Chapter Text
It’s not every day a vigilante calls you.
It’s definitely not every day a vigilante calls you requesting for your help.
But it happened tonight for Tim Drake. And it might happen again?
Tim doesn’t really want to think about it.
It’s a Tuesday night and Tim is up awake managing the Gotham hotline he accidentally created after making one too many helpful reports and calls for the city. He somehow got wrapped up in the nightlife despite only wanting to watch from afar, but Tim’s not unhappy with getting to help the people of Gotham.
None of the vigilantes seem to think about the damages done by their battles with their rogues, but Tim does.
(Bruce Wayne does try his best to make up for the damages, but he’s only one billionaire. There are too many people in Gotham—not to mention that he doesn’t patrol Crime Alley.
Tim guesses he should thank Red Hood for taking over the Alley.
While it should be difficult to like him that much since he’s a crime boss, he’s still rather cool in Tim’s book, though, especially after figuring out that Red Hood is actually the previously deceased second Robin, Jason Todd.
Dick Grayson may be his favourite person ever, and subsequently, a fantastic Robin, but Jason Todd was Robin for most of Tim's time following the Bat. He's bound to be a little attached to him in a different way than Dick Grayson.
He is still curious as to how the revival happened.
Although he's sure he could find out how, Tim just hasn’t had enough time to really look into it. Breaking through firewalls is not as easy as movies make it seem.)
After Tim started looking out for the civilians by directing them to shelters after their homes were destroyed or insurance after their cars had been crushed, they dubbed him “Gotham’s Guardian Angel,” or just Angel for short. As embarrassing as it is, Tim feels a little happy that the people of Gotham care enough about him to give him a title. He didn’t help them for honour or reputation, but it is always nice to be recognised for his efforts.
The role of hotline operator was also perfect for someone like Tim.
He never wanted to be in the spotlight or even in the shadows—he wanted to be in the background where no one could find him.
Although, Tim did have a short-lived moment where he thought he should step in and help directly after the disappearance and death of the second Robin, but ultimately opted for a safer option and left letters every day to Batman instead.
He wonders if Batman kept any of those notes or just burnt them as soon as he got them. Tim wouldn't be very surprised if the vigilante did the latter. There's no real way of knowing, but Tim's sure it helped even a little bit since Batman finally cooled down before he caused his own death sentence.
What was he even thinking, anyway? Considering stepping in himself and helping hands-on?
He's just some rich kid who's on the smarter side of things—how could he even consider doing something as intense as vigilantism? Bruce Wayne was grieving his son; Tim didn’t even want to entertain the slightest idea of potentially replacing Jason Todd.
Even if that wasn’t his intention, it sure doesn’t look good. Tim’s pretty satisfied with his method, anyway.
Being in charge of the Gotham Hotline was a nice change from his day job as the young CEO of Drake Industries. After Jack and Janet Drake’s untimely deaths in a plane crash during another one of their long (neglectful) excavation trips and being thrown into the CEO position against his will, Tim hardly has enough time to do anything for himself, let alone find allies to assist him with the hotline.
But he didn’t mind it. He worked better alone.
Tim knew he would get on the Bats’ radar at some point since he didn’t plan on stopping, so he just embraced the title instead of shying away. He wanted to help in his own way and if that meant from behind the scenes, then so be it. The Bats can deal with it.
The reason why he’s hyperfocused on his screens tonight is due to the fact that there was another Arkham breakout.
He isn’t particularly surprised, as he created an algorithm to determine when the next breakout was to prepare the residents of Gotham ways to protect themselves, but Tim needs to be ready for calls. Breakouts always cause extreme damages.
Not to mention it is still undetermined who exactly broke out—it’s only been fifteen minutes since it occurred.
Tim sits hunched over his desk, surrounded by a labyrinth of monitors and gadgets. Towers of empty coffee mugs are scattered across it. As he searches for any clues as to who has escaped Arkham Asylum this time, the special hotline alert he set up starts sounding in his room. The soft glow of the screens illuminates his face as he puts his headset on, turns on his voice modulator, and answers the newest call with a calm, reassuring voice.
“Gotham Hotline, what is the nature of your call?”
