re welcome to keep this room,” Bruce Wayne says, “considering it’s just next door to Jason’s, but if you’d rather a different room, that can be arranged. And I hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do to make it feel more like home. I took the liberty of retrieving your laptop and camera from your room - Jason tells me you like photography. And coding. And cars. And editing Wikipedia articles?”

Tim laughs a little, smiling despite himself. Bruce Wayne is being so nice to him, even though he hates his parents, even though he’s Batman and definitely has much better things to be doing. Tim feels more at home in the mansion next door than he ever has in his own house. “Thank you so much, Mr Wayne sir.”

“Please, just Bruce,” Bruce Wayne says, eyebrows creasing. “I think it’s time for some more Tylenol and maybe something to eat?”

Traitorously, Tim’s stomach rumbles. He blushes again, but Alfred Pennyworth just nods firmly and ducks out of the room again.

“Hey, Timbo,” Jason says, jumping onto the bed and wriggling up to sit next to Tim. “You’re going to be staying with us.”

“Yes,” Tim says, though he can hardly believe it. He’s had more than one daydream about pretty much this scenario, but it’s not like he can admit that to Robin.

“That means we’re practically almost brothers,” Jason insists. “So that means hugs.”

Tim isn’t holding anything he can use to ward off Jason this time, but honestly, hugs are sounding pretty good right now, so he flops into Jason’s embrace, hiding his face from Bruce Wayne who’s just watching them with a weirdly proud expression. He stays that way until Alfred Pennyworth comes back in with a tray, upon which is a bowl of tomato soup and two slices of bread.

“Not particularly traditional breakfast food, but I shall always recommend this meal for an uneasy stomach,” he announces, setting the tray down on Tim’s knees. “Master Jason, perhaps you’d allow Master Timothy to sit up and eat something.”

“Sure,” Jason chirps, sliding off the bed and grabbing a book from the bedside table. “Want me to read while you eat? I can go back to the beginning if you want.”

Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth leave the room, murmuring to each other, and Tim nods shyly, prompting a bright grin from Jason.

“Epic! Okay.” He flips to the beginning, clearing his throat and smiling to himself. “The island of Gont, a single mountain that lifts its peak a mile above the storm-racked Northeast Sea, is an island famous for wizards.”

Tim doesn’t know how long the Waynes really want him to stay. He feels much better quickly, and starts going to school in the car with Alfred and Jason. The commute to and from school itself is one of the bright spots of his day - Alfred and Jason always want to hear about his latest school project, or the research he got up to in class when he had already finished the work, or the mountains of homework he has to finish. Tim loves to listen to them, too - loves to hear about the scones Alfred’s been baking for a community tea, or the classmates Jason’s been feuding with.

The best part of Tim’s day is when he walks through the door of Wayne Manor and Bruce is waiting to give both him and Jason a hug. Tim’s never been hugged so much in his life. He still firmly believes that Dick was the one who started the penchant for hugs among the Waynes, but he’s slowly finding that he doesn’t actually mind them so much. Sometimes it’s nice, just to be held and to feel wanted.

Today is a Thursday, which means Jason has therapy after school, so once Bruce has given both of them a hug and Alfred has disappeared into the kitchen, Tim and Jason put their school shoes on the shoe rack, leave their blazers on the pegs, and Jason runs up to his room to get changed while Tim heads towards the study.

Despite being afraid of overstaying his welcome, Tim is determined to enjoy his time at Wayne Manor, and he’s not looking any gift horses in the mouth. Bruce has allowed him to do his homework in the main study so long as Tim’s relatively quiet if Bruce has to be in a virtual meeting or take a call, which is trivial for Tim, even though it’s a challenge for Jason.

Tim just likes the company. They don’t often talk to each other, not unless Tim is really stuck, but the soft quiet of parallel working is soothing for him - and, he thinks, for Bruce too.

It’s a Thursday. Tim’s in the office with Bruce but no Jason, and he’s working on his chemistry homework. Wayne Manor is always warmer than Tim’s house, but Bruce’s study is one of the coolest spots in the house - by design. Bruce likes the temperature a touch lower than the rest of them.

Tim’s doing chemistry homework. Naming salts is boring and easy but he has a double-sided worksheet to get through, and it’s tedious more than anything because Tim understood the concept within the first five minutes of the lesson, but his parents still refuse to entertain the concept of Tim skipping a grade, so he’s stuck labelling salts.

“Hey, bud,” Bruce says, and Tim looks up, abandoning the worksheet he’s been sulking over with relief. “You’re cold.”

He’s not cold, he’s maybe just not at the perfect temperature. Just because there’s a few goosebumps on his arms doesn’t mean he’s cold.

Bruce sighs at the way Tim shakes his head, and reaches behind him. There’s an abandoned jumper on the back of his chair, burgundy red, and Bruce hands it to Tim, smiling softly. “You can keep that one, if you like.”

Tim is categorically never going to take the jumper off. It’s warm and big and soft, something entirely too infrequent in jumpers, and Tim has always wanted a dad who’ll give Tim one of his jumpers.

Not that he sees Bruce as a dad. Tim loves his own dad! It’s just that while he’s here, it’s nice to pretend, sometimes. That him and Jason could be brothers.

“Thank you,” Tim says a little late, tugging the sleeves over his hands. “After I’m finished with my chemistry homework, can I help you with what you’re doing?”

Bruce gives Tim a smile, small and soft and proud, and reaches all the way over the big mahogany desk to ruffle his hair. “Sure thing, bud. You’d probably be better at it than me.”

Spurred on by new motivation, Tim races through his homework, stuffing the sheet in his bag and placing his chair on the other side of the desk, next to Bruce.

“I’m going over the investment requests from this quarter,” Bruce starts, voice low and steady, like a boulder rolling. “I have the final say on who receives funding from Wayne Enterprises, what projects we partner with, things like that. I’ve already got lists of pros and cons and the best candidates, that’s already been sent to me, I just need to make the last decision.”

Tim looks through the portfolios that Bruce has open on his computer screen, and politely pretends not to have seen the red “rejected” Drake Industries profile that Bruce had quickly closed down.

(What he actually hadn’t seen was the webpage on adoption that Bruce had been quick enough to shut without him noticing.)

“Your window isn’t the first one on the west side anymore,” Jason says, lying on Tim’s bed and staring at the ceiling. They’ve got plans to paint it with constellations together, but it’s a project for later. “You’re the second one on the east side now.”

