Chapter Text
“What are you doing?”
The voice startles Tim so badly that he almost drops his camera. He wasn’t expecting anyone to notice him on the roof. No one ever notices Tim, even when he isn’t on rooftops.
He looks up to see Robin perched on the scaffolding, and through the whiteout lenses of his domino mask, Robin exudes an indisputable air of, I am judging you and I am finding you lacking.
“Are you running away?” asks Robin. Tim must look confused, because Robin gestures to the packed overnight bag on the roof next to Tim. “Looks like you’re running away.”
And because Tim is so startled, and Startled Tim is a moron, he blurts out, “Yes. That’s what I’m doing. I’m running away.”
Robin stares at him for a second before he finally says critically, “Then you’re not doing a very good job of it.”
That stings, just a little, because while Tim isn’t actually running away, Robin doesn’t know that. And Tim could totally run away. He mapped out a plan, once, that would have given him a solid six months before anyone even potentially noticed him missing. Okay, yeah, some of that is on his parents, but that’s not the point. The point is, Tim is smart. And Smart Tim is offended. This could definitely be part of Smart Tim’s brilliant master plan to run away if he wanted it to.
“This is just stage one,” Tim hears himself say. He’s aware on some distant level that he’s holding an argument about a fictional escape plan with his all-time hero, but now his all-time hero thinks he’s an idiot. Tim needs to fix that. At least he isn’t clamming up like a demented bobblehead toy in the face of authority, so, you know. Win for Tim. “It’s a multi-stage plan. There are more stages to this plan. Great stages. Fantastic stages. Lots of fantastic stages.”
Robin is silent, and Tim is just about to congratulate himself on another win. Then Robin says, “Since you’re currently crouching on a roof, can I assume Stage Two involves running? Perhaps away? Like it says in the name?”
Tim forgot Robin is a smartass.
“Maybe I’m already so far away that I don’t need to run anymore,” Tim argues. “You’re assuming I’m from Gotham.”
“You’re from Gotham,” Robin says decisively. Then, with just a little hesitancy, “…aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Tim admits, because Robin doubting his own detective abilities is not what Tim’s here for. “But I could have been from somewhere else.”
“Yeah, sure, kid,” Robin snorts. Tim bristles.
“I am not a ‘kid!’”
Robin snorts again. “Then you’re the puniest adult of all time. C’mon. I’ll help you down off the roof, and we can get you home before your parents know you’re gone.”
“Like sometime before next month?” Tim mutters, and oh crap he isn’t supposed to say things like that out loud. He abandoned his six-month runaway plan because he decided he actually has it pretty good without adult supervision. He can’t jeopardize it now. “They just don’t understand me,” Tim tacks on, hoping he sounds like the whiny kids he sees on TV who complain when their unreasonable parents won’t let them go to an all-night rave in a condemned building with known drug dealers or whatever.
“It isn’t safe out here, kid,” Robin says. “Let’s go. I don’t even know how you got on this roof, much less how you were planning to get down.”
Robin holds out his hand, and Tim gives up the argument (even if he did have a really good comeback about this new invention called stairs). Because Robin wants to help him. Robin wants to help him. It’s almost worth Robin thinking he’s a spoiled rich kid with parent issues.
Well. He is a spoiled rich kid with parent issues. But.
Tim gathers his stuff, carefully tucking his camera into its bag. He grabs the overnight bag too, and then suddenly he’s swinging down to the street with Robin’s arm around him. His inner fanboy squeals.
All too soon, though, they’re down on the pavement. Tim shifts awkwardly, because Robin seems to be expecting something else.
“Um, thanks?” Tim ventures.
“Yeah, maybe don’t go playing rooftop hideout without a backup plan next time, huh?”
“Um. Sure. Yes. Thanks,” Tim repeats. He doesn’t even use his comeback about the stairs, which seems like real personal growth, but Robin isn’t impressed. Since the hero still seems to be waiting for something, Tim adds, “I’ve really learned my lesson.”
It comes out like a question. Robin sighs.
“No, you haven’t,” he says, resigned. “Of course you haven’t. Because you’re from Gotham, where self-preservation isn’t a thing.”
Tim goes back to shifting awkwardly, because what is he supposed to say to that? It’s, like, Gotham’s most defining characteristic. As far as Gotham is concerned, self-preservation is a thing that happens to other cities.
“So, um, won’t Batman be wondering where you are…?” Tim asks. It’s weird, Robin hanging around with someone who isn’t even a victim. His job is done. Tim’s not on the roof anymore. What’s left?
Maybe Robin just needed the reminder, because he nods. “Yeah, good point. Where are we going?”
“Uh, I’m going home?” Tim asks, hoping that’s the right answer. “And you’re going to…fight crime? Or fix Gotham’s failing infrastructure? Or something?”
Robin stares at him. “Yes,” he says slowly, “once I take you back home. So where are we going?”
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. “I can make it myself,” Tim insists, backing away from Robin. If Robin takes him home, Tim’s days of living free and clear are done. His parents would probably get in trouble, and for sure it would mean no more following Batman and Robin every night. Some things aren’t worth risking.
