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Chapter Text

List of deceased

Drake, Jack

Drake, Janet

*

The sentient acid flood has taken many lives, more than it should. More than Bruce should have let it. If he’d just been stronger, faster, better- but there is no point in dwelling on that now. Next time, he’ll be stronger and faster. Next time, he’ll do better. For now, all he can do is use some of his wealth to help rebuild the parts of the city that were flooded, help some of the victims who lost their houses, help the other victims who were injured.

The people who died cannot be helped anymore, of course. He’s too late for that.

This list, though, the one that’s been sitting on his desk since this morning. The city council has released an official list of the deceased. It’s standard Gotham procedure after a tragedy; people read these lists every week like they’re the morning paper. Bruce has avoided looking at it so far. Now, though, he forces himself to read through every name – every mistake he’s made. The guilt grows and grows, until finally, he reaches two names that are familiar.

Drake, Jack, and Drake, Janet.

Bruce’s next-door neighbours.

He isn’t overly familiar with them. They’ve met at a couple of charity galas over the past few years, and he thinks one time their gardener talked to his gardener over how the monthly blood rain is affecting the soil, but that’s it, really.

He does know one thing about them, though. Jack and Janet Drake have a son.

Grief crashes through Bruce like a wave. Grief for these two people who died before their time, and grief for their son, who is an orphan now.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, motionless, at his desk, as guilt and memories battle for dominance in his mind, when the door opens and in comes his son.

“You okay, B?” Dick asks. His face is pale, his eyes tired. These past few days have taken a lot out of him, too, and not just because of the flood. It’s been over six months since he moved out. It’s only been a week since they’ve started talking again – a week since Batman realised he couldn’t do it alone and Nightwing stepped in just in time.

“I’m fine.” His voice is hoarse, and Dick definitely notices. “Have a look.”

Dick takes the list from him, his lips a tight line as he reads through it. Eventually, he stops, frowning. “The Drakes? Don’t we know them?”

“They live next door,” Bruce explains, and Dick’s face clears in understanding.

“Right- I think their housekeeper yelled at me once when I tried to do a summersault from that big oak tree and landed straight in their pond. That was ages ago, though.”

Bruce tries to remember that incident, but comes up short. It’s possible, he thinks, that Alfred and Dick never told him about it.

“They have a son,” he says.

He can tell from Dick’s expression that he doesn’t need to say anything more.

“How old?”

“I’m not sure. Nine, perhaps. Not older than ten.”

“I’ll go over there now,” Dick says immediately. “Make sure he’s okay, taken care of.”

“Do that,” Bruce agrees. “Check who his new caregiver is.” He doesn’t elaborate; they’re both aware that the Drakes were rich. When the wealthy die, the people who want the inheritance usually aren’t far behind. When there’s an heir who’s a minor, every uncle, cousin and family-friend will offer kindly to take care of them.

Dick squeezes his shoulder before he leaves. The last time he left Bruce’s study, he did so shaking with anger, and he moved out that very night. This time, Bruce knows he will be back. It’s a start.

*

The Drakes’ large estate is well-groomed, the mansion filled with priceless paintings and designer furniture. It has the pristine look to it that’s only achieved by the truly rich. Wandering through the corridors now, Dick can’t help but compare it to Wayne Manor.

Bruce is arguably even wealthier than the Drakes, and when Dick first came to live with Bruce ten years ago, the manor had had a similar feel to it – ghostly, barely lived in. It feels different these days, at least the rooms that the family uses on a daily basis. Dick’s room looked just like he left it six months ago when he returned to it last week (messy), and Bruce’s study to this day holds a variety of paintings that Dick made over the years. Pinned to the fridge with magnets is a Maths assignment Dick handed in when he was fourteen and which he got full marks on. The library now holds an entire wall of books Dick read when he was younger, an entire shelf is devoted to his collection of Magic Treehouse volumes.

In short: anyone who enters Wayne Manor cannot escape the fact of Dick’s existence, even if he’s just spent six months being angry at Bruce and the world.

The Drakes, on the other hand, are, by all looks and appearances, childless. There is very little evidence that anyone lives in this house at all, even Jack and Janet Drake themselves. Dick did some research before coming here, so he knows that they spent most of the year abroad. They used to leave their son at boarding schools, but ever since Tim turned eight two years ago, they’ve just increased the housekeeper’s funds instead, presumably to stay at the house full-time and take care of Tim. Still, the only room in the entire mansion that isn’t in immaculate condition is Tim’s room.

That one, at least, does look like a ten year old lives in it, although it seems like Tim is a very different ten year old than Dick was. He’s clearly a fan of Batman and Robin, he likes to skateboard, and he has the same sort of expensive camera equipment that Bruce gave Dick one year for Christmas after he’d expressed just the hint of interest. Dick ended up taking three pictures and forgetting all about it, but Tim seems to have stuck with it. There’s also a laptop that Dick cannot hack into no matter how hard he tries, so Tim’s parents must have paid someone for added cyber security.

These are the things Dick finds.

What he doesn’t find is: living relatives. Jack’s parents died when he was in his twenties. Janet’s father died before she was born, and her mother passed away in a nursing home three years ago. Both of them are only children, as were there parents. There are no living grandparents, no aunts and uncles, no cousins. It looks like

Tim is the last living member of the Drake family.

What Dick also doesn’t find is: Tim.

This is a problem.

Dick tries to hack into Tim’s computer again, with no success. He obsessively checks and re-checks the list of deceased. Even with the city updating it every few hours, Tim’s name never appears. Changing tactics, Dick studies the calendar in the Drakes’ kitchen to figure out what Tim was doing the day the flood started.

It's not long before he’s able to reconstruct what happened to Jack and Janet. After a five-months-long absence at an archaeological dig (Mexico), they returned to Gotham, planning to stay for two weeks before leaving on a business trip (Metropolis), followed by another dig (Mexico again, different site this time). On their second day back, they took a cab into town to meet some college friends for lunch at an upscale restaurant. They had just paid the bill (Jack’s treat) when the flood hit. Every single person in that restaurant died instantly. Even if Batman and Nightwing had done a better job, they still would not have been able to save the Drakes, and Dick makes sure to note this down in the file he’s compiling, just in case Bruce is in a mood to be reasoned with when he reads it.

Tim, meanwhile, was in Gotham Academy at the time. Subject: English Literature, something he’s continuously been failing at for years now despite a variety of tutors being hired. Gotham Academy is outside central Gotham enough to not have been affected by the flood initially, and standard safety protocol would have set in, something all students in Gotham are painfully acquainted with.

And that’s it. That is the last Dick is able to find.

Tim Drake is not on the list of the victims. Instead, he seems to have disappeared entirely.

*

Gotham is in chaos.

To be fair, Gotham is always in chaos, especially the neighbourhood Jason grew up in. Even when he still lived with his mum and didn’t have to worry about where to sleep at night, he remembers stepping into puddles of blood on his way home from school and not being sure whether they were from street fights or the monthly blood rain. He used to fall asleep to the soothing soundtrack of screams outside his window.

That was years ago, though. Mum’s dead, and Jason doesn’t go to school or have a window anymore, and he’s turned twelve a couple months back and so far he’s pretty sure that this whole adulthood thing is overrated.

He thinks about trying to make his way to Metropolis sometimes. Perhaps if he somehow made enough money to pay for a bus ride, he could be there by tomorrow. Start a new life somewhere far away from this city, far away from the blood and the screams and the shitty memories, and far away from the two heroes who’ve never done anything to help Jason. He bets Superman wouldn’t let him down.

It's a pipe dream, of course. Gotham is ingrained in his bones. He’s sure Metropolis would take one look at him and cast him out. It’d recognise the street on him. It’d look at the dirt underneath his fingernails, and his greasy hair, and the crescent-shaped grisly scar across his knuckles, and say, no, thank you, we’ll pass on that.

The flood, though. That’s new. There hasn’t been an event this catastrophic since- at least three or four years, probably. Definitely not since Jason lost his home. Of course, these days, basically everyone’s lost their home. Even after a week, there’s demolished buildings everywhere, and he’s seen more corpses now than ever before, which is a new low even for Gotham. Everything’s gone to shit.

He's just been wandering the streets looking for shelter for tonight when he sees him. A kid, younger than Jason, clothes torn but still obviously expensive. He’s got the pampered look of a Bristol kid on him. Except-

Except that this Bristol kid, who should definitely not be anywhere near Crime Alley even now, calmly drops down besides one of the corpses and starts searching its pockets.

What the fuck.

“Oi,” Jason yells before he can think better of it. “Get away from there! Have you lost your mind?”

The kid looks up then, frowning. “What?”

“You can’t just rob a dead man,” Jason says. “It’s not right.”

“I’m not robbing him,” the kid says. “I’m searching for his ID. I’ve been helping the police identify the victims. Their list of deceased doesn’t include everyone yet, so I’m dropping off an updated list at the precinct every day. I was going to email them instead, but the phone lines are down.”

Something like alarm bells are starting to ring in the back of Jason’s mind, but he ignores them, curiosity winning over feeling unsettled. “Why do you care? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“My parents are dead,” the kid says. “I came here a few days ago to search for them, but I haven’t found them yet. My dad has a photo of all three of us in his wallet. I want it.”

“So this is-“ Jason gestures helplessly at the corpse. “What, a way to pass the time?”

“I told you,” the kid says, “I’m helping the police.”

Jason can’t help it, he snorts. In his experience, the cops in this town don’t exactly take advice from kids. Even if they are from Bristol.

The kid’s face falls, and Jason feels bad immediately. The kid just said that his parents died. He’s probably, like, traumatised. “Hey,” he says, trying to sound gentler and less like a dick, “what’s your name?”

“Tim.”

“I’m Jason,” Jason says, extending his hand. Tim shakes it gravely. “Are you hungry?”

