Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A quiet night, overall. Well, for Gotham, that is.” The voice laughs shortly. “I don’t think tonight could be considered quiet by normal standards. But then, what fun is normal? Normal people don’t get the chance to see Batman and Robin up close, in the middle of the action.” There’s a heavy sigh. “My bus pulling into the station, so I’ll have to stop recording now. Thanks for tuning in to Hide’n’Seek.”

Timmie clicks the post button, finally finished with editing the night's recordings. In a few hours, he will be walking through the halls of Gotham Academy, smirking to himself while half his classmates listen to the condensed version of his adventure the night before. For now, he leans back in his desk chair and spins around, a lazy grin on his face. Robin almost saw him tonight, but he’s almost been caught more than once. It’s riskier now, though, because he does the podcast and the Twitter account.

If the Bats found out who was behind the Hide’n’Seek account, Timmie has no doubt he would have to quit. Gotham is starting to rely on his alerts though. Half the time they come before the alert from Gotham’s emergency services. Timmie cannot get caught. Not this late in the game. And that’s what this started as. A game. He wanted to see how long he could follow and report and get camera footage without being found out. A high-stakes version of hide-and-seek. Except the Bats didn’t know they were part of the game. That was half the fun.

One side-effect of Timmie’s hobby was figuring out the identities of Batman and Robin (and later Nightwing, who was the first Robin, and the second Robin, who now goes by Jayhawk). For seven years now, he’s been sitting on the information, knowing he will never do anything with it other than marvel over the fact that his heroes live right next door and he used to get rides home from school from Robin and wasn’t that the coolest thing? In the end, though, the most important thing to come from Timmie’s escapades was the realization that he was saving lives. He wasn’t on the front lines, no, but he was keeping people away from major fights, clearing areas of civilians to prevent casualties with little more than the press of a button.

This little nuisance of a fact is getting to Timmie, crawling under his skin and making his brain itch. He’s sixteen. He’s been going out at night for eight years. He’s grown since then and so has his purpose. This is no longer a game.

Timmie cracks his fingers and sets to work preparing a special release for this evening before his shift begins.

“My podcast and my Twitter account have grown astronomically in the past couple years. Originally, this was a game for me. A bit of fun. Somewhere I could share the crazy things I was seeing when I caught the Bats out on patrol. It’s not a game anymore. People count on my alerts and updates to keep them alive, to keep them out of danger. Hell, just last month the GCPD official Twitter account started following me. People rely on the information I’m able to give them and it’s about time I acknowledged that. So, things are going to change.

“First, I’m going to spend more time focusing on my Twitter account. That’s where I give real-time updates on what’s going on each night in Gotham City. Sometimes during daylight hours too.

“Second, podcasts will go down to one per week on Sundays. I’ll include a summary of the previous week’s craziness, a list of the GCPD’s new and ongoing cases so people know what to look out for, and a short segment on how Arkham’s revolving door is looking these days.

“I would like to remind everyone though, that I am only one person. I will do my best to keep everything up to date, but I cannot be your only source of information. This is something I’m doing to help my city, but I cannot be solely responsible. I’m just a concerned citizen doing my best. That said, please continue to send me tips on my Twitter. Every bit helps.

“You’re listening to BatWatch. This is Oracle signing off.”

Chapter Text

Jason smiles widely as xe distributes the allergen-free sandwiches Alfred sent with xem. The kids crowd around xem but patiently wait for their turns. They know there is always enough for everyone when Jayhawk brings them food. Jason’s brows furrow slightly as xe notices the new clothes some of the kids are wearing. It’s been a trend for a few months now. Every time xe brings the kids food, four or five of them have gotten showers and new clothes and shoes. Xe doesn’t know who has been helping out, and when xe asks, the kids just giggle and tell xem they promised not to tell.

It’s probably just xir paranoia, but Jason is worried. Xe hates not knowing who is helping the flock of kids xe’s taken into xir protection. Some of the older kids and working girls have reassured xem that whoever it is has no desire to harm anyone in Gotham. Jason has to take xir informants at their word, and xe hates it. Xe hates not knowing. But the people who have reassured xem are people xe trusts. It is only for that reason xe doesn’t pry. That, and the fact that xe made everyone promise to tell xem the second anything seemed suspicious or off about this supposed helping hand.

But Jason also knows how, on the streets, you can’t trust anybody. Xe has known some of the working girls since before xir mom died. Xe knows how these girls don’t trust anyone. If they trust this kid who’s been helping keep the street kids warm and fed, Jason knows, deep down, xe can trust the kid too. Xe’s still going to interrogate the kid if xe ever finds them.

After xe finishes here, Jason needs to start xir patrol. Xe always comes here first. Not every night, but a lot of them.

“Batman to Jayhawk.”

Jason straightens and presses a finger to xir comm. “Go ahead, Batman.”

The kids all turn to start wide-eyed at the novelty of speaking to Batman.

“Hide’n’Seek changed their mission. They released a broadcast twenty minutes ago.”

“What did they say?”

“It’s only two minutes long. I’ll send the playback to your comms. They’re going by Oracle now, calling their channel BatWatch.”

Jason smirks. “Oracle, huh? That’s bold. Fitting, but bold.”

One of the younger boys perks up at the mention of Oracle and tugs on Jason’s jacket sleeve. “Oracle’s so cool Jayhawk! They used to be Hide’n’Seek, you know? But they’re Oracle now and they’ve been doing this for eight years. Can you believe it? That’s how many years I am!”

Jason ruffles the kid’s hair. “That’s pretty crazy kid. You gotta promise not to try and be like them, though, got it? What they do is dangerous.”

“I know.” The boy beams up at Jason. “But they’re saving people just like you and Nightwing and Batman! Isn’t that awesome?”

“It’s definitely admirable, kiddo.” Jason hears the recording from Hide’n’Seek—or, Oracle, now, xe supposes—start playing through his comms.

The message is delivered in a level tone and the voice is altered the same way it is in all Hide’n’Seek’s podcasts. It is clear Oracle thought long and hard about the changes they were about to make. Jason almost feels proud, though xe would never say that to Bruce, even if Bruce is probably feeling the same odd sense of pride in this person who was so obviously inspired by all that the Bats stand for.

Jason smiles as the recording finishes. The kids are all watching him, some of them a little worried. “Don’t freak out, guys. So long as Oracle doesn’t start endangering anyone, us Bats won’t be bothering them.” The kids relax at that, and Jason starts distributing hugs to everyone who wants one. They know this ritual like clockwork. Jason will be back tomorrow night to do this again.

Timmie settles on the ledge, pulling a protein bar out of her bag. Jayhawk usually starts xir patrol close to here, but it will likely be a few minutes before xe comes by. Jayhawk is currently distributing sandwiches to some of the street kids a few blocks away. Timmie smiles to herself, legs swinging against the side of the building she’s sitting on. She wonders what Jayhawk would do if xe knew the little twelve-year-old who they once found following xem with a camera was now Oracle. She imagines the expression on xir face would be priceless. That was the first and last time she met one of the Bats face-to-face. Meeting Robin was the highlight of her year. She wonders how Robin would have reacted had xe known Timmie had already been following the Bats through Gotham for four years. Again, Timmie almost laughs picturing it.

When Jayhawk comes to perch three rooftops away, Timmie snaps a quick picture on her phone and opens Twitter.

Oracle
@BatWatch

About to start my night. Jayhawk just landed in Crime Alley.

Timmie attaches the picture, ensuring there are no street markers visible. It wouldn’t do to draw a rogue to her location. She only ever includes the location when she’s directing people away from a major fight. There are a lot of things about the Bats’ routines she is careful not to mention, things that could put them at risk as well as civilians. Her job requires a lot of discretion regarding what to share and what not to. It’s easier to make decisions knowing who the Bats are behind their masks because it is easier to discern what can tie back to the Wayne family. Timmie doesn’t want to put anyone in danger if she can help it.

With one final glance at her phone to check the time, Timmie stands up and takes off across the rooftops to follow Jayhawk. Jayhawk patrols “alone” for an hour before xir route intersects with Batman and Robin’s. Not for the first time, Timmie is tempted to film the interaction. No one else ever sees these moments but her. The Bats are so frustratingly human at times, making it so frustratingly difficult for Timmie to not imagine being a part of that.

Jayhawk pauses on a rooftop on the outskirts of the Bowery and is joined maybe thirty seconds later by Batman and Robin. Timmie ducks behind a roof access door when Batman scans the area, only peeking out again after she’s sure Batman isn’t looking in her direction.

“What’s your take on the Oracle situation, Jayhawk?”

“Not a threat. Whoever runs that account, they haven’t caused any harm in the eight years it’s been running. I doubt they’ll start now.”

“Father, I shall gather intel from my classmates tomorrow at school regarding this ‘Oracle.’”

“That’s a great idea, squirt.” Jayhawk ruffles Robin’s hair, earning an offended squawk from the boy. “Nightwing and Flamebird still can’t get a fix on the IP address?”

“Whoever they are, they don’t want us stopping them. They’ve taken drastic measures to keep themself or selves hidden.”

Jayhawk shakes xir head. “It’s probably more than just not wanting us to find them. Can you imagine what some of the Rogues would do if they figured out who was spoiling all their plans?”

“That’s why we need to find them first.”

There’s a long moment where Batman and Jayhawk just stare at each other, and Timmie desperately wants to know what their faces are saying to each other because surely, they’re having one of those silent conversations Timmie has never been close enough to anybody to experience firsthand. Jayhawk nods and turns to Robin.

“You wanna join me for the rest of patrol, squirt?”

Robin tilts his head. “That would be acceptable.”

“You two stay safe, alright? I don’t want to get back to the Cave tonight only to find out you both recklessly got yourselves injured.” Jayhawk smirks and Batman glares right back. It’s not a mean glare. More a scolding glare but it’s still soft with fondness and it makes Timmie’s chest ache. “Remember, Robin has to turn in early. It’s a school night.”

“Sure thing, boss. We’ll see you later.”

“I will endeavor to keep Jayhawk safe from xir reckless tendencies, Father.”

Batman nods and then he’s gone, disappearing into the night.

Jayhawk smirks and raises an eyebrow. “I bet you ten bucks he’s gonna cut patrol short and spend some personal time with Catwoman.”

Robin scoffs. “Father is not so inconsiderate that he would endanger others to spend time with his lover.”

“You’re underestimating the old man, kid. He’s still got game even in his advanced years,” Jayhawk laughs. Timmie wants to laugh too but doing so would give away her position. She keeps quiet.

“I will take your paltry bet, Jayhawk, and raise it another five dollars.” Robin smiles challengingly. “In the morning I shall be fifteen dollars richer.”