Tim frowns. “Spiritually I’m still the first one on the west,” he argues. “Just like if you ever move house you’ll still spiritually be the third window on the east side.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll ever move out,” Jason sighs, “or that I won’t deliberately pick a place with at least three windows on the east side.”

“It can still be our secret code,” Tim says, hiding his grin by rolling over onto his front. “We have to always be neighbours now.”

Jason grabs Tim’s shoulder, pulling him back to face his earnest smile. “Always!”

“Always,” Tim echoes happily. “We’ll be neighbours when I go back home, and we’ll be neighbours at heart when you’re at college, and then maybe we’ll be real neighbours when we have jobs and we’re adults.”

Tim must have said something wrong, because Jason pulls a face and rolls away to face the window.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tugging at the collar of Jason’s jumper. It’s a Gotham Giants baseball jersey, something that’s probably been nicked from Dick’s cupboard because the sleeves are cut off, and that’s the way Dick likes them.

Jason rolls back to face Tim, frowning. “You know you don’t have to go back home.”

“Of course I do,” Tim replies automatically. “I live there.”

“Yeah, but you could live here,” Jason says insistently. “We could have breakfast together every morning and do our homework together every afternoon and you could work on B’s cars with me and we could paint the ceiling together.”

“But… you live here. And I live there,” Tim says again, sounding nonsensical even to his own ears. “You’re a family. I’m not part of that, Jason. Bruce is your dad. I- I have my own dad.”

The look on Jason’s face is hard to read. If Tim had to try, he might call it fiercely protective. His mom gets the same look sometimes. “But Tim, he never notices you. And he doesn’t respect your privacy. And he never notices when you’re out at night, or when you have bruises, and he doesn’t know that you like cars and coding and that you taught yourself Latin and that you read the Iliad but didn’t like it and that you get sick really easily and that you like Oasis and Green Day and the Clash. And you don’t wear any of his jumpers, but you wear Bruce’s all the time. And you can never explain what their jobs actually are, but you sit and read through Wayne Enterprises stuff every Thursday. And you said that he thought you were too small to try out for the football team so you knew you weren’t really a sporty person, but you play table tennis with me and you actually tolerate playing golf with B.”

“What are you trying to say?” Tim cries out, “Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? I love my dad! I love my parents!”

“But they don’t love you!”

To his credit, Jason shuts up immediately after that, but it’s too late. Tim just… can’t deal with him, doesn’t have a clear head, so he slips off the bed and walks out of his bedroom.

His bedroom. Who is Tim kidding? It’s a guest room that he’s been allowed to stay in. Jason might want Tim to stick around, but Bruce has never said anything about how long Tim should stay for. He’s said that he trusts Tim and that he thinks he’s very capable and intelligent, but he’s never once said that Tim should stay.

Tim once got as far as Toronto trying to trace the path of a laced heroin shipment going out from Gotham, and he only had to come back home because that particular boarding school had threatened to get his parents involved. Even then, his parents hadn’t told Tim to stay. His mom hadn’t said much of anything, and his dad had been apoplectic about Tim’s rebellion and slide into delinquency, and shipped him off to a different boarding school, with vague threats about military school in Haiti - even further away.

Jason isn’t right. His parents do love him, they’re just not the best at showing it. But Jason - and Alfred - are the only people who have actually asked Tim to stay. Who have wanted to keep him close, not just out of the way until they want to feel involved again.

Despite Wayne Manor being incredibly large, Tim’s managed to make his way, zombie-like, to the garage. He perches on top of the bonnet of the station wagon that he’s fairly sure technically belongs to Wally West, and tugs the sleeves of his - of Bruce’s - jumper over his hands.

Sometimes Tim wishes he were a superhero like Jason and Dick and Bruce. The best of all of them, maybe - a dark cape to blend into the shadows and curl into when he’s alone, and bright colours to cheer him up on darker nights. He could have his own Batmobile and sit on the bonnet every night and he’d have a whole team like the Titans to hang out with and he’d always get given free Paddy O’Melts from O'Shaughnessy's.

Tim isn’t sure why Dick drove Wally’s car down to Gotham when he came to visit this time, and he hasn’t put himself in the way of asking. He’s still not sure how Dick feels about Tim staying in the house and he hasn’t really wanted to find out.

It looks like he’s going to have a chance to, because instead of Jason running into the garage or Alfred gliding in silently, Dick’s the one to come in, lightness to his step.

“Oh!” Dick says, sounding genuinely surprised to see Tim. “Hey, Timmy. Surprised I caught you on your own! Where’s Jason?”

Tim raises a shoulder in a half-shrug. He’s not really feeling up to explaining their fight to Dick, or the context behind it, so he just stays quiet. The station wagon is really dusty. Tim wonders if it ever gets cleaned.

“Sure,” Dick says quietly, walking closer to the car. “Is it comfy up there? I’ll have to tell Wally his car’s been bird approved.”

“I like cars,” Tim says, a little redundantly because Dick definitely already knows. “Not a bird.”

Dick lets out a loud, full-throated laugh, hopping up onto the bonnet with Tim. “Sorry, buddy. I forgot for a minute - family joke, that the kids are birds. Never mind.”

How has this man never been found out? Tim’s not supposed to know that he’s Nightwing, but honestly Dick is being very obvious. “Little wing.”

“Yeah!” Dick is beaming now. “Yeah, that’s why I call Jason little wing. Although he’s not so little anymore, huh.”

Jason has been getting a lot taller very quickly. Both him and Dick have been blessed with height, unlike Tim, and he can easily imagine Jason getting to be taller than Dick one day.

“I actually came to collect everyone for lunch,” Dick continues. “But if you’re not feeling up to a whole family meal, I can ask Alfred to make you a sandwich you can have down here. Whatever you want, Tim.”

“Family meal,” Tim says, wishing he could get his words out more easily. He doesn’t know how to tell Dick what he’s feeling, can’t find the words to explain the turbulence in his head.

Dick seems to understand Tim well enough, though - doesn’t snap at him or force him to answer him. “Yeah. Alfred and Bruce like it when we’re all together. We try to always have a family meal a few times a week - like all eating together for dinner after school or having Alfred’s sunday roast. They won’t be mad if you need a minute down here, but I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

Tim’s had plenty of family meals, but it’s not still a big deal for his parents. It’s not like he can’t be trusted to eat on his own, he’s the man of the house. There’s no need to all eat together.

