Chapter Text
Tim didn't get phone calls.
His parents emailed him, on the rare occasion they contacted him at all. Selina and Jason texted. After he'd programmed an app to filter through spam calls — he mostly pulled code from online forums, with a few patches he wrote to handle Gotham-specific scams like henchman opportunities and clown-proof glass — the number of people who wanted to call him dropped to approximately none.
So when his long-forgotten ringtone trilled like a songbird on a Saturday afternoon, Tim startled so violently he almost lost a priceless emerald down the couch cushions.
He set the stone and his jeweler's loupe down on the coffee table and scrambled for his room, snatching up the phone just before the final ring. "What's wrong?”
“Tim?" came a familiar voice. It took him a minute to place it.
“Dick?" Tim asked. “Dick Grayson?"
"The one and only!”
Tim pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. Dick Grayson didn't know him as Shadow. Dick Grayson barely knew him, period. Why would Dick call him?
"Are you okay? Is someone hurt? Do you need help?"
"Yes, no, and yes. I kind of need a favor."
Tim relaxed incrementally; this didn’t seem like an emergency. "What kind of favor?"
“Well, remember when you gave my advice about me and Jay?" Dick began. "I told him I want things to be better between us and apologized and everything, but he's still super tense and keeps finding reasons to leave early when I try to spend time with him." He sighed gustily. "I get that he's got to go at his own pace, but at this rate we're going to be thirty before he untwists enough to have fun.”
Tim frowned. He felt a little miffed on Jason's behalf — it was hard to open up, and he was trying — but Dick wasn't wrong, either. "What are you suggesting?"
“I think it would be easier for Jay if it wasn’t just the two of us,” Dick said. “Like a buffer. Less pressure, right?”
“Right,” Tim echoed. He felt a strange sense of foreboding.
“And It would be better if it was someone he was already comfortable with right?” Dick said.
“Sure.”
“So I was thinking about it and I was like — emotional support Tim!"
What.
Dick went on in a rush. “It’s perfect, right? You guys are such good friends already, and I’ve been wanting to get to know you better anyway, so it’ll be like two birds with one stone. And we can get ice cream at that place with all the mask theming — have you ever been? It’s like, surprisingly good, and a lot villains are weirdly flattered that they name flavors after them so it barely ever gets trashed in evil plots.” He paused for breath. “So? What do you think?”
“Um.” Tim, frankly, thought Dick Grayson’s verbal acrobatics were almost as dizzying as his literal ones.
Technically, he had no plans for the day. He was generally in favor of Dick and Jason having a good relationship. He could say yes. But was his presence really going to change anything? Wouldn’t he just get in the way?
Dick seemed to sense his doubt. “I know this is kind of last-minute, but — I think it’ll really help.” His voice softened, earnest. “Please?”
And, well — how was Tim supposed to argue with that?
Ten minutes later he had a meeting time, an address, and a sense that he’d just gotten in way over his head.
“Okay,” he said aloud. He started to pace. “This is fine. I just need — plans.” Like a heist.
Except this wasn’t a heist, which would have been infinitely easier. This was a casual outing. With friends.
Tim did not know the protocol for this.
He realized his phone was still clenched in one hand and tossed it in onto his bed in a smooth, precise arc, then spun on his heel and came to a stop in front of his closet. If he didn’t have a protocol for friendly outings, he’d just make one.
Step one: suit up. He was definitely not facing this in his pajamas.
He looked to the left, where he’d grouped clothes from his closet at the manor. A set of velvety hangars held school uniforms, suits, sweaters and collared shirts in pale pastels. All tailored, of course. These tended to be clothes that had appeared in his room one day with a note from his parents explaining which event they were made for and when he would be expected to appear in the front hall, dressed as instructed and presentable.
Looking at them he could almost feel the phantom brush of his mother’s hands, straightening his jacket or pressing a stray hair back into place. Imperfection would reflect poorly on his family. Drakes always dress to impress, Timothy.
He shook his head, letting his gaze shift right. This section was entirely blacks and grays, clothes shapeless and soft with age that he’d thrifted to blend in on the streets of Gotham. Most were ripped, either from their previous owners or from him getting the threadbare fabric snagged on some jagged edge of the city.