A frantic voice yells back from the other side. “Angel! Help! There’s an explosion downtown and I don’t know what to do! Everything’s on fire!”
Tim immediately starts typing away at his keyboard, locating where the caller is. “I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”
“Andrew. My name’s Andrew. Fuck, everythin' smells of smoke.”
“Hey, Andrew. Thank you for calling the hotline. First, please ensure your safety. Are you in immediate danger?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. I ran away as soon as I heard the first boom, so I’m a couple blocks away from the explosion." Andrew coughs, out of breath. "But there’s a lot of smoke and I can see the flames from the apartment complex.” His voice switches to a shaky, scared tone. “Angel, I got a buddy that lives near the apartment and he’s not pickin' up.”
There is a lot of screaming from Andrew’s side. Tim immediately sends out a message to emergency services. He determines where the explosion occurred and hacks the nearby security cameras to see that the entire complex is up in flames.
Not good. There’s going to be a lot of casualties.
He urgently sends another message requesting extra ambulances.
“Thank you for letting me know, Andrew. You’re doing great. I have notified firefighters, paramedics, as well as the GCPD. They should be dispatched soon. Is there anything else I should know about this emergency?” Tim asks.
While the hotline is available for any situation, it’s generally for rogue and vigilante-related incidents. Paired with the notification of the Arkham breakout not long ago, it’s more than likely that one of the rogues is responsible for the explosion.
Explosions are quite popular with all of the villains, but it’s especially used by Two-Face, the Riddler, or the Joker.
That last one is what Tim’s the most worried about.
“Yeah! I think I saw Two-Face!" Andrew exclaims, sounding much better than he did just now. "I was runnin' away, but his face is kinda recognisable so it’s definitely him. Or I guess face-s plural.”
Okay, not the worst option out of the three rogues.
Harvey Dent isn’t extremely difficult to deal with. While violent and unpredictable, he is a more common foe of Batman. The Bats don’t have the toughest time dealing with him. As long as it is not the Joker, Tim can manage the hotline without much stress.
As he’s reporting that the breakout was orchestrated by Two-Face directly to Commissioner Jim Gordon, Andrew pipes in with another comment.
“So… you gonna come help us this time, Angel?”
Tim chuckles. It’s a common inside joke within Gotham residents to occasionally request Tim himself to be a hero and come down to save them, despite everyone knowing well that “the Angel” is a helpful operator at most. He finds it quite humorous and it’s nice to know that the people of Gotham will always hold themselves up at the end of the day despite all of the chaos and damage done to their city.
“Not tonight, Andrew,” Tim replies with an audible smile even through the voice modulation.
“Bummer. Wanted to see the Angel in action.”
Another call starts ringing.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? I have another call coming, and it might be about the same situation.”
“Nah, man. Thanks for helping as always. Go save Gotham, Angel!”
“I think I’ll leave that to the Bats,” Tim says, grinning. “Thank you for calling Gotham Hotline. I hope your friend is alright. And as always, may Gotham protect you, Andrew.”
That last line is something Tim says to every person who calls the hotline.
He’s not sure how it started, but for some reason, it gives the caller a lot of hope. They seem to appreciate the phrase and consider it some sort of protection.
Tim thinks that some people genuinely believe he is a guardian angel, and that the sentence is a blessing of safety. Even if it makes Tim want to cringe a little every time he says it, helping Gotham’s people comes first.
So if his words can bring a little hope, then he’ll say the embarrassing phrase.
Hope is hard to come by. He would know.
As the call ends, Tim sees in his messages that he received a simple “Got it,” from the Commissioner.
Now that he knows, the Bats definitely know. Good.
Hopefully, they can get Two-Face quickly and throw him back in Arkham.
Tim picks up the next call.
“Gotham Hotline, what is the nature of your call?” he recites.
“Hey, uh, is this ‘Angel’?”
The voice sounds rather familiar, but it must be a new caller if they have to ask Tim if it’s him. Everyone knows that he’s the only person who ever answers.
“Correct. How can I assist you tonight?” Tim responds promptly.
“Great! I’m Nightwing. I heard through the grapevine that you’re the guy to call for the fastest information on breakouts and such?”
Nightwing. Like, the first ever Robin. The son of the Flying Graysons. The first person to ever give Tim a hug. The last person alive who can perform a quadruple backflip.