But it does sound nice. Tim has enjoyed eating with Bruce and Alfred and Jason and sometimes Dick after school, adores Alfred’s feasts, and he has to admit there’s something delightful about the familial nature of the meal. The thing is, if Bruce wants him there for a family meal - when he can’t remember the last time he had a family meal with his parents - then Jason is right.

His parents don’t love him as much as Bruce Wayne does. Or maybe it’s just that his parents don’t notice him as much as the Waynes.

Either way, it’s a sad thought. Tim doesn’t realise that he’s crying until Dick starts making soft, comforting noises, and climbs up onto the hood next to him.

Last time he was here, his dad tried to take him fishing. Tim had fallen asleep halfway through and was treated to a lecture about how he never made any effort to connect with him, rather than an inquiry as to if Tim had slept alright the previous night. He hadn’t hugged him. He had just told him off and sent him home.

Dick’s hug is phenomenal. Bruce’s hugs are still Tim’s favourites, because what could possibly be better than being hugged by Batman, but Dick somehow manages to sap all the tension from Tim’s shoulders, wiping away the tears from Tim’s face as he holds him.

“Hey, hey, sh,” Dick whispers. “Timmy, do you want me to go and get Bruce or Alfred?”

“Stay,” Tim pleads, as loud as he can around the heavy weight in his throat. “Stay.”

The arm around him squeezes. “I’m staying right here, buddy.”

Tim buries his head in Dick’s chest, blocking out the rest of the world. He doesn’t look up when he hears heavy-set footsteps, and Bruce and Dick have a silent conversation over his head, nor does he look up when he hears Jason’s soft little gasp.

The Waynes love him more than his own parents do, because his own parents never notice when he slips out of the house, or ask if they can help with his homework. None of the Waynes have ever raised a hand to Tim - not that his dad’s ever hit him, that would be actually bad, but Tim doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even startle when Bruce lifts a hand. Living with the Waynes is so unlike living at home - no one even yells here, or enters his room without him saying it’s okay, or threatens to send him away.

“I’d like to join a family meal,” Tim whispers to Dick.

Dick squeezes Tim a little tighter, cementing this as the best hug Tim’s ever had. “We’d love to have you, baby bird.”

Tim flits through life, feeling at once fragile and lighter. When the post arrives, Alfred goes out to retrieve mail from Drake Manor as well, and Tim’s hardly surprised to see the postcard from Dublin, telling Tim that his parents will be staying abroad a little while longer.

His problem now is that despite having settled into a new normal with the Waynes, Tim still hasn’t figured out the ideal way to tell them that he knows about their nightly activities.

When Dick calls off their planned movie night with claims of a migraine, Tim knows it’s really because he has two cracked ribs after tangoing with Cobblepot’s gang enforcers. When Jason admits that he hasn’t finished his homework, Tim immediately jumps to reassuring him that his teachers will understand and offering to help him do it in the car - because he knows how late Robin’s patrol ran the night before. When Bruce mysteriously isn’t anywhere to be found in the house and Alfred claims that he’s working at Wayne Enterprises, Tim takes it at face value - although he knows the real reason is that Bruce is holed up in the Batcave, finishing off reports from a long and difficult case.

The other secret he’s keeping is that the others still don’t know about Tim’s own nightly activities. It’s easy for him to sneak away when the other members of the household are all too busy to check on him - Alfred is run ragged having to handle the computers downstairs as well as the affairs of Wayne Manor, Jason has to juggle school and being Robin, Dick not only has his own life in Bludhaven to live alongside Nightwing but also has to lead the life of a Wayne in the public eye. Bruce has it worse there - Batman takes up so much of his time, and he still has to walk the fine line between loveable idiot Brucie and competent, trustworthy CEO and father.

All in all, the Waynes have a lot on their plate, and they’re still frighteningly attentive - far more so than Tim’s parents. He has to:

1. Wait until the others have begun their patrol, since Bruce will stick his head in on a “sleeping” Tim just to check on him, for some inscrutable reason.
2. Sneak out of the window, which is a feat of acrobatics, considering the high tech security system he has to work to dodge. Luckily, that’s focused around the other windows, because Tim is a recent addition, so it’s not outright impossible. However, it does mean he has to scale the brick walls, which is a skill he’s picked up recently which more often than not leaves him with skinned knees and bruises. He knows that Alfred and Bruce will eye them with identical worry in the morning, so espionage is also a skill he’s picked up recently.
3. Make it into Gotham proper from Bristol - a journey which takes up a lot of his precious time - and find where the bats are on their patrol route.
4. Watch and photograph without being noticed. The “without being noticed” part has always been important, but is now Prime Directive. The Waynes absolutely cannot notice him. If it comes down to it, he’ll have to go back to just collecting newspaper cuttings and other scraps, which is such an insult to his skills it’s embarrassing.
5. Get home before the others. This part is also Prime Directive, even more so than not being noticed, because Bruce always comes in to check in on Tim after patrol (again; why?) and if he’s not in bed Tim is certain there will be consequences.

The other steps involved include Don’t Act Tired At Breakfast and Don’t Reveal Knowledge About Patrol/Batman/Robin/Nightwing/Nightly Activities. It’s quite difficult to keep track of.

Tim doesn’t even ache for his camera anymore, which he carries around with him almost as a vestigial limb. It’s not that he’s running around to take photos any more - that’s secondary in his motivations. Really, he just likes following the others. Staying in his comfortable bed at the Manor almost feels like being left out, except for the fact that he’s living under the scrutinising gaze of the World’s Greatest Detective.

He’s managing, though - and he’s managing brilliantly until the night the Scarecrow escapes from Arkham.

The thing is, Tim’s brilliance is almost entirely his brain. He figured out identities and patrol routes, locations and cases, and he’s been tracking Batman et al for years. While he may have started to get more physically skilled, it’s still his mind that’s his greatest asset in getting him to where he needs to be.

When Scarecrow’s out, so is his fear toxin - which means Tim’s mind is compromised.

He was an idiot for getting too close to the fight, and now his head is swimming, and he can’t quite think straight. His heart is jackrabbit-quick under his ribs, and the flashing hallucinations of gory death and destruction keep attracting his gaze away from where he needs to be focusing.