Tim stares at him. The look in his blue eyes is making Jason distinctly uncomfortable. There’s an intensity there that he’s just not used to from- well. Rich people, he supposes. Tim has the expression of someone who’s been starving for much longer than just a week, even though his cheeks are round with baby fat.

“Yes,” he says eventually.

“Come on, then,” Jason says. “I know where to get us something to eat. You’ve gotten this guy’s name, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. You can put it on your list after we got some food,” Jason says, feeling fucking ridiculous as he does so. And then, because Tim still looks unconvinced, he adds, “I’ll help you search for your parents, if you like. I know my way around.”

Tim doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Eventually, though, he nods. “Thank you,” he says, Bristol accent crispening every vowel. Then he takes Jason’s hand again, but not to shake it this time, and he doesn’t let go, either. It takes Jason a moment to realise that Tim just wants to – hold his hand, for some reason. Weird.

Weird kid.

It's kind of nice, too, though. Like having a baby duckling. Jason thinks he wouldn’t mind if Tim stuck around for a little while.

*

Two months later

When Dick enters the manor and asks after Bruce, he’s informed by Alfred that Bruce is in the garden. When he enters the garden, he finds Bruce standing on the top of a ladder that’s resting against an apple tree, a large basket on the ground.

“What’s happening?” Dick asks. “Is this a midlife crisis?”

Two meters above, Bruce looks chagrined. “The gardener is on vacation, Alfred wants to make apple pie, and you didn’t pick up your phone.”

“I was driving,” Dick says. “And before that, I was meeting someone.” He waits. Bruce drops a few more apples in the basket. Dick waits some more, and when it becomes clear that Bruce isn’t going to be the first to speak, he finally says, “I was meeting with a source.”

“What source?” Bruce asks. “About the Mason case?”

“No,” Dick says. He pauses before very deliberately adding, “I know where Tim Drake is.”

Bruce jumps down the ladder, more gracefully than a man in his late thirties should reasonably be able to. “Tell me,” he demands. Within seconds, he’s transformed from Bruce, a mild-mannered billionaire who’s picking apples for his butler, to Batman, who has been searching for Tim Drake for two months now.

They head to Bruce’s study, where Dick plugs in a USB-drive into Bruce’s computer and shows him the file he’s spent the past two months conducting. All of his research is in there, but he’s put the most important bits on page one. Right now, at the very top of that page, it lists the names of three orphanages.

“I was investigating the Mason case,” he explains, “when I stumbled upon someone claiming that they went to an orphanage recently, as a charity thing, and they were surprised to find a kid there who was obviously from Bristol. The description they gave matches Tim Drake.”

“So you went to the orphanage.”

“The source couldn’t remember which orphanage it was, just that it was in downtown Gotham,” Dick says, watching Bruce’s lips curl sardonically. He gets it; Gotham’s elite is happy to be photographed for charity, yet they struggle to remember something as simple as which place they visited. “I narrowed it down to three, so I went to all of them.”

“Cover story?”

“Dick Grayson doing charity work, looking for somewhere to donate funds to in the name of the Martha Wayne Foundation.”

Bruce nods slowly. “Good. So you found him?”

“At the last one. I didn’t see him yet – they don’t let you meet the kids unless you’re looking to adopt. But they’ve got a Tim Drake in their records, and the director of the orphanage confirmed it. It’s that one.” Dick points to the address on the document. “Kindred Hearts Children’s Home.” He waits. After a minute, he asks,

“What do you want to do, B?”

Bruce’s mouth is set in a determined line. He rises from the desk, shoulders pulled back, standing tall and strong and like he could command an entire room at will. Dick knows for a fact that he can; it’s where he learned it from, after all.

“I’m going to that orphanage,” Bruce announces, “and I’m going to get Tim Drake out of there. I’m going to become his legal guardian from today until the moment he turns eighteen, and I’m not going to let anything stop me. Thoughts?”

“None,” Dick says. “Go get him, B.”

*

The media is going to have a field day with this. Bruce can imagine the headlines well enough: eccentric billionaire adopts another child. He couldn’t care less, though. Journalists can write whatever they want, they’re not going to change his mind. Not on this.

It’s true that Dick’s been the one who’s put most time and energy into this case, but that doesn’t mean that Bruce hasn’t thought about it nearly every night whenever he couldn’t sleep. Long after the list of all victims of the flood was completed, long after the streets had been rebuilt and everyone’s lives had returned to normal, there was still no trace of Tim Drake. It was like he just disappeared.

Dick did check some of the orphanages, but neither of them thought to check in the less savoury parts of Gotham. It seems like that was their mistake. They shouldn’t have assumed.

There’ll be plenty of time to make up for this failure, though. Bruce isn’t at all sure that Tim will welcome him into his life with open arms; Dick certainly didn’t. But the fact stands that there is no living relative of the Drakes. Bruce can’t help all of Gotham’s orphans, but he can help this one.

It helps that he’s rich, of course.

At Kindred Hearts, the director recognises him at once. Remembering Dick’s visit earlier today, she asks about the foundation, and Bruce spends half an hour discussing funding possibilities before he brings up Tim Drake.

The director’s eyebrows shoot up; undoubtedly she is recalling that Dick, too, had asked about Tim. Bruce, prepared for this, calmly explains the situation: that Tim is the son of close family friends, that he grew up next door to Bruce, that he and Bruce’s son played together many times, that Bruce is something like an unofficial godfather, that Tim and Dick are practically brothers. He explains that they hadn’t dared to hope that Tim was alive. By the time he explains the amazing coincidence that Dick just happened to come to this place today, that he just happened to mention Tim on the off-chance that he’d be here, the director’s eyes are shining in sympathy.

“Of course, Mr Wayne,” she says. “I understand. I’ll draw up the papers immediately.”

Bruce sits back, satisfied. He signs where the director tells him to sign, he dutifully fills out his contact information, and at last, they both stand.

“I have another meeting now,” the director says, “but I’ll send one of the staff members to get Tim. You can wait here or outside, if you wish.”

It's a beautiful day, one of the rare sunny ones in Gotham, so Bruce heads down to the courtyard. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to enjoy the sun on his face, for once not obscured by the poisonous clouds that surround Gotham nearly at all times.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s just in time to see a boy exiting the building, a small backpack in his hand. He has black hair and blue eyes, and the grief of the past two months seems to have hardened him, made him look older. He’s watching Bruce out of wary eyes, seeming ready to bolt.

“Hello, Tim,” Bruce says, smiling. “My name is Bruce. We used to be neighbours. It’s nice to meet you, chum, even though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, just continues to frown at him. That’s okay. Bruce went through this once before. He waits, and eventually, Tim says, “The lady said you’re wanting to adopt me.”

“That’s right,” Bruce says. “What do you say? Ready to get out of here?”

After what feels like a small eternity, Tim gives a small nod. He dodges Bruce’s attempt to take his backpack, but he does follow him obediently to the car. Right before sliding into the backseat, he looks back at the orphanage.

“Forgotten anything?” Bruce asks.

“Nope,” Tim says. “Let’s go.”

Bruce starts the car. In the rearview mirror, he subtly watches Tim’s face, looking for – something, he doesn’t even know what. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it.

“What are you looking at, asshole?” Tim snaps. “Get going.”

Bruce’s lips twitch against his own volition. Tim’s got spirit. He’s going to get along with Dick just fine.

When they pull out of the parking lot, he sees Tim once again looking towards the orphanage. For just a second, it almost seems like Tim’s nodding at someone. Then the moment passes, and Tim stares straight ahead again, jaw clenched as tight as his fists. One of them has a scar across its knuckles, shaped like a crescent.

*

When Tim first proposes his plan, Jason calls him batshit insane. They’ve known each other for only two weeks at this point, and they’ve been caught by the cops and put into an orphanage three days ago, and Tim’s been acting pretty psycho this entire time, but he’s also never said anything quite this deranged – until now.

“Why not?” Tim asks stubbornly. “What’s wrong with it?”

“First of all,” Jason says, starting to count down on his fingers, “even if it worked, it’s identity theft.”

“Yeah, but, like, consensual identity theft.”

They’re sitting on the bottom bunk bed, the one Jason took because Tim really wanted the top, in the tiny room they’ve been assigned. They’re only sharing it with two other kids, but one of them got stabbed by the other one yesterday, so the first one is in the hospital and the other is in solitary confinement, which is nice because they’ve got the room for themselves for now.

“Secondly,” Jason continues, ticking down another finger, “you don’t belong here. The only reason you’re here at all is because nobody thought to check who you are, and you didn’t tell them. They think you’re a street rat like the rest of us.”

“But-“

“So when one of your family’s friends does come to adopt you, you’re going to take that opportunity and get the hell out of this place.”

Tim has that look on his face, the one he always has when he thinks Jason’s being an idiot. “Jason-“

“Also,” Jason says, talking right over Tim, “and listen up, because that’s the most important one – there is no way in hell this is going to work, because it’s insane and we look nothing alike and everyone who knows you is going to be able to tell immediately that I’m not you, and even if they don’t know you then they’ll still be able to tell, because I know jack shit about you and your life and what it’s like to be rich.”

Tim has been nodding along like Jason’s made some good points, which was already suspicious. Now he raises a hand, counting down.

“It’s not identity theft if I say it’s okay. You’re not stealing my identity, I’m giving you permission.”

“I don’t think-“

“And also, if I don’t belong here, then you don’t belong here, either, because this place sucks and I’m pretty sure it’s a font for money laundering, and we both deserve better than that.” Tim hesitates, eyes large and bright, lip wobbling, looking like a little kid in this moment, which is a crazy thing to think because he is a little kid, he just doesn’t usually act like it. “And- I haven’t had it bad like you, okay? You shouldn’t be worried about where to sleep, or when you’re going to eat next. I’ve never worried about all that. Don’t you want to be safe? Don’t you want to stop worrying?”