It was all clean, though; Tim drew a hard line at mystery stains. There were a million different chemicals getting spilled in Gotham every day and he’d rather not increase his exposure if he could help it.
He’d never really realized how much time he spent in uniform. He had clothes for night work and clothes for day work, but neither felt quite right for whatever this was.
What was he supposed to look like when he wasn’t working?
Hesitantly, Tim pulled out a few selections. Dark blue jeans, loose enough to run in, with a hole in the pocket to access his emergency switchblade. (He debated a moment before digging out the blade and strapping it on his leg. No such thing as too careful.) A white collared shirt that he’d always been secretly glad to see show up in gala outfits, smooth cotton and somehow softer than the others. His last pick was a black hoodie, oversized but not so much as to impede movement.
Tim suited up and checked the results in the bathroom mirror. He looked like — something. In-between.
Himself, maybe.
He walked out into the main living area feeling a little off. Selina was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, absentmindedly scratching Snowflake under the chin while the cat purred.
Step two: provide allies with necessary intel to enable coordination.
“Dick called. He invited me to get ice cream with him and Jason.”
“Sounds fun,” said Selina. Tim shot her a look. He knew a carefully-neutral-but-encouraging tone when he heard one.
He didn’t need to be babied just because he’d never gone somewhere with friends before. Except Wayne Manor. Where he just wore his school uniform since he only ever visited after class and therefore didn’t have to think about presentation and impressions.
Tim reminded himself to breathe.
“I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but I’l text if it’s more than four hours.” He patted his pockets, running through a mental checklist — phone, wallet, emergency GPS transmitter. “Am I missing something?”
“Keys.”
He muttered a curse. “Always the keys.” He detoured to the bowl on the kitchen counter where they threw keys and spare trackers. “Anything you want me to tag while I’m out?” He usually grabbed a few trackers just in case — never knew when you’d have to drop one in a shipping container or a mark’s pocket — but it felt like tempting fate to bring Cat tech around Dick Grayson.
He’d probably pulled enough of them off Batman to know them on sight.
Selina waved a hand lazily. “No, that’s alright. Take the day off to enjoy yourself.”
Tim nodded. Step three, then: head to the rendezvous point.
He couldn’t quite make his feet move.
Tim checked his pockets again, shifting on his feet. “Hey,” he said. “Is this — okay?” He gestured lamely at his clothes.
Selina gave him a once-over. “You look nice.”
“Really?” he said, then winced internally. Too eager.
Selina considered him, eyes lingering for a moment on the restless twitch of his hands. “I might have a suggestion.” She stood, Snowflake jumping to follow with a soft mrrp. Tim waited while she disappeared into her room and emerged, deftly dodging the little menace twining around her feet.
“Here.” Selina held out her hand; Tim mirrored her automatically, and she dropped something into his palm.
Tim wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but a necklace was pretty low on the list. The dark leather cord had a magnetic clasp, he noted with vague approval; best to avoid giving would-be attackers an easy way to choke you. The pendant in the center was a cat, half-crouched and carved from a polished black stone, with narrowed eyes of gleaming gold.
“An extra tracker?” he asked, puzzled. They’d disguised a couple transmitters and panic buttons as jewelry, but he hadn’t seen this one before.
“Nothing so practical.” Selina shrugged.“I wore this a lot when I was younger. I thought it could be… a reminder, of sorts. No matter how things go out there, the cats and I will be waiting.”
Tim swallowed. Without meaning to, his hand closed tight around the gift. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Selina said. Her lips curved in a faint smile. “I’ll see when you get home.”
Tim was under a streetlight, shifting restlessly on his feet, when Dick and Jason finally appeared around a corner.
Dick had offered to pick Tim up, since they were neighbors and all, and Tim — who could not remember the last time he’d been in the manor for more than ten minutes — had hastily invented an errand in the neighborhood that made it convenient to meet them in the city. To back up his alibi he’d stopped at a corner drug store and picked up antibiotic ointment. First aid supplies were always useful, especially since it was almost time for the cats’ nail trim. Lucy got grouchy about having her paws touched.
“Tim! Hi!” Dick jogged the last few steps toward the door, smiling brightly. Tim noted his outfit: skinny jeans and a light, silky kind of shirt with a deep v-neck. Despite the weather, he showed no signs of being cold. “Great to see you.”
Jason just nodded. He was dressed more like Tim in jeans and a red hoodie, unzipped over a Wonder Woman t-shirt. (He’d told Tim once he collected various superhero merch specifically to annoy Bruce — who thought even the tiniest visible connection to a cape was an unnecessary risk — but Wonder Woman was a personal favorite.) His eyes were darting around the street.
“See anything weird on your way over?” Tim had been monitoring the area while he waited, but he hadn’t noticed anything concerning.
Jason rolled his shoulders, not quite managing to lose the tension in them. “Nah, but we probably will. It’s Gotham, yeah?”
“You’re such a pessimist,” Dick said, heaving a dramatic sigh.
“Realist,” Jason corrected.
Tim held up his hands. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can eat.”
“Right you are, Tim. Priorities!” Spinning on his heel, Dick set off with a bounce in his step. “Come on!”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Bird Brain. We’re coming.” He glanced at Tim and hesitated, eyes cutting back to Dick. “Talk later,” he mouthed. Tim inclined his head, and they both set off after Dick.
Of course, things couldn’t be that simple.
Tim noticed their tail not two minutes after they started walking.
He exchanged a look with Jason. He was pretty sure Dick hadn’t noticed yet, since he was taking point in leading them through the streets. It wasn’t exactly a standard Bat formation, but it was close enough to tap into the same rhythm: front takes front and draws attention, back watches their backs. Dick was scanning alleyways and sizing up pedestrians approaching on the sidewalk, all the while keeping a running commentary about the storefronts they passed.
Jason, on the other hand, was already trying to catch Tim’s eye. When he had Tim’s attention, he pulled one hand from his pocket and made a small twitching motion Tim recognized as a Bat-sign: spring the trap.
Tim nodded, ostensibly at something Dick was saying. He casually lifted a hand to his collar, tapping his chest as he smoothed out his clothes.
Jason frowned, but grudgingly inclined his head.
Tim slowed his steps half a beat, arms swinging a touch more than usual, and turned his whole body to face Dick. He’d been practicing posing and posture with Selina lately, eagerly latching onto a physical training he could do without being tutted at over his injury. (Even with everything Selina had done to help him keep busy, Tim was going a little insane. It felt like he’d been benched for years.) She was still firm that lessons in less platonic body language would have to wait until he was older – “The costume doesn’t exactly hide your age, kitten, and anyone interested would be better dealt with by a swift kick between the legs.”
But relaxed, distracted, careless? Tim knew those like a T-67 security system. He could play an easy mark in his sleep.
Tim neatly divided his focus, half of him listening to Dick lament that the good curry place on the corner had closed down while he was in Blud, half maintaining a carefully casual stride. He let one hand drift to the left pocket of his hoodie, patting it in absent-minded confirmation. The conversation drifted, Dick launching into his personal theory of which types of delivery made the best leftovers, with Jason interrupting from time to time to scoff.
“Christ, do you eat anything but takeout? Alfie would cry if he could hear this.”
“Come on, Jay, I’m hurt!” Dick protested. “You know he’s given up on me by now.”
Then – a flash of movement from the corner of Tim's vision.
Got you, he thought, hand closing like a vice around a skinny wrist. The hand jerked back as if burned, but his grip held.
He looked up and met a pair of startled eyes.
“Bad form, kid.” Jason sauntered around to Tim’s other side, eyeing the would-be thief. “You couldn’t disguise the lift a little? What was your plan, screw it and run like hell?”
The kid in question bared her teeth. Through his grip on her wrist, Tim could feel her trembling.
Dick, despite having less warning about the situation, caught on quickly. He crouched, smiling and keeping his voice light. “You know, it’s not nice to take things that belong to other people. But I’m betting you wouldn’t do it without a reason. Are you okay?”
“I’d be better if you let me go.” She tilted her chin up, eyes flashing. “Rich fuckers.”
Jason laughed. “Damn, squirt, watch the fucking language!”
Dick soldiered on. “Do you need help? Where are your parents?”
Simultaneously, Jason and the girl rolled their eyes. Jason turned to face her more fully. “You know about Leslie’s? Food bank on the corner of fifth?”
The kid blinked, peering more closely at Jason; Tim wasn’t sure if was the words that surprised her, or the Crime Alley drawl curled around them. “Duh,” she said, after a moment. “’m not stupid.”