Jayhawk snorts. “In your dreams.”

The rest of Jayhawk and Robin’s patrol is quiet, really, especially considering they’re traipsing through the crime center of the city. Every few minutes one of them will make a quip and the other will shoot a taunt right back. It’s so familial and domestic and it makes Timmie want to cry. If a few tears slip down his cheeks on the bus ride home, well, it’s not like the Waynes will ever find out.

Timmie collapses face-first into bed at almost three in the morning. A tiny voice in his brain reminds him that he should take off his socks and shoes and jacket and everything else. That same tiny voice is reminding him how much more comfortable he would be in pajamas. The much louder voice in his head is telling them to go to sleep, comfort be damned. But Timmie pries himself off the bed to take off his shoes and pants and jacket. Good enough.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easily. Now, in the silence of an empty mansion, their throat is tight and their eyes sting. In the heart of Gotham, Timmie is surrounded by noise. It’s distracting, helps them distance themself from the quiet he’s so accustomed to. Accustomed but not desensitized. The silence hurts and it keeps him up at night because in the silence his thoughts are so loud. And that’s the case tonight, as Timmie tries and fails to dispel every self-deprecating taunt that stalks to the forefront of his mind.

Timmie finally falls asleep as the sun begins to rise.

Jason sits in the chair in front of the Batcomputer, already changed into sweats and a hoodie. Xe absentmindedly spins around as xe waits for Batman to return. Jason only came back down here after xe was sure Damian was in bed and asleep. It would do no good for the kid to go to school on less than six hours. He grumbled about ending patrol before two in the morning, but Jason is nothing if not a glutton for academics. Xir little brother would be getting enough sleep to remember his education no matter how much he complained.

When the Batmobile finally arrives back in the cave, Jason turns the chair to face Batman and watches as he climbs out and walks over. Bruce pushes back the cowl as he approaches and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have places to be in the morning, Jay?”

Jason rolls xir eyes. “My lit lecture isn’t until one.”

“That is true, but you agreed to drive Damian to school.”

Xe groans. “Dammit. I forgot.”

Bruce ruffles Jason’s hair and chuckles. “Get up to bed. You can still catch a few hours and then you can take a nap at the penthouse before you have to get to campus.”

Jason nods but stays sitting. “Did you meet up with Selina? It was a pretty slow night.”

Bruce shakes his head. “How much are you winning from Damian if I did?”

“Fifteen bucks.”

“Yes, I stopped by her apartment before I came back.”

Jason pumps his fist and stands up. “I’ll see you breakfast, Pops. Don’t forget your beauty sleep.”

“Goodnight, Jay.”

Bruce smiles as he watches Jason take the stairs up to the manor two at a time. Involuntarily, his eyes drift over to the lineup of old suits, locking on the particularly tattered Robin costume from three years earlier. His breath hitches. They got lucky that day. Jason hadn’t been in any condition to patrol for nearly six months after and, though he was allowed to, refused to go back out until the Joker turned up dead another two months later.

It was eventually uncovered that Deathstroke had been the killer, but it was well-known that no one died at his hands unless he was hired to kill them. The question of who took out the contract floated around for months, speculation varying wildly. Bruce had investigated the situation thoroughly if only so he could thank whoever did it, but the tracks were covered well. About as well as Oracle covers theirs. He has never told any of his sons about the similarities between the two scenarios. It is an ulterior motive to why he wants to find Oracle, poorly concealed by his determination to ensure Oracle’s safety.

When Bruce finally pulls his eyes away from the glass case, he opens the file with the information connecting Oracle to Joker’s death. Nothing concrete aside from how well the tracks are covered. So well that even with himself, Nightwing, and Flamebird working together, they can’t find a trace. However, Bruce knows that, if the two are the same person, they have to be wealthy enough to hire Deathstroke without going bankrupt, they have to live in or around Gotham, and they have to have a considerable amount of knowledge in computer science and the criminal underworld.

It is eerie, almost, how much this person knows, and Bruce is certain they know even more, maybe even as far as knowing the Bats’ identities. Bruce doesn’t doubt that if they do know, they won’t share. It would be counteractive to everything they have done thus far. Still, a change of heart can come in an instant, and making sure this person is under the Bats’ protection is an excellent method of scaring off many potential threats, which will mean less of a chance this person might reveal something compromising. No matter how much time and effort he puts into it though, Bruce can’t find them.

Bruce is supposed to be the world’s greatest detective, but it seems whoever this person is, they have him beat.

Chapter Text

Oracle
@BatWatch

Scarecrow sightings in Coventry, moving toward the docks. Spoiler and Orphan in pursuit.

Gotham PD ☑️ @GCPDofficial
Police are overseeing evacuations to the Gotham University Campus.

Timmie runs through the alleys in the Coventry, chasing Spoiler and Orphan as they dart across the rooftops. The thrill of the chase is just what he needs after his long day dealing with paperwork. Getting the ball rolling to take his place as CEO of Drake Industries has been a pain in his ass.

He ducks out of an alley and bolts across the street as Spoiler and Orphan change directions. His camera is heavy in his bag as he closes in on the warehouse the vigilantes just entered. Most nights he leaves his camera at home, having upgraded the camera quality on his phone to be very nearly equal, but he thought tonight was going to be quiet and he might get the chance to do some night photography in Robinson Park. He was wrong, but the excitement of capturing the fight with Scarecrow in high definition is a type of nostalgia Timmie rarely feels.

The set of metal rungs on the side of the warehouse run right past a shattered window, so Timmie climbs up and onto a stack of crates that is nearly level with the window. The shadows in the building are heavy and conceal his presence well. He pulls his camera out of his bag and turns it on. As the fight goes on, he alternates between his camera and his phone to take pictures of the fight. Most of the pictures end up on his camera, but he can’t pretend to feel guilty.

When the fight is reaching an end, Timmie uses his professional camera to take a picture of Spoiler spin-kicking Scarecrow and smirks to himself as Orphan trips the rogue. That picture will go into Timmie’s personal collection. It’s stunning, the way the flickering lights of the warehouse create a faded halo around Spoiler and leaves Orphan in shadow, the way the dust of the warehouse floor is kicked up by their feet in a hazy cloud, the way he can read Spoiler’s victorious smirk in her eyes.

Orphan is quick to bind Scarecrow’s wrists and tie him to a nearby pole. Spoiler hurries over to Orphan and wraps an arm around her waist. Timmie feels a pang in his chest as he watches the way the two girls are with each other, Orphan resting her head against Spoiler’s shoulder and Spoiler nuzzling the top of Orphan’s head. As much as Timmie loves following the Bats and Birds on their patrols, he can’t deny how much it hurts sometimes, knowing he will always be an outsider.

No one looks toward Timmie’s perch, though he’s almost certain Orphan knows he’s there. It’s why he doesn’t follow her patrols very often. If any of the Bats are going to figure him out, it would be her. He slips out the window behind him and climbs the rusty metal rungs on the side the rest of the way up to the roof, jumping from one building to the next until he’s far enough away to climb down without risk of being seen. Crimes will be few and far between for the rest of the night once word gets out that Scarecrow has been apprehended, but until then there will be Bats and Birds everywhere and they will definitely notice some random teenager wandering the streets when everyone else is still locked up in their homes.

With a sigh, Timmie ducks into the abandoned warehouse. He pulls a key out of his pocket and walks over to the locked container in the corner. It’s big enough he can lie down inside of it and sleep. This particular warehouse became part of the Drakes’ estate shortly after his parents’ deaths. No one other than Tim knows this, of course, but it makes this warehouse safer to stay the night in. Timmie pulls the lid of the container down over him after he curls up inside.

Timmie turns on his phone and checks the GCPD’s Twitter feed.

Gotham PD ☑️
@GCPDofficial

Scarecrow has been apprehended and is in transit to Arkham Asylum.

Timmie smiles and glances at his camera. He can’t wait to go through the pictures of the fight to edit them. It’s always a surreal experience, reliving each fight after it’s over while he goes through the still footage.

Oracle
@BatWatch

Hats off to Orphan and Spoiler for the spectacular performance tonight.

Timmie attaches one of the few photos from the fight he took on his phone and posts the tweet before plugging his phone into his portable charger and tucking it into his bag, ready to catch a little bit of sleep.

Cass swings her legs as she sits on the Batcomputer desk, watching Steph type up the report from their fight. Jason and Damian have already gone back upstairs, and Dick and Barbara opted to stay the night at the Clocktower. Bruce is frowning at his phone as he walks out from the showers in sweats and t-shirt, towel draped around his neck.

“Oracle was there during the fight,” he says, glancing between Cass and Steph.

“I didn’t see anything.” Steph raises an eyebrow at Bruce. “If Oracle doesn’t want to be found, why do we keep looking for them?”

Bruce tucks his phone into his pocket and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We know next to nothing about them. If we know who they are, we can ensure their safety.”

“Saw a shadow on top of some crates,” Cass signs casually. “Same one follows my patrols sometimes. Takes pictures.”

Bruce blinks in surprise. “Why didn’t you mention something sooner?”

She shrugs. “Not a threat. Doesn’t want to be found. Afraid.”

“Hm.” Bruce rolls that thought over in his head for a moment and something clicks. “Thank you, Cass.” He glances over to the computer screen, watching as Steph saves and files the report. “Alright, time to get some sleep, girls.”

Cass hops up and drags Steph to her feet, the two letting Bruce usher them upstairs. When they reach the bottom of the stairs leading to the second story of the manor, Bruce stops. Cass turns around inquisitively.

“I need to ask Jason a couple questions. Go on up.”

Cass nods and follows Steph. Bruce’s smile slips as he makes his way to the library where he’s sure Jason is probably winding down from the hectic night.

Jason doesn’t look up from his book when Bruce walks in. “Jay, do you remember when you told me you’d caught a kid following you with a camera during patrol?”

That does catch Jason’s attention and xir head snaps up. Carefully, xe bookmarks xir page and sets the book aside. “I do,” xe drawls. “That was a long time ago, though.”

“I think you might have run into Oracle.”

Jason’s eyes widen and xe bolts upright. “Holy shit.” Xe stands up and starts pacing. “B, if that’s true and this kid has been running around for eight years, they were going out for four years before anyone caught them. The kid was tiny, Pops.”

Bruce takes three quick strides over to Jason and pulls xem into his arms. “Shhh. We’ll figure this out.”

“How did you make the connection?” Jason shudders a little in Bruce’s embrace.