“Of course,” Jason snaps, “but not if it means taking your place. Not if it means leaving you behind in this shithole.”

“You won’t leave me behind.”

“What?” Jason asks, confused. For just a second, hope flares within him, warm and bright. “Do you- are you saying that maybe they could adopt both of us?” That, he thinks, would be nice. He’s never wanted to go to another family, could never trust strangers like that, but he thinks it would probably be okay with Tim was with him. Together, they can face anything.

Except Tim is already shaking his head. “No. I just meant that when you get adopted as Tim Drake, you’ll become Tim Drake. I’ll just have to become someone else. And the new me won’t live in an orphanage.”

Literally nothing of what Tim has said so far has made even the slightest bit of sense, and Jason hates feeling stupid. “You mean you’ll become Jason Todd?”

“I’ll become someone completely new,” Tim says. “Someone without a history to tie me down.”

“Yeah?” Jason asks, mood lifting now that it’s clear that Tim’s just playing around, like a game of pretend. It’s easier to talk about this now that he’s realised that Tim isn’t serious. “Like who?” he asks, curious and willing to indulge Tim a little.

Tim shrugs delicately. “I haven’t decided yet. How do you like the name Alvin?”

“That’s a shit name,” Jason says. “What’re you going to do for a living, Alvin?”

“I’m pretty good with computers,” Tim says. “I’ll probably be able to make money with that, legally, I mean. If that doesn’t work, I can always just become a hacker.”

“Right,” Jason says, mock-serious. “Of course.”

“Anyway,” Tim continues, “it’ll be a win-win situation – I get a new life without some guardian tying me down, trying to get me to stick to weird rules like bedtime and going to school, and you also get a new life where you can eat food every day and live in a big house. You’ll probably have to go to Gotham Academy, but that’s the only downside, I think. That, and pretending to be someone else, of course.”

Jason shakes his head in disbelief. He still doesn’t understand how someone as clever as Tim can just not like studying. Jason loves school. He’d love to go to Gotham Academy, in this weird fantasy Tim is creating.

“Are those your only concerns?” Tim asks abruptly. “The theft and the leaving me behind? Because I think I cleared those up pretty well.”

“Sure,” Jason says, still going along with it. “Yeah, that’s it. Except for that it would never work, of course. But apart from that tiny detail, yeah, sure.”

Tim is watching him with an intent look in his eyes. “It’ll work.”

“What?”

“Of all the people who might come to adopt me, there isn’t a single one whom I’ve met in the past year or so. They don’t know me well at all, and any doubts they might have about my appearance can just be excused by puberty. We look similar enough on a superficial level to pull it off. And that part you said about not knowing my life – that doesn’t matter, either, because I’m going to make sure that you do know. I’m going to make you an expert on Tim Drake.”

“You mean on you,” Jason says, clarifying. “You want me to become an expert on you.”

“No,” Tim says, smiling triumphantly. “You’re going to become an expert on you.”

*

Dick’s been pretty busy, so in the end, almost a month passes before he has time to drive down to Gotham and meet his new little brother. When he does, he makes sure to prepare for the occasion: he packs non-Alfred-approved snacks, non-Bruce-approved video games, and also knives so he can teach Tim how to juggle if he wants. He’s ten, he should really learn.

Last time he checked, Bruce hadn’t told Tim yet about Batman, so Dick’s not going to bring up anything vigilante-related. Tim’s probably going to find out soon enough, anyway.

October is almost over, which means an icy wind is already blowing through Gotham, and before long, children who stay out past their bedtime will turn into ice-statues again, like they do every year. It’s an ongoing case, it’s fine, they’ll figure it out eventually.

Dick pops into the kitchen to say hi to Alfred, who smiles warmly at him. “Master Bruce is in his study,” he says, “and Master Tim is in the dining room, doing homework.”

“How’s he settling in?” Dick asks.

Alfred finishes putting the pumpkin pie in the oven, sets a timer, and says, “rather well, I believe. Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

Taking the hint, Dick goes into the dining room, where he finds a dark-haired boy hunched over a school assignment, a stack of books on the table beside him. “Need any help?” Dick asks.

The boy looks up, eyes narrowing at this stranger. “No. Who are you?”

“Dick,” Dick says, sitting down next to Tim. “You’ve probably heard about me. I bet Bruce talks about me all the time.”

“He’s literally never mentioned you once,” Tim says. “Also, I thought you’d be way younger. You look pretty old.”

Dick mimes getting shot in the chest, then falls to the floor, clutching at his heart. Tim, meanwhile, is watching all of this with an unimpressed look on his face. Ironically, he, too, looks older than Dick thought he’d be, but then again, it’s so hard to tell with kids. Dick himself used to pray for his voice to drop and his beard to grow until one day, it seemed like he’d grown three inches practically overnight, and he’d needed to shave.

“Aren’t you going to help me get up?” Dick asks after he’s been lying on the floor for a few seconds.

“Get up yourself,” Tim says mercilessly.

“That’s pretty disrespectful of your older brother. I’m going to tell Alfred on you.” Dick winks at him. “Hey, is that English Lit? What are you reading right now? Let me see.” Dick grabs the book, holding it up high so Tim can’t reach. “Little Women, huh?”

“Give that back,” Tim demands, and, when Dick doesn’t comply, he kicks Dick in the shin. Dick, surprised, drops the book. Tim catches it, glaring. “Are you always like that?”

“Always,” Dick promises. “Want me to show you how to juggle?”

“Nope.”

“Play a videogame?”

“Go away.”

“This is tough. Okay. How about….” Dick pretends to consider, tapping his lip in thought. Then he smiles. “How about I show you how to drive my car?”

“Yes,” Tim says immediately. “Really?”

“Really,” Dick says, grinning as Tim scrambles to put his school things in order before getting up. He experimentally wraps an arm around the kid’s bony shoulders as they’re on their way outside. Tim immediately kicks him in the shin again.

They’re at it for hours before Alfred finally calls them inside for dinner. Tim tears through the roasted duck and potatoes like he’s starving, which Dick sympathises with. His heart aches for Tim as memories of his own brief stint in that boy’s home arise; he, too, had felt like he’d been starving for months afterwards. Two months can do that even to someone who’s spent his entire life before that sheltered and well-fed.

Bruce and Tim seem to get along fairly well – somehow, Bruce deals with Tim’s surliness with a mixture of patience and fondness that’s entirely unexpected. It’s good, though. Bodes well for the future.

After the cherry pie has been devoured, Tim heads to his room to complete the rest of his homework, and Bruce and Dick head to Bruce’s study, ostensibly to “discuss some business matters”, even though the lie feels pretty pointless since Tim isn’t even within earshot anymore.

As soon as the door has closed behind them, Dick looks at Bruce expectantly. “Well? Why’d you call and ask if I could come visit? It wasn’t just so I could meet Tim, was it?”

Bruce has settled behind his desk. Steepling his fingers against his chin, he asks calmly, “Do you find anything suspicious about Tim?”

Ice washes over Dick. “Excuse me?”

“Answer the question first, then I’ll explain.”

“I’m not answering the question because it’s a fucking stupid question,” Dick snaps. “What’s suspicious about him, huh? Is it because he’s not cheerful enough? Not grateful enough?”

“Dick-“

“He’s probably traumatised, Bruce. His parents just died. You should understand that better than anyone.”

“I do understand it,” Bruce says, voice rising to match Dick’s. “That’s why I’m not jumping to conclusions. I’m not accusing, Dick, I’m just asking. You’ve spent the day with him. Did you find anything odd about his behaviour? Anything at all?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dick says coldly.

Bruce sighs. “There’s something strange about that boy. Sometimes, it’s like he barely remembers anything about his past.”

“I’d bet anything that he doesn’t want to remember. Give him time.”

“That’s not all. His performance at school-“

“Bruce,” Dick interrupts, and Bruce raises and eyebrow and gestures vaguely, as if to say, go on then. “Frankly, I don’t give a shit about your paranoia, okay? You knew that this wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t easy with me, either. But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? It’ll work out with Tim, too. All he needs is some time to adjust. And if it really seems like he’s trying to forget about his past, well, maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s not like you and I aren’t familiar with unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Bruce sighs. “Is that all you have to say on this matter?”

“That’s all. And if you really want this family thing to work, it’ll be the last thing you say on the matter, too. Trust me, B.”

Bruce doesn’t look entirely convinced, but then, Dick didn’t expect him to. Bruce always needs to work these things out in his own time, it’s impossible to force his hand. But hopefully, for Tim’s sake, Bruce will get his shit together sooner rather than later. And when he does, maybe they can all be a real family this time around. Dick thinks he would like that.

*

“As soon as Tim Drake gets adopted,” Tim had said, “we’re going to need to cut off all contact. We can never see each other again.”

“No,” Jason had said.

“It’s the only way to be sure that it will work. Anything else would be too risky.”

“No,” Jason repeated, determined to win this argument if it killed him. He’d known Tim long enough by now to realise that he had to appeal to his logic. “Think about it – what if there’s a situation where I’ll need to know something only you would know?”

“There won’t be. Not if I drill you hard enough.”

“You can’t teach me everything. It’s impossible. Cutting off all contact would be just as risky to the plan as keeping in touch.”

Tim had pondered this for a while. “Fine,” he’d said eventually. “But we’ll need to set up strict rules for ourselves. We can’t just meet up and talk whenever we want.”

One of those rules was: no contact whatsoever for the first six weeks, to give Jason time to settle in. After that, Tim had said, he’d find a way to contact Jason in his new home. At the time, Jason had thought this impossible to accomplish, since Jason didn’t have a phone yet and Tim had no way of knowing which of his family’s acquaintances would step up.