“Got a place to hide out?”
“I won’t tell you where.”
“Good.” Jason dug around in his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He fixed his gaze back on the girl. “Look, running’s fine, ‘specially if you find a suit who looks slow, but if that’s your plan don’t follow so long — gives them more time to notice you. Slow and sneaky’s for when you’re in a crowd.” He pressed the money into her free hand. “You got a good eye for people. Just stay smart about it.”
The girl was too busy gawking to notice when Tim released her wrist. He pulled out the wallet she’d been trying to lift and, after considering, added a few twenties to the pile. Bigger bills would draw too much attention if she tried to use them.
She stared for another long moment, searching their faces. Then she hastily shoved the bills out of sight and fixed them all with another glare. “I don’t owe you anything for this.”
“Nothing,” Jason said.
“And you’re not turning me in?”
“Nope.”
“Jay,” Dick started. Jason shot him a venomous glare.
The girl took this chance to dart away, worn sneakers pounding against the sidewalk. Jason watched her leave with a little smile playing around his face.
Tim glanced around, just to confirm there was no one else following them. Luckily, the coast looked clear.
Jason started walking again, and Tim fell in a step behind. Dick caught up with a half-jog, frowning. Every few steps he would glance at Jason, and every time Jason tensed a little more.
Tim shrank in on himself.
Jason’s gazed was fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “I can feel you judging me, Dick. Spit it out.”
Dick hesitated, but only for a moment. “You let her go.”
“What would you rather we do? Call the cops on her?”
“No! But we could’ve done — something. She was out picking pockets! ” Dick threw his hands in the air. “We should’ve asked if everything was alright at home, figured out what was going on with her.”
“Are we talking about the same kid?” Jason asked, incredulous. “Pretty sure she’d sooner bite your face off than tell you shit.”
Dick let out an exasperated breath. “So you didn’t even try?”
Jason stopped and spun, hands fisted at his sides. “Dick.” His voice was dangerously even. “I didn’t let her go because it would be too hard to help her. I let her go because a good tip and a couple hundred bucks helps more than a dozen preachy strangers trying to swoop in and save you, and I know that shit from personal experience.” He lifted his chin, daring Dick to look away.
Which seemed unlikely, since Dick was staring with eyes like saucers. “Personal…? You mean you’ve been — like that?” he asked.
Jason blinked. “Uh. Yeah?” Obviously? his tone said. “How do you not — every fucking tabloid has been calling me a street rat for years, Dick. This isn’ t new information.”
“I thought they were exaggerating! Have you seen the stuff they say about me?”
He had a point there, Tim thought. If everything in the Gotham tabloids were true, then Bruce Wayne would have about a thousand secret children.
“And what, B didn’t tell you anything? Why he even picked me up? How we met?”
“He was vague!” said Dick. “He’s got like — a thing, about privacy. Like — I bet he never complains about me when he’s with you, right? Even though you know we fight.”
Jason nodded slowly.
“It’s the same with you. He’ll tell me how well you do on your English essays, but anything else he’ll keep locked right here—” Dick tapped a hand over his heart “—until he dies. Once I got a broke an antique vase doing a cartwheel and begged him not to tell Alfred, and to this day if anyone asks what happened to it he’ll tell them he’s not at liberty to say.” The last part was said in an exaggerated growl while Dick furrowed his eyebrows sternly.
Jason let out a startled laugh. “Wait, that was you? B was so cagey I thought it got confiscated for some kinda smuggling ring, FBI shit.”
“Which why Alfred hasn’t buried me in an unmarked grave for murdering Wayne heirlooms,” Dick declared, grinning. Jason’s lip twitched, fighting an answering smile.
Tim was so busy pretending he didn’t exist he wasn’t watching where he was going. A broken bottle crunched under his shoe, and both brothers spin to look at him.
Tim stared back, wide-eyed.
“Okay,” Dick said, clapping lightly. “So it turns out we’re having some minor communication issues. Which we should probably talk about later.” He nodded at Tim, who was equal parts grateful and mortified. “For now, I want to say I wasn’t — accusing you of anything. I just get frustrated because there’s so much awful shit happening in the city, and it’s not right, and I wish I could be doing more.”
Jason relaxed fractionally. “Alright,” he said. “ I get that.” He hesitated. “For me it’s like — look, if Bruce tried to drag you off to fix your life, would you be grateful? Or would you tell him to mind his business and maybe go fuck himself?”
“I mean.” Dick made a face. “But I’m also not a kid, you know? We’re supposed to do things for kids so they don’t have to deal with hard stuff.”
"Look any Gotham brat in the face and say you know better because they’re a child. I dare you," Jason’s smile was more a showing of teeth. "When you're the only one who cares if you live or die, you grow up real quick. And you learn when people start talking about protecting the children, what they usually mean is taking away all your choices and treating you like you’re stupid.”
“Oh.” Dick turned to face Jason, expression open and genuine. “That sucks.”
Jason snorted. “No shit.” There was still anger in his voice, but cooled — embers instead of a fire. “It is what it is. Going on about should and shouldn’t never helped anyone."
Dick hummed. “Sometimes it’s still nice to hear.”
And just like that, the conversation moved on. Dick made a comment about pad thai, Jason made a dry retort, and the tension in the air slowly dissipated.
Tim was… confused.
It was a good thing! Obviously. It was great that Jason and Dick were clearing the air. Without yelling. Or throwing things. Or one person storming out to spend the night in a hotel while the other raids the wine cellar and goes on a rant about how inconsiderate they always are while Tim makes agreeing noises and desperately looks for a chance to slip away to his room for the night—
Anyway, it was great. It just… wasn’t how arguments worked, in his experience.
Although — Selina didn’t yell. When he and Selina disagreed, they had a calm discussion of the pros and cons of each course of action.
Tim wasn’t sure that counted, though. Rules kind of flowed off Selina like water off a duck; of course she’d be an exception to this, too.
He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice they’d arrived until the bell above the door chimed.
“I’ll order for us,” Dick announced. “Jason, the usual?” Jason rolled but nodded. “Tim, what’ll it be? Got a usual? A favorite?”
Tim blinked. "I don't know." He’d forgotten to plan for this part. “I can, um, have whatever you’re getting?”
Dick paused, and Tim thought he saw a flash of calculation in his eyes. “Alrighty! We’ll make it a surprise.”
“Hope you like sugar,” Jason said, voice pitched to carry. “Dick lives off a hummingbird diet.”
“Pretty much!” Dick agreed. “Hang on, this’ll just take a sec.”
Tim and Jason slid into a booth while Dick flounced up to the counter. There was a moment of silence.
“So, uh. Sorry about — all this,” Jason said. “I didn't give out your number or anything. Dick grabbed my phone when I wasn’t looking.”
Tim shrugged. “It’s fine.” He glanced at Dick – who, judging from his body language, had struck up a vaguely flirtatious conversation with the cashier while waiting. “He literally convinced Batman to let a kid out on the streets to fight crime. He would’ve found a way to make this happen.”
“Yeah, he’s always been stubborn as hell.” Jason's tone was almost admiring.
“You okay?” Tim asked. “I know you were trying to figure out how to talk to Dick about — past stuff. ”
“Yeah.” Jason barked a laugh. “God. I can’t believe Bruce didn’t say shit. But, like, not saying shit is such a classic Bruce move I also feel like I should have seen it coming. You know?”
Tim nodded solemnly. “Can’t communicate his way out of a paper bag.”
Jason was still wheezing with laughter when Dick came back with an entire tray full of tiny ice cream cups, balancing it on one hand with what could only be an unholy combination of acrobatic instincts and sheer luck.
“Dick, what the fu—”
“Surprise!” Dick said. “I got your Double Fudge Domino, don’t worry.” He set the tray down with a flourish, and Jason plucked the one full-sized serving from the center with a pointed look. “The rest are samplers for me and Timmy. Gotta have all the data to make an informed choice, right?” He winked.
Tim was, against his better judgement, touched.
Dick proceeded to describe each of the flavors in turn, commenting on his personal favorites and making suggestions as Tim tried them. Several long minutes and a lot of tiny wooden tasting spoons later, Tim had decided on a coffee-flavored ice cream with dark chocolate shavings and caramel sauce. Ironically, the flavor was called Robin’s Roast.
“Sure you don’t want any more?” Dick asked. He was alternating between three scoops of pastel orange, pink, and green, and showed no signs of slowing down.
Jason made a noise of disgust. “You’re a terrible influence,” he said. “Tim, Bird Brain’s got a garbage disposal for a stomach. Don’t try to keep up or you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Speaking from experience?” Dick teased.
“Shut up.” Jason reached out and pushed him; Dick pretended to fall over with a wounded cry.
Tim laughed. “Don’t worry, I know my limits. One birthday I bought myself a cake and tried to eat the whole thing at once.” He shuddered for effect. “I spent the whole night camping out in the bathroom. Not fun."
“Why am I surrounded by dessert gremlins.” Jason shook his head, mock-serious. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, Timbit.”
“It was a long time ago!”
Dick made a thoughtful sound. “Your parents didn’t try to stop you?”
“Out of town.” Tim shrugged. “At least I learned my lesson.”
Dick and Jason exchanged a look he couldn’t read. “So what were you doing for food, then?” Dick asked, casual.
Tim shifted in his seat. “I was a pretty terrible cook, so — I mostly just put handfuls of separate ingredients on a plate. Had a weird sandwich phase for a while. Discovering frozen chicken nuggets probably saved my life.”
Jason squinted. “Define weird.”
Past meals flashed before Tim’s eyes: ketchup on rye with no other fillings; stale baguettes spread with leftover caviar; deli ham held between two slices of radioactive orange American cheese, because younger Tim heard “ham and cheese sandwich” and took it a bit too literally. “I’d... rather not.”
Jason, thankfully, didn’t press. “Well, at least you’re getting better. Dick still lives on breakfast cereal and nuggets.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark!”
By the time they were ready to head out, the conversation had gone from Bludhaven to the latest Justice League case in the headlines to school assignments, and somehow wound up at Dick was regaling them with the story of Bruce Wayne’s first parent-teacher conference.
The light was just starting to fade as they walked out into the city, taking what could charitably be described as the scenic route to where Dick and Jason had parked.
“So he’s sitting there, wearing his full board-meeting suit doing that eye-twinkle thing he does for interviews. Half the teachers are shooting their shot and half are trying to figure out how to tell this extremely wealthy donor his kid’s grades are average and he keeps climbing up on the roof at recess. Naturally, as an energetic young man, I’m starting to get bored. So right about then I notice the ropes on the auditorium curtain—”
Tim was trying not to laugh, imagining the scene, when something caught his attention.
At the intersection up ahead, a man was leaning against a crumbling brick wall, lighter in one hand and cigarette in the other. But it wasn’t his hands that held Tim’s interest, the telltale bulge of a firearm under his coat or his quiet cursing as the lighter failed to catch — it was his face. Tim had seen that face in a jumbled mess of files Catwoman gave him to cheer him up.
Strange, he thought, that he’d manage to run into the recently-dumped mobster himself on an impromptu trip for ice cream. For a decently sized city, Gotham was a pretty small world.
Tim’s philosophical musing lasted for all of two seconds before he noticed a second familiar face. In the alley just before the mobster, hidden to him but just visible to Tim, was a girl with threadbare clothes and a determined glare.
This girl had an incredible nose for rich people going incognito and the worst luck in the world. After trying to pickpocket two vigilantes and an apprentice cat burglar, she’d set her sights on a ticked-off, fully armed mobster.
If the kid tried to steal from him, there was going to be blood.
Tim faked a stumble, shoes scuffing against the pavement, and caught Jason’s eye when he turned to look. He nodded toward the impending disaster and flicked his gaze to his hands as he started to sign — not normal sign, but Batman’s code, designed for subtlety and drilled into Robins before they ever hit the streets.
Hostile. Organized crime, young civilian, danger.
Jason’s eyes widened. He scanned the streets, zeroing in on the disaster in progress. His fingers twitched. I distract. You civilian.
Tim signed an affirmative.
Jason lengthened his stride, overtaking Dick and passing the narrow alley without a second thought. “Hey, man. Need a light?”
The man looked up, scowling. “Who’s asking?”
“Whoa, buddy.” Jason held out his hands. In the time between walking up and calling out, he’d pulled a cheap plastic lighter from somewhere and palmed it. He wiggled it for emphasis. “Just asking a question.”
Tim let the conversation wash over him, half-listening only to monitor how much time Jason was buying. With a casual gait and feather-light steps he slipped into the alley, snagging the girl’s arm as he passed and dragging her farther in.
“What are you—!”
“Saving you a lot of trouble,” Tim said.
The girl looked up, suspicion giving way to consideration. “… you got two seconds.”
Tim wasn’t about to waste them. “This guy’s a bad target. He’s mob, he’s packing, and word is he’s still pissed about a bad breakup.” He paused — was that enough? “She ran off and pawned his ring,” he added, just for good measure.
“Shit.” The girl took an unconscious step back; Tim let go of her arm.
“Maybe take the rest of the day off. If you can.”
The girl squinted. Tim bit his lip, wondering if he’d managed to convince her, when she suddenly straightened. “It’s you! I knew I recognized you. You’re that kid that used to take pictures and hand out granola bars.”
Tim frowned. Sure, he used to pack extra snacks when he went out Bat-watching, but he hadn’t actually handed them out to many people. As it turned out, normal people tried to avoid the city’s caped and masked nightlife, so he didn’t run into a lot of them while he was hanging around on rooftops. Eventually he’d met one person — an older girl who’d found him scrambling down a fire escape and tried to give him a talk about basic Gotham survival tips.
It turned out Molly was something of unofficial leader among the local kids. It became part of his routine to swing by and drop off supplies for her so she could pass them out to people she knew needed one. They’d kept it up until last year, when she told him she’d be moving in pursuit of “opportunities” and couldn’t meet anymore.
Tim had known better than to pry.
He sized up the girl in front of him. She obviously wasn’t Molly — too young, darker hair, different eyes — but there was a clear resemblance. Since only a few people had ever been around when he met with Molly, and only one of them was a relative. “You’re Molly’s sister.”
She flashed him a grin. “And you’re her crazy camera friend.”
Tim knew they didn’t have time to hang around catching up, but he had to ask. “How is she?”
The girl shrugged. “Getting by. Trying to get a job through some Wayne thing so we can stop lifting to get her prescription.” A pause. “She wondered about you. Always said that kid was gonna get himself killed if he didn’t have supervision.”
Tim smiled. “You can tell her I’m not dead yet.” His hand crept up to touch the little cat pendant under his shirt. “I even found some supervision.”
“Good,” she said firmly. “Stay out of trouble, camera boy. Molly'd be sad if you kicked it.” With that, she retreated back down the alley and disappeared around the corner.
Gotham. Small world.
What felt like a moment later, he was joined in the alley by Jason and Dick.
“Hey, Tim. You good?” said Jason.
“All good,” he returned. The crisis had been averted, and he’d even gotten news about an old friend. That was pretty much the best outcome he could have hoped for.
Jason grinned. “Thank fuck. You know, that guy was a real asshole.”
Tim laughed.
Then he looked back at Dick.
It was like a switch had flipped. Where he’d radiated carefree cheer all afternoon, he now assessed Tim with a cool gaze. “Either of you want to tell me what just happened?” he said, mild. His hand, hanging by his hip, flicked through the sign for report.
Tim’s eyes were drawn to it without conscious thought. He hastily snapped his gaze back up only to find Dick watching him.
He’d seen Tim use Bat-sign.
They were screwed.
Tim shrank into himself on instinct, but Dick wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was glaring at — Jason?
Oh, Tim thought. Of course. Dick wouldn’t assume some random kid taught himself Bat signs. Dick thought Jason had taught him.
Jason returned Dick’s gaze with determined calm, even as his hands curled at his sides. He said nothing. Jason wouldn't rat him out— but taking the blame would get him in trouble with his family, and that was unacceptable. Tim had to say something.
The question was, how much?
He could admit to Bat-watching and try to keep Catwoman and his work as Shadow out of it. But if he made it sound like a complete civilian had knowledge people would kill for, Batman would definitely have him followed — for his own protection and for operational security. Tim wouldn’t even blame him. But that meant to keep hiding his relation to Catwoman, he’d have to go back to the manor and stay there indefinitely.
He imagined living in Drake Manor again, alone, pretending he didn’t know Selina, and felt sick. Unacceptable.
Jason was still watching him. Before he could overthink it, Tim nodded once — permission — and Jason turned on Dick. “He knows because he figured it out, because he’s a genius, and he’s Shadow. And I swear to god if you’re an asshole about this I’m never talking to you again.”
For once, Dick Grayson was speechless.
As the seconds ticked past, Tim edged closer and closer to Jason. He'd made and discarded about twelve escape plans before the silence was broken.
“Dick?” Jason said. His voice was uncharacteristically small. “Are you going to say something, or…?”
Dick let out an explosive sigh, running his hands down his face. “Okay. Okayokayokay,” he muttered. “This is fine.” He looked up. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t say anything about this to—” He caught himself at the last second. “You said he knows? Like, knows knows? All of it?”
“For years,” Jason said. Despite clear nerves, his lip twitched in a tiny smile. “And you’ll never guess how he figured it out.”
“So it’s not a new development, and you-know-who probably assumed the worst and started emergency planning from the second he saw some kid with Cat, so telling or not telling him wouldn’t actually change anything practically,” Dick summarized. “Is that it?”
“And I don’t want him to tell my parents,” Tim confessed. “I think he’d feel like he’s obligated to if he knew, and they’d take it— bad.”
There was another long moment of silence. Dick and Jason exchanged a glance, something solemn in their faces.
“Okay,” Dick said again. “I get it.” He turned to face Tim more fully. “Look, I think Bruce would be willing to keep it under wraps, but I also get why you don’t trust that. He can be — weird, about birth parents.” For obvious reasons, though none of them said it out loud.
“So you’re not going to tell?”
Dick held up his hand. “I reserve the right to blab if things get bad,” he said. “But for now… yeah. And I promise I’ll give you a heads-up before I tell anyone.”
Tim nodded, accepting the compromise. Worst case scenario, he could hold Dick to that promise and become very difficult to contact all of a sudden until he figured out his next move.
He hadn’t been trained in stealth and evasion by Catwoman for nothing.
Jason was a little more wary. “You’re agreeing? Just like that?”
“Like I said, it doesn’t seem to hurt anything to keep quiet. Besides,” Dick said, “I kinda owe him.”
Tim blinked. "Me?"
"Shadow, to be exact." Dick smiled. “B and I would have been in real trouble if you hadn’t played distraction,” he told Tim. “Actually, I've wanted to ask him — did you get out okay?”
Tim opened his mouth to reply, but Jason beat him to it. “Idiot got himself stabbed,” he said flatly.
“A little stabbed!” Tim would die on that hill. “And it’s basically healed now.”
Dick looked at him with dawning horror. “Wait, do you even have combat training?”
“We’re working on it.” Tim huffed. “Apparently there are some specialists that owe Cat a favor, but she wants me to work on basics before I commit.” He’d been perfectly willing to learn whip skills from Catwoman and call it a day, but she insisted he ought to get to choose a weapon based on what worked for him, not what was convenient for her.
“Well, what if we teach you?” Dick said.
“We?”
“Me and Jay!” Dick was sounding more enthusiastic by the minute. “If it’s just basics and conditioning, we’re totally qualified. It’’ll be fun!”
Tim looked at Jason.
He cracked a smile. “I’m in if you are.”
Dick and Jason — the original Robin and his personal favorite — were both offering to teach him. Tim’s brain let out a whine like an overheating laptop and promptly shut down. “I— you don’t have to — you’re probably really busy—”
“Nah. And we’d make time for this,” Jason said, confident. “Right, Dickie?”
“Yeah! Seriously, it’s no trouble. Least we can do!” Dick’s tone was cheery, but his gaze was steel. “Then next time no one has to get any amount of stabbed, hm?”
“… okay,” said Tim, accepting his fate. He’d spent the day hanging out not one but two Robins, and now they insisted on personally teaching him hand-to-hand combat. Sure. Why not.
Dick laughed a little to himself. “Holy heart attack, kiddos. This was not how I pictured the day going.” He glanced between Jason and Tim, playfully stern. “Got any other bombs you want to drop while we’re here?”
Tim shook his head.
“He’s also the kid who hacked our comms,” Jason chimed in.
Dick gasped. “The baby bird!” Then Dick Grayson slung an arm around Tim's shoulders and mercilessly ruffled his hair. “I knew it!”
Tim made help me eyes at Jason, but Jason just laughed at him.
Seriously. What even was Tim’s life?