Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim woke up with a start, feeling the sheet-thin blanket fall away from his chest as he lurched upward. His eyes were crusted and hazy with sleep, but he could make out the fluorescent lights of the Batcave’s med bay as his vision solidified into focus. What exactly had he gotten himself into this time?

“Shit, Timbo, slow down!” Tim whipped his head to his left, flinching involuntarily as his eyes met Jason’s. He immediately felt guilty for the flinch, because Jason hadn’t really done anything to warrant such a response. Man, he was on edge today, wasn’t he?

Jason didn’t look offended—on the contrary, he looked a bit alarmed. He set his worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on his previously-occupied chair, moving closer to Tim with a suspicious squint to his eyes. “Yo, Timbo? Timbelina? You feeling okay?”

Tim opened his mouth to speak, grimacing at the horrendous taste of sleep. “Yeah, I—” he cut off with a cough. “What happened?”

“You got whammied by some of Ivy’s pollen. Nothing too bad this time, but it was some sort of knock-out strain. Took you right the fuck out, apparently.”

“Huh.” Tim rubbed at his eyes, realizing now that the sticky sensation was only partially from sleep. “Is everybody else okay?”

Jason snorted. “Yeah. It was just you, Dickface, and Steph on Ivy. As soon as you went down, Steph grabbed you and brought you back to the cave, and B headed over with the brat to help bring Ivy down. I was already in the cave, so I wound up on Tim-watch.”

Tim nodded, just now taking in Jason’s lack of a costume. He had on a well-worn pair of jeans with what appeared to be a Yale University sweatshirt stolen from Bruce on top. The ensemble was paired with his Wonder Woman-branded slippers (purchased by Tim a few years back for Jason’s seventeenth birthday). He had his glasses perched on his nose—the ones he should probably be wearing more frequently, but wound up only using for their blue-light-filtering properties when he was staring at a screen for too long. “Wait, why were you in the cave?”

Jason wrinkled his nose at Tim. “You sure you’re doing alright? I had that dumbass paper that my freshman seminar professor assigned, due at 11:59 on a Saturday for some godforsaken reason.”

There, it was all coming back now. The corner of Tim’s mouth quirked up. “That paper that you knew about all week, but decided to wait until Saturday to start?”

Jason’s eye twitched. “You know what, fuck you, Timbo. See if I stick around to make sure you don’t keel over the next time you forget to dodge a blast of pollen.”

Tim laughed, scratchy but genuine. “Thanks, Jason. Am I good to go home now?”

“Tim, it’s two in the morning.” Jason turned around, collecting his book from the chair and his laptop from the floor. “We already called your parents, told ‘em that you fell asleep during movie night and we’d be happy to have you sleep over. They said they were just glad you were sleeping.”

Tim sighed in exasperation and relief. “Alright. Did B tell you to keep me in the med bay, or am I good to head upstairs and sleep in an actual bed?”

“Actual bed. Your vitals are all good, and this particular brand of pollen seems to have a pretty short half-life, far as I can figure. It should be all out of your system by now.” Jason pulled a cart already prepped with a syringe and test tube over to Tim’s bedside, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Just lemme get a quick blood sample to confirm, and then it’s off to bed with you, Timmy.”

Tim obliged, offering his left arm to Jason. Other than feeling a bit woozy and confused after his initial wake-up, Tim was feeling pretty good. And pretty tired. There was a thrum of exhausted satisfaction under his skin, begging him to fall back asleep now that he’d verified his safety. He was here in the cave with Jason, and he was safe.

Tim yawned, sinking back down to the cot as Jason drew blood. He’d just shut his eyes for a quick moment, and then he’d head up to bed. He probably had about five minutes until Jason was done analyzing his blood sample, anyway.

“Jesus, Tim.” There was a smile to Jason’s voice, warm and affectionate. “Go on, get some actual sleep. I’ll wake you up if I wind up needing anything else.”

Tim bobbed his head slightly in the approximation of a nod, settling into the hard surface of the cot. The last thing he remembered was warm, firm arms lifting him into the air, cradling him against a hard chest. Tim curled closer into the warmth, and then there was nothing.

✻✻✻

“Oof!”

Tim shot awake as a long, muscular, and suspiciously wriggly figure launched itself over top of him. “Dick, what the hell?”