But the six-week mark officially passed yesterday, and when he arrived in school this morning, it was to find a note in his locker. Come to the school library after class, it read.

Only Tim, Jason thinks fondly. He’s in his Spanish class right now, which he’d normally enjoy, but today he keeps glancing at the large clock on the wall, watching the minutes tick by. In less than an hour, he’s going to see Tim again.

If he’s perfectly honest, the plan has already worked way better than Jason ever expected it to, despite of the reassurances he gave Tim. When a staff member came down to their room at the orphanage and requested that Tim Drake pack a bag and come down to meet his new guardian, and Tim had looked at Jason pointedly, Jason had thought said guardian would spot the lie immediately. He had to, right? But Bruce hadn’t said anything back then, and he hasn’t said anything since.

Jason is becoming better at responding to Tim’s name. It helps that no one ever calls him Jason. He’s also becoming better at all the little things – knowing which cutlery to use in which order at dinner, suppressing his accent in favour of adopting the Bristol dialect, tying a tie. Some of it, Tim prepared him for, but others Jason had to learn.

He's lucky, he supposes. Lucky that he met Tim, of course, and also lucky that it was Bruce Wayne who decided to adopt him. Jason had, of course, heard of Bruce Wayne before. Everyone had. A playboy billionaire whose parents were tragically murdered decades ago, and who famously adopted some random kid at some point. Jason supposes that after Dick turned eighteen and moved out, the timing was right for another one.

He'd been sceptical at first. But Bruce is, for all intents and purposes, a good guy. It’s really weird. Jason’s not always sure what to do with that. He wonders what Tim would think of him, and what Bruce would think of Tim.

Spanish passes agonisingly slowly, but eventually, the teacher has mercy on them and releases them into the freedom of the afternoon. The class rushes out, but while most of them head towards the front doors, ready to go home, Jason starts walking into the direction of the library instead. He’d already texted Alfred earlier that he’d need to be picked up later since he was doing an after-school project, promising to call when he’s done.

It takes everything within him not to run. Avoid anything – anything at all – that might rouse suspicion, Tim had said, and Jason promised him to try.

He only realises that he hadn’t quite believed Tim when he arrives at the secluded seating area at the very end of the room, hidden behind several bookshelves, and there’s Tim sitting there, already waiting for him.

It's the first time they’ve seen each other in six weeks.  The last time Jason saw Tim, he’d been in the backseat of Bruce’s car, watching Tim through the window.

Now, he hugs Tim as hard as he can, good and long, until Tim starts struggling against him.

“Jason,” he gaps, “can’t- breathe-“

Jason lets him go, but grabs him by the shoulders instead to take a look at him. “You’re thin,” he says.

“I look exactly the same,” Tim says, annoyed.

He doesn’t, is the thing. Neither does Jason. Every morning Jason looks into the mirror and can’t quite believe that he’s seeing himself in the reflection. He’s gained weight and muscle mass, his hair is shinier, and the clothes he wears these days are of a good quality. The only thing he’s got in common with the Jason Todd of six weeks ago is the scar across his knuckles.

Tim looks different, too. Perhaps not thinner, necessarily – Tim’s naturally slim, but he hasn’t lost any weight. He’s just as short as he was when Jason met him, and he’s still pale and serious-looking. But- there’s a look in his eyes, Jason thinks. Something has changed. Somehow, for some reason, this Tim looks closer to the one Jason first met in Gotham’s streets that day. He’d changed in the time they’d spent together, but now, he’s back to that boy who just wanted to find his parents’ bodies.

They sit back down. Jason wants to tell Tim everything, about his new home, about the things he’s learned in school, about how Bruce calls him chum and chap and never asks if he needs help with homework because he trusts Jason to do it himself, about how Alfred is teaching him how to cook, about how he almost crashed Dick’s car last weekend.

But first, he wants to hear about Tim.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tim says when Jason asks. “Seriously, Jason.”

“It’s been almost two months, though. You had to have done something in that time.”

Is Jason imagining it or does Tim suddenly look shifty?

“I haven’t!”

“Fine,” Jason says, “at least tell me where you’re staying. You’re not still at Kindred Hearts, are you?”

Tim definitely looks shifty. “No,” he says slowly. “I’m not at Kindred Hearts.”

“So where-“

“Jason,” Tim interrupts, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh,” Jason says, surprised. “Okay. What’s up?”

Tim leans forward, face serious, gaze intent. “Jason,” he says, “have you noticed anything suspicious about Mr Wayne?”

Whatever Jason was expecting, it wasn’t that. “Um,” he says, “not really. I mean, he’s weird, but I think that’s just because he’s, like, insanely rich. Like, for instance, last week, right? He saw me in the library, and he asked what I was reading, and I said I was reading Emma, and he asked if I like it, and I said, sure, Jane Austen slaps, and then the next day he gave me an entire collection of her books, all first editions.”

Tim, who is relatively new to this whole poverty thing after spending the first ten years of his life in a mansion in Bristol, is frowning, like he’s trying to understand what’s weird about this. “Right,” he says in a slightly confused voice, “okay. But that’s not actually- I just meant, is there anything suspicious? Like- have you noticed anything that Mr Wayne gets up to at night?”

Oh. Ohh.

“No!” Jason exclaims, quick to reassure Tim on this. “He’s not like that, okay? He wouldn’t- I was weirded out too, at first, because why would this rich dude just randomly adopt some kid, twice, but I’ve met Dick, and I’ve gotten to know Bruce, and I swear he’s not like that. You don’t have to worry.”

Something strange passes over Tim’s face, but it’s gone too quick for Jason to interpret it.

“Jason,” Tim says gravely, taking Jason’s hands in his own, way tinier ones. For someone so small, he’s surprisingly strong. “Listen to me very closely. Are you listening? It’s really important that you are.”

“Sure. Yeah, I’m listening.”

And then Tim meets Jason’s gaze dead-on and says, “I have serious reason to believe that Mr Wayne is secretly Batman.”

Chapter Text

Bruce has spent so many years of his life lonely and trapped in seemingly eternal grief that he still remembers the strange and entirely unexpected joy in having Dick at the Manor. Those first few months were a steep learning curve, but after that, life, for the next few years, had been good.

After Dick moved out in a fit of anger and subsequently refused to talk to him for half a year, Bruce had been afraid that this was it. One mistake too many, and now his son was lost to him forever. But Dick has returned now, is over at the Manor nearly every weekend these days, and even when he’s in Bludhaven, the hallways are still filled with noise and laughter.

It’s all because of Tim, of course.

His initial suspicions aside, Bruce has been able to embrace this new child in his life. He’s sworn to himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes he’d made with Dick – starting with Robin, of course.

“Surely,” Alfred says to him one night in the Batcave, “the boy is going to find out eventually. Master Dick certainly did.”

“He won’t,” Bruce replies. “I will make sure of it. Robin was what caused the rift between me and Dick. I won’t have history repeat itself.”

“With all due respect, Master Bruce,” Alfred says delicately, “I do believe the blame for that does not lie with Robin.”

Bruce finally looks up from the computer to see Alfred raising a white eyebrow at him. “Well? Out with it, Alfred. Who is to blame, then?”

“If you have to ask,” Alfred says, looking at him pointedly, “you evidently still have far to come yet, Master Bruce.”

Alfred’s answer stings, but even days later, Bruce doesn’t find it within himself to agree. He could have kept a calmer head when arguing with Dick, yes, but without Robin, there would have been no argument in the first place. Dick would have grown up like anyone else, as untroubled by the darker aspects to human nature as any other child. Tim lost his parents and spent two months in an orphanage, yes, but that’s going to be all. Bruce will see to it that it ends there.

A few days after his conversation with Alfred, he returns home from Wayne Enterprises to find his two boys in the garden, ostensibly playing catch, but really just throwing a football as hard as possible to see if they can hit each other in the face.

“Boys,” Bruce calls out as he steps out onto the patio, shaking his head. “Enough!”

Dick had turned around to look at him. A tactical error, because Tim has used this moment of distraction to aim the football at the back of Dick’s head. It’s thrown with enough force that Dick would surely get a concussion, if he hadn’t jumped out of the way in the last second, his instincts as Nightwing taking over.

“Missed,” he calls out. “My turn.”

“You always know when to dodge,” Tim complains. “It’s not fair!”

“When you’re as old as me-“

“Ancient, you mean-“

“Boys,” Bruce shouts again. This time, they both turn around, Dick sheepish, Tim scowling. With both of them looking back at him, it strikes Bruce, not for the first time, how alike they look, especially now that Tim has apparently hit a growth spurt, early for his age.

“What, B?” they ask at the same time.

Something in Bruce’s heart twists as he hears it. Last year, he thought he would never get to have this again. Now he gets it twice over.

“Come inside,” he says. “It’s movie night, and it’s my turn to pick.”

This is met with groans and eyerolling, which he ignores, because he sat through three hours of musicals last week without complaint. When they go inside, Dick excuses himself, claiming he wants to say hi to Alfred, but probably trying to wrangle snacks out of him, but Tim follows Bruce to the home cinema he’d installed a few years prior for Dick’s first sleepover.

“Any plans for tonight?” Tim asks.

Puzzled at this unusual interest, Bruce says, “I was thinking about one of the Miss Marple movies.”

“No,” Tim says impatiently, rolling his eyes, “I meant after.”

Bruce freezes. “After,” he says slowly, “I’m going to bed. I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Why? What do you think I should be doing instead?” Bruce asks carefully.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d show an interest in your life, God.”

Bruce studies his son’s face for any hint of what he’s thinking, but comes up empty. Does Tim know? Has he found out about Bruce’s other life? Surely not. But he’s going to have to be more careful just in case. After all, he’s only just started to enjoy being a father of two. He won’t give it up so easily, not even for Batman. Dick and Tim come first, now.