“Cass said sometimes a shadow with a camera follows her on patrol and that they were at the fight with Scarecrow tonight.” Bruce runs a hand up and down Jason’s back. “Oracle was also at the fight; they posted a picture of it on Twitter.”

“But the kid agreed not to go out again.” Jason’s voice is just short a whimper.

Bruce tucks his child’s head against his chest. “I know, Jay. I know. We’ll figure this out.”

“Kid didn’t look older than ten, Papa.”

Bruce tugs Jason down to sit on the couch and pulls away enough to look into xir eyes. Xe is almost in tears, and it hurts him that Jason is hurting so much because of this. “They know how to take care of themself, and I know they shouldn’t have to, but Jason, they have made it this far. I have no doubt they’re capable of defending themself should it ever come down to that.”

“When we find this kid, they’re never leaving my sight ever again.” Jason curls up against Bruce’s side and sighs. “Do you think they made it home safely after the fight?”

“I hope so, Jay.”

By the time Timmie makes it back to Drake Manor the following morning, it is almost eleven. He’s dragging his feet. There is a major crick in his neck, and he wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep the day away, but when he checked his email on his phone upon waking up, there was one from DI telling him there was an issue with his paperwork.

Normally, this would be perfectly fine, he would correct the mistake and resubmit. Except, there is no issue with his paperwork. Timmie has been debating what to do about it the entirety of his trek home, including the moment he took to snap a picture of Signal as he ran across the rooftops. As much as Timmie didn’t want to, he had to rule out contacting any of his parents’ old lawyers. The lawyers his parents employed were dirty and Timmie doesn’t want his hands getting anywhere near that whole mess. Unfortunately, the only other realistic option that includes not working himself to the bone is reaching out to his neighbor for advice and maybe a recommendation for a lawyer.

This would not be an unfortunate option if Timmie’s neighbor was not Bruce Wayne. No such luck. Timmie only spends enough time inside the mausoleum to change clothes, grab his satchel with his laptop, and shove the hard copies of his paperwork inside it. It takes ten minutes to bike to the Wayne estate. Timmie crosses his fingers in hopes that Jason is not home because even though Timmie looks different than he did four years ago, there is still the potential that Jason might recognize him.

The intercom buzzes when Timmie presses the button.

“Who is it?”

Timmie cringes. That’s Jason’s voice.

“Um. Timmie Drake. I’m your neighbor?”

There’s a pause and if Timmie has to guess, it’s out of surprise.

“Uh, come on up the drive, I guess. The gates should open in a few seconds.”

The urge to turn around and bolt nearly overcomes him. Something about Jason’s confusion makes him incredibly self-conscious. But the gates swing open and Timmie starts biking up the long drive to what his parents always said was the jewel of the Wayne estate, Wayne Manor. He has a few vague memories of the interior from the two or three occasions his parents brought him to one of the galas hosted here. When he approaches the mansion, he realizes it’s larger than he remembers and another wave of anxiety crashes over him.

Timmie rests his bike against a strip of iron fencing around some of the landscaping and climbs the steps up to the massive double doors at the entrance. He raps loudly and grips the strap of his satchel tightly.

When the door opens, he’s greeted by the sight of a smirking Jason Todd-Wayne. Timmie thinks he just might fall over dead.

“Hey, kid. You must be Timmie. Come on in.” Jason opens the door wider and motions Timmie inside with a flourish.

“Is Mr. Wayne home, by chance? I wanted to speak with him.” Timmie curses himself for sounding so uncertain.

Jason raises an eyebrow, vaguely surprised this definitely-small-for-his-age teenager wants to talk to Bruce, Supreme Lord of Not Knowing How to Handle Teenagers. “He’s home. Follow me.”

A nervous smile crosses Timmie’s lips and Jason thinks it just might be the most adorable expression xe’s ever seen on a teen’s face. Jason leads Timmie to the main living room where most of the family is gathered. Cass sprawled out on the couch, head resting in Bruce’s lap. Bruce is talking with Dick and Barbara who are sitting across from him. Damian is lying on his stomach on the floor, sketchbook in front of him. Steph is staring intently at the chess board; Jason isn’t sure what she’s doing.

Bruce looks up when Jason enters, immediately taking note of the person behind xem. “How’s lunch coming along, Jay?”

Jason grins and swaggers into the room, playfully plopping down on top of Cass, who smacks his leg but doesn’t otherwise react. “Well, you know Alfie. Can’t ever mess up the cooking with him around.”

“And who’d you bring with you?”

Jason glances over to Timmie. The kid is standing stock-still in the doorway, looking completely out of his depth. Jason waves him over and Timmie jerks into action, quickly crossing the room to stand in front of the couch.

“This is Timmie Drake, the neighbor.”

Bruce smiles softly, taking in Timmie’s wide eyes and stiff posture. “Hello, Timmie. What brings you over?”

It takes Timmie a moment to realize the question is being directed at him. By now he can feel everyone’s eyes on him. His breath hitches. “I wanted to speak with you, Mr. Wayne, if you have the time. If you don’t that’s alright. I know you’re a very busy man and I don’t want to bother you.”

Six sets of eyes turn scrutinizing all at once and Timmie tries hard not to panic as he wracks his brain to figure out what he did wrong. It’s been so long since he’s been in such close proximity to people who actually have opinions he gives credence to. His breath hitches again. His eyes fall to the floor, unable to keep holding Bruce’s gaze.

Janet Drake’s voice rings in his ears, riddled in disappointment and anger. Jack Drake’s stinging backhand makes them stay there. Timmie isn’t sure if he’s actually swaying on his feet but he suddenly realizes there isn’t enough air in his lungs. He vaguely registers movement as he’s moved into a sitting position on the couch.

“As-asphyxia,” Timmie gasps, “starts wi-with reduction in O₂ tens-tension. Then. Then capillar-capillary di-dilation. Third: cap-capillary stasis.”

Dick blinks, jaw opening and closing as he puzzles out what’s happening. “Is he reciting the process of asphyxiation as a grounding technique?” Dick sounds rightfully horrified, in Jason’s professional opinion.

“That’s so morbid,” Steph mutters, face pale.

Barbara steers Dick and Steph by their shoulders toward the doorway. “Let’s go. Give Bruce, Jay, and Timmie a little space.”

The three walk out with Cass and Damian right behind them.

As Timmie catches his breath, he notices the immensely worried expressions on Bruce and Jason’s faces. He barely resists the urge to curl up in a ball and hide from their concern. Bruce is sitting on the coffee table in front of him and Jason is beside him. Timmie grips his knees with still-trembling hands and takes a steadying breath.

“What a way to make a first impression, huh?” Timmie forces a laugh, but it comes out choked and self-deprecating. “I didn’t mean to cause such a scene, Mr. Wayne. I apologize.”

Bruce reaches forward and takes Timmie’s hands in his, taking note of the way Timmie stiffens for a moment before practically melting into the little bit of physical contact. “You don’t need to apologize for having a panic attack, Timmie.”

“Pops is right,” Jason cuts in. “These things happen. If you think everyone in this house hasn’t had at least one, you’re gonna have to guess again, kid.” Tentatively, xe places an arm around Timmie’s shoulder.

“Do you mind if I ask what caused happened?” Bruce’s voice is softer than Jason has heard in a while. It doesn’t even get that soft when Batman’s talking to a child victim.

“I—” Timmie rubs the heels of his palms against his cheeks to wipe away the embarrassing tears. “Everyone was staring.”

Bruce nods sympathetically. Timmie wants to scream at him. Doesn’t he know how pathetic that is? Doesn’t he know Timmie is supposed to thrive in the spotlight?

“Jason, do you mind getting two plates and bringing them in here for Timmie and me? I think we’ll take our lunch in here.”

Jason smiles wanly. “Sure thing, Pops.” Xe stands up and nods to Timmie before leaving the room.

Bruce takes Jason’s spot on the couch and gently places an arm around Timmie, tugging the boy into his side.

Timmie goes with little resistance.

Chapter Text

Timmie isn’t sure what to make of the situation now that they can breathe again. She’s still tucked up against Mr. Wayne and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on letting her move away anytime soon. Jason brought lunch and left to join the rest of the Waynes in the dining room. It’s strange, Timmie thinks, that Mr. Wayne would opt to sit here in the living room with them instead of joining his family.

The two of them are sitting there long after the meal ends, neither of them speaking. No one else has entered the living room, so Timmie suspects everyone is giving them some privacy. She can’t decide how she feels about that. Mr. Wayne is still sitting beside her, waiting for them to speak first.

“I wanted to ask for some advice,” Timmie murmurs, loathe to disturb the quiet. Mr. Wayne glances over at her, straightening his shoulders and giving Timmie his full attention. That’s a bit of a new feeling, Timmie realizes, and it hurts to think about, so they try not to. “I’m an emancipated minor. I graduated high school as valedictorian. I’m taking college courses online. You’re familiar with Drake Industries, correct?”

Mr. Wayne nods. “I am. DI was your parents’ company before they passed. Though its headquarters are in the United States, a lot of DI’s work is international, especially in third world countries.”

“Exactly. As far as I’m aware, Drake Industries has been involved in some unsavory activities, none strictly illegal, but definitely morally dubious.” Timmie clasps her hands and leans forward, staring intently at the coffee table. “I’ve been making an effort to become instated as the CEO, as my parents’ will has stated should occur upon my high school graduation. Though I graduated months ago, there has been near-endless paperwork to get my instatement to go through. I finally got the last of it done and sent in, but the board of directors is claiming there’s an error. There isn’t one, as far as I know. I want to be able to remedy Drake Industries’ business practices, but I can’t do that unless I’m part of the company.”

“Do you have copies of the paperwork?”

Timmie grabs their satchel from its place by her feet and pulls out the first of several manila folders. “Right here.”

There’s a small smile on Mr. Wayne’s lips as he opens the file. He skims the contents before giving it a more thorough read-through. Timmie sits on the edge of their seat, watching his face closely.

“You’re right, Timmie. There aren’t any errors.”

A weight lifts off Timmie’s shoulders and she slumps forward, relief and exhaustion crashing over her. “What do I do?” Timmie looks up at Mr. Wayne. “I figure I probably need a lawyer, but all the ones my parents kept on retainer are questionable.”

“I’ll tell you what, Timmie, why don’t we take this to my study? We’ll see if we can’t work this out together.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon holed up in Mr. Wayne’s home office. He asks to see the rest of the paperwork and files Timmie brought with her and they go over everything together. The whole experience is kind of surreal if Timmie is being honest with themself. It’s strange, having someone in her corner and willing to help, especially since Wayne Enterprises is in direct competition with Drake Industries. Maybe Mr. Wayne is hoping to win some brownie points with DI’s prospective new leadership, Timmie thinks. But Mr. Wayne is Batman, so maybe he’s just doing it from the goodness of his heart. It’s a weird feeling, but Timmie can’t deny they like it.

Eventually, Dick knocks on the door and tells them dinner is on the table.

Timmie glances at the clock in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne,” she hurries to say. “I didn’t mean to take up your entire afternoon. I know you’ve got a full schedule.” They clench their fists and look up at the ceiling, cursing herself for losing track of time.

“I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t want to be, kiddo.” Mr. Wayne’s smile is too soft and kind to be directed toward someone who just barged in, expecting to be accommodated by the busiest man in the city.

Timmie shakes her head. “No, really. I’ll just get out of your hair.” She turns to Dick, still standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry for taking up all his time. I’m sure you don’t get enough time to spend as a family as it is, let alone with me showing up uninvited.” Timmie shoves the last of the papers into their satchel and pulls it over their head. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Wayne. I’ll head out now.”

But Dick is blocking the doorway and Timmie freezes as Mr. Wayne places a hand on their shoulder. “It really was not a bother, Timmie. I was happy to help. If you ever need anything else, you can come over or you can just give me a phone call, alright?”

And isn’t that a novel idea, having Batman on speed dial.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, Timmie?” Dick asks, like Timmie hasn’t already overstayed her welcome.

“No, that’s alright. I’m sure I have something at home I can put together real quick.” She doesn’t, but that’s irrelevant. It isn’t like the Waynes know she doesn’t keep her kitchen stocked.

“We’d be happy to have you, Timmie. Besides, Alfred would have my head if I didn’t convince you to join us,” Mr. Wayne insists.

When Timmie looks back toward Dick, the man has the biggest set of puppy eyes Timmie’s ever seen. Timmie never thought she would see Robin, Nightwing, giving them puppy eyes. Really, she doesn’t stand a chance. She follows behind Dick and Bruce to the family dining room.

Walking in is akin to what Timmie imagines it would be like entering a mead hall after a victory. The Waynes are boisterous, which is the only way she thinks to describe it. Everyone is talking and laughing familiarly. It makes her want to turn around and leave, but Bruce is behind her, trapping her. A profound feeling of unbelonging washes over her even as she marches forward. There is an extra place set between Jason and Duke and oh no, Duke is here. Timmie keeps their head down as they take their seat, hoping and praying Duke didn’t see her on her way home this morning.

Timmie stays quiet as Alfred serves dinner and takes his seat at the end of the table opposite Mr. Wayne. Timmie stays quiet as the Waynes exchange stories and subtly converse about their night jobs (or in Duke’s case, day job). Timmie does his best not to let on that he knows what they’re talking about, so they might as well speak plainly, but he’s also paying special attention to what Duke is saying because if Duke caught Timmie taking a picture of him this morning, Timmie isn’t going to be able to come back to Wayne Manor ever again.

Timmie really wants to be able to come back, even though he knows he likely won’t get an invitation. He’s allowed to dream though, right? Even if dreaming has never gotten him anywhere. “Dreaming isn’t practical,” Timmie recalls his mother telling him, “so it’s better not to do it.” The bitter, hardened part of him says she was right. However, there is an innocent four-year-old that saw dreams come true when Dick Grayson flew through the air. There is a malnourished nine-year-old that saw magic heal broken dreams when he knew Robin and Dick Grayson were one and the same. There is an abandoned twelve-year-old who saw magic give Jason Todd the chance to dream. And that part of Timmie, the part that always holds onto hope, fights hard to push Janet Drake’s voice out of his head. He wants to dream, even if it only makes his heart ache with yearning, knowing what he’s dreaming for is something he’ll never have.

When the next day rolls around, Timmie takes the time to call the law firm Mr. Wayne recommended. Dropping Mr. Wayne’s name gets Timmie a meeting over dinner with their best corporate lawyer. For the first time in a while, Timmie feels like something is starting to go their way. An easy type of euphoria slips into their day and nothing can touch it. Not even the suffocating silence of Drake Manor dampens their spirits. Sometimes it feels like the universe has it out for them, and maybe, they concede, it does, but not this time. This time, Timmie has the universe and Mr. Wayne on his side. Not that Drake Industries’ board of directors needs to know that.

Leading up to the meeting, Timmie rehearses. They go over all the documents once again. They pack all the documents into their satchel and plot out the fastest way to get to the Monarch Theatre where Timmie can drop his things off and get ready for another night of birdwatching. They even spend four hours working on their online college courses, managing to catch up on what they forgot to finish last week.

When it’s finally time for Timmie to head into Gotham proper, they take a taxi. One downside of being an emancipated minor in New Jersey is that they can’t very well practice driving. Not legally, anyway. It’s frustrating, having so many things they still can’t do even though they’re an adult in the eyes of the law, but they would still prefer this to being in the foster care system.

Timmie smiles at the maître d’ when he enters the restaurant. It’s a simple thing, but first impressions are important, right? The lawyer does a double-take when Timmie walks up to the table. It takes Timmie a lot of self-restraint to keep from rolling their eyes. The man must remember that Timmie has Bruce Wayne’s recommendation on his side, and quickly gets the meeting started. Things go smoothly from there, and honestly, Timmie can’t find it in themself to care if it’s only because of Mr. Wayne’s influence. At least he’s getting somewhere. That’s what matters.

The lawyer leaves a five percent tip for the waiter, and Timmie frowns. This man is getting paid enough to leave a fifty percent tip at no great burden to his wallet. So, Timmie leaves a seventy percent tip in cash to make up for it. A tiny, vindictive part of them wants to tattle to Mr. Wayne, but his mother’s voice in his head scolds him for being childish. They banish the thought, even though they are forcing a smile as they schedule a second advising meeting.

Timmie doesn’t bother with a taxi this time, opting to take the bus. They shove their blazer into their satchel and muss up their shirt, tie, and slacks. The ride to the edge of Crime Alley is tense, everyone eyeing their fellow passengers warily. Briefly, Timmie thinks people from other cities would think everyone gripping a hidden weapon while on the bus is unusual.

Walking from the bus stop to the Monarch Theatre is a minefield, but it’s a walk Timmie has made plenty of times. Once he’s inside, he changes out of his suit. They’ve taken a lot of precautions to make the building nearly completely soundproof, so when their phone starts ringing, they nearly jump out of their skin. He rolls his eyes when he sees the name “Bruce Wayne” in big white letters across his screen. They should have guessed the man would give them his contact information.

“Timmie Drake speaking.” He winces. That was probably a little too professional.

“Hello, Timmie,” Mr. Wayne begins, sounding more than pleased with himself. “I was just calling to check in and ask how your meeting went.”

Timmie’s heart skips a beat. “It went well. I think it was mostly because of your influence though. He looked at me funny when I walked in.”

Mr. Wayne hums. “Given time, he’ll realize just how brilliant you are.”

“Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Wayne.” Timmie vaguely registers their heart pounding in their chest. It’s a rush, having someone he’s looked up to and respected his whole life just calling to check in. It’s more effort than anyone has ever put into a relationship with him for as long as he can remember. “I have another advising meeting scheduled for two weeks out. I really do appreciate all you’ve done to help me, sir.”

A low chuckle rumbles through the phone speakers. If Timmie didn’t know better, they would say it almost sounded fond. “Call me, Bruce, kiddo. And I’m more than happy to help you. Feel free to ask whenever you need anything, okay?”

Timmie falters for a moment. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll let you get back to your night then, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

“The weekly rundown. Here we go.

“Scarecrow is safely locked away in Arkham Asylum after his breakout last week and Spoiler and Orphan, who apprehended him, seem to be no worse for the wear. There hasn’t been another breakout since Scarecrow’s, but there has been some speculation that Riddler also escaped in the chaos caused by Scarecrow’s mad dash out of the compound. Luckily, Riddler’s shenanigans have grown less fatal over time, so we can hope that if he did escape, we won’t be in much danger.

“On the note of prisoners, the doors at Blackgate Penitentiary still seem to be locked tight. However, I have reason to believe that things won’t stay quiet for long with the date of a retrial coming up quickly. I’ll be keeping a close eye on those proceedings.

“Gang activity in Crime Alley has picked up over the past two days without much interference from the GCPD. Jayhawk has been sighted down in the Alley repeatedly since this last uptick, often with Spoiler or Robin at his side. Signal has also been redirecting his day patrol to keep a closer eye on the folks in the low-income, high-crime neighborhoods. Most of the gang activity seems to be coming from some tension between a couple of the gangs lower on the totem pole. If tensions aren’t settled, this could result in altercations between members.

“Catwoman sightings have continued to rise over the past two weeks. Most often, she’s been pursued by Batman, even if no theft has occurred. With the banter that is sometimes heard being exchanged between the two, we can only assume the Dark Knight and our favorite cat burglar are simply indulging each other. No, it doesn’t seem like there’s any trouble in paradise. Gag.

“On the note of vigilante couples, Nightwing and Flamebird continue to kick ass together. Three days ago, the two of them busted a small-time drug operation. The perpetrators are currently awaiting trial. If the trial goes the way I expect it to, they’ll be sentenced with community service and time in the Wayne Foundation’s youth rehabilitation program. Reform rates for those enrolled in the program have continued to rise since its rollout at the beginning of this year.

“As we enter Spooky Season, as is standard procedure, the GCPD, local shelters, clinics, and hospitals are all handing out the latest in Gotham survival kits. These packages contain supplies for two adults. Separate packages that accommodate the needs of children and individuals with other health requirements are available upon request. The latest antidotes for all forms of toxin are included in the packages and are provided by Drake Medical Inc. The latest gas masks and other personal protective equipment are supplied by Wayne Enterprises. It’s best to pick up one of these Gotham-exclusive care packages sometime during this first week of October.

“You’re listening to BatWatch. This is Oracle signing off.”

Timmie smiles as they sit across from the head of HR at the Drake Industries headquarters. The man is floundering over the documentation Timmie has pulled together with the help of their new lawyer.

“So, you see, Mr. Pearson, all the paperwork is in order. There should be no issue, which tells me there is a personal issue on the side of Drake Industries’ C-suite. My parents outlined the transition in their will and, though my father was not the best businessman, this plan was given the stamp of approval from my mother, Janet Drake.” Timmie pauses as the man tries and fails to make any comprehensible sound pass through his lips. “You know, I’m sure, that my mother was a brutally efficient businesswoman. She taught me everything I know about business.”

Michael Pearson’s complexion makes the shift from ghastly to beetroot red. “Mr. Drake—”

“Mx. Drake. Please.”

Pearson grinds his teeth. “Mx. Drake, you have to understand that the business is in a state of flux right now. It just is not feasible for leadership to change hands right now.”

Later, Timmie is going to laugh at how it seems to physically pain Pearson to respect their gender identity. “With all due respect, Mr. Pearson, Drake Industries is more stable now than it has been since my parents’ deaths.”

Pearson slams a hand on his desk. “Don’t you go backtalking me, Timothy Jackson Drake.”

And Timmie freezes.

“Do not backtalk your father, Timothy Jackson Drake.” His cheek throbs and his eyes sting. “Apologize. Now.”

“I-I’m sorry, Father.” Timothy stares at the ground, not daring to get up off his knees.

“Why are you sorry, Timothy?”

“I’m s-sorry for talking back t-to you, Father.”

Janet bends down and lifts Timothy’s chin. “Now apologize to me.”

Timothy frowns in confusion. “I’m s-sorry?”

She shakes her head. “I’m disappointed, Timothy. You know that is not how you apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

Her hand comes down on his other cheek this time. “I should not have to repeat myself, Timothy Drake. Apologize.”

“I-I don’t know why, Mama.” A tear spills over A tear spills over and his bottom lip is trembling. “I don’t know what to apologize for.”

Janet shakes her head and stands up. She doesn’t look back as she walks away, leaving him alone with Jack. Timothy knows she knows what Jack will do and that hurts more than anything else.

“Mr. Pearson, I’d like you to take a moment to reconsider your actions. You, sir, are the Director of Human Resources. It would not look good for you to be caught threatening a minor.” Timmie makes a mental note to check on Pearson’s wife and toddler.

“The staff here at Drake Industries will not tolerate being bossed around by a child.”

“That is why my parents laid out a two-year plan so that the transition is gradual and only complete after I turn eighteen.” Timmie takes a deep breath. “In those two years I will also complete my bachelor’s in business management which I am taking classes for online through Harvard University.” They don’t mention that they already have an associate degree in computer programming and a certificate in finance.

Pearson takes a long moment to rein in his anger, straightening the stack of papers. “I will see what I can do.”

“Please keep me updated, Mr. Pearson. I’d like to get this transition started as soon as possible.” Timmie stands and buttons their blazer. “Keep in mind that, while I am not currently employed here, I do own this company. I have power here, as much you would like to convince me otherwise.”

The smile they offer is as coldblooded as the Dragon’s once was. Janet Drake would be proud. It slips from Timmie’s face the second they step out of Mr. Pearson’s office.

When Timmie finally steps into the privacy of the elevator, they slump against the wall. Once upon a time, they would revel in the idea that Janet might be proud of what they’ve done. Now, the thought is exhausting. Timmie snorts to themself. Janet died thinking they were a complete and utter disappointment.

She might have been a good mother, they think, if Jack hadn’t been in the picture. She was always crueler when he was around, and he was around most of the time. Still, there were a few stolen moments Timmie got to share with her when she was vulnerable. Those were the memories they held onto desperately in the wake of her passing. Timmie would wake up most nights wishing to be held in their mother’s sturdy arms, a feeling they only vaguely remember but remember fondly.

Sometimes, when they show up at society events, people still ask how they are doing without their parents. It’s only a courtesy. If Timmie answered truthfully, they are sure most of the stuck-up socialites would think them ungrateful. It makes them think, though. Timmie would like to say the grief they felt after their parents died was more than a wistful longing for something that could have been, maybe, in another life. Somehow, Timmie held onto hope that their parents would come around. When they died, Timmie lost a dream, but their reality barely shifted.

Timmie walks into the ice cream parlor just a few blocks from Drake Industries. The bell above the door chimes brightly.

“Welcome to We-Need-To-Rebrand-Because-People-Keep-Thinking-We’re-Associated-With-Penguin. What can I get for you?”

A grin stretches across Timmie’s face as they walk up to the counter. “Rough day, Steph?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Now, will it be the usual?”

“I think I want triple chocolate, actually. Two scoops in a bowl.”

“Rough day, Timmie?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Steph grins. “Let me ring you up and I’ll take my break so we can chat.”

Timmie takes their ice cream and claims their favorite booth in the back by a window. Steph joins them moments later with a bowl of rocky road.

When Timmie clears their throat, Steph finishes her bite and gives them her full attention. “You were, uh, there at the Waynes’ when I stopped by a week or so ago.”

Steph grimaces. “Yeah. I was.”

“Um…”

“That was one hell of a panic attack, huh?”

Timmie chuckles, some of the tension leaving. “All panic attacks are hell.”

“True,” she snorts. “What did you need Bruce’s help with, by the way?”

“DI is being a bitch about starting the transition in leadership.” They roll their eyes. “I was just over there having a meeting with the director of HR to try and start sorting things out.”

“Yikes.” Steph takes a bite of her ice cream. “Let me guess, they hate you because a) you’re sixteen and b) you aren’t cishet.”

Timmie tosses their head back and groans. “They won’t say it in as many words, but yeah, pretty much.”

“You should’ve just applied to work here when you had the chance.”

“Probably. Too late for that now.” Timmie sighs.

Steph reaches across the table and pats their hand. “This is why I pursued emotional adoption. I don’t have to be an ambitious overachiever.”

Timmie snorts and almost chokes on a bite of ice cream. “Says the transwoman who’s about to graduate high school a year early and plans to go to med school.”

“Okay, so maybe I don’t have any room to talk.”

“I’m proud of you, Steph. I don’t know if I’ve told you that.”

Steph rolls her eyes. “You’re a sap, is what you are. But thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too. Making it in the business world as an openly genderfluid person and literally the youngest CEO alive isn’t going to be easy.”

Timmie lifts their bowl of ice cream. “To success, no matter the odds against us.”

Steph knocks her bowl against theirs. “I’ll toast to that, Timmie. I’ll toast to that.”

There is a spot on the roof of the Monarch Theater where, every night, Timmie can watch as Gotham’s vigilantes pass by. Which vigilantes swing through depends on the night. The pattern is so sophisticated that anyone else would think it was random, but Timmie’s worked it out. Jayhawk is a reliable presence in the Alley, the Bowery, and the Coventry. Tonight, Spoiler will be joining Jayhawk on his patrol. Orphan will be the one to pass through, and, depending on how the night goes, Flamebird will come through later.

For now, Timmie takes a seat on the roof, camera by their side. They unwrap their turkey sandwich and start eating their dinner. None of the vigilantes use this roof. It’s why Timmie picked this building as their base of operations. They know why the Bats avoid this building in particular; they aren’t stupid. If there were another building the Bats religiously avoided, Timmie would use that one instead. As things are, though, this is the one building Timmie knows they can hide in.

With the increase in gang activity, Timmie has opted to lay low tonight. If something big happens, then sure, Timmie will try to get in on the action, but it’s safer for them to get a few shots of the Bats swinging by than it is for them to follow on the ground like they prefer to do.

When gunshots start echoing through the alley, Timmie almost jumps out of their skin. The sounds seem louder than usual because of how quiet things were just a few moments ago. They see Spoiler first as she swings above one group of shooters. Jayhawk is probably taking down the other gang. Timmie gets a few good pictures of Spoiler in action.

The fight is over quickly, as they usually are with the small-time gangs. Jayhawk saunters up to Spoiler from the direction the other gunshots had come from, confirming Timmie’s theory. They get a picture of Jayhawk and Spoiler fist-bumping. It’s such a normal thing to do, Timmie thinks some people would never believe it without the photographic proof.

Oracle
@BatWatch

Rival gangs in Crime Alley were subdued when Jayhawk and Spoiler intervened in a shootout. Fingers crossed that this signals an end to recent tensions.

Timmie attaches the picture of the fist-bump.

They scurry back across the roof and pack up their things. Moments later, they are climbing down the fire escape and stepping out into the street, a knife in one hand and pepper spray in the other. Timmie glances over their shoulder and walks straight into Jayhawk’s chest. They stumble back a step.

“Shit.”

Chapter Text

Jason stares out over the rooftops, taking a moment to breathe before taking off to rejoin Batman. Gotham’s skyline at night is mesmerizing, especially from the tops of the buildings in the Coventry, overlooking Robinson Park into the Diamond District all the way to Wayne Tower, the crowning jewel of Old Gotham. The city lights manage to make Gotham grand and majestic on the nights when the sound of sirens ceases, sometimes for hours at a time. It’s moments like these that make being Robin feel magical.

There was one day just a couple of weeks ago when Jason told Dick about Robin’s magic.

“That magic that you feel, Jay,” Dick began, smiling fondly, “it’s hope. That’s what Robin is: the light to Batman’s darkness, the people’s hope for a better future.”

Dick had proceeded to ask Jason to join in a movie night. Jason agreed.

Nightwing returned to the streets of Bludhaven the next night.

Now, as Jason reaches for xir grapple, ready to set off toward the designated rendezvous point, a flash of light catches xir eye. Two rooftops away. Jason tucks xir grapple back into their belt and leaps across the alley.

“Shit.” Timmie bites their tongue to keep from rattling off a string of apologies as they look up at Jayhawk. The vigilante in question raises an eyebrow.

“What’re you doin’ out here kid?”

“Uh...I was going for a walk?”

“In the middle of Crime Alley during a shootout?” Jayhawk guffaws. “Yeah, I don’t believe you, Shorty.”

Timmie bristles. “I’m not short. I’m the average height. You’re just tall.”

A familiar snort of laughter sounds behind them. “Kid’s not wrong, Jay. You’re pretty damn tall.”

They forgot about Spoiler. She’ll definitely recognize them. Double shit. Really, what were they thinking just scurrying down the fire escape like that? It was a rookie mistake. Their camera is in their bag, slung over their shoulder. It will be almost too easy for Jayhawk to put two and two together.

Jason lands on the rooftop. Not ten feet away is a child, draped in black clothes with an oversized hoodie drawn up over their head. There’s a camera clutched tightly between their tiny hands. They were taking pictures.

“Hey there, Shorty,” Jason greets. “That’s a pretty nice camera you’ve got.”

The kid doesn’t look up, just shuffles their feet. “It’s a Nikon D850. It’s new.”

“Got a hell of a flash on it,” Jason jokes, sitting down on the edge of the roof.

“I forgot to turn it off,” they mutter.

Jason glances over xir shoulder. The kid’s shoulders have slumped even further. “Hey, I’m not mad. Do you wanna show me the picture you took?”

The kid freezes. “It’s not a very good shot.”

It sounds like an excuse. “Well, if you’ve got the nerve to be out at night in Gotham taking pictures, there must be something interesting you’re getting shots of.”

“The skyline is pretty.”

And while it’s clear that’s a true statement, Jason gets the distinct feeling that it is not the real reason this kid is out at night for a rooftop photography session. “It is. I like to take a moment to appreciate it on slow nights like tonight. There’s no view quite like it.”

“I should really get to the bus stop.” Timmie takes a step back and turns so both Jayhawk and Spoiler are in their line of sight. “I have an early morning tomorrow.” Timmie won’t be going home this early, but the Bats don’t need to know that.

Jayhawk nods. “Let one of us walk you there, at least. That’s a pretty pricey camera in your bag. Wouldn’t want you getting mugged.”

Xe knows. Timmie knows xe does. There’s no other explanation. No one else is stupid enough to go out at night in Gotham with a camera to follow the Bats. “I’ve got my black belt in Karate, Taekwondo, and Judo. I can take care of myself.” Spoiler already knows this, of course. Timmie met Stephanie Brown when they were both taking Taekwondo classes.

“Look, Shorty, I don’t care how well you can take care of yourself on your own.” Jayhawk crosses xir arms across their chest. “I gotta make sure you actually go home for the night.”

Timmie mirrors Jayhawk’s position, determined. “If you’ve got half a brain between your ears, you know I can’t do that and I know you’ve got all the puzzle pieces lining up just so. I know you might not like the image you’re getting, but the fact of the matter is this: I’m not going home yet and you can’t make me.”

Jayhawk clenches xir jaw. “Your shift is fucking over, Shorty. I’m not letting you stay out here to get yourself killed.”

Timmie rolls their eyes. “Oh, pull the stick out of your ass. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? What makes you think I’m going to my shallow grave anytime soon?”

“You should really go home, Shorty. It’s not safe out here.”

The kid shrugs from where they’re now sitting beside Jason. “I guess.” The sentence is punctuated by a wide yawn.

“How about I hail you a taxi? I don’t think you’re alert enough for the bus right now.”

They nod and accept Jason’s hand when xe offers it to help them stand up. Jason uses their grapple to lower them both to street level. They walk back out of the alley together just as a taxi lets out a scantily dressed passenger outside an apartment complex. The woman waves to Jason and xe waves back, leading the kid over to the taxi and handing them a wad of cash.

“Go home and stay there, okay? I don’t want anything bad to happen to you by accident.”

“Okay, Robin.”

“I trusted you once to go home and stay there,” Jayhawk bites out. “You clearly didn’t listen. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Timmie takes a bold step forward, crowding Jayhawk’s space. “You’re not responsible for me. No one is. I’ve made this far on my own without any help and I don’t need your help now!”

“You’re going to get yourself killed! I’m not going to stand by and watch it happen!”

“I don’t need your help, Jason! I don’t need you or your siblings or even Bruce! You’ve never been there before so why should you be there now?” Jayhawk reels back like xe’s been slapped. Spoiler is standing wide-eyed at the edges of Timmie’s vision. They’re breathing heavily, eyes and chest and throat all burning. “You were never there,” Timmie whispers hoarsely, bitterly.

Jason slowly lifts a hand to xir ear, opening the comm line. “Jayhawk to Batman. Bring the Batmobile to my location. We’ve got a situation. It’s sensitive.”

Timmie didn’t say a thing when Batman arrived, or when Jayhawk guided them into the back of the Batmobile, or during the drive back to the Batcave, or when Spoiler coaxed them out into the main cavern. They’re exhausted, mostly. The argument took a lot out of them, brought a lot of old emotions to the surface all at once. Soon enough, the other Bats also arrive, be it from upstairs or patrol. Timmie can feel concerned eyes on them as they sit silently in the corner.

The Bats are discussing Timmie, of course. What do they do since Timmie knows who they are? What do they do since they know Timmie is Oracle? What do they do since Timmie has been running around Gotham with a camera since they were eight years old? What do they do since Timmie has quite clearly never had anyone looking out for them, not even their parents? The answer is nothing, Timmie wants to tell them. They should do nothing. Timmie doesn’t need any help or protection or supervision or whatever else the Bats are considering.

“I know I am fully capable of taking care of myself, but it’s nice to know I don’t have to anymore,” Stephanie once said, shortly after she started dating Cassandra Cain. Timmie never did quite understand what she meant. They’d done their best to be happy for her anyway. Honestly, Timmie doesn’t know what they would do with themselves if they had someone else to rely on.

Eventually, a cup of chamomile tea makes it into Timmie’s hands. They aren’t sure how it got there, but they think it must have been Alfred. They feel guilty, sitting here in a stupor, making all the Bats come back in from patrol, making everyone try to take care of them instead of taking care of Gotham. The city needs the Bats a lot worse than Timmie does. The city needs Timmie, too, actually, and that’s another reason they feel guilty. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because Timmie Drake is having a bad night. For some reason, Timmie’s the only one who seems to care.

Jason takes a seat beside them. Xe also has a cup of tea. “I’m sorry for losing my temper out there.” Xe stares intently into their drink for a moment. “I’ve been pretty stressed for a bit now. Bruce brought up that night I found you on the rooftops taking pictures four years ago and, well, that you might’ve been the person behind Oracle.” Jason sighs. “We had no clue it would be the neighbor, mind you, just that the kid I found that night…” Xe shakes their head, not bothering to finish the sentence.

Timmie is quiet for a long moment. “I remember, when I was really little, my parents brought me to one of the Wayne galas. I was five or six at the time, I think. It was just Bruce and Dick back then, but Bruce would let Dick hold onto him, and hide behind him, and climb all over him and everything else, and he would just smile and make sure Dick didn’t fall.” Timmie pauses, taking a steadying breath, staring at their tea. “Before my parents brought me that night, my mother told me I was too old to hold her hand. Everyone complimented my parents on how I was so quiet and well-behaved and invisible, but Dick was across the room making everyone laugh and smile. The whole time I just wanted to leave.

“Three years later, I was walking to the city bus stop after some nighttime photography. It was getting dark, but I saw Robin. He did a quadruple somersault right in front of me and he smiled the same way Dick Grayson did that night at the circus before the show and I—” Timmie hears their voice crack “—for so long all I wanted was to grow up to be like Robin, but in that moment, I thought it might actually be possible.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around Timmie and pulls them into xir side. Timmie rests their head on Jason’s shoulder and closes their eyes. Despite the cool air of the cave, Timmie has never felt quite this comfortably warm. Jason takes the cup of tea from Timmie’s hands and sets it to the side, wrapping Timmie up in a blanket. The conversation across the cave persists, but it’s settled into more of a soothing murmur than a frustrated buzz. Between the calming tea, the comforting physical contact, the heavy blanket, and the low hum of voices, Timmie relaxes into Jason’s side, drifting to sleep.

It’s hard for Jason not to notice when Timmie falls asleep on xir shoulder. The kid’s still a bit tense, even in sleep, but they’re more relaxed than Jason’s ever seen them. Xe doesn’t dare move lest xe risk rousing them. The tea in their cup is cold now, which is unfortunate, but xe takes it in stride.

Steph glances over at them and grins before wandering over. “Timmie’s asleep then?”

“Poor kid’s exhausted. Tonight’s been a lot for all of us.”

She nods and sighs. “I should have realized something was off. I’ve known Timmie for a few years now, we hang out pretty often. Surely there were clues.” Carefully, she takes a seat on Timmie’s other side.

“You can’t blame yourself, Steph,” Jason murmurs. “Timmie put in a lot of effort to stay hidden. I doubt that wasn’t carried over into their personal life.”

“We took Taekwondo classes together at the youth center in Robbinsville. I remember just thinking this kid was absolutely tiny and had no business taking Taekwondo. We sparred each other that first class and Timmie took me down easy.” Steph shakes her head fondly. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Better than the rest of us have done.” Jason huffs. “Should’ve realized the kid next door was home alone at least seventy percent of the time.”

Steph scoffs. “Next door out here is literally four miles. You couldn’t have known unless you regularly socialized with the Drakes. It makes sense to assume that Jack and Janet would have brought their child with them or at least sent them to boarding school.”

“I guess you’re right. I just can’t justify my ignorance when I spend so much time trying to take care of the kids in Gotham, anyone who needs it.”

They fall into silence after that.

Chapter Text

There is a certain ruckus that comes with a full house, and it isn’t one that Timmie is even remotely familiar with. There is hesitance in their steps as they walk toward the family dining room, following the sounds of laughter and chatter. All the Waynes and then some are gathered around the table. The only seat left is between Steph and Jason. It’s definitely intentional, but no one at the table calls attention to it as Timmie sits down. Alfred places a stack of pancakes in front of them and then returns to his seat. The conversation doesn’t falter.

Timmie doesn’t talk much during breakfast. Bruce asks how he slept. He slept well; thanks for letting them stay the night. Steph asks if he likes the pancakes. Of course, they do! How could they not? Alfred asks if he’s still hungry. Not really, thank you. Once everyone finishes eating, Jason helps Alfred clear the table, and everyone else reconvenes in the living room.

It takes a few minutes before Jason and Alfred join them, and Timmie figures this is the point the entire morning has been building up to. A silent tension hangs in the air as everyone looks to Bruce, waiting. Timmie is just grateful the attention of the Wayne clan has not yet fallen on them. Bruce takes a deep breath. Timmie’s heart is in their throat.

“First thing, I want to make sure you know you’re not in any kind of trouble, Timmie. There have been several people over the years who figured out we were the Bats. All we can do in situations like this one is try to mitigate the damage—” Jason coughs into his fist “—which usually only requires a short conversation to ensure our identities are not spread further—” Dick stretches, elbow knocking against the side of Bruce’s head “—and those conversations do not involve threats of any kind.” Bruce gives Dick and Jason a long look.

Jason rolls his eyes. “You were gonna freak the kid out, old man. You’re Batman. You should know better.”

Dick just grins innocently.

“The second thing—” Bruce pauses, scanning the room “—is the actual conversation. I have a few cursory questions to ask you, to assess the severity of the information leak. You can ask as many questions as you like, and if you need clarification on anything, I will do my best to help.” Bruce waits for Timmie to nod before continuing. “How long have you known?”

“Since I was nine, so seven years now.”

Dick chokes on his coffee. “The fuck?”

“Uh. Yeah. I kind of—well, I saw you do a quadruple somersault.”

Jason snorts. “Good going, Dickhead. You and your showboating.”

Dick rolls his eyes.

Bruce clears his throat. “It’s good to know what gave us away, and it’s been quite some time since Dick pulled a move like that on patrol. My second question is if you have told anyone.”

Timmie balks and immediately shakes their head. “Of course not! It’s not my secret to tell.”