Dick Grayson.
Dick Grayson has heard of Tim’s hotline. Dick fucking Grayson is calling Tim’s hotline requesting for information.
Holy crap. This is probably one of the best days of his life.
“That’s me,” Tim replies smoothly, steadying his voice. He needs to maintain at least some professionalism as Gotham’s only rogue hotline operator. “I’m assuming you need the location of Two-Face?”
“Yeah! Wait, how did you know—” Nightwing sounds surprised. “Nevermind. I’ll ask later. Uh. Do you actually know where he is?”
“Of course,” Tim responds, trying not to think about what exactly ‘I’ll ask later’ means.
He immediately sends Nightwing the location where Two-Face was last seen thanks to the earlier call. “I am sending you the coordinates now. He caused an explosion downtown and a large apartment complex is currently on fire. I have already dispatched emergency services and GCPD, however, your assistance in catching Harvey Dent will be crucial to stop any more casualties.”
“Wow! That was quick! Oracle hasn’t even found him yet. Your reputation really holds up, huh?”
Nightwing knows of Tim and his reputation as the Angel. Does that mean the Bats all know of him? There’s no way, right?
I mean, I knew I would get on their radar, but they can’t possibly all know of me, right? Tim thinks.
He needs to stop thinking.
If Tim is not done with this call soon, he just may lose his mind. He takes in a silent breath and adjusts his headset.
“I just do what I can. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Nightwing, sir?”
“No, I think I’m good for now. And you can just call me Nightwing. Thanks for your help, Angel! I’ll see you around.”
“It’s no problem at all.” Tim is about to end the call, but of course, Tim can’t have it easy and his muscle memory kicks in. “May Gotham protect you, Nightwing.”
Tim could not have clicked out of that call faster. His heart is thudding so fast that he can practically feel his pulse in his throat.
Why did Tim have to end the call with that stupid line? It’s one thing to say it to a regular civilian, it’s another thing to say it to a vigilante.
It’s too late to regret it now. He will wallow in his sorrows later.
Most importantly:
“Holy shit. I just spoke with Dick Grayson.”
Tim slides down in his chair, pushing the headset down around his neck and running a hand through his hair. Dick Grayson just thanked him for his help. He knows of Tim! Was his voice steady enough? Did he sound collected and put together? He couldn’t have figured out who Tim was, right?
He needs to calm down.
Tim takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly. It’s fine. It’s fine! He knew he could get on the Bats’ radar at some point, so this was not unexpected. In fact, Tim’s glad that it was Nightwing who called instead of any of the others.
God forbid Batman or Oracle get into contact with him.
It’s just a one-time thing, anyway. Tim coincidentally had the information Nightwing needed before Oracle did, and Oracle is far more impressive and skilled than Tim is, so it is absolutely a fluke.
He does triple-check his data encryption before going to bed, though.
Just in case.
Yeah, Tim assures himself, there’s no way this will happen again.
◈ ◈ ◈
It happens again.
Someone up above must have it out for Tim. Perhaps he is being cursed by his late parents.
A few days after Two-Face’s capture and reimprisonment, Tim has been busy answering calls from the aftermath of the rogue’s destruction. Directing displaced individuals to nearby shelters, helping people file complaints to the GCPD, and even instructing the injured on how to take care of their wounds (since not everyone can afford or get to a hospital).
And that’s on top of the regular calls and Drake Industries work.
Tim even bought a drone and modified it so it could carry heavier things like first-aid kits and food packages to those who especially needed it. He seldom uses the drone, as it is dangerous if someone follows it back to the Drake Manor, but he recognises its usefulness after hearing the gratitude from the people who came into contact with his drone.
It’ll probably come back sooner or later once Tim figures out a better way to utilise the machine.
Safe to say, it’s been a couple of sleepless nights for Tim.
So when the next call came in, he doesn’t really pick up on who is speaking on the other side of the phone at first.
“Gotham Hotline, what is the nature of your call?”
“Hey, Angel! It’s Nightwing again. Do you remember our call from a few days ago?”
Oh, it’s Nightwing, Tim thinks tiredly.
“Yes, the one regarding Two-Face,” he responds automatically. Tim takes another sip out of his seventh can of cherry-flavoured energy drink spiked with 5-Hour Energy as he slumps over his free hand, leaning his weight into it. “What can I do for you tonight?” Tim slurps the concoction silently.
“Do you have time right now? I wanted to ask a few questions if that’s alright, but I understand if you’re busy.”
Pause. Rewind. Who did the caller say he was?
Oh my god, it’s Nightwing, Tim realises, nearly spitting out his drink.
He quickly mutes his mic and sets down his mug, grabbing a few napkins to wipe his mouth.
Shoot. This is not on his schedule.
Tim has to snap himself into focus; he can’t make a fool of himself again, not after the way he ended the last call he had with the vigilante. He slaps his cheeks lightly, attempting to rid the tiredness out of himself.
He clears his throat and then unmutes his microphone.
“I have time.”
Tim does not, in fact, have time.
But it’s Nightwing who is calling. What’s he going to do—say no? Preposterous. That's a crime in and of itself. Tim would rather swallow nails and kiss his mother goodnight than say no to Dick Grayson.
“How can I help you, Nightwing?”
“Great!” Nightwing’s voice is all cheery and sunshine in Tim’s brain. “We’ve been wanting to get into contact with you for quite some time now. To start, how did you know that the breakout from a few days ago was Two-Face? And how did you find his location? Even Oracle couldn’t figure it out that quickly.”
‘We’, Tim notes immediately.
He quickly understands that this call is an interrogation masked as a simple Q&A. He's sure they know he knows as well. It’s not like Tim didn’t expect it, but it’s not any less startling either way. No wonder they selected Nightwing to call him—he is the most popular amongst the public despite residing in Blüdhaven most of the time.
So Tim does what any reasonable fanboy would do in his situation: immediately cave in and tell the hero whatever he needs.
“This hotline is what a good portion of civilians call first regarding rogues and/or vigilante-related incidents,” he begins calmly. “I typically keep a careful eye out when a breakout occurs and was trying to figure out who it was first. I received a call that stated an explosion downtown and an apartment complex was on fire.
“I knew that explosions were quite a common method of chaos for the rogues, with Two-Face being one of the three main users. The caller then told me he had seen Two-Face at the scene of the crime, which solidified my theory and I immediately contacted Commissioner Gordon about the sighting. Then you called me, which meant you were looking for the location of the escaped rogue. It was rather simple,” Tim finishes.
That should cover most of his bases.
“Hm, interesting. How did you know that explosions were one of Two-Face’s ways of destruction?” Nightwing probes curiously.
“I’ve been following the activities of all the rogues for the past few years. I just picked up on some of the habits and patterns they have. Explosions just happened to be a common way Two-Face employs.”
“How long have you been doing this for?”
Nightwing needs to be a little more specific with that question. Does Tim count the very first time he called in a rogue report? Or just when the creation of the hotline happened? What does ‘this’ exactly mean?
Following the Bats around surely doesn’t count, right?
Tim settles on the beginning of the hotline.
“It’s been a couple of years, I believe.”
“Why do you do this, Angel? What’s your motive? What do you gain?”
Tim tilts his head. Odd question.
Isn’t it rather obvious?
“I just want to help in ways that I can. Why else would I do it?”
Nightwing’s silence sounds like he is thinking. After a few tense seconds, he finally speaks. “Listen, I want to be honest with you, Angel.”
Even though Angel isn’t Tim’s actual name, the way Nightwing says it makes him feel like it is. He shivers a bit, feeling a little scolded. (But it’s probably better to be called Angel—he might die of joy if the blue-themed vigilante calls him by his real name, Tim. He would even accept his horrid legal first name of Timothy.)
“You seem like a good guy,” Nightwing continues.
(Dick Grayson thinks Tim is a good guy!)
“But some of the group thinks that you could be dangerous. You know too much about what goes on in Gotham, yet nobody knows anything about you. We can’t find any information on you. I understand it’s for your safety, but you can see why we can get a little anxious, right?”
So they have tried to find him. Good thing Tim encrypted his location and data many times over.
He can’t help but feel a bit proud that not even someone as incredible as Oracle could break through the encryption.
Tim begins to nod before pausing and realising Nightwing couldn’t see him.
“I am aware, yes,” he replies, a little embarrassed and the tips of his ears grow slightly pink, “I didn’t mean for this to get so big, but it did, so I’ve been dealing with it the best I can. I apologise for causing anxiety and unease.”
He can almost hear Nightwing relax on the other side of the call.
They must not get many amicable people to speak to outside of their own group. Well, not everyone is fanboy extraordinaire, Tim Drake.
“It’s okay! I mean, I totally get you. You want privacy. We want privacy. I think you’re a good guy trying to do a good thing. Batman just likes knowing everything that goes on in the city, you know?”
“I know.”
Tim knows all too well. He might know Batman better than Tim knows himself. He’s been following the man since he was nine, after all. The many volumes of scrapbooking and photo albums are organised neatly in a hidden safe behind a closet with a false back. His pride and joy of eight years.
“What do you want from me, Nightwing?”
They’re going to end up in circles if Nightwing doesn’t just tell him what he wants straight up.
What’s it going to be? Tell them everything he knows? Reveal his identity?
Make him quit the hotline?
That last one isn't happening, no matter which of the Bats demanded him to. This hotline is so much more than just Tim—it’s for the people of Gotham. Tim refuses to quit just because Batman couldn’t stand not knowing something.
Worst case scenario, he can threaten Batman with his real identity as Bruce Wayne.
Tim would never actually do that, but he can’t give up the hotline. People need it. Even if it means making an enemy of Batman.
(He really hopes it doesn’t come to that.)
Tim braces himself for Nightwing’s response.
“Would you like to work with us, Angel?”
…What?
“What?” he says, echoing his thoughts. That is not what Tim was expecting to hear.
“You know your way around Gotham,” Nightwing explains, “and the people trust you. You have the fastest information regarding breakouts and other emergencies that require our help—faster than both Batman and Oracle. You could do even more if you had our funding and technology. We could save even more people if we had your knowledge and skills. And honestly, it’s better to work with you than against you. The people of Gotham are on your side.”
Tim’s shocked. He needs to pick up his jaw from off the floor.
Never in a million years would he have thought that he would be formally offered to work with his heroes. They want to work with him? A seventeen-year-old who started this whole thing on accident?
He recognises that he has some talent in technology, but he is not nearly qualified enough to work with them!
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Please, Angel,” Nightwing interrupts before Tim can get another word out. “We can work together! I want us to work together. Even Batman agreed to this! And it was so hard to convince him so it would be awesome if you said yes.”
Wait. What did he say?
“...Batman agreed?” Tim asks slowly.
“He did.”
“And he’s okay with me helping you guys?”
“He is.”
“...Even without knowing my identity or anything about me?”
There’s a pause. Tim swallows anxiously. Of course Batman’s not okay with that.
Nightwing sighs. “Okay, he’s still annoyed that he knows nothing about you, but that’s kind of how he is. I’m sure you know if you've been at this for a couple of years now. He’s going to try and figure out who you are as long as he remains in the unknown.”
He quickly assures, “But B won’t ever put you in danger or make you do anything you don’t want to do! I swear on my honour as Nightwing. So what do you say, Angel? You in?”
Tim can’t possibly reject this offer. An opportunity to work with his heroes? There isn’t anything else Tim can say except:
“I’m in.”
"Great!" Nightwing sounds like he has a grin on his face. "Nice to formally meet your acquaintance, Angel, and welcome to the team! I would shake your hand if I could."
"I would as well." Nightwing has no idea how much that sentence is true.
"Oh? You wanna come on down and shake my hand in person then?"
Tim snorts. He wishes.
"Nice try. I'll see you around, Nightwing," he says, using the same words Nightwing did last time he called the hotline.
"Worth a shot. I’ll give you a number to contact us by after this. See you around again, Angel!"
The call drops. Tim also drops along with it, wholly missing his seat and collapsing onto the floor. His legs are tangled and looking one wrong move to dislocation but Tim couldn't care less at the moment.
That really just happened.
He, Tim Drake, is officially working with the Bats. He thinks he used up all his luck for the year—nay, his entire life.
“And it was absolutely fucking worth it,” Tim cheers with exhaustion, pumping a weak fist in the air.
Life is good.