*

Now that Jason knows, it’s impossible not to notice. Bruce is, like, the worst secret-keeper Jason has ever met in his entire life. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.

Every evening after dinner, Jason announces he’s ‘going to bed’, pretending not to see the conspiratorial looks Alfred and Bruce are exchanging. Every night, he sneaks out of his room to watch Bruce move the figures of the large grandfather clock in one of the drawing rooms and enter his hidden lair.

“It’s not a lair,” Tim protests when Jason meets up with him at the school library again. Tim is dressed in the Gotham Academy school uniform and so far, not a single person in this school has noticed. It’s making Jason seriously worried for the student body’s safety. “He’s not a villain.”

“I don’t think only villains have lairs,” Jason says. “And I would ask him what he calls it, but I can’t, because he’s just not taking my hints. Like, this morning I asked if he had a successful night, and he looked at me like I was crazy.”

“You did what?” Tim asks, alarmed. “I thought we agreed not to bring it up.”

“You agreed,” Jason argues. “I didn’t. And it’s not like I told him I know, is it? I want him to come to me. It’s like you always say, you know, that thing about earning people’s trust.”

“Yes, so it’s easier to backstab them in case they ever turn against you,” Tim says. “I thought that was obvious!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not doing that,” Jason says. “I like living at the manor. I thought I wouldn’t, but I do. I just wish Bruce would trust me more.”

Tim sits back in his chair, evidently frustrated. “I’m just saying it’s risky. This whole thing is. When I came up with this plan, I didn’t realise the person adopting Tim Drake would be Batman.”

Jason is always a little weirded out when Tim speaks about himself in the third person, and today is no exception. He decides to change the subject, because there’s no point arguing with Tim when he gets like this, and also because there’s something that’s been bothering Jason.

“So what’s the plan now? We’ve pulled it off, and even the world’s greatest detective hasn’t noticed anything off. What’re you gonna do next?”

Tim opens his mouth and closes it, looking conflicted. “I-“ Then his eyes grow wide, his face losing all colour. Jason has one panicked moment to wonder whether a teacher has finally spotted them in their secluded corner and realised that Tim shouldn’t be here, when he turns around and realises, oh, shit. That’s not a teacher.

“Young Master Tim,” Alfred says, “you weren’t waiting outside as usual, so I took it upon myself to come looking for you. I apologise if I’ve interrupted a study session.”

“It’s fine,” Jason says, mind going a hundred miles a minute as he tries to think of a way to get out of this. On the other chair, Tim appears to have turned into a statue. “I texted you to come an hour later, didn’t you see?”

“Ah,” Alfred says, “that explains it. Master Dick came by this morning in a rather misguided attempt to help me cook. In the process, he ended up dropping my phone in the pot of pumpkin soup we’d been preparing.”

Jason snorts. “Typical. What an idiot.”

Alfred’s lips twitch. “I must say that of all my boys, you’re the only one who seems to possess a talent in the kitchen. Do excuse me, though – I have been unfathomably rude. Who is your friend, Master Tim?”

In that moment, Jason almost ruins everything. That’s Tim is already on the tip of his tongue, but he catches himself in the last second, instead throwing Tim a desperate look that he hopes conveys a cry for help.

Tim, still looking like a deer in the headlights, straightens up and clears his throat. “I’m Alvin, sir,” he says politely. “Tim and I are working on a history project together.”

“Very commendable,” Alfred says. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Waynes’ butler. Will your parents be collecting you soon, Master Alvin?”

Tim’s throat works for a moment. “No,” he says slowly. “Probably not.” Then, seemingly having recovered from the shock, he adds, “They’re both working late today, so I’m just going to take the bus home.”

“In that case,” Alfred says smoothly, “may I invite you over for some pumpkin soup? I assure you we made a fresh pot after the phone incident.”

“Um,” Tim says, “I don’t think-“

“I’m sure Master Tim would love to have a friend over,” Alfred says, winking at Jason. Jason smiles back weakly. He does appreciate what Alfred is doing. It’s just that he wishes Alfred was doing it with literally any other kid in Gotham. But of course, of all students in this school, the Alfred found him with just had to be Tim.

Tim, apparently as helpless in the face of Alfred’s kindness as Jason always is, ends up agreeing as awkwardly as humanly possible. They both grab their backpacks – Jason’s containing his school books, and Tim’s containing God knows what, possibly a computer or a folder on Batman or a small bomb – and follow Alfred to his car, where they both slide into the backseat. It’s taking everything in Jason not to keep exchanging alarmed looks with Tim.

At Wayne Manor, as soon as they’re inside, Jason grabs Tim’s wrist and announces loudly that he’s going to show ‘Alvin’ his room. Alfred nods, clearly pleased with his success at helping Jason make friends, and allows them to go without complaint. Bruce, thankfully, is not home yet.

“Oh my God,” Jason whispers as soon as the door to his room is closed behind them, “I thought I was going to die. Here, feel how fast my heart is beating.” He attempts to put Tim’s hand on his chest. Tim makes a face and expertly slips out of his grip, unwilling to be manhandled. Instead, he flops down backwards onto Jason’s giant four-poster-bed. He’s still white as a sheet.

“Tim-“ Jason starts.

“Alvin,” Tim corrects sharply. When Jason looks at him weirdly, Tim sits up to grab one of the papers on Jason’s desk and writes HIDDEN MICROPHONES on it in all caps. Jason shakes his head. Sometimes, Tim is the most paranoid person in the world.

“Alright, Alvin,” he says sarcastically. “How do you propose we get out of this?”

“I’m going to fake an illness,” Tim says at once, like he’s spent some time thinking about it. Knowing him, he probably did, from the moment they entered that car. “Nothing serious, just a stomach ache. They’ll have to let me go home.”

Frowning, Jason says, “Are you sure you want to go with that? Alfred and Bruce will insist that one of them drives you home. Dick, too, if he’s still here.”

“Really?” Tim asks. “No, I don’t think so. It’s not like I’d need a hospital.”

“Yeah, but you’re ten.”

Tim’s expression is very similar to the one he assumes when Jason’s talking about how insanely rich Bruce is and Tim doesn’t see anything weird about that. The difference is that right now, Tim clearly doesn’t see anything weird about the idea of adults letting a sick ten-year-old take the bus home.

“It won’t work,” Jason says eventually. “Trust me.”

“Okay, so I’ll call myself a cab and tell the driver to-“

“Tim! Can I come in?” Dick yells from outside, knocking on the door with all the enthusiasm of ten puppies. He comes into the room before Jason can tell him it’s okay, beaming when he sees Jason and Tim sitting cross-legged on Jason’s bed. “Alfie said that you have a friend over, so I wanted to come say Hi. Hi, Friend.”

“Hi,” Tim croaks out. “I’m Alvin.”

“That’s Dick,” Jason says. “Ignore him.”

Tim, for some reason, is staring at Dick all star-struck-like, blue eyes wide as saucers. Dick, naturally, is either not picking up on this or is pleased by the attention. He’s practically glowing. Disgusting.

“It’ll be a while before dinner is ready. Tim, do you and Alvin want to come to the garden and watch me do a summersault from the roof of the manor?”

“Yes,” Tim says before Jason can decline and tell Dick to get the hell out of his room. “Please, can we?”

Jason has known Tim for almost five months now. He has never once seen him exhibit the kind of hero worship he seems to be applying to Dick. It’s bizarre and Jason doesn’t like it.

Dick, meanwhile, is loving this. On the way to the garden, he tells ‘Alvin’ all sorts of probably fake stories about his heroics – although notably, all those heroics star Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. Outside, he climbs the ivy tendrils sneaking up the old walls of the manor with easy (Alfred is going to have a fit) until he’s standing tall on the roof (Bruce is going to have a fit – although he’s Batman, so he might not), waving down at them.

“He is so cool,” Tim whispers next to him, clutching at Jason’s sleeve in awe. “Look!”

“I’m looking,” Jason says testily.

Many meters above them, Dick yells, “Watch this!” and jumps off the roof. He does a quadruple summersault before landing gracefully on the grass, like he’s waiting for applause.

“That was awesome,” Tim, the traitor, exclaims. “Can you do it again? Can you show me how? Do you think I could be just as good?”

The thing is that Jason was just as impressed when Dick did this stunt the first time for him, back on that weekend they met. It is awesome. But somehow, it stings to see Tim thinking so, too – Tim, who is always so aloof and level-headed and who doesn’t really think anyone is cool except for Jason, and Jason worked hard for that. It’s not fair that Dick gets to impress Tim just like that.

“Of course I can teach you,” Dick promises, “but it’s going to take a lot of practice. You’re just going to have to come over more often, right, Tim?”

It takes Jason a second to realise he’s being addressed. He’s gotten a lot better at responding to Tim’s name, but it’s different now with the real Tim standing right beside him. “Right,” he says, realising a second too late what he’s just agreed to. But Dick beams, and Tim hesitatingly beams, too, and, damn it, it’s the stupidest idea ever, but maybe, just maybe, it’s all going to work out.

*

As the last few weeks of the year tick by and Christmas is rapidly approaching, Gotham’s poisonous fog has, for once, lifted, and the blood rain has stopped. It’s snowing every day, so when Dick drives from Bludhaven to Gotham on the weekends, it always takes him hours now, way longer than it should. It’s worth it, though, because Alfred bakes fresh cookies every time, and there’s always hot cocoa waiting for him when he comes home, and him and Tim and Tim’s friend Alvin have snowball fights and build an iglu and go back inside to warm up in front of the fireplace afterwards.

Alvin has been around a lot these past few weeks. It’s really nice to see Tim making friends. Him and Alvin are practically attached at the hip.