Best case scenario: he doesn’t get back to the manor in time for Bruce’s nightly check in, considering there’s no way he’ll get up the wall in the state he’s in. He can always claim homesickness, and hopefully escape too much scrutiny.

Worst case scenario: he’s killed by the Scarecrow and they never find his body.

Tim’s worst case scenario is playing out in lurid detail in the corner of his eye, and he’s so focused on dismissing it as a hallucination that he doesn’t notice when the alley he’s standing and shaking in is suddenly darkened by a long shadow.

“Young man,” calls the low, gravelly voice that’s featured in a good number of Tim’s dreams at night. “You should be in bed.”

He’s already flinching, even from Bruce’s gentle reproach, and doesn’t dare look up to see how the fear toxin will have distorted Batman’s face. “Sorry, Bruce, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be this close, I didn’t mean to get so caught up-”

Tim barely hears the sharp intake of breath Bruce makes at his terrified babbling, but he does see the hand coming towards him - the hand in a ready fist swinging at his head. He scrambles away, heart kicking up another notch as his breathing runs ragged, desperation coursing through his veins. He thought Bruce was different, he thought he was kind and good and would always look after Tim. The threatening, nightmare Batman reaching towards him is closer to a devil from hell than a caring guardian, with fingers sharpening into claws, and an open-toothed snarl.

In Tim’s frantic scramble away from Batman, he collides with someone else. His instant scream doesn’t repel them - instead, they lunge for him too, dark midnight fabric dripping with blood. Tim screams, sobs, cries, but Dick’s face stays unwaveringly fixed in a malicious sneer, arms tightening into a vice grip around Tim’s shoulders.

Dick may be intent on eating Tim the same way as Batman was, but he clearly hasn’t taken into account the fact that Tim is still little, and more cunning than his usual meal. He slips out of Dick’s clutches, tearing down the alleyway towards the small window of light shining down on him.

There’s a small prick in his neck, and someone reaching from behind covers his mouth. Tim starts to choke, scratching the arms around him as best as he can, until he sees a flash of green, red, and yellow ahead of him through the carnage.

“Jason!” Tim sobs, going boneless in his attacker’s grip. “Jason!”

As the arms holding him slowly rub his shoulders, Tim slumps further into their embrace, his vision becoming clearer, and he starts to blink away the blurry horrors painting the alleyway red.

The flashy Robin outfit stays constant, flitting from rooftop to rooftop, his laughter echoing off Gotham streets. Tim can physically feel his heart rate go down, and the gas mask helps him to regulate his breathing. He watches Bruce join Jason in taking down Scarecrow, and presses himself into Dick’s familiar hug as the police arrive.

Dick keeps a tight hold on Tim, even as Bruce leads the three boys towards the Batmobile, evidently satisfied with how the GCPD are handling the arrest. Only when Tim is firmly situated in the backseat does Dick let go, heading for the passenger seat, and Jason leans over from his seat in the back to take off Tim’s gas mask.

“I think we need to have a talk when we get you home, bud,” Bruce says, without taking his eyes off the road. “First off, did the antidote work? Are you feeling okay?”

Tim nods meekly. “Yeah. Sorry. Sorry, Bruce. I didn’t- I-”

He descends into gasping sobs again, raising a futile hand to his streaming eyes, and does his best to avoid anyone’s gaze.

“Hey, Timmy, breathe,” Dick says insistently, leaning out across the car to squeeze Tim’s shoulder. “We’re not angry, we’re just worried, and a bit confused, baby bird.”

Jason knocks Dick’s hand away, unclipping his seatbelt to shift across the backseat towards Tim. “Yeah, if we’d known you knew who we are, I wouldn’t have tried to make such crappy excuses about my homework!”

“Language,” Bruce says automatically. “But Jason has a point, Tim. I’m a little concerned that you already knew about our… night jobs.”

Tim hiccoughs, swiping at his eyes, and does his best to breathe normally. Bruce doesn’t actually sound that angry. “I saw Dick do a quadruple somersault at Haley’s Circus and then on TV as Robin and so I figured out that it was him and you were Bruce and then when Jason got adopted I could figure him out too and I have photos I can show you the photos-”

“Breathing is a continuing instruction,” Jason deadpans, tapping Tim’s chest and grudgingly accepting the camera Tim thrusts into his hands. “Let me just- oh Jesus, these are really good.”

“It was my fault?” Dick says, crestfallen, speaking over Jason’s astonishment. “I’m so sorry, B.”

Bruce sighs, and the car falls silent again. The Batmobile dips down into a waiting ramp that leads them into an underground tunnel, and Tim almost forgets his anxiety in his excitement. He’s in an underground tunnel heading for the Batcave, there is no way he’s going to miss this because of a silly little thing like hyperventilating.

“Tim,” Bruce starts, sighing again. “I’m not angry. This is actually… a weight off my chest, that I don’t have to explain myself to you. What I am most concerned about is that you followed us into danger, bud.” He breathes slowly, loud in the silence of the car. “If we hadn’t had the antidote on hand, you could have died from extreme tachycardia, Tim. I take your security very seriously.”

“Why?” Tim asks frankly, scowling at the view through the darkened window. “I’m fine. I’ve been fine the whole time I’ve been doing this. And I’m sorry I made you mad and I’m sorry I made you worry but it’s not like I’ve ever really got hurt doing this.”

There’s a distinct look of sadness and anger on Jason’s face, and Tim doesn’t like seeing it in the reflection in the window. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. B wants to keep us all safe because he loves us, Timbo. He doesn’t want us in any situation where we might get hurt and he can’t help.”

Oh. “Oh,” Tim says, a little weakly. “He loves us?”

“I love you,” Bruce says, a solemn vow. “I promise. I want you to be safe.”

“Okay,” Tim says, breathless. “I’ll be safe. No more running around Gotham when you can’t help.”

Jason pulls a face. “Why do I feel like there’s some loophole in that?”

Dick laughs. “Probably because there is.”

“Not tonight, at least,” Bruce says, guiding the Batmobile (!) into the Batcave (!!) and parking. “Tonight, there will be no running around Gotham. Agent A will provide hot chocolate and blankets and all birds will be in bed by the time I go up to check on them.”

“Not a bird,” Tim says softly, and doesn’t flinch when Jason leans over again to shove his arm lightly.