Bruce nods. “That’s good. My last question is what kind of physical or digital evidence you have that could tie the Bats back to us. It’s okay if it exists, we’ll just need to make a plan to keep it secure and out of the wrong hands.”

“I have a lot of pictures, but I don’t think any of them have anything concrete. It would take a few deductive leaps to come to the same conclusion I did.” Timmie glances around the room. Bruce, Jason, and Dick are the only ones giving him their full attention. “I always make an effort to use discretion when I’m taking pictures or posting anything on social media, and even when I’m recording my podcasts.”

“I assumed that was likely the case; however, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. We can provide you with an encrypted hard drive to store your data, and we can discuss your hobbies at greater length at a later date.”

Bruce goes on to start discussing the family’s plans for the day as though the conversation they just had was completely inconsequential. Timmie flounders, feeling distinctly like the floor has fallen out from under his feet.

Dick and Barbara are going over to Jim Gordon’s for dinner. Jason has an essay to write. Cass has ballet classes. Steph has work. Duke is going out for a short patrol and then tackling an essay he has to write for his English class. Damian also has an essay, and he’s chosen to write about a book Jason is familiar with, so yes, Damian, xe will help with the generative portion and edit it later. Yes, Duke, xe will edit that paper too. Alfred will be overseeing the cleaning staff coming in this afternoon and will also be doing meal prep for the coming week. When everyone breaks to go about their various tasks, Timmie is still sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the coffee table.

No one bothers them, leaving them to find their bearings. Bruce asks Alfred to bring his laptop from his study, he’ll be doing a bit of work out here. The light coming in through the windows is simply wonderful this time of morning, Alfred, isn’t it? So, Alfred brings the laptop and a stack of manila folders, wishes Bruce good luck with whatever he is working on, then goes to the kitchen.

Timmie rouses himself from their reverie when Alfred brings in two glasses of water with an assortment of cheeses and crackers and grapes. Bruce thanks him, and Timmie robotically follows suit, reaching for a cube of Colby Jack. The mild flavor helps ground them. They reach for a grape, then savors the taste as it bursts on his tongue.

“Are you feeling better, Timmie?”

A nod, an affirmative hum, another cube of cheese, another grape.

“That’s good. Is there anything you need to get from home or that you need to work on?”

Timmie chews slowly, thinking, flipping through their mental planner, checking boxes, noting unfinished tasks, upcoming events, and due dates. “I need to make sure people don’t think I died last night. I usually post something when I’m turning in. I need to check Gotham news updates, tips about upcoming trials, and anything about Arkham and Blackgate so I can script my update for tomorrow. That should be everything for now.”

Bruce hums. “We’ll make a trip to Drake Manor to pick up your things for recording and other necessities—clothes and such—as well as your photos, and we’ll get you set up with that encryption.”

There is a pause as Timmie blinks, confused. “Why do I need to get my clothes?”

“Well, because you’ll be staying here while we sort everything out.”

“I didn’t agree to this.” Internally, nine-year-old Timmie is cheering, whooping and hollering and jumping for joy. Bruce Wayne wants them to stay! In Wayne Manor! With the Waynes! “Just because you’re the Batman doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to live my life. If I don’t want to stay here, I won’t.” He uses his business voice, even though he knows it is only a token protest. It’s about the principle of the thing, really, and Timmie truly is tired of people telling them how to live.

It is then Bruce’s turn to blink, confused and maybe a little bit startled. He clears his throat.

The sound is echoed from the doorway, where Dick is now standing, amused. “I was going to come let you know that Babs and I are getting ready to head out. Lucky for you, B, because I swear it sounded like you were about to put your foot in your mouth again.”

Bruce sighs. “Thank you, Dick, for pointing that out.”

“No problem.” Dick gives a sloppy, two-finger salute. “Anyway, Timmie, what B meant to say was, would you like to stay here while we sort everything out? It’ll be safer for you, ease his paranoia, and you’ll get a closer look at the way things operate. Maybe he’ll even let you take a gander at the Batcomputer!”

Timmie giggles, grinning, feeling lighter by the second and trying so hard not to float away again. This makes Dick’s grin widen in turn.

“We would love to have you, genuinely,” Bruce adds, smiling softly as he glances between his son and Timmie.

That does it, then, because there is no way in the universe that Timmie, feeling as inexplicably giddy as they do right now, could ever turn an invitation like that down. Even if it is only for a few days, they will get the chance to live a dream they’ve been dreaming since they were nine.

The promised trip to Drake Manor, before it can actually occur, has to be planned, which means a vague upheaval of someone’s plans for the day and the decision of whose plans that will be is potentially the most complicated decision-making process Timmie has ever borne witness to, and they deal with the Drake Industries Board of Directors on a regular basis.

Bruce’s first instinct is to ask Dick, mostly because he is right there, partially because he is the oldest. Dick flat-out refuses. He and Babs need to get going, they have some house chores to do before they head over to Commissioner Gordon’s, and Babs wants to make chicken salad. There just isn’t enough time. Bruce’s next option, while not usually his second option, would be Steph, but she has to go to work. He would, then, ask Cass, but Cass was Steph’s ride, and she has ballet, and then she’s staying in town until Steph gets off, then they’ll probably get dinner, and all around, it just would not work. Duke is on patrol. Damian can’t drive. Bruce would rather go toe-to-toe with Superman sans toolbelt kryptonite than ask Alfred to abandon his post overseeing the meal prep and cleaning. That leaves one person, and Bruce isn’t sure he wants to ask xem either.

This is how Jason finds xemself interrupted in the library by Bruce asking xem to take Timmie over to Drake Manor while Timmie is visibly anxious, freaking out over the idea of interrupting someone’s day.

“Mr. Wayne, really, I can just walk over and grab my things, then bike back. It’s not a big deal, I promise. Jason doesn’t have to stop what xe’s working on just so I can pack up a laptop and a microphone.”

Jason reaches over and grabs a bookmark off the table beside xir seat. “Yeah, I’ll take Timmie.”

Timmie turns to face xem, wide-eyed. “You really don’t have to. I don’t want to interrupt your day or anything like that. I can manage on my own.”

“Nonsense. Just let me run to the garage and I’ll meet you in the front drive.”

“Thank you, Jay.”

Jason picks up xir book and takes a few unsteady steps after xe stands up from the couch before finding xir balance. “I’ll be around front in a few minutes.”

When they come up on Drake Manor (set a quarter mile off the main road, obscured by trees and no small amount of obfuscating landscaping), Jason almost asks Timmie if xe made a wrong turn. Ivy crawls up the walls of the three-story mansion almost to the roof, and even from a distance, Jason can see that there are weeds springing up from the cracked walkway between the main drive to the double doors in front.

“Drive around to the breezeway. I always use the service door on the side.”

Jason bites xir tongue.

The service door is in better repair. The paint is chipped near the doorframe, but the wood is not rotting, and the breezeway space is clear of weeds, grass, and debris. Jason parks the SUV and turns off the engine, then follows Timmie inside.

If Timmie thinks there is anything wrong with the wallpaper peeling or a dry-rotted floor runner or rusty door hinges, they don’t say anything about it. Timmie does not take Jason into the main rooms of the house, instead leading the way through service hallways to the service stairs that go up to the second floor, only stepping out into the main house once they reach the top.

It is easy to tell that this is the part of the mansion Timmie actually lives in. The carpet is clean and soft, and the wallpaper is still in perfect condition. Dirt is not collected on the baseboards, and there are no cracks in the ceiling. Then Timmie opens the door to his room. Jason does xir best not to visibly cringe. Clothes are thrown across the floor haphazardly, mixed together with a random collection of books, devices, and a few takeout containers. Timmie skillfully only steps in the sparse areas where the floor is still visible. Jason hesitates.

Timmie pulls a suitcase down from the top of their closet.

“So, do you know which clothes on your floor are clean and which ones are dirty?”

“Nope.”

“Gotcha.” Jason frowns as Timmie starts wrapping blankets and hoodies around the electronics scattered around. “Are you even packing your clothes?”

“Not really. Most of the clothes I actually wear are at the old Monarch Theatre.”

Jason blinks. “You’re the one who bought the theater?”

Timmie pauses and looks up. “Well, yeah. Why else would I have been there last night?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“I haven’t been spending a lot of time here lately. I’ve been working on getting things set up at the theater so that I can just move all my stuff there and use it as a townhouse, basically.” Timmie shoves a hard drive into a fuzzy sock, then stuffs it into his suitcase and zips it up. “We can take this to the car, then head to the darkroom in the old wine cellar.”

“You have a darkroom?”

“Yeah. I know it's outdated, but some of my first pictures were the old ones you had to develop yourself. Now, I mostly just use it for storage. I have another darkroom at the theater that I use more often.”

Jason steps to the side as Timmie starts wheeling the suitcase out of their room, into the service hall, and toward a service elevator. “I’ll take this down and meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”

After they get the suitcase loaded up in the car, Timmie leads the way through the main house to the wine cellar. The rest of the house is in worse disrepair than the service hallway. Most of the wood is rotting, and several paintings have fallen off the walls, only to be propped up against them while sitting on the floor. There are plastic sheets over most of the furniture, but Jason is sure the couches and chairs are probably moth-eaten and mildewy anyway.

“If you’re wondering how this place could fall apart so quickly, don’t bother,” Timmie says, pausing at the door to the wine cellar. “It was already pretty old when Mom and Dad bought it after they got married, and Dad was a cheapskate, so he didn’t hire enough people to do upkeep while they were out of town.”

Jason hums, nodding like xe understands.

“Anyway, by the time they died and I got my inheritance, I hated this house and everything in it, so I figured the money would be better spent renovating somewhere new.”

“Right. And that new place, that’s the Monarch Theatre?”

“Got it in one!” Timmie opens the door and makes a sweeping gesture toward the staircase. “After you.”

Jason flicks the light switch and starts walking down the stairs. It seems this is another one of the few parts of the house Timmie has bothered to maintain. The stairs are solid under Jason’s feet, and the lights don’t flicker. Xe waits for Timmie at the bottom. The cellar is divided into two distinct spaces. The darkroom itself seems to be behind a plywood door and one of the shelves. Timmie squeezes past Jason and walks toward three cardboard filing boxes.

“These should be all we need to bring with us. I’ll double-check the darkroom if you want to start carrying these up.”

“Yep. You got it.”

Chapter Text

A chill lingers in the air of the old wine cellar turned darkroom. Timmie flicks the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, letting the space go dark before she proceeds into the darkroom proper. Inside, she tugs the chain by the door, connected to the jerry-rigged lights, a bright red glow filling the room. Carefully, she packs up her developer and fixer, shoving the open bottles into a box stocked with more of the same. From the other side of the room, she grabs some of her paper and a couple rolls of film she forgot to put away last time she printed here. As she makes another round, she mentally notes the things she’ll need to replace or come back for later. If she’s setting up shop at Wayne Manor for the foreseeable future, a darkroom is a must. Nonnegotiable.

Armed with two boxes, she turns toward the door just in time to hear a curse echo down the stairs, followed by a few harsh thuds. She pushes the door open and peeks out, seeing Jason sprawled out on the floor, one hand still gripping the handrail by the stairs. Timmie snickers. Jason rolls xir eyes.

In a moment, Jason is back on xir feet, a little unsteady as xe braces against the wall. “Am I good to turn on the light?”

Timmie nods, reaching behind her to pull the chain and turn off the lights in the darkroom and close the door. As the door clicks shut, Jason flicks the switch, bathing the room in warm yellow once again. Xe winces as xe push away from the wall.

“Are you okay?”

Jason waves xir hand through the air dismissively. “I’m fine, just landed funny on my tailbone.”

“If you’re sure,” Timmie acquiesces, nibbling on the inside of their lip. “Here, why don’t you take these since they’re lighter, and I’ll grab the other box over there.”

As unhappy as Jason looks about the proposal, the lack of protest speaks to Jason being in more pain than xe is admitting to. The fall must have exacerbated old injuries. Timmie lets Jason start up the stairs ahead of them, just in case, ready to drop their box the second Jason begins to look unsteady. Timmie can tell from Jason’s pace that xe is trying to mask the pain, moving up the stairs at a pace comparable to the speed xe usually moves at. Still, each step is just a little stiff, disjointed, and the barest hint of a limp escapes past Jason’s attempt to hide it.

Jason leads the way directly out to the car, letting Timmie place their box in the back seat before Jason sets the other two boxes on top of it. Xe leans against the car door once it’s closed and reaches down, gently massaging xir hip, staring contemplatively at the driver’s seat. “You know how to drive, kid?”

“Uh, well, kind of. I don’t have a permit.”

“Good enough for me. Hop in the driver’s seat and we’ll see how you do.”

For not having a driver’s license, Timmie seemed pretty accustomed to sitting in the driver’s seat. Though, Jason guessed that might have something to do with the fact that Timmie spent too much time with too little supervision. Of course, the kid would teach themself how to drive. Or, well, try to.

Jason directs Timmie around the Manor’s front drive to the porte cochere with a white-knuckled grip on the grab handle over the passenger door. It’s a stroke of pure luck they didn’t hit any trees, fences, or other such obstacles driving the few miles between the two estates. Seamlessly, Timmie guides the car between the stone pillars, easing to a stop and shifting into park. Jason stares blankly at the windshield.

Without hesitation, Timmie turns the key in the ignition, shutting off the engine. “You good over there?”

“You mean to tell me you could have driven like a normal person the whole time?”

When Timmie grins, it’s all teeth. “Sure.”

Jason groans, tipping xir head back against the headrest. “You’re going to fit right in, Timbit. Fuck, I hope you never get your hands on the Batmobile.”

Timmie cackles as they climb out of the car, circling around to the passenger side and opening Jason’s door as well. “You gonna get out or am I gonna have to haul you in with the luggage?”

Jason shoves Timmie lightly as xe swings xir legs around to climb out of the car. Xe hisses as xir weight transfers onto xir bad leg—worse leg. Almost without thinking, Jason grips the arm Timmie holds out to xem, leaning on the kid for extra support. Timmie doesn’t bother with the boxes, instead guiding Jason around to the ramp around the edge of the staircase. At the top, Alfred stands by the door, holding it open. A small frown pulls at his lips as he watches them climb the stairs.

“Are you feeling alright, Master Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, Alfie, just slipped.” Jason straightens, shifting some of his weight off Timmie. “A little ice and I’ll be right as rain.”

Alfred frowns deeper, but nods. “Very well. Mx. Drake, if you would please help Jason to the sitting room, I’ll fetch a cold compress.”

“What about my stuff? And the car?”

“It will hold until Master Jason is settled. Master Bruce can assist you with carrying your belongings up to your new room.”

Alfred gently closes the door behind them, then leads the way to the sitting room. It’s the same room Timmie’s been brought to a few times before. Timmie supports Jason as xe hobbles toward the couch, limp having worsened during their short walk from the porte cochere. Xe sinks back into the cushions with a groan, eyes closed.

“You should lay down, that way there’s less weight on your hips.”

Jason frowns, opening one eye. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be fine sooner if you get weight off your hips.”

A knock on the doorframe startles Timmie as they help Jason lift xir legs up onto the cushions. Standing there with a furrowed brow is Bruce. He must have run into Alfred. Bruce doesn’t even bother with a greeting before crossing the room to help ease Jason into a more comfortable position. He produces an array of pillows from somewhere Timmie can’t catch and arranges them across the couch for better support. By the time he finishes, murmuring soft comforts to Jason under his breath, the couch looks more like a nest of sorts.

Through all of it, much to Timmie’s surprise, Jason only offers up token protests. Xe settles against the pillows like xe belongs there, or at least like xe knows resting will benefit xem more in the long run than trying to get away would. Timmie stands awkwardly off to the side, watching Bruce kneel at Jason’s side, asking once again if xe is comfortable. Jason rolls xir eyes, begrudgingly fond in spite of Bruce’s fussing.

“It’s really not that bad, B,” Jason assures, grumbling all the same, “I just slipped down a few stairs.”

Bruce nods once, then turns to Timmie. “Thank you for helping Jason inside, Timmie.”

A throat clears. Alfred. “Master Bruce, if you would please help Mx. Drake bring their belongings up to their room.”

“Of course, Alfred. Do you need anything else before I go, chum?”

Jason shakes xir head, eyelids drooping slightly. Timmie can hardly blame xem; the nest of blankets and pillows looks more comfortable than anything Timmie’s seen in years.

Trailing Bruce out of the sitting room, Timmie takes a moment to observe the tension in Bruce’s shoulders. They never imagined Bruce Wayne to be a mother hen, but they guess it makes sense to be one when your kids go out and get beat to hell every night. Or not beat to hell, as it were. Their combat skills impress even some of the most sought-after mercenaries in the business. Timmie would prefer to never meet Deathstroke again, but the man held a lot of respect for the Bats’ skills.

They collect Timmie’s things from the car, Bruce doing most of the heavy lifting.

“When Jason got hurt, how bad was it, really?” The question is out of Timmie’s mouth before he has the sense to bite his tongue.

Bruce pauses, freezes really, but only just long enough for Timmie to notice before he starts walking again, almost uninterrupted. “Jason was out of commission for six months. Less time than it could have been. Xe healed incredibly well, all things considered.”

And, really, Timmie knows they shouldn’t press. They do. “And xir hip, that’s one of the injuries that still gives xem issues?”

“Jason will have chronic pain for the rest of xir life. That’s unavoidable.”

“What happened to the Joker?” Even though Timmie knows the answer.

Bruce freezes for real. “He’s dead.”

“Right. For sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“Deathstroke.” Bruce starts walking again. They head up the stairs.

The average civilian probably doesn’t know who Deathstroke is, that’s almost certain. But what about the average millionaire? Would they know? Especially the unscrupulous ones, like Timmie’s parents. Should Timmie know who Deathstroke is? Is that something they can explain away? Probably. Maybe.

“The mercenary, right? Do you know who hired him?”

Bruce hums. “Digital leads went dead; whoever it was did a good job covering their tracks. We have a working profile.”

“It’s still an open case?”

“Yes.” Bruce opens a door at the head of a hallway. A bedroom. “Do you know something about it, Timmie?”

Timmie swallows, stepping through the door, setting his suitcase at the foot of the bed. “No. I could help you look, though, if you wanted. I’m pretty handy with computers.”

Bruce’s lips twitch at the corners as he sets Timmie’s boxes on the dresser. “I’ll get back to you on that. Go ahead and get settled in. Dinner’s at five-thirty.”

He raps his knuckles against the doorframe as he leaves, the door hanging wide open.

Having Timmie in the house is strange. It sets Bruce on edge, having an unknown in such close proximity to his family at all times. Oracle never demonstrated any kind of malintent. In fact, it always seemed the opposite. Knowing Timmie Drake is the person behind the account doesn’t change much, realistically, except for the fact that Bruce remembers Jack and Janet Drake well. Jack, a businessman, though not the most accomplished of them. He inherited the company from his own father, and was in the process of running it into the ground before Janet entered the picture. A young heiress, beautiful and alluring, hiding keen intelligence behind a demure smile. Then she took up the task of bringing Drake Industries back to life.

By the time the Drakes passed, Drake Industries was a top competitor of Wayne Enterprises. Janet Drake was a coldblooded killer in boardroom meetings. She knew what she wanted, what the business needed, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Timmie doesn’t seem particularly inclined to follow too closely in his parents’ footsteps, but Bruce would be remiss to just take Timmie at their word.

He checks on Jason one more time—asleep on the couch, fresh cold compress against the old injury—before he retreats to his study. On his desk sits an open manila folder and a stack of papers; a background check, if a background check included precise location tracking and lists of every person you interacted with since you were fourteen. He’s already gone over some of the information contained, dismissing some as insignificant to his current goals and some as things he already knows. Records of every tweet Timmie ever made, privately, publicly, and under aliases. Timmie has more aliases than Bruce thought.

Also contained is the documentation outlining the Drake Industries succession plan, signed and notarized. Timmie’s takeover comes with a few caveats, ones they discussed during that initial meeting two weeks ago. The passing of the torch was already planned to be gradual, and with the way the Board seems to be drawing it out, it’ll take even longer. On top of that, Janet Drake outlined a few business ventures she wanted to keep active, excluded from any restructuring Timmie wants to initiate.

From the information available, Timmie theorized that Drake Industries is up to something; something they don’t want Timmie finding out about and something that was likely initiated during Janet’s time running the company. That means whatever they’re up to is probably illicit at best and illegal at worst. In all of this, Timmie wants to keep their hands clean. That means no hacking Drake Industries servers, no conducting unnecessary audits, and certainly no trying to sneak under anyone’s noses to interview staff.

Timmie didn’t ask and Bruce didn’t offer. Nevertheless, at the bottom of the stack of paper is a list of Drake Industries business initiatives and financial records

Bruce sighs.

That was not in the list of information he asked Dick to gather. Bruce flips up the corner of the first page of the list, glances at the door, then back at the paper. Really, what else was he expecting from his meddling eldest?