“Hiya, Alfred,” Dick says the last weekend before Christmas, popping his head into the kitchen to say hi. “Storm’s raging outside, so Bruce might be home late. What are you baking?”

Instead of replying, Alfred pointedly glances at the muddy trail Dick has left all the way from the front door down the hallway into the kitchen.

“I’ll get the mop,” Dick mutters sheepishly, only remembering in the last moment to take off his boots before he heads to the cleaning supply closet.

By the time Dick has finished cleaning up the mess he’s made, Alfred has put the batch of peanut butter blossoms in the oven and is watching him with no small measure of amusement. “They all grow older, but they never learn,” the old man says with an air of faux-gravity.

“Come on,” Dick says, “I totally improved. I even do my own laundry these days. I don’t think Bruce even knows how to operate a washing machine.”

“That may be true,” Alfred agrees, lips twitching, “but I seem to remember leaving you alone in the kitchen for no more than three minutes last week, and returning to find a blackened mess in the pan and broken glass on the floor.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Dick argues. “Tim wanted to learn a magic trick. Where is he, anyway?”

“Outside, as is young Master Alvin.” Alfred hesitates, seemingly weighing every word carefully, before he adds, “I do worry about that boy sometimes. I have never once heard him mention his family.”

“He’s a Bristol kid at Gotham Academy,” Dick says, shrugging. “His parents are probably either business tycoons or drug lords, and either way, he might have been told to keep quiet about his family’s business when visiting Bruce Wayne’s house. I wouldn’t think about it too much, Alfred.”

“I do hope you’re right, Master Dick. I do hope you’re right.”

Dick gives Alfred a reassuring smile and walks to the drawing room, which has a large window overlooking the garden. Outside, he can see two boys bundled up in winter gear, currently in the middle of building a snowman that looks a little like Batman. Dick grins. He’s told Bruce that they’d need to come clean about their night lives sooner rather than later, but Bruce insisted that it was a bad idea. But perhaps Tim has figured it out on his own.

Something to think about later. For now, Dick is going to do what he promised he’d do weeks ago, and teach Tim how to snowboard. They’re going to use the small hill behind the manor at first, just to practice, and then maybe over the holidays, they can all fly out to the family’s chalet in Switzerland. Maybe Tim will invite Alvin along, too.

As he systematically searches through his room, his closet, and then the attic to find the snowboards, Dick reflects that it’s a little surprising that Tim has never learned any winter sports. But then he remembers the research he did on the Drakes, and his heart aches a little thinking about it. They were probably never home long enough to teach Tim much of anything, let alone take him on vacation somewhere. Well, doesn’t matter. Dick’s here now, and he’s going to teach Tim how to snowboard because that’s what big brothers do.

“Sweet,” Tim calls out when Dick steps outside with the boards some time later. “Listen, can you go back inside to grab my phone? Alvin insists that he can do this trick on a snowboard and I think he’s full of shit, so I want to film it when he fails!”

“Get the phone,” Alvin agrees, throwing Tim a dark glare, “and then we can film the apology I’m going to get when I prove myself.”

“Maybe I’m losing my eyesight and my sanity,” Dick says with dignity, “but I seem to recall that both of you have functioning legs. You’re very capable of getting the phone yourselves if you want it that bad.”

“When you’re inside, you can get snacks, too,” Tim says, plainly not listening, and Alvin adds, “and if you have a skateboard somewhere, can you get that, please? There’s this double snowboard-skateboard trick that I spent literally all of last winter practicing.”

Dick sighs. He drops the boards on the patio and heads back inside. This time, he remembers to take off his boots at least. Maybe being a big brother is overrated, actually.

He asks Alfred if the cookies are ready yet before heading back upstairs to find Tim’s phone. On the way, his own phone rings. It’s Bruce, telling him that he’s stuck in traffic.

“You’re Batman,” Dick points out. “How can you be stuck in traffic? That’s a little sad, B.”

“Right now, I’m CEO of Wayne Enterprises, returning from an endless board meeting with the investors,” Bruce replies a little testily. “Besides, have you looked outside? It’s storming. Even Batman isn’t immune to the weather.”

“Why don’t you call Clark or Barry for a rescue? That’d make for some interesting headlines,” Dick teases. “Local billionaire kidnapped from car by man who looks like Superman.”

Bruce sighs, sounding put-upon. “If I’m not home in an hour, tell Alfred to go ahead and serve dinner. There’s no point in waiting for me.” He hangs up, because he’s never quite lost the habit of ending phone calls the moment he’s said everything he wanted to. Dick shakes his head fondly.

Tim’s room is pristine as always. It’s nothing like the chaos his room had been in the Drakes’ mansion. His homework is in neat stacks on the desk, his bed is made, and there are a few photos pinned to the walls, one of him and Bruce playing videogames, one of him and Alfred in the kitchen, and one of him and Dick and Alvin building a ramp in the garden. The ramp had crashed that very day after they’d ridden their bikes over it for hours.

The phone isn’t anywhere in sight, but- ah, there it is. Dick drops to his knees and opens the zipper of the backpack that Tim must have dropped unceremoniously in the middle of the room after returning from school. Dick suppresses a smile at what he finds inside, which is, basically, a mess. Looks like Tim hasn’t lost his untidy streak quite yet after all.

He sorts through papers and pens and a lot of cords, until finally, his fingers brush the frayed edge of something. Not a phone, definitely. It feels like a photograph.

Dick pulls it out without thinking, curious to see which photo Tim might be keeping in his bag instead of on the wall like the others.

It takes him a moment to realise what he’s seeing. There are three people on the picture, all smiling into the camera. The two larger figures have the familiar look of people he has never actually met in person, but knows anyway after weeks of research. Jack and Janet Drake both look younger here than they were when they died, younger and more relaxed.

Standing in the middle, beaming a smile that’s missing the front teeth, is a black-haired, blue-eyed boy with pale skin. He, too, looks younger than he does now. He can’t be older than six on this picture. Despite his age, the similarity to his parents is obvious. This is, undeniably, Tim Drake.

There is only one problem.

This is not the Tim Drake Dick has spent the past several months getting to know. Or, to be more precise, he does know this boy. He’s outside right now, building a Batman-shaped snowman. He goes by the name Alvin.

*

Tim has spent the first ten years of his life being lonely.

He used to think that there was something wrong with him, something fundamentally unlovable, and that if he could just fix that, then he could get his parents to stay. It’s taken him a long time to realise that his parents wouldn’t stay no matter what. It’s taken an even longer time to see the advantages of that.

He's been lonely, yes, but, armed with a limitless credit card and a giant house all to himself, he’s also been free. The kids in his school had all these rules, whereas there was literally not a single person on earth who cared about whether Tim stayed up all night or ate only junk food for two weeks straight. Once he’d made his peace with his parents just not caring, he’d embraced the freedom that came with that.

And then his parents die.

Tim is overwhelmed by grief at first. He leaves his family home in a daze, paying no attentions to the wreckage the flood has left, and then he just spends days and days wandering the streets, numbly checking corpses and making a note of them for the police and always, always searching for his parents’ bodies – until finally, he runs into Jason.

He doesn’t realise yet that this will change everything.

After the first initial shock has passed, he forces himself to get a grip and think rationally about things. Fact: his parents are dead. Fact: this makes Tim an orphan. Fact: there are no living relatives. Fact: Tim is now the sole heir to an inheritance worth hundreds of millions. Fact: he needs a guardian, and no relatives will be stepping up.

Fact: if a court appoints some random adult, or even some familiar adult, that’ll be it. The life Tim has crafted for himself in the empty space where his parents’ love should have been – gone, just like that.

Fact: there is no way Tim will allow this to happen without a fight.

But there is also another, quite unexpected fact: Jason. Jason, who has fed Tim, and helped him find the restaurant where his parents died, and who has read to him at night even though Tim thinks books are the worst, and who, once they were caught and taken to an orphanage, has promised to keep Tim safe for as long as they both live.

Fact: Jason is the first person who had ever been kind to him.

Fact: Jason needs a home.

Fact: Tim has a home. Or at least, he used to have a home, and presumably he’s going to have a home again in the near future, as soon as one of his parents’ acquaintances realises that Jack and Janet Drake had left behind a son with a large fortune to his name.

Once all the facts are laid out like that, the decision is obvious, really. The easiest problem Tim ever solved.

Jason Todd will become Tim Drake and get a home, a family, and, once he legally turns eighteen, a vast inheritance, although Tim doesn’t mention this part. Tim, meanwhile, will become someone else entirely, and he’ll never be bound by anyone or anything ever again. The plan is flawless. Nothing will go wrong.

And he’s right. Nothing does. There are a few hitches, like the whole Batman thing and the Waynes’ butler spotting Jason and Tim together in the school’s library. But in the end, not even Batman himself figures out Tim’s true identity. It’s a little bit disheartening, to be honest (never meet your heroes), but mostly, it’s a relief.

They’ve pulled it off. Tim pulled it off.

So, after Jason has had a couple months to settle in at the Wayne household, Tim decides that enough. He’s going to leave Jason with an emergency number to contact in case anything goes wrong, and then, he’s going to leave town and never look back. The real Tim Drake will have died in the same flood as his parents, and no one will ever be the wiser.

Except – that first night after the Waynes meet Alvin, Tim makes the decision to leave Gotham and then instead just lies on the bare mattress in the floor of the Drakes’ living room and stares at the ceiling. He should leave. Of course he should. Nobody has noticed anything off about Alvin yet, but it’s a risk not worth taking.

But – it was nice today. He met Dick Grayson, who used to be Robin and who is so cool. He promised Tim he’d teach him a summersault, which is awesome. And then he met Mr Wayne, who is Batman and who is also so cool, even if he’s not really that good a detective. And they were all so nice to Tim, and they told him to come back to visit any time, and it’s just – nice, to have people who want him around.

There’s also Jason. Tim keeps thinking back to that day they first met, when Jason decided to help this random kid even though he’d had no reason to, and plenty to worry about on his own. But Jason’s kind, and he promised to keep Tim safe, and he went along with this whole plan without even knowing about the inheritance, and now Tim wants to keep him safe, and he knows the way to do that is to leave, but he also wants to keep seeing Jason, and those two wishes are conflicting. It’s super annoying.

So – Tim decides to stick around for a little bit longer. Just for a little while.

He keeps staying at his family’s home, which sounds like a big risk but which is honestly fine, because he thinks the Waynes have forgotten about it and Jason doesn’t even know it exists. He’s careful never to turn on the lights, and he doesn’t use his old room in case Batman and Nightwing bugged it for some reason, but nothing ever happens. It’s not that different living here now than it was when his parents were still alive. He’s a ghost, moving through the home of dead people and going unnoticed.

Every week, he sets a new date for himself. He’ll leave next week. He’ll leave after Thanksgiving. He’ll leave after Jason passed his English test. His new plan is to leave after Christmas, although it doesn’t matter that much if he leaves before or after, because it’s not like he’s going to spend the day itself with the Waynes, anyway. They’d just be weirded out and ask why Alvin isn’t spending it with his own family.

Today, he returns to his home with cheeks red from the cold, unable to keep himself from smiling. It’s been a really, really good day. He and Jason built a snowman that looks like Batman, and Alfred made cookies and beef stew, and Bruce came home late enough that they’d already picked a movie, which is good because he’s got the worst taste.

The only thing that was a bit weird was Dick, who promised to teach Jason (‘Tim’) how to snowboard and watch Tim (‘Alvin’) do his double skateboard-snowboard trick, and who went back to the house to get something and then never returned. When asked about it later at dinner, Alfred shrugged and said that Dick got called into work unexpectedly and had to leave, which was an obvious lie because Dick’s car was still outside when Tim left later. But Tim figures it was probably Nightwing business. It’s so cool that Dick is Nightwing now.

He wonders if Jason’s going to become the new Robin. That’d be kind of neat, too, right? And because he’s Tim now, it’ll almost be like Tim himself is Robin, which is, like, so crazy that he hasn’t even dared to dream about that.

Maybe he’ll stay just long enough in Gotham to watch Jason become Robin.

Then a voice in the dark says, “Tim Drake.” And Tim, within one split second, realises that his plan has fallen to pieces.

*

“Tim Drake,” Dick says, and watches Tim – the real Tim – freeze. Dick, who has spent the past few minutes hidden in the shadows, turns on the lights now. Tim looks pale, like he’s seen a ghost.

Tim’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. From everything Dick knows about this boy, he’s sure Tim is trying desperately to come up a convincing story that would get him out of this situation. But there isn’t anything. The jig is up, and now all that’s left is the truth.

“Tell me why,” Dick commands. He says it very calmly. In fact, ever since that first shock from this afternoon, he thinks he’s never been this calm in his entire life.

Tim swallows hard. “I- I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m telling him the minute this conversation is over,” Dick says. “He deserves to know.”

Looking miserable, Tim says, “Then- can you at least tell him not to throw Jason out? The whole thing is my fault, anyway. He shouldn’t be punished for something I did.”

“Jason,” Dick repeats. “That’s his real name?”

Tim nods, and Dick takes a moment to think this over.

Jason. That’s what’s been the missing piece in all this. Dick has thought it over a million times by now – has tried to imagine why Tim would go to such lengths. Not wanting to be adopted is one thing, but the easy solution would have been to disappear entirely. Someone like Tim could have pulled it off, Dick is sure of it.

But the one thing he hadn’t considered is that boy who took up Tim’s identity. The one Dick thought was Tim until today. Jason. That’s where the key to understanding this mess lies. Dick had focused on the real Tim, but perhaps he should have focused on the fake Tim instead.

Tim has evidently taken the brief pause in their conversation to compose himself. When he next speaks, he sounds noticeably calmer.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he says, “but you have to promise that Jason gets to stay at Wayne Manor.”

“Sure,” Dick says. “I promise.” The words come easy to him. He’s not lying. He’s confused, yes, and a little mad, too. But he also knows that nothing Tim could tell him now would make him throw a 10-year-old out on the streets, and that goes for Bruce, as well. (Is Jason even ten? Or was that a lie, too?)

But Tim shakes his head, not convinced yet. “No. I want it in writing. You have to sign.”

Dick feels his lips twitch upward at that. “Sure,” he repeats. “Tell you what, I’ll even let you draw up the contract yourself, okay?”

He watches as Tim grabs a notepad and a pen and spends the next few minutes writing something. Eventually, Tim hands it over, and Dick barely glances at it before signing, ignoring Tim’s incredulous gaze. He wonders if he just signed away his liver.

“Alright,” he says when he’s done. “Let’s talk. Start from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

Tim takes a deep breath. “Okay. Basically, it started the first day after the flood.”

What follows is, to Tim’s credit, a detailed account of every major event that’s happened ever since the death of Tim’s parents. It sounds insane. It sounds impossible.

It's true, though. Dick knows it is. He cannot believe they all got fooled by two ten-year-olds.

“Twelve,” Tim says sheepishly. “Jason’s twelve, actually.”

“You know,” Dick says, after he’s spent a minute or so just taking this all in, “you’ve explained how you did it, and you’ve explained why what you did helped Jason, and I get that. I do. But what I still don’t understand is how it helped you.”

“I told you! I didn’t want-“

“No, I understand that you didn’t want to be adopted by anyone. But what was the plan, exactly? What were you going to do instead?”

“I’m leaving town,” Tim says immediately. “I’m going to start a new life somewhere else. Metropolis maybe.”

Dick waits. When Tim doesn’t say anything else, Dick mildly points out, “But you didn’t. It’s been over four months now, and you’re still here, in this big empty house all by yourself.” Gentling his voice, he adds, “It must have gotten pretty lonely at times.”

“It’s not,” Tim insists, jutting his chin out stubbornly. “I’ve got Jason now. I never had anyone before. It used to be lonely, yes, but it’s not anymore, because now I can just look out the window and see the lights on in Wayne Manor, and I’ll know Jason’s doing okay.”

Ah, Dick thinks. There it is. He looks at this stranger in front of him, this kid he’s gotten to know as Alvin for the past few months, this kid he’s spent even more months researching meticulously. This kid who, it turns out now, he never really knew at all.

When Dick’s own parents died, he’d been devastated. But at least he’d known love before, the kind of all-encompassing, non-judgemental love only family offers. Tim hasn’t had that. He doesn’t think he can be too surprised that someone like that would get attached to the first person to offer him kindness.

“Listen,” he says, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say next, just that it’s going to be some sort of reassurance about Jason and an offer for Tim to come stay at Wayne Manor permanently- except Tim speaks first, cutting straight through Dick’s words.

Tim says, “So, now that we’ve cleared this up, I just wanted to inform you that you’ve just signed an agreement to keep Jason at the manor until he turns eighteen, and you’ve also agreed not to disclose any information pertaining his real identity, ever, and also if you break the contract I’m going straight to the five most dangerous criminals in Gotham at the time and telling them you’re Nightwing.”

Dick blinks.

Tim says, “This isn’t personal. But having both me and Jason around would raise far too many questions, and also, Bruce neither needs nor wants more sons.”

Dick blinks some more.

Tim offers him a shaky smile. “Tell Jason I’m rooting for him, okay? But don’t call him Jason, obviously.”

And then, before Dick can do or say anything, Tim shoots him with a tranquiliser. The last thing he thinks before he succumbs to unconsciousness is, what the fuck.

*

“No,” Jason says. “We’re not giving up.”

Bruce and Dick exchange one of their looks. Jason hates when they do that, like they’re purposely excluding him. For a week now, it feels like look-exchanging is all they’ve done.

“Jason,” Bruce says calmly, “we have spent a week now trying to track Tim down. So far, we haven’t found anything useful.”

“I know that,” Jason snaps, his hands clenching on top of the large oak dining table where they’ve gathered. “I’m not stupid.”

It’s been a week now since Dick turned up at the manor, still swaying on his feet from the remnants of the drugs in his system, shouting a lot of incoherent nonsense about the Drakes and Metropolis and how he’s sorry about gaslighting Bruce, or something. It’s only once he sobered up that he was able to tell them the full story.

When he did, three things happened.

For one, Bruce turned to Alfred and said, “We’ll need to change Tim’s name to Jason’s on the adoption certificate. See to it, please.”

For another, Bruce then turned to Jason and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

And finally, Bruce turned back to Dick, put a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder, and said, “I would tell you that I told you so, but I admit that I hadn’t quite foreseen this version of events. I’d merely assumed Tim was suffering from some sort of severe personality disorder.”

“Great,” Dick had muttered, his eyes already fluttering shut again, “that’s so reassuring, B.”

While Dick fell back asleep (weak, he’d literally die in Crime Alley), Bruce had done a whole I’m Batman reveal for Jason, presumably to bond over both having secret identities. It’d been so embarrassing that Jason had just pretended to be surprised, like he’d do with an Alzheimer’s patient. Mostly, though, he’d been relieved.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to ever take any more secrets in his life from anyone, ever again.

“We’re not giving up,” Dick is saying now. He looks tired, with dark bags underneath his eyes. “All we’re saying is that chances are slim we’ll find him. He clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

“That’s not true,” Jason says. He doesn’t know how he knows this, just that he does. “All he’s ever wanted is a family. It’s not fair that I should get one and he doesn’t!” His voice is rising, echoing through the dining room and competing with the storm that is, once again, raging outside.

There it is – another shared look. Of course.

“We’ve searched all of Gotham,” Bruce says, raising a hand and starting to tick down his fingers one-by-one. “I’ve contacted Clark, who’s searched Metropolis, and I’ve used my considerable resources to check the camera footage of all major train and bus stations in most of America’s larger cities. I want to find him as much as you do, Jason, you have my word on that. I’ve failed him enough already. But at this point, perhaps what he needs most is a little time-“

“It’s Christmas tomorrow,” Jason interrupts loudly, angrily, and Bruce lowers his hand again. “It’s Christmas, and you’re telling me that you’re just cool with this ten-year-old spending it all by himself somewhere?”

“I-“

“You’re Batman. Aren’t you supposed to protect little kids? From what I’ve seen, you’ve literally done nothing for Tim. He lived next-door for a decade, all alone while his parents were off travelling, and you didn’t notice. You let his parents die, then you let him stay in a fucking orphanage for two months, and it’s Gotham, you know what orphanages are like in this town, and then finally, when you do find him, you adopt the wrong kid! And now you’ve lost him again, and you’re still not going to do shit about it? Are you serious?”

Bruce makes a face like Jason has gutted him, but Jason refuses to feel bad. He’ll have enough time to feel guilty later; right now, he’s furious.

“And for another thing-“

“Jason,” Dick says sharply, “enough.” His tone is harsher than Jason has ever heard it.

Screw that.

“Don’t Jason me. Seriously, you can both just go to hell. If you’re not going to do anything, I’m going to do it myself.” Jason stands up with enough force that the chair topples backwards.

“What?” Bruce says, alarmed. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“To the Batcave,” Jason says. “If Batman and Nightwing aren’t helping Tim, then Robin will. Tim told me he always liked Robin best, anyway.”

*

“I’ll go with him,” Dick had announced in the wake that followed Jason’s abrupt departure. “I’ll- he shouldn’t do it on his own. I’ll go with him. I’ll see you later, B.”

Bruce stays seated at the dining table, tired like he’s never been before, like his bones are made of lead. He is not entirely sure what just happened. He thinks he just watched two of his sons go off to go find his missing third son.

“Alfred,” he says finally.

Alfred, who hasn’t said anything since this whole conversation started, looks at him now, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, Master Bruce?”

He replays Jason’s words back in his mind. His heart aches with the echo of them. “Did Jason say he’s going to become the new Robin?”

“I believe he did indeed, sir.”

Bruce drops his head into his hands. “Tell me, Alfred. Am I bound to repeat the same mistakes over and over?”

“With respect, sir,” Alfred says, “I do think some mistakes are worth repeating.”

*

Tim is standing on the freeway waving a 100$-bill at passing cars when he sees it.
Right there, above the city he’s trying to leave behind, is a signal projected onto the night sky. It’s not shaped like a bat, though. It’s shaped like a bird. With enough imagination, it kind of looks like a Robin.
Tim lowers his arm just as one of the car stops, its windows rolling down.

“Need a ride?” the driver asks.

“Not anymore,” Tim says and starts heading towards the bus stop that will take him back into Gotham.

He’s not abandoning his plan. Of course he isn’t. But he just wants to see. Just for a moment.

The signal stays on the sky the entire time it takes for him to ride the bus to downtown Gotham. He gets off near Crime Alley, because while it’s kind of hard to make out where the signal is being projected from, there’s a good chance it’s going to be somewhere in the general vicinity. He’s not stupid, though. He keeps his pocket knife tight in his hand, obscured by the pocket of his sweatshirt. He wants to see, but he’s not going to let himself be kidnapped or anything. That’d be so embarrassing.

With his hood pulled over his face and walking in the shadows instead of under streetlights, it’s unlikely that he’d be recognisable even from any security cameras he might come across. He still makes sure to keep his face turned to the floor, only looking up at the sky occasionally to check if the signal is still there. It is.

He’s just wondering whether it’s better to climb up on a roof somewhere and watch from there, or whether that’d be unnecessarily exposing himself- and then someone right behind him says, “Got you.”

Tim reacts on instinct. He takes the knife and blindly thrusts it at his would-be attacker. He’s just thinking that he definitely hit flesh, when the person yelps and exclaims, “did you just stab me?”

Wait.

“Jason?” Tim asks, whirling around.

“It’s Robin, actually,” Jason says, grinning at him even though he’s clearly in pain. Blood is dripping down his arm from where the knife grazed him. “I cannot believe that this suit isn’t knife proof. That seems like an oversight.”

“It is,” Tim says. “Robin – I mean, the old Robin – said in an interview that it’s easier for him to move around this way, but that’s just blatantly disregarding all this new technology that- what? Why are you looking at me like that? I told you I’m a fan. I told you that, like, the day after we met.”

“You did,” Jason agrees. “You wanted to play this weird game you’d invented-“

“-it’s not weird, it’s based on all of Batman and Robin’s adventures, and you said you had fun!”

“-and then you told me that you’re going to figure out who Batman is eventually.”

“Well, I did. You know I did.”

“Yeah, and then you blackmailed Nightwing about it.” Jason is full-on beaming now. Even though he’s wearing the exact same suit Dick always did when he was Robin, he looks completely different. Tim thinks he looks just right. He should seriously do something about the knife proofing thing, though. Also possibly about bullets.

But- wait. His stomach drops. “Nightwing told you?”

“Yeah, like, immediately. He’s really, really bad at keeping secrets. Are you going to sue him now?” Jason asks, clearly enjoying the idea of that.

“I- I don’t- Jason, I’m so sorry,” Tim says. He feels like he’s going to start crying, which would be almost as embarrassing as being kidnapped. His voice is shaking, he knows it is, as he says, “I didn’t mean to- I told Nightwing he had to keep your secret! I told him not to tell you that he knows! I drew up this whole contract about it, and he’d know if he’d bothered reading it instead of just signing it like an idiot, but I told him, and- I’m sorry.” And then he really does start crying.

“Whoa,” Jason says, sounding alarmed, “hey, it’s okay. Nothing happened, right? I’m still here. It’s just that everyone calls me by my real name now. It’s honestly kind of nice. Everyone calling me Tim all the time was really messing with my head.”

Tim’s chest is heaving with loud, ugly sobs. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. They’re on a street in Crime Alley, it’s Christmas Eve, and now he’s having a complete meltdown in front of Jason, of all people.

Suddenly, there are arms around him. It takes Tim a moment to realise he’s being hugged. From this angle, he can’t see Jason’s face under the Kevlar mask, he just sees the uniform, so in a way it’s like he’s being hugged by the Robin he grew up with, but also by Jason, which is weird but also nice, but also weird. But also nice.

“It’s okay,” Jason says again, “it all worked out. Everything’s fine, and nobody was mad. I think B was even a little happy about the extra kid. He’s got, like, a serious adoption problem.”

“Really?” Tim asks. “He was happy?”

“Absolutely,” Jason says. “A little impressed, too, I think. I mean, you fooled Batman himself. That’s pretty badass.”

Tim laughs, which is more of a half-sob, but it’s a start.

Tightening his arms around him, Jason says, “And, hey, can I tell you a secret?” He waits until Tim nods, then says, “He didn’t make me Robin. I did it all myself, because I knew you needed me.”

“Wait,” Tim says, the realisation hitting him with enough force to push straight through his breakdown, “you were the one who projected the Robin signal! It was a trap!”

“I mean,” Jason says, “you’re not really a supervillain, so I don’t think it’s actually a trap. Maybe more of a bait. Like catnip.”

“I’m not a cat, I’m a human,” Tim complains. He’s feeling better now, so he should really shove Jason away, but Jason isn’t letting go, either, and he thinks he could get used to this whole hugging business.

Jason shrugs like he isn’t so sure about that. Then he says, “If you’re done, can we go home now? I think I might need medical attention.”

“Oh,” Tim says, guilt setting in belatedly, “right. Yeah, you should probably go.”

“Not on my own. You’re coming with me.”

“But-“

“Tim,” Jason says, “B was happy to have an extra kid, but he still wants you. You’re the one he’s been searching for all along. And- I know you always said that you don’t need a guardian, but B’s great. You know he is, you’ve been over at the house so much that you could see for yourself.”

“Yeah, but- it wasn’t the plan,” Tim protests. “The plan was for you to become me and for me to disappear.”

“Plans change,” Jason says confidently. “They’ve already changed. Why can’t they change a little more?”

Tim finds he doesn’t have an answer to that.

“Besides,” Jason adds when Tim doesn’t say anything for a while, smiling down at him, “now that I’ve got this whole Robin thing going on, I’m going to need someone around who’s actually capable of helping me out with cases. Batman and Nightwing don’t have the best track record when it comes to solving, like, anything.”

“You’d let me help you?” Tim asks before he can think about it, eyes growing wide. “Really? Do you promise?”

“Tell you what,” Jason says, “I’ll even sign a contract for you. What do you say? Ready to go?”

Jason finally steps back from the hug, only to hold out his hand, not to shake, but to hold.

Tim takes it, holding on tight.

Then Nightwing drops down from the roof on the street, landing in front of them.

“How much did you hear?” Jason asks, sounding annoyed.

“Just a bit,” Nightwing says airily. Then he turns to Tim, becoming more serious. “I’ve broken our agreement,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

Tim thinks this over. Eventually, he says, “I’ll forgive you if you teach me the quadruple summersault. You promised you would.”

Gravely, Nightwing puts one hand on his heart while lifting the other up in the air, like they do in movies about trials. “You have my word,” he says. This time, Tim believes him. He gives a short nod.

Nightwing beams. As they turn to leave, he takes Tim’s other hand. Tim lets him.

*

Years later, once the adoption process has been finished, Bruce asks Tim if he wants to take on the name Wayne, or if he’d prefer to stay a Drake. The choice is Tim’s, he says.

Tim doesn’t have to think about it. He’s made his choice a long time ago.