“You definitely, definitely are, Timbo. No escaping it now.”

In all fairness, Tim stays in for a whole month, perfectly good and obedient under Bruce’s scrutiny. He stays in bed, sleeps through the night, and though his fingers itch for his camera and his feet itch for the streets and buildings of Gotham, he keeps to his word.

After that, Bruce starts dropping his guard again. Let it not be said that Tim feels good about it, but he’s not actually breaking his word by slipping out - he’s neither running around Gotham (he’s going at quite a sedate pace) nor going anywhere Bruce can’t help him (he’s staying within Batman’s frequently patrolled zones and he’s not hiding anymore).

The first night, Dick spots him within the first hour, and deputises himself to swoop down and carry Tim home.

The next night, it’s Jason who scowls down at him, loudly yelling in Tim’s direction until he acquiesces and gets on a bus back to Bristol.

The third night, Bruce is waiting for him as he drops out of his window, and chivvies him back to bed with a fond irritation.

The fourth night, Alfred takes up watch by Tim’s bedside, and the fear of Alfred’s disappointment is enough to put him off disappearing into Gotham for a good while.

When he does finally work up the courage to follow the Bats again, he finds a few paper signs, passive-aggressively fixed in the third window on eastern-facing buildings, all demanding in block capitals that he go home. He’s so impressed by Jason’s ingenuity that he follows the instructions - but not before ripping down the signs as subtly as he can.

Weeks pass, and their escalating game of cat-and-mouse is lighthearted right up until it isn’t. Tim has become adept at hanging off the grotesques and gargoyles which adorn Gotham’s skyline, and it’s as he’s swinging from a stone wing to reach the first window on the GCPD precinct’s western side that he sees a startled face in the window.

Tim’s only surprised for a millisecond, but it’s enough - his grip on the stone loosens, and he barely manages to catch himself on the window ledge below, swinging out wildly.

The only stroke of luck Tim has going for him is that his face was mostly obscured by the sign he was sticking up. A sign which now seems like it maybe wasn’t worth the danger associated with fixing it in place, given that it reads NO, YOU.

He’s hanging there miserably, wondering if he has the upper-body strength to pull himself up, when the sky above him lights up uncomfortably brightly, and Tim can see the bat signal broadcasting across the Gotham sky. He sighs aggrievedly to himself, a habit he very definitely has not picked up from Bruce, and does his best to ignore the straining in his arms.

Batman’s ominous shadow blots out the glare of the bat signal for a moment, and Tim braces himself for the imminent scolding he can sense in his future. He can’t hear the heated discussion happening on the precinct roof, but he can make out B’s familiar grumpy tone, and the way the emotion is rising in his voice.

Robin is still nowhere to be seen, but Nightwing isn’t far behind, grappling onto the roof and then dropping down with all the grace of an ex-acrobat. Rather than begin the rebuke, though, Dick does something completely unexpected - he reaches out and sticks a domino mask onto Tim’s face.

“Jim thinks you’re a new bat,” Dick hisses, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously, you need to stop this before someone invents a call-sign for you.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to reply to that baffling piece of information before he’s being yanked up by Dick onto the roof. He squirms under B’s immediate heavy stare, reaching up to itch at the mask. “Hi, B.”

“Baby bird was pinning up another sign,” Dick reports, and Tim can just tell that he’s rolling his eyes, even if he can’t be certain. “Hey, B, Jim. Do you want me to take him home?”

Commissioner Gordon has clearly been interrupted midway through a rant of his own, but he shuts his mouth delicately, and fixes his own glare onto Tim. “Is this a new Robin now too? In jeans and a Gotham Goliaths jersey?”

It’s one of Dick’s jerseys and Tim was really hoping it wasn’t going to be pointed out.

“No,” B says gruffly, his Batman growl low in his throat. “This is a child who should be in bed. Nightwing, would you-”

“Already on it, boss,” Dick announces blithely, wrapping an arm around Tim. “Don’t worry, Jim, if Robin wants to pass on the title, we’ll equip the baby bird before we let him out to terrorise all of you officially.”

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose, gaze still tracking the way Tim’s hands shift. “I’m going to pretend I never saw any of this and not try to fill in any CPS forms. Have a nice night. Please don’t come again.”

“Give Barbara our love,” B says under his breath. Tim looks away from him to pull a face at Dick, and when he looks back, B is gone.

“Bedtime,” Dick says firmly. “Bye, Jim. Have a nice night, hope the paperwork doesn’t bite. See you next time you have a crisis!”

Dick swings away from the roof, arm still firmly holding Tim in his grasp, and they leave Gordon’s muttering behind them. There’s an undercurrent of worry in Dick’s placid smile, and Tim suddenly feels bad.

He waits until they’re back in the Batcave to tug on Dick’s arm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

“Maybe actually listen to us this time, Timmy?” Dick asks, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “We’re not the only ones who worry about you. Give the adults a break once in a while and try not to toss yourself off rooftops, alright?”

“Alright,” Tim says quietly. “Sorry.”

Dick ruffles his hair. “It’s alright, Timmy. No harm, no foul. Go on up to bed now, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Tim stands there, waving goodbye, as Nightwing roars out of the cave on his motorbike. Alfred raises an eyebrow from his station by the monitors, and rolls towards him on the wheely chair. “Master Tim, might I suggest going to sleep?”

“Yep,” Tim nods. “Good idea, Alfred. See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, sir,” Alfred says, gaze straying to a traffic camera that’s fritzing out on the big screen. He lightly touches his ear, frowning. “Robin, possible electrical interference on the intersection of 37th and Cable.”

Tim creeps upstairs, feeling an immovable longing in his heart. There’s almost nothing he wouldn’t give to be able to join his family.

Instead, he slides under his duvet and smashes his face into his pillow, trying to block out the thought of Jason, flying free above the streets.

Jason is grounded and he’s making it everyone else’s problem. Tim can’t honestly blame B - Jason can get worryingly emotionally invested in cases - but it does mean he has to deal with Jason’s anger and irritability in a much greater share than he normally shoulders.

Dick is running more patrols in Gotham to make up for it, and Jason is bristling about the lack of a hero presence in Bludhaven because of his actions. Adding onto that Jason’s feeling of parental betrayal, and he’s become almost impossible to deal with.

None of them, least of all Bruce, think that Jason killed Felipe Garzonas. Unfortunately, that’s the way Jason’s taking the grounding - that B thinks he’s reckless and a murderer and that he can’t be trusted as Robin.

In reality, B is worried for Jason - thinks he’s getting dangerously emotionally invested and could do with a rest - but despite Dick and Alfred’s campaign for emotional honesty, when B gets stressed he gets silent, and so he’s not telling Jason what he’s thinking or feeling.

In his free time while he’s grounded, Jason isn’t catching up on his homework or putting his efforts into the drama club at school. Instead, he’s started some kind of investigation of his own, leaving him disappearing off into the Narrows at odd hours of the day, skipping school to scribble furiously into a notebook in a shadowed nook of the library, and ignoring Tim when he tries to help.

For his part, Tim has started learning to skateboard, under the careful tutelage of some of the older girls at school. He misses Ives, his childhood friend and partner in playing Wizards & Warlocks, and he’s decided that since Gotham Academy doesn’t have a games club, he’ll take up a new hobby.

Hence the skateboarding. The fact that he’s learning it from three of the girls in Jason’s English Lit class who aren’t afraid to gossip about him and his mental state means nothing at all.

It’s actually weirdly fun, and he’s been able to join Dick in traversing the Manor in as non-traditional a way as possible, watching Alfred’s patience stretch thinner and thinner. When he finds them one afternoon - Dick perching on top of the chandelier and Tim using the balustrade as a makeshift skate rail - he presses a hand to his heart, taking a stiff breath.

“I believe we have a house rule about chandeliers,” he tells Dick frostily, “and Master Tim, I believe I shall be implementing a house rule about skating down the stairs.”

Tim pulls off a kick-flip, just to see Alfred’s sharp intake of breath, and then hops down off the board, unclipping his helmet. “Sorry, Alfred! At least I was wearing knee pads, though, right?”

Alfred sniffs haughtily. “You could perhaps take the same lesson through to your nightly jaunts.”

He’s actually been going into Gotham less and less with Jason similarly grounded - it doesn’t really seem fair. He nods to Alfred anyway, and accepts the hair-ruffle Dick gives him as soon as he drops down from the chandelier.

“Tough luck, Timmy,” Dick sighs. “He didn’t say anything about skating in the hallways, though!”

Laughing, Dick darts away from Alfred’s wind-up to a scolding. Tim follows him on his skateboard, rolling gently through the carpeted corridors. “Dick, Jason asked me if I wished B were my real dad yesterday.”

Dick stops, suddenly serious, and gives Tim an assessing look. He puts a hand on his shoulder, his posture screaming Nightwing rather than Dick Grayson. “None of us want to pressure you,” he says gravely. “That was wrong of Jason to ask.”

Tim gives a shifty sort of shrug. “I said it didn’t matter. Who my real parents are doesn’t really matter, cause it’s B that’s taking care of me.”

“What did he say to that?” Dick asks gently.

“That at least I knew who my real parents were.”

They share a moment of silence, as Dick processes Tim’s information. As far as Tim knows, Jason does know who his real parents are - not that he talks about them much. All Tim really knows is that he’s from Crime Alley and his old dad was not as good as B.

“Don’t worry,” Dick says abruptly, “I’ll… we’ll handle it, okay? It’s not your responsibility to fix our problems.”

Tim looks at Dick askance, because has he not been doing a pretty good job of acting as a mediator so far? Dick doesn’t really seem to be paying attention, though, so Tim just nods, and lets him go.

Dinner is a tense, strained affair, as it is more often than not nowadays, and Jason excuses himself early rather than keep making small-talk. Bruce is heading out to Lebanon later tonight to continue his investigation into the Joker, and it’s a shame that dinner is such a trial, when they should all be trying to make the most of their time with him. When Tim slips away too after dessert, he finds Jason perched on his bed, scowling at a little notebook in his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says slowly, moving towards his bed. “Everything okay?”

Jason looks up at him, and Tim can see that his eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying. Loathe as he is to do it, Tim scrambles onto his bed and leans into Jason, initiating a hug that swiftly becomes bone-crushing on Jason’s part.

“Catherine Todd isn’t my real mom,” Jason tells him, voice hitching. “My real mom is either an Israeli Mossad agent, Lady Shiva, or an aid worker in Ethiopia.”

Tim… has no idea what to do with that information. “Do you want me to help you find out who?”

“Absolutely,” he whispers, squeezing Tim a little harder. “You’re the best little brother I could ask for, Timbit.”

Rather than try and sneak down into the Cave, Tim pulls out his laptop. Bruce showers all of them with material gifts, so it’s top of the line, almost rivalling the computers downstairs. He shuts down his latest Wikipedia article he’s been editing before Jason can look too closely and accesses his own, personal security hole into the Cave computers.

“Dude, how did you-” Jason starts, clearly recognising the files Tim’s pulling up, but Tim just reaches up to place a finger to Jason’s lips.

“Don’t question the master,” he says imperiously, giggling a little to himself. “Shh. So, I’m thinking we discount Lady Shiva first, since B has such a massive file on her.”

Tim’s particular brand of sleuthing is untrained, unrefined, but it gets him results. No-one else can claim that they figured out Batman’s secret identity by the time they were nine, and no-one else would be as quick at flying through the files and research Jason’s been compiling, either.

“I’m thinking about designing a tiny computer with a short-hand keyboard that can hang on a utility belt,” Tim prattles while he works, trying to distract Jason from the crimes and murders of his potential mother flashing across the screen. “Wouldn’t it be so useful to have a tiny computer you can use on the go? Linked to an earpiece, of course, since you wouldn’t have a monitor, but you could… search up answers to riddles rather than having to figure them out on the spot, for an example. Hack while you’re running. Would it not be so cool?”

Jason makes a little noncommittal noise, still laser-focused on Tim’s laptop screen. “Not all of us are as tech-savvy as you, little dude. Babs would probably appreciate it, but then again she doesn’t… she doesn’t need a travel-sized computer anymore.”

Tim winces, and does his best to move away from any sensitive subjects. Eventually, he gets Jason talking to him about Tehanu, the most recent book in the Earthsea series. He whittles down Jason’s list, retrieving eye-witness accounts of Shiva during the time when she ought to have been pregnant, service documents of the Mossad agent, and eventually landing on a medical file for Sheila Haywood.

“Robin,” Tim says, squeezing Jason’s hand. “I think this is your birth mom.”

He doesn’t really look enthused, staring at the photo of Sheila that Tim has managed to find. In fairness, Tim thinks he’d be a little upset if he discovered that his parentage was a lie.

“What can you tell me about her?” Jason asks, a little hoarsely. Tim cracks his knuckles, and prepares for another deep dive.

With every new piece of information he manages to dredge up, Jason’s face wavers. Tim clicks through her life story, and when he lands on the black-listing from Gotham’s medical practices, Jason physically winces.

“Keep going,” he asks Tim, and so he does. The embezzlement from the aid agency is the final straw, and Jason turns away from the laptop in disgust.

Tim closes the lid of his laptop solemnly. “Maybe she’s not so bad? I mean, she might have… a reason?”

Jason shakes his head. “You were right before. Who my real parents are doesn’t matter. B’s been taking care of me this whole time - with Robin, with a roof over my head, even by taking me off patrol. Tim, can you report Sheila Haywood to the Ethiopian government or something?”

“I can report her to the agency,” Tim says, sounding and feeling small. “She’ll probably get arrested.”

“Good,” Jason declares. “She deserves it. I’m gonna… Timbo, can you sort that? I want to go apologise to B before he has to leave.”

Tim smiles at him, leaning in for a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re my brother, Jason.”

Bruce tracks the Joker from Lebanon to Ethiopia, where he’s quickly arrested and extradited back to Gotham. In the meantime, Jason spends his time on the ground teaching Tim in the Batcave.

Tim can show him how to hack, how to construct a fake identity, and how to stay hidden on Gotham streets. But from Jason he can learn so much more. Jason teaches him about the inner workings of cars - something Tim’s always desperately wanted to know about. He shows Tim how to use a grapple hook, how to take down a larger enemy with nerve strikes, even how to clean blood off kevlar.

Alfred grudgingly begins to let Tim join in with support from the Cave. Traffic camera feeds, maps with flashing dots of trackers, and the low, droning buzz from the police scanner are the lullabies that put Tim to sleep - more often than not, he falls asleep in Bruce’s wheely desk chair, and wakes up in his bed with sunlight streaming through the curtains.

The chair is definitely more his than Bruce’s, now, and Tim keeps sticking Post-Its with his name over the Bat logo on the back and Bruce keeps removing them.

He’s become fairly good at all the things Jason’s teaching him - there’s always a smile in Dick’s voice when Tim’s handling comms with Alfred, Tim hits the grapple target at a bullseye more often than not nowadays, and while he never wins any of the practice fights he has with Dick or Jason or Bruce, he doesn’t spend as much time on the ground.

“You could use a signature weapon,” Tim muses one night, headset hugging his ears. He’s cradling a mug of Alfred’s tea, and he has to keep moving the microphone to the side so he can take small sips. It’s the third night Jason’s been back on patrol, Dick is over in Bludhaven, and Alfred is guiding Bruce through a tricky infiltration of the security system over in the Iceberg Lounge. By contrast, Jason is lounging about on a rooftop next door with a greasy monstrosity from Batburger in hand, and Tim is doing his homework for him, perched on the spinny chair in front of the Batcomputer.

“Nah,” Jason sighs. “You’re thinking about N’s escrima sticks, right?”

Tim shrugs, though the movement is invisible to Jason, who only has Tim’s voice in his ear for company. “I guess. If I were a vigilante, I would have a cool weapon.”

Jason snorts, the sound staticy in Tim’s headphones. “Yeah, fair enough. What would you have, T?”

“There are endless opportunities,” Tim whines, grinning at Jason’s answering laugh. “Huntress is so cool, but I don’t think I could pull off the wrist crossbow. Nightwing is obviously consistently epic, but the escrima sticks are his thing. Him and O, I guess, her chair is so tricked out.”

The pair of them are on a separate frequency from Bruce and Alfred, which is the only way they can get away with such blatantly inane chatter. Even so, the occasional pointed looks from Alfred at Tim’s completion of Jason’s worksheets is humbling enough.

“You could use claws, like Catwoman,” Jason snickers.

Tim puts his tea down gently on the desk, and inspects his nails. “If I had cool claws, I’d call myself Talon and I’d cut anyone who talked badly about the Waynes.”

“Nope,” Jason says quickly. “No, no. We already have Talons, T. Look up the Court of Owls.”

Never one to refuse a bit of research, Tim effortlessly navigates to B’s files on the Court of Owls. After only a minute of reading, he closes the folder, frowning. “Okay, not Talon. Although it would fit with how you keep calling me T.”

“Well what am I supposed to call you?” Jason huffs. “No real names over comms, and it’s just using the same name system we do with B.”

“It sounds like you’re calling me a cup of tea,” Tim sulks, taking another sip of his own tea. “I think I deserve a proper callsign if you’re going to keep letting me help out.”

Jason’s silence is suspicious. “Oh, would you look at that, B’s triggered a minor explosion. Gotta go, T!”

The click in his headphones marks Jason’s disconnecting from the channel, and Tim pulls off his headphones, looking over to see Alfred eyeing the cut CCTV from the Iceberg Lounge with a look of extreme displeasure.

“Is Bruce okay?” Tim asks Alfred tentatively, glancing over at the fritzing screens. Alfred turns to face him, expression morphing into one of kindness and reassurance.

“Naturally,” he says warmly. “However, patrol may have to be cut a little short so he can receive proper medical care for what I believe will end up being a fractured rib, judging by the size of that explosive discharge.”

Tim bites his lip. “Can I go up to bed? I want to get up a little earlier in the morning so I can help with breakfast.”

Alfred smiles, and gives Tim’s shoulder a fatherly pat. “Go on, Master Tim. I’m sure the rest of us won't be far behind you.”

Jason’s squirrely exit replays in Tim’s mind as he lies in bed. It’s not like Jason to keep secrets from Tim - the two of them made a pact after Jason’s investigation into her mother that they would tell each other everything - so it worries Tim that Jason would hang up on him.

He’ll find out soon enough, probably. And if Jason doesn’t tell him anything… well, interrogation is one of the skills he’s been picking up from the Bats.

“I have gathered you all here today for a Family Meeting,” Jason declares, hands on his hips. He’s wearing one of Bruce’s old jumpers - in fact, it might even be the jumper Tim first saw him wearing - but it doesn’t look massive on him anymore. In fact, he fills it out quite nicely - Jason is still not quite as tall or broad as B, but he’s not far off.

Bruce nods, incredibly serious. He’s wearing his tie undone around his neck, and his shirt is untucked, but he hasn’t changed clothes since arriving at the Manor after work.

Tim wonders if Bruce sees Family Meetings like board meetings. Being in charge of a company must be pretty difficult. It’s a shame if he sees family stuff the same way.

He’s thinking all of this, probably, in an attempt to not think about the fact that he is included in a Family Meeting.

(His parents are in… Mexico, maybe? Wherever they are, it’s not here.)

“Indeed you have,” Alfred says, smiling at Jason. His sleeves are rolled up and there are tiny water droplets still flecking his arms from doing the washing up. “May we ask what it is concerning?”

Jason takes a deep breath. “So… you know how Dick is Nightwing?”

Dick waves, broad grin not quite managing to hide the tight worry in his eyes.

“We do, in fact, know that Dick is Nightwing,” Bruce says gently. Jason nods.

“Dick used to be Robin,” he says haltingly. “And he… grew up. He became Nightwing because he needed a change. Because he grew out of being Robin.”

When Tim looks around the kitchen, he sees blossoming surprise on the others’ faces. Dick has a hand pressed to his mouth, and his eyes are glistening with tears.

Jason is clearly losing his nerve. “So… I mean, I’m growing up. A bit. There was that whole… whole mess with Garzonas, and then with my mom, and I just think… I think maybe I need to be a bit more independent. So.”

“So?”

Bruce’s voice is like a shot in the dark, and Jason closes his eyes briefly. “So, I want to become my own hero.”

“Absolutely,” Dick says, after the beat of silence that grips the room. “Absolutely, little wing. We’re so proud of you.”

Rather than say anything, Bruce stands up, and uses his whole astronomic height to crush Jason into a tight hug. “We love you, Jaylad. Dick’s right; we’re so proud of you.”

Alfred’s smile has impossibly widened, and Tim can almost see the costume design ideas floating through his mind. “Have you landed on a name yet, Master Jason, or is this a theoretical decision?”

“Sparrowhawk,” Jason says, voice a little muffled from where his face is still buried in Bruce’s shoulder. “I want to be Sparrowhawk.”

Dick laughs a little wetly. “Carrying on the bird theme, I see.”

“All the kids are birds,” Tim chirps, parroting what Dick told him years ago. “I think Sparrowhawk sounds brilliant! But…”

Suddenly, all eyes are on Tim.

“What about Robin?”

Jason - incredibly - laughs. Tim flushes, ducking his head. He can’t think why Jason might be laughing - or why no one else seems to have considered this! “Batman needs a Robin,” Tim says clearly.

“Yeah, we know, Timbit,” Jason says, finally extricating himself from Bruce’s bear grip. “What do you think we’ve been doing for the past few months?”

Um. “Hanging out?”

Bruce walks back to the table, Jason still tucked under his arm. “Tim, bud, we were hoping that one day, you would want to be Robin.”

Rather than react appropriately to that - which would be effusive thanks, disbelief, going in for a hug from B or Dick or Jason - Tim bursts into tears.

“Robin,” comes a loud, happy voice over the comm in Tim’s ear, “come on and get onto the precinct roof, dude, Jim wants to meet you.”

Tim grins. “Coming, Sparrowhawk!”

As he approaches the precinct, grapple line hissing in the night and his super-cool-epic cape flaring out behind him, he can spot four distinct figures - a short man (Jim), B’s big black silhouette, the lithe form of Nightwing, and Sparrowhawk’s characteristic raggedy, wing-like cape covering his dark red leather jacket and overlapping belts.

“Thank God,” Gordon says when Tim touches down. “Are you the bright spark who figured out that you could add leggings to the Robin suit? Let me shake your hand, son.”

He’s certain that he’s bright red - and Robin doesn’t have a cowl to hide behind, dammit - but he shakes Gordon’s hand, and then retreats a little to stand next to Sparrowhawk. The stupid combat boots he’s wearing means that Robin looks even shorter in comparison, which is rude because Tim’s thirteen, that’s definitely old enough to not be as short as he is.

“Given up on the Gotham Goliaths then?” Gordon asks B mildly, and Tim tries to look as innocent as possible. Jason reaches down to ruffle his hair, so Tim returns the favour, reaching up to flip Jason’s stupid floppy hair over to the other side. In full rebellious fashion, he’s dyed a lock of hair white, and it’s practically shining in the moonlight.

Bruce raises a hand, and the two of them stop mock-fighting, snapping to attention. “I don’t think so. Robin, have you given up on the Gotham Goliaths?”

“I’m a hardcore Knights supporter now,” Tim reports, grinning to be called Robin. “Pun very much intended.”

Gordon and Dick groan, but Jason laughs, nudging Tim with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna bounce, there are reports of an Ivy sighting and I wanna see if Harley’s there too. B has a stake-out to get to, but N’s open if the pair of you want to patrol together?”

Tim bounces on the balls of his feet. “If I go with N tonight, can I go alone in the Redbird tomorrow?”

“You can go with Sparrowhawk,” B says firmly, “but I won’t complain if it’s just the two of you, so long as you look out for each other.”

“Brilliant,” Tim sighs, “okay N come on with me we gotta go I’m looking into a triangle trafficking route between Gotham, Keystone and Metropolis and they’re supposed to be dropping off cargo tonight.”

“Have fun, boys,” Bruce says, and Tim can just tell that his eyebrows are raised under the cowl. He grins at Bruce, grabs Dick’s hand, and pulls him off the roof with him, whooping at the freefall before he shoots out his grapple and starts swinging in a wide arc.

“C’mon, dad, that was the perfect opportunity for a Princess Bride reference,” Tim can hear Jason say through the activated comm as he swings away with Nightwing. “Have we failed you so badly?”

Dick flies through the sky with Tim, and the whistling of the wind lifts up Robin’s cape.

“Having fun, baby bird?” Nightwing asks, the blue of his suit nearly glowing with the reflection of the street lights.

“Yes,” Tim says, grinning as he catches sight of a peeling piece of paper in the third window on the east side of a building, which he can just make out as reading Welcome, Robin. “I’m going to be Robin forever.”