Dick chuckled from his current position of absolutely smothering Tim. “It’s brunch time, baby bird! Alfie has a whole spread laid out. And since you’re currently sleeping in a Wayne Manor bed, you are contractually obligated to attend.”

“I don’t think I’m currently sleeping anywhere,” Tim said wryly. “Five minutes ago, though…”

“Semantics.” Dick rolled off of Tim and onto the floor headfirst, neatly arcing his legs up and over to the floor in a back handspring. “We’ve got a pretty full house today, since you, me, and Jay all stayed the night.”

“Did Alfred make waffles?” Tim asked as he slowly slid his feet to the floor. He stretched and yawned, feeling his back crack with satisfaction. “Because I’m totally going to rub it in Steph’s face if he did.”

Dick smirked. “Dunno, baby bird. Guess you’ll have to go downstairs and see.”

Tim pulled on a pair of sweatpants and flipped Dick another type of bird. “This is why Cass is my favorite.”

Dick nodded sagely. “This is why Cass is all of our favorites.”

Dick hadn’t lied—Tim descended to the sound of sizzling bacon and cracking eggs, and to the sight of an impressively tall stack of waffles (take that, Steph). Alfred really had prepared, to use Dick’s words, “a whole spread.” That didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, though, since there were three more mouths to feed than usual. Dick normally spent the weekdays at his apartment over in Blüdhaven, and Jason did the same with his apartment closer to Gotham University. (“8:00ams,” Jason had lamented once, “are shit when you live five minutes from campus. I have no desire to commute thirty minutes at the ass crack of dawn unless I literally have to.”) Tim spent most of his free time with the Waynes, but he almost always stayed the night with his parents over at Drake Manor.

Though it made his work as a vigilante harder, Tim was so grateful to have both of his parents alive and well following their poisoning. Jack and Janet Drake had both fallen into comas and spent the better part of a year hospitalized. Luckily, they had woken up eventually, and both made a full recovery after months of physical therapy. Tim was especially grateful that they didn’t begrudge the Waynes for their new place in his life—on the contrary, his parents actively encouraged his near-familial relationship with his pseudo-siblings and temporary guardian. “Tell Mr. Wayne,” Janet would say as Tim got ready to head next door, “that he and his children are welcome here anytime.”

“Master Tim,” said Alfred, startling Tim from his thoughts. “I’m glad to see you well and awake. How would you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, thanks,” Tim offered absent-mindedly. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Off to cruelly force us out of bed, that’s where.” Duke intoned sleepily from behind Tim. “Jason tried to physically pull me out of bed, and then kept reciting the same Hamlet soliloquy at me until I was literally ready to kill him.”

“Many of tried, none have succeeded!” Jason added cheerfully. “Dami’s off to get B, since he’s got those puppy-dog eyes that even the Dark Knight can’t resist.”

“He’s like a kitten,” Dick mused. “An adorable, feral little kitten that tries to scratch you if you get too close.”

“Young Masters,” Alfred interrupted. “Your food will be getting cold.”

“Sorry, Alfie,” offered Dick sheepishly, followed by a chorus of similar sentiments.

Sitting around the kitchen table with his friends—his family —Tim felt happy. Well and truly happy.

✻✻✻

“Mom, Dad, I’m home!” Tim called into the halls of Drake Manor, waving his thanks behind him as Dick returned to his car. Drake Manor didn’t have the same lived-in feeling that Wayne Manor often displayed, but this was not for lack of trying. It was simply the fact that when a home housed between four and nine vigilantes (and one butler/grandfather), its inhabitants tended to leave an impact. Cass’s pointe shoes would sit askew wherever she had last shed them (after the most recent impromptu dance concert for her family). Jason’s books were stacked upon various tables, bookmarks sitting within their well-loved pages. Damian’s sketchbooks would make their way throughout the manor, often accompanied by a couple of sketching pencils. Hell, it wasn’t uncommon to find distinctively purple items of clothing in the rooms more frequently populated by the manor’s residents.

Drake Manor, in contrast, had only three occupants. Tim wasn’t necessarily the cleanest person, but Jack and Janet Drake were, put simply, a pair of incredibly immaculate people. The artifacts lovingly collected from their various archeological digs were displayed throughout the manor, their glass cases polished regularly. The marble floors gleamed, reflecting the lights from the grand chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. But though the manor’s décor was at times coldly impersonal, its inhabitants brought warmth to its halls.