Again, Robin doesn’t seem to agree. “Didn’t we just have the safety lecture up on the roof?”
“Yes, and, um, it was a really, really good lecture. I learned a lot. I’m going straight home, promise.” Tim keeps backing away. “Again, thanks for the help. I’ll take it from here. Bye.”
Tim turns around and starts speed-walking down the street. Please don’t follow me, please don’t follow me, he pleads. Robin I never noticed him before. Why is Robin II suddenly so observant? At this rate there’s no way Tim’s going to be able to follow them around again, even if his parents don’t get involved. Which is looking increasingly unlikely. Tim calculates about a thirty-four percent chance his parents don’t hear about this. That’s not good. His parents don’t like hearing about things.
Where’s an Arkham breakout when you need one? Some days you’re just unlucky, Tim supposes.
The footsteps behind him make that abundantly clear. “Wait up, kid!”
Tim doesn’t listen. He takes off, running at an all-out sprint. His only hope is to lose Robin in the labyrinth of Gotham’s seedy streets.
He hears a muffled curse behind him, but he doesn’t dare slow down to look. Right on Archer, then a left on Pine—there’s an alley behind Kathy’s Diner on Fourth, if he can make it, and if not, Stu or Benjie might be working the door at the club next door, and sometimes they let him slip inside for a few minutes when he needs to escape—
A forceful jerk on his hoodie kills any dreams Tim might have had of making it to safety. Robin is in front of him again, but this time Robin keeps a nice, firm grip on Tim’s hoodie. The kind of grip Tim can only describe honestly as “unyielding.”
“Nice try,” Robin huffs. At least he’s out of breath. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. Where’s home, kid? We’re going straight there.”
Tim panics again, but this time there’s nowhere to run. He spies the overnight bag still clutched in his grip, and he says without thinking, “601 North Baltimore Avenue.”
It’s his classmate David’s house. Tim only knows the address because that was how he’d gotten a ride into Gotham tonight; David was having one of those all-class birthday sleepover parties, and the housekeeper had spotted the invitation in Tim’s school stuff earlier in the week. Never one to pass up an opportunity for an adult-sanctioned night out in Gotham proper, Tim had jumped on it and begged to be allowed to go. The housekeeper had driven him to David’s address herself, not even sticking around long enough to make sure Tim made it in the door. That suited Tim just fine, and it saved him cab and bus fare for a night since she’d promised to pick him up again on her way in the next morning.
It's not the best address to give Robin, partially ’cause it’s a lie and partially ’cause it might get David’s family in trouble and partially ’cause it’s not even a good lie, but it’s the only address Tim’s got right now that a) is an actual residence rather than a library or a museum or something and b) isn’t the Drake residence. Robin can never ever ever know about the Drake residence.
“All right,” says Robin, gesturing down the street. “Lead the way.”
“Uh,” Tim says. He looks around. He’s legitimately not sure how to navigate there from the street. Maybe they could go back up to the roof?
Robin makes this huffing noise that almost guarantees he’s rolling his eyes behind his mask. He jerks Tim’s hoodie, which he still hasn’t dropped, and they lurch up the street. It must be the right way, so Tim nods thoughtfully and makes little “oh” and “ah” sounds like he’s recognizing things now. Robin is probably still rolling his eyes, but Tim can’t tell. Tim is refusing to look anywhere near Robin. There’s a strange mix of utter mortification and unbridled excitement building in his chest. If he looks at Robin, one of the two will completely take over, and Tim’s not sure he could survive either one.
The trip to David’s house is blessedly short if silent. They arrive in front of the picturesque brownstone townhouse in no time at all. Then they stand there for a minute, Robin still clutching Tim’s hoodie like Tim might bolt if he lets up for even a millisecond.
Robin II is definitely more observant than Robin I.
“Um, I’m good now,” Tim ventures, even though he knows deep down it’s a lost cause. “You can go?”
Again it comes out as a question. And again, Robin snorts. He stares up at the building, so Tim does too, but he has no clue what either of them is looking at.
“How’d you get down?” Robin asks, and suddenly Tim knows exactly what they’re looking at. The house is a typical standalone brownstone. It matches all the other brownstones on the block. Right down to the fire escape, with the ladder firmly pulled up off the ground. The gap is way too high for Tim to have dropped without risking injury, and, worse, it’s way too high for Tim to climb now to sneak into the house.
“Oh, uh, front door,” Tim says quickly. “Snuck past my parents.”
Robin considers this. Finally, he releases Tim’s hoodie and shoves him toward the door. “Okay, then. Back the way you came.”
Oh, crap. If this were actually Tim’s house, he would have a key, and maybe he could go in the front door like a normal human. This isn’t Tim’s house, though. He’s going to have to knock on the door. At an ungodly hour of the night. And somehow convince Robin that whoever answers has known him for eleven years and not, you know, never.
Tim must look seriously panicked, because Robin claps him on the shoulder and says, “Relax. It’ll be okay. It’s just your parents. Not like it’s Joker or Clayface or somebody.” After saying that, though, Robin seems to remember this is Gotham, because he adds, “Unless your parents are literally supervillains, in which case I take it back, and sorry ’bout your luck.” With that parting sentiment, Robin melds into the shadows, and Tim has no choice but to step up to the door.
He knocks hesitantly. He hopes Robin thinks he’s hesitating because he’s afraid his parents will be mad. Not because some random strangers are going to see a weird kid standing on their doorstep in the middle of the night.
David’s mother is the one who answers the door, looking around in surprise before she sees Tim there. He waves.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Tim says brightly. He holds up his overnight bag.
David’s mom looks bewildered, still craning her neck to scan the street like that will give her some clue where Tim came from. Eventually she says faintly, “Come in?”
“Thanks,” Tim says, still overly cheerful. He rushes inside. David’s mom looks around one last time before shutting the door behind him.
Tim launches into an explanation of how his parents got lost driving him here, and he’s so sorry to be late, but he was just so excited for the sleepover, and gradually David’s mom loses that vaguely distressed look adults get a lot around Tim. She waves him into the living room, and Tim is disappointed to discover sleepovers apparently don’t involve sleeping. His classmates stare at him when he enters.
Tim sighs, but it’s still better than it could have been. He’ll have to be more careful now. Robin can never see him following them again. Never.
“You again?” says a voice behind Tim, and Tim can’t believe his luck.
He had been so careful. He’d mapped out Batman and Robin’s patrol routes with ruthless efficiency. To know which nights Batman would likely send Robin home early, Tim had hacked into Gotham Academy’s school calendar (barely even a challenge, which wasn’t great considering how many rich kid kidnappings Tim hears on the police scanner every month). He had even ripped some of his brightly-colored shirts and endured the lecture about recklessness from the housekeeper just so he could buy some darker clothes without suspicion. Robin should not be seeing him right now. In fact, Robin should be at home. Robin has a test on eighteenth century literature tomorrow AND a presentation for half his grade in World History.
So why is Robin patrolling at two in the morning? Batman really needs to work on his parenting, Tim decides. Batman is not good at setting limits.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Tim tries, hunching his shoulders and pitching his voice up an octave.
Tim still hasn’t turned to look behind him, but unlike Schrödinger's cat, Robin’s judge-y stare doesn’t need to be observed to be known. Tim can feel it, deep in his bones.
“C’mon. You gotta be able to do better than that.”
“This is not the boy you are looking for?” Tim tries again, waving his hand vaguely behind him.
“…Tell me that is not your pathetic excuse for a Jedi mind trick.”
“Um, no?”
“Your form is atrocious.”
“Okay. That’s good to know.”
“At least get the intonation right.”
“Uh huh. Note taken. I'll be sure to practice that.”
“Eye contact is important. Learn the basics.”
“Couldn't agree more. Basics are crucial.”
There’s a little bit of a standoff, then. Robin doesn’t move, waiting for Tim to turn around. Tim doesn’t move, refusing to turn around. It’s a no-win situation.
Until of course Robin wins, by grabbing the strap of Tim’s backpack to pluck him off the ground and neatly turn him one hundred eighty degrees with only one hand.
“All right, back to your house it is. Let’s go, shortstack,” Robin orders, gesturing up the street.
Tim sighs and starts walking. He sighs louder when Robin follows him.
“I can make it on my own, you know,” Tim says childishly. “I made it here on my own.”
Robin frowns. “Yeah, I’m gonna hafta have a talk with your parents.”
Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope that can’t happen.
“You can’t,” Tim says quickly. “They’re out of town.”
Look at that. He didn’t even have to lie. He mentally pats himself on the back. Smart Tim is in the house tonight.
Except now Robin is frowning more. What is Robin’s problem today?
“So they left you alone?”
Ah. That's Robin’s problem. Tim has seen enough Forensic Files marathons to know what leaving a kid home alone makes law enforcement types think, even though it’s honestly not that bad, and he doesn’t see what the big deal is anyway. Maybe if your kid is dumb, he decides. But Tim isn't dumb.
Tim is also not as super smart as all those tests say he is, because he got caught. But at least he got caught by someone whose job it is to catch people, so Tim only feels a little dumb about it.
“No, I’m staying with my uncle,” Tim says instead of all this. “He came over to watch me while they’re gone.”
“So he let you leave the house at this godawful hour?” Robin doesn’t appear to be taking this news any better.
“No. Um, he fell asleep, and I snuck out.”
“And he didn’t hear you?”
“He, uh, has back pain. He had to take some of those knockout pills for it.”
Robin eyes Tim critically, and Tim tries not to squirm. He’d been so proud of how well he was thinking on his feet, inventing the fake uncle. Now he’s reconsidering.
“…Are you running away again?” Robin asks finally.
Tim was right to reconsider. Once again, this is going terribly.
“Seems to me like you picked your moment,” Robin continues, “and you waited until you knew you could get away clean. How does a smart kid like you act so dumb?”
Tim wishes he could answer that. He really, really wishes he could answer that.
“You didn’t even take a gym bag this time,” Robin points out. “How much could you possibly have in that crummy backpack?”
Not much, Tim acknowledges. On account of the fact that he wasn’t planning on having to pretend to run away again tonight.
Tim is saved from having to answer when Robin cocks his head, presumably listening to someone in his ear. Robin turns, dropping his hold on Tim to put a hand up to his ear.
“Yeah, B, just a little delayed. Be there in fifteen. Tell ’Wing to keep his tights on, and—hey! Kid! Don’t you dare—!”
Tim doesn’t hear what he better not dare to do, because he’s already scrambled up a rusty fire escape and climbed through a broken window.
What was Robin so worried about, anyway? Tim decides vigilantism must make you paranoid.
It turns out the broken window leads to a meth den, and that isn’t even in the top ten most dangerous industries in Gotham.
So paranoid.
“Thought I forgot about you?” Robin asks the next night, dropping in front of Tim on yet another rooftop. Tim is rapidly running out of rooftops here.
(That’s a lie. Tim has so many rooftops.)
“No,” Tim admits. He’d hoped, maybe, but never really expected.
“I was gonna go talk to your folks,” Robin says, “I really was. You shouldn’t be out all night. You got school and stuff.”
Not as much as Robin probably thinks. Though of course Tim’s attendance records say otherwise.
You’d think these schools would put at least a little money into cybersecurity.
“But you haven’t really done anything wrong,” Robin continues, “And for some reason adults don’t take a kid dressed as a spotlight all that seriously when he tells ’em about parenting, and CPS in Gotham is ass shit.”
Robin freezes and looks around for a second. “Whoops. Pretend I didn’t just cuss, okay?”
“Okay,” Tim readily agrees. “Ass shit” seems redundant, but otherwise he doesn’t see what’s so bad about the cussing. He’s heard Batman do it, when the Bat thinks no one can hear him. Tim always mentally congratulates himself when he catches Batman doing something he thinks no one will know.
“Anyway, I figure instead I offer you a deal, ’kay?” Robin says. “You stop trying to run away, and you always go home by midnight, and you stay out of Crime Alley and the real bad parts of Gotham. You do all that, and I don’t squeal on ya when you leave your house at night. Got it?”
Tim mulls it over, trying to decide how easy it will be to get out of the conditions, but Robin’s radio goes off again before Tim has to say anything.
“R here,” Robin says, hand to his ear. He listens for a while, and then curses again. “Seriously? We have a Z-list rogue called Crazy Quilt? Yeah, yeah, ETA in five. Hold onto your knitting needles.” He taps his ear to disconnect and gets out his grapple gun.
“I don’t think you knit quilts,” Tim says.
“I don’t think you really wanna be criticizing my banter right now,” counters Robin. He cocks an eyebrow significantly in the direction of a particular brownstone at 601 North Baltimore.
Tim concedes. “Maybe you knit quilts.” He’ll check Etsy later.
Robin launches his grapple and shouts, "Remember our deal!" as he disappears into the night.
Tim nods, because that’s not a lie. Tim will remember the deal. Tim remembers everything.
Tim will also remember he never agreed to the deal.
It turns out Robin doesn’t appreciate the “never agreed” distinction as much as Tim does. Over the next three months, it almost becomes a game, which must be how Robin views it too, because Robin’s threats to tell Tim’s parents about his nighttime activities get more and more half-hearted as the weeks go by. Tim becomes increasingly creative to not get caught every night, or at least get caught after midnight, and Robin counters by not only catching Tim but also catching Tim without Batman or Nightwing finding out about it. Tim thinks Robin likes having a secret the other two vigilantes don’t know, which is probably the main reason Robin isn’t doing anything serious to stop Tim.
Robin even stopped following Tim “home” after the first few times, content to let Tim know he’d caught him and gesture at him to leave. Tim actually does leave and go home, though, because he feels like that’s the price for losing the game they’ve concocted: if he’s bad enough to get caught, he has to accept defeat and try again another night, but if he’s good enough to stay hidden, he gets to follow them to the end of patrol. It’s making him a better tracker, and it’s definitely improving his chances of survival in the wilderness that is Gotham. And he always, always keeps up the pretense of going back home to David’s brownstone, because Tim isn’t positive that Robin’s rules for their game match Tim’s rules. He can’t risk Robin deciding to follow him one night and then seeing him go straight back to Bristol.
Still, it seems to be a good system. It’s almost like having a friend, Tim thinks. A friend that doesn’t know who you are, and whose entire knowledge of your friendship is based on a lie, but Tim has always been good at taking what he can get.
That’s probably why Tim grows complacent. He gets more and more lax with his routine, sometimes even letting Robin catch him early when Batman isn’t around, and there aren't any crimes being committed in the immediate area. Then Robin will hang out with him for a few minutes, and Tim starts to really look forward to those nights.
It’s one of those nights where it all goes wrong, however. Robin is sitting next to him on the roof of a church, and they’re sharing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Tim brought for a snack. Standard friend stuff, if you don’t count the whole church roof thing. Something deep in Tim’s gut says eating peanut butter on a church roof is probably not okay, cosmically-speaking, but Tim’s parents have always had even less time for religion than they have for Tim, so no one has ever made the rules about churches and their roofs absolutely clear to him.
Anyway, Robin’s doing it too, so at least they’ll go to hell together. That would be nice, to have a friend in hell. But then it wouldn’t be hell, would it? If you were happy?
Tim will have to ask his housekeeper about that. She’s always very good about explaining how hell works for children who break rules.
“So what’re you doing here?” Robin asks, gesturing to the church below them. “ ’s not a very good roof for spyin’.”
Tim shrugs. He was here primarily to plant a camera, ’cause the church is across the street from an all-night diner Batman and Robin (and sometimes even Nightwing) frequent after patrol. Tim likes to watch them be happy together.
But he knows that sounds creepy, so all Tim says is, “I like it here.”
Robin grunts, like he understands. Tim was lying, though, so he isn’t sure what Robin understands about it.
“Do you…like churches?” Tim asks hesitantly.
Robin shrugs this time. “Churches were always good, if you were out on the streets,” he explains. “They did their best to take care of the kids. Most of ’em, anyway. They usually made good hideouts, if you could get there.”
Tim hums. “I should try that, the next time my parents come home. They’d never look for me in a church.”
Robin glances at him sharply, but Tim is oblivious to the danger.
“Is that what you’re doing, runnin’ around Gotham at night? You hiding out from your parents?” Robin asks.
“No. I just like exploring at night. I only have to worry about my parents during the day.” During the day is when new school counselors start getting nosy, or friendly cab drivers start asking questions about kids by themselves, and then Tim has to watch what he says about his parents. But no one’s around to ask him questions at night. Normally, anyway.
“You do a lot of worrying about your parents during the day?” Robin asks casually.
“Not really. But you know how it is. You always gotta be careful what you do and say around adults. Sometimes they try to make you do things you don’t wanna do, and you have to get away if you can. They usually forget, if you stay away for a while.”
Robin tenses next to him, but Tim doesn’t know why. He thought they were having a good almost-friendship moment.
He must be wrong, though, because Robin jerks his head toward the ground. “Let’s head down, yeah?”
Tim tries not to feel disappointed. Robin leaving is infinitely better than Robin digging more into Tim’s parents, after all.
Tim still feels a little disappointed.
They get down to the street, but Robin doesn’t immediately grapple away again. He starts walking aimlessly, and so Tim—loathe to give up this only time where someone actually seems to see him—follows.
Like the intelligence-stunted idiot he is.
“I always liked Gotham at night too, when it wasn’t all murder-y and stuff,” Robin volunteers. “Kind of nice when it’s dark and quiet, y’know?”
Tim nods. He does know. Gotham is home. Sometimes home is beautiful, even if no one else can see it. He knows that better than most.
“Sometimes…” Robin hesitates, then plunges ahead. “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend things are okay when it’s dark and quiet, right?”
Tim doesn’t know what to say to that, because he’s always found it much harder to pretend things are okay when it’s dark and quiet. Those are usually the times when it’s just Tim and His Thoughts. So Tim doesn’t answer, but Robin apparently doesn’t require one. They keep walking up the street, Tim absently kicking a soda can in front of him as they go. Finally Robin sighs and mutters this is ridiculous under his breath.
“What do your parents make you do?” Robin asks abruptly. “What makes them so terrible that you’re running away every night?”
“They’re not terrible,” Tim says automatically. It’s rote. He gets the question a lot.
It might be a little too automatic. Robin stops again, this time jerking Tim’s sleeve so Tim has to stop too. Tim looks at him questioningly.
“If they’re makin’ you do things you don’t want to do…” Robin lets the question hang, and Tim suddenly sees what Robin is thinking.
“It’s nothing like that!” Tim says immediately. “Really! I didn’t mean it like that.”
He didn’t, but he can see what it might have sounded like. It’s just that Tim is used to doing his own thing, now, and when his parents come home, it’s hard to adjust sometimes. Nothing like what Robin is thinking.
“You sure?” Robin asks dubiously.
“Yeah, they’re fine. Really!” Tim insists again. His palms are starting to sweat. He’d always thought that was just an expression. “They’re, uh, controlling. Strict, I guess?”
That is not the most confident way to end that sentence. Smart Tim dies a little more.
“You said they’re not home again?” Robin asks.
“Oh, uh, yeah. They have to travel sometimes,” Tim babbles. Robin’s face isn’t giving anything away, so Tim hastily adds, “But it’s okay, you know, because my uncle stays with me. Like I said before.”
“Your uncle stays with you a lot?” Robin asks skeptically.
“Um, just sometimes. But we’re really close. He likes to stay with me when my parents are gone, since he doesn’t have kids of his own, and he really likes kids.”
“He…really likes kids?” Robin repeats.
By this time Tim can see they’re just down the street from David’s house, because oh yeah, that’s where Robin thinks Tim lives. Tim yelps, “Yep! He likes kids a lot! He’s always saying that! Also I forgot to tell you I checked and Etsy has knitted quilts, so you were right about that! Thanks, Robin!”, and darts behind the house to the back door. There’s a screen door there, so Tim makes a big show of slamming the screen door like he’s gone inside and then ducking behind the trash cans David’s family stores out back. He’s quick, quick enough that Robin can’t catch him before he’s safely hidden.
It takes nearly twenty minutes, during which time David’s dad checks the back door twice, but at last Tim hears a grapple gun shoot off into the night. He breathes a sigh of relief. Tonight has been a disaster, but he’s survived once again. Robin clearly didn’t buy his reassurances about his parents, though, and if Robin pokes into Tim’s home life, Tim’s independence is shot. It isn’t worth the risk anymore. He can’t let this thing with Robin go on, as much fun as it’s been to have an almost-friend.
The next time someone notices Tim, he resolves, it sure as heck isn’t going to be Robin.
“Hey, buddy!”
A dark-haired figure pops up over the ledge of the roof where Tim’s sitting, and Tim shrieks. He scrambles back and suddenly can’t remember any of the judo he’s learned.
“Whoa, whoa, relax! I promise, not gonna hurt you. Just here to say hi. Robin’s told me a lot about you.”
Now that Tim is able to breathe again—an ability he had severely underestimated before just now—Tim can’t decide if he should give himself the point or not. On the one hand, he was right: Robin isn’t the one who noticed him. On the other hand, it’s Nightwing, aka Unobservant Robin. So it’s still a Robin.
He ends up giving himself half a point and rounding up. Tim needs all the points he can get. Especially ’cause this is Tim’s favorite roof, and now he can’t ever use it again. It’s a shame. It had an unlocked roof access door.
It’s gonna be locked for sure now.
Still…
“Robin’s mentioned me?” Tim asks, half cautious and half ecstatic.
“Yeah.” Nightwing flips up onto the roof and sits cross-legged in front of Tim. “He’s got some concerns about your home life.”
Dangit, why does ecstatic turn into gut-wrenching fear so quickly with Gotham’s vigilantes?
“What—what kind of concerns?” asks Tim, even though he’s pretty sure he knows.
Nightwing watches him, oozing seriousness and sympathy. Tim thinks he might throw up. All those lies, all that time detouring to David’s house. It had all been for nothing. Had Robin known who he was the whole time? Was Robin toying with him, just something to amuse himself during boring patrols?
Somehow that thought hurts more than the knowledge that Tim is about to face the be-a-better-son-we-didn’t-raise-you-to-be-a-disappointment lecture again.
“Robin’s worried,” Nightwing tells him. “You’re out here a lot, apparently. He asked a friend of mine at the Bludhaven police department to look into your…situation.”
Some distant part of Tim thinks it must be a good sign for Robin and Nightwing’s relationship that Robin is asking Nightwing to investigate people for him. A much more present part of Tim is horrified that Nightwing came all the way out to Gotham to find him over it.
The biggest part of Tim is trying to remember if there’s ever been any evidence that Nightwing is susceptible to blackmail, because he doesn’t see another way out of this. Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed. If they have to come all the way back from Africa because Tim messed up…he can’t even imagine it. He won’t imagine it.
“I don’t have a situation,” Tim lies, and he hopes the tremor in his voice is only audible to himself.
“You do.” Nightwing makes an unhappy sound. “David, you know we can’t ignore this.”
Whatever reply Tim had been about to make lodges deep in his throat. “David?” he chokes out.
“I know, it must seem like a horrible invasion of privacy when you never even told Robin your name, but we needed to know who you were. Robin had your address, and then it was just a matter of going through the system.” Nightwing takes a deep breath. “We take these things very seriously, of course, but we didn’t want to go to the cops before we had a chance to talk to you. You need to tell someone what’s going on.”
“What’s going on,” Tim repeats, faintly hysterical. How can he tell someone what’s going on when he doesn’t even know himself?
“Yes. You’ve been sneaking out practically every night, and we know your uncle just got out of jail for, um, assault charges. Of a minor. It wasn’t much of a leap to guess what’s been happening. If your parents are letting your uncle babysit, that clearly violates the order of protection, David. They shouldn’t be allowing him anywhere near you.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Don’t try to tell me you have another uncle, bud,” Nightwing says gently. “We checked the records. Thoroughly.”
Tim doesn’t know what to do. David’s parents seemed so nice, and now he’s gotten them in trouble. Why did David’s not-fake uncle have to be a child molester? Why couldn’t he be a nice, normal, law-abiding citizen with no criminal record?
Well, okay, this was Gotham. But still.
“I’m not…” Tim flounders. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but…”
“I know it’s scary,” Nightwing says, still gentle. “But we have to face facts, Dave.”
“That’s not my name,” Tim finally blurts out, but Nightwing just holds up his hands in surrender.
“Right, David. Sorry.”
“No.” Tim’s mind is racing as tries to get his thoughts together. Nightwing is patient, giving him the time he needs. At last Tim says, “Did you talk to Robin about this?”
“Of course,” Nightwing says, puzzled. “I never would have come here without verifying everything with him.”
“And that verification included a photo of David Jorgensen?”
“Why would I show him a picture of you? He knows what you look like.”
Okay, Tim has now overestimated both Batman’s parenting skills and Nightwing’s detective abilities. They do say to never meet your heroes. Tim gets that now.
“You should find a picture of David,” Tim says. “A recent one.”
And with that, Tim pulls that trick that only works once and races through the unlocked roof access door, making sure to lock it behind him.
It won’t stop a vigilante for long, but Tim doesn’t need much of a head start.
No one ever finds him twice.
Well, they never did before, anyway.
Tim gives up his nighttime hobby for a while after that. The vigilante network is watching for him now, he’s sure of it, and he can’t risk being seen again. Nightwing will find a picture of David, and they’ll see just how blond and not-Tim he is, and then it’s over anyway. So Tim uses his forced hiatus to dummy up as many fake nanny payments and parental Skype call records as he can. He doesn’t know if he’s done enough in time, and if Batman gets involved, his mediocre forging skills will be exposed immediately. It’s something, though. It makes Tim feel like he’s doing something. He should have been doing this way before now, he realizes. But who knew he wouldn’t be able to rely on the ineptitude of others forever?
He stays at home and doesn’t even go to school. No one calls about his absences or stops by the house to check on him, but he expects that. He’s covered his tracks pretty well. He even avoids the housekeeper when she comes, just in case. He’s used to fading into the background, so that’s what he does. It’s safer that way. No one can find him without looking harder than they’re usually willing to look.
“Usually” is the key word. No one ever bothered to look for him out on the streets of Gotham before either. So it’s not a complete surprise when he goes up to his room one night and finds Robin lounging on his bed.
Tim just stands in his doorway, frozen, until finally Robin looks up from the comic book he’s borrowed.
“Hey.” He waves awkwardly. “Uh, it took us some time, but we found David Jorgensen’s yearbook. Imagine my surprise when I saw the person right above him. It’s Timothy, right?”
“Tim.” Not that it matters. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? Your parents gonna wake up and call the cops?” Robin asks sardonically.
“They might—”
Robin pins him with a look. “No, they ain’t. We both know they ain’t.”
Tim deflates. He’s been afraid of this for so long. Why did Unobservant Robin have to quit like that? He liked Unobservant Robin, dammit.
“Please don’t tell?” he whisper-begs.
Robin sighs. “I gotta. You’re here all alone. For, like, months. What country are they even in, Tim?”
Tim doesn’t know. Africa somewhere, but beyond that, he doesn’t have a clue. They had been debating their next stop, the last time they’d called, but that was almost a month ago. It isn’t…it’s need-to-know information. And he doesn’t need to know.
“It’s fine,” he says desperately. “There’s a housekeeper—I mean, there’s a nanny, and my parents call on Skype every night, and I go to school every day, and—”
“You don’t! You think we can’t catch fake attendance records? You might have fooled Nightwing, ’cause he wanted to believe your rich-ass parents were calling every night, and you had a nanny who loved you even if your parents didn’t, but—”
“My parents love me!” Tim blurts. Tears spring to his eyes without his consent. “Sure, maybe they have to work a bunch, but they—I think they wish they were home, and they try to come back whenever they can, and it’s not their fault they have to be on-site for these digs. They can’t help it!”
“It doesn’t—it doesn’t work like that,” Robin says fiercely. “You can’t just jet off to fucking Outer Mongolia or wherever and leave your kid home alone. Parents have to take care of their kids. That’s a rule.”
“Yours didn’t,” Tim fires back before he can stop himself. And Smart Tim is nowhere to be seen, even though Smart Tim should be protesting like hell about the idiotic things Tim is saying, but Smart Tim doesn’t stand a chance. Because Robin is threatening everything Tim knows, and Tim just needs him to stop already. So Tim keeps going, trying to hurt Robin like Robin is hurting him.
“Your dad was just some—some bad guy henchman, and that’s way worse than people who aren’t there, and your mom never took care of you because she was on drugs, the paper said so! And Bruce lets you run around without pants! In a city of child molesters! You’ve never had a good parent in your life. So don’t lecture me about what parents ‘have to’ do!”
Tim hasn’t even dropped the finger quotes before Robin is out the window, and Tim has never felt fear like this before. Because Tim keeps a lot of secrets, but there’s only one secret that’s ever really mattered. And it just went running back to the manor next door.
Smart Tim officially dies that day in Tim Drake’s bedroom. That’s okay, Tim discovers. Dumb Tim is a lot better at going through with reckless plans that Smart Tim might have objected to.
Tim doesn’t need much. There’s isn’t a whole lot he’s sentimental about in the house, so he packs up a few comic books and some clothes and the emergency cash his parents leave for the housekeeper in case the grocery delivery messes up some week. It’s only a few hundred dollars, so he takes a couple valuables as well, in case he needs to hide out longer than planned. He wishes he could take his computer too, but that’s okay. They could probably track him with it. He can always sneak into the library if he needs to. He does grab the hard drive out of his computer before he goes, though. Even Dumb Tim isn’t a complete moron.
The only other thing he takes is his camera and the potentially incriminating photos he keeps in the lockbox under his bed. He can’t bring himself to destroy them, but they aren’t safe here without him. So into the bag they go.
It takes Tim less than an hour to pack and get everything in order so at least the housekeeper won’t notice he’s gone immediately. Robin will have to make the trip to Wayne Manor, or at least get far enough away to comm without cameras picking it up, then tell Batman the whole story, and then both of them have to make it back to the Drake estate. With luck, he should get a little bit of a head start.
It was enough that night on the rooftop, when Nightwing couldn’t follow him. It will have to be enough tonight too.
Tim isn’t sure where to go, though. He thinks about Metropolis for a minute, but Superman lives there, so that isn’t safe. But then where can you go to escape a man with virtually unlimited resources? A man with his own plane, his own multimillion-dollar company, his own Batmobile?
Tim forces those thoughts to the back of his mind. He locks the front door behind him, making sure it’s firmly shut.
“Looks like you’re running away,” says someone from his roof, and Tim jumps a solid foot in the air.
“Figured you’d try a stupid stunt like this,” Jason Todd grumbles, because that is Jason Todd in all his glory. The Robin uniform is nowhere in sight.
“I’m sorry,” Tim squeaks. He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for knowing Jason’s alter ego, or for what he said up in his room, or maybe for lying to Robin for months now. But whatever it is, Tim feels the need to lead with an apology.
“Yeah, you did some shitty things,” Jason says bluntly. “You should be sorry.” Without warning, though, Jason abruptly softens. “But I’m sorry too. It wasn’t not-shitty of me to ambush you like that. I shouldn’t have said your parents don’t love you. That was a dick move.”
“It’s not…they really aren’t that bad,” Tim tries.
“They are, kid. They really are.” Jason hops down from the roof. “But I had a talk with B before I stopped by tonight. That’s what I was trying to tell ya, before I messed it all up. Gotham is stupid, and your parents are rich, so there isn’t much we can do about your crappy situation at the moment. Officially, anyway.”
“So you’re going to kill me then?” Tim asks, figuring it’s better to rip off the metaphorical band-aid.
It’s a good thing Jason’s off the roof, because he would’ve fallen with that double-take. “Kill you? How did your little lizard brain jump to insta-death? We don’t kill anyone, much less little kids!”
“But I know,” Tim argues, ignoring the ‘little kid’ comment. (And also ignoring Smart Tim, who is trying to resurrect long enough to suggest arguing for his own death isn’t his best option here.) “I’m a liability if I know.”
“Yeah, speaking of, how much do you know, exactly?”
“All of it,” Tim admits softly. (Smart Tim is railing in the back of his brain.)
He slowly unzips his bag and hands Jason the photos. Jason doesn’t need to look at them long. He hands back the photos and squares his shoulders.
“Yeah, okay, so this is how it’s gonna go down. We’re gonna keep an eye on you.”
“I promise I would never tell!” Tim swears vehemently, but Jason shakes his head.
“Not ’cause of that, idiot. ’Cause you’re here alone all the time. You’re coming home with me tonight. And probably every night until your parents are back, whenever the hell that might be. Dick’s already planning whole bonding adventures. I promise, there’s never been a more effective form of torture. And, uh, we aren’t gonna tell B that you’re in on the family secret. Dick’s fine, he gets it, but B’s intense. Too many nights hanging out with Arkham escapees, if you know what I mean. So all he knows is you’re my friend, and we can’t lock up your shitty parents, so we have to keep you for a while.”
“You didn’t have to pretend to be my friend,” Tim assures him. “I’m sure we can find another way.”
“No,” Jason says gruffly, “it’s too much work to change it now. We’ll just have to go with it.”
Jason won’t look him in the eye anymore, and for some reason that makes something warm and gooey bubble in Tim’s stomach.
“So,” Jason clears his throat, “you got everything you need for a sleepover?”
“A sleepover?” Tim asks dubiously. “The kind with no sleeping?”
“Oh yeah, baby bird,” Jason grins. “Alfie’s already making popcorn, and we’ve got nerd movies lined up all night.” His grin turns a little more conspiratorial. “Plus how much fun is it going to be to see Bruce try to slip out of the house without you noticing?”
Tim grins back. “I’ll sneak ‘bat’ into everyday words, just to see how long it takes him.”
Jason laughs. It’s bright and so, so Robin. “When you’re going to school, I’ll tell you not to forget your bat-pack.”
“I’ll ask if he wants to play bat-minton with us.”
“Every time I have to pee, I’ll announce I’m going to the bat-room.”
They laugh together that time, and Jason launches into a detailed description of life at the Manor, presumably to put Tim’s mind at ease. He doesn’t need to bother. For once, Smart Tim and Dumb Tim and Regular, Boring Tim all agree it’s starting to look like maybe a good thing Robin II is more observant than Robin I.
That is, until Jason starts talking about bedtimes, and Tim looks at him in horror. They have bedtimes at Wayne Manor?
That can’t be real, Tim decides. Jason is playing a joke. Because Bruce Wayne is Batman, and if Tim has learned anything from this whole experience, it’s that Batman is terrible at limits. Bedtime is definitely a limit. Tim immediately relaxes.
(That lasts exactly as long as it takes for Jason to start describing Alfred Pennyworth.)