“Tim!” Janet Drake turned the corner, a broad smile on her face. “How was your little sleepover at Mr. Wayne’s?”

Tim smiled in turn, his cheeks pinking as Janet pulled him into a hug. “I slept well. I’m sorry that I didn’t come back home last night!”

Janet gave him one last squeeze before pulling away. “No need to be sorry, darling. Mr. Wayne gave us a call before we could start to worry. I heard he had a full house last night?”

“Pretty much,” Tim laughed, turning to hang his jacket in the coat closet. “Jason typically comes over on the weekends, but he doesn’t always stay the night. And Dick tries to make it back at least every other weekend for Sunday dinner.”

“Ah, speaking of!” Janet clapped her hands together, suddenly business. “I know you typically eat with the Waynes’ on Sunday nights, but your father and I have a dinner with investors that we would really appreciate you joining us for. Mr. Patrice Beaufort is a family man, and he says his daughter is around your age and very interested in the arts these days. Of course, you do have school tomorrow, so if this is too last minute…”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Tim cut in. “I already had brunch with the Waynes today, anyway. The Beauforts have that technology company interested in a potential collaboration, right?”

“That’s right, sport.” Jack Drake was sat in the kitchen, at a small table the Drakes used to take their meals when they were without company. He folded the newspaper he was reading gently, standing to offer Tim a slightly awkward side-hug. “Your mother and I have a round of golf scheduled for tomorrow with Beaufort, but tonight’s the only opportunity we have to meet with his wife and daughter.”

“And,” Janet chimed in, “maybe you and—I believe her name was Angeline?—will get along. I know you have the Waynes, but certainly it would be nice for you to meet some other kids your age.”

Tim grinned. “Maybe. Damian’s the only other person I know who’s interested in art, but he’s still pretty prickly. I think he’d try to take my head off if I talked to him about the rule of thirds.”

Jack chuckled. “We can’t have that, now, can we?”

“We certainly can’t.”

✻✻✻

If Tim were to summarize business dinners in one word, it would be: mind-numbing. They were incredibly boring, in the sense that 90% of a business dinner centered not around business, but around vaguely political small talk. Tim understood it, in principle. That these dinners were about sharing the latest high-society gossip in as elegant a manner as possible, and subtly determining the assets that your competition was working with. He could also participate, if he so chose. Small-talk wasn’t hard, when it was so overtly scripted. But the subtleties in tone and the smiles with twenty different possible meanings always left Tim reeling, demanding more brainpower than he had in reserve.

Luckily for Tim, the evening went by in a blur. He hardly noticed those feelings of tension and anxiety that he was prone to, though he did return home to Drake Manor with a sense of mental and physical exhaustion weighing him down. Tim gave each of his parents a hug, deigned to allow a kiss on the forehead from Janet that left him feeling warm and young, and hurried to his room. Bruce probably wouldn’t let him out tonight, since tomorrow was a school day. Still, Tim always checked in anyway. He might know, intellectually, that Bruce (or Babs) would tell him if there was an Arkham breakout, or something comparable. But Tim found the routine of the check-in soothing, and the responses from his family were reassuring.

bat chat bat chat

dick [10:46]: things are pretty slow tonight! well call it for good by 11 but dont hold your breath young padawans

B [10:48]: @dick, please refrain from texting while on patrol

dick [10:49]: how do you know im texting? i could be using that new speech to text thing or whatevr that babs was working on

Jay [10:49]: Your alarming inability to capitalize a single letter kind of gives you away.

dick [10:49]: fuck

B [10:50]: Language

steph [10:50]: @B @dick pot meet kettle lmaooo

steph [10:50]: (bc they’re both v obviously on their phones rn)

steph [10:50]: ((if that wasn’t obvious))

tim jim [10:51]: while this is an incredibly fascinating conversation, can I get stats on the likelihood that gotham somehow implodes tn?

Babs [10:51]: Get some sleep Tim, and you know we’ll call you if we need the backup

steph [10:51]: woahhh is tim sleeping?

dick [10:52]: !!!

Jay [10:52]: We sure this is actually Timmy?

tim jim [10:53]: well first of all fuck you

tim jim [10:53]: second of all business dinners are a corporate nightmare

tim jim [10:54]: and if I cant distract myself with decking the riddler in the face then sacfrices have to be made

steph [10:54]: yeah yeah

steph [10:54]: well no sleep for me I have a chem test tomorrow

dick [10:56]: you want me to take you to school tomorrow? i can drag wally with me and you can review with somebody who actually knows what theyre talking about

steph [10:56]: shit for real? that would be awesome

steph [10:57]: wait wait what time to do you have to be into work?

dick [10:58]: steph

dick [10:58]: my bf can literally travel at the speed of light I don’t think getting to blud before 9 will be an issue

steph [10:59]: well when you put it like that

Babs [11:00]: With the authority vested in me by the literal batman I order all 18 and unders to get some goddamn sleep, since most of you have to be up anyway in less than eight hours

Babs [11:00]: (and yes this is the official announcement)

tim jim [11:02]: fine fine going to sleep now

✻✻✻

Chapter Text

Tim slowly blinked his eyes open. He felt hazy, as if he had slept a little too deeply and his mind was slow to catch on to the fact that he was now awake. There was a distant sound…somebody talking? Who was it? They sounded familiar…concerned…

“Tim! Tim, honey, you’ve got to wake up!” Janet Drake said, rapping on his door.

Shit, Tim thought. “Shit,” he said. It was a Monday—that meant school. School meant that he had to be up…ten minutes ago, according to his phone. “Fuck.”

“I most certainly don’t approve of that language, young man, but I am glad to hear you awake,” his mother said, eyes sparkling with humor. “Hurry up and get dressed—there’s some fruit on the kitchen table that you can grab for breakfast, and your father is waiting in the car.”

Tim nodded vigorously, scrambling out of bed and over to his desk to hurriedly toss his things into his school bag. “Sorry, and thanks, mom. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“See to it,” she said with a decisive nod, turning and shutting his bedroom door. Tim quickly stripped out of his pajamas, throwing his uniform on as fast as humanly possible. He brushed his teeth and gave his hair a disapproving grimace in the mirror, resigning himself to finger-combing through it in the car. Tim knew that he never looked particularly presentable at school, but he at least didn’t want to look like he’d just rolled out of bed—although he technically had just rolled out of bed.

Tim rushed down the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder, and detoured through the kitchen to grab himself an apple. “Bye, mom!” he called over his shoulder, noticing her at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She raised her mug towards him in a silent acknowledgement, flipping to the next page in her newspaper. Tim grinned privately as he made his way to the foyer. He slid his shoes onto his feet, opened the front door, and jogged over to Jack’s Audi RS7—it was his least conspicuous car, although it was no less expensive than the rest. Jack had the good sense to avoid bringing an overtly expensive vehicle into the city, but Tim privately thought that driving a six-figure car in Gotham was asking for trouble, period. Nevertheless, he opened the passenger door and slid in, buckling and then immediately flipping down his sun visor to make an attempt at salvaging his hair.

Jack chuckled, pulling away from the manor. “We’ve really got to work on your ability to wake up in a timely manner, sport.”

Tim groaned, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to comb it into submission. “Trust me, there’s nobody that’s more annoyed by my sleep schedule than me.”

“I think your teachers would beg to differ.”

Tim shot his dad a raised eyebrow that he hoped conveyed his skepticism, if just peripherally. He sighed in defeat, flipping up the sun visor and giving up on his hair. There were bigger problems in this world than Tim Drake’s hair.

Tim and his dad sat in companionable silence for the rest of the drive, Jack humming along to the various 80’s rock hits on the radio as he drove. Tim scrolled aimlessly on his phone until his father cleared his throat. Tim looked up, realizing that they were stopped in front of Gotham Academy. Man, it really was wild how sometimes, time seemed to tick by at a snail’s pace, and other times it appeared to condense itself so that a twenty-minute drive felt like no more than five.

“Thanks for the ride, dad,” Tim said, grabbing his backpack from where he’d stuffed it between his feet. “See you later tonight!”

“Have a good day at school, sport.”

Tim shut the door.

✻✻✻

Tim set his books and bag down at a table in the lunchroom with a sigh. He didn’t dislike lunch, per se—it was just frequently difficult for him to find kosher options at Gotham Academy. Tim had often picked up food from the deli run by his rabbi’s husband in downtown Gotham a couple years back, and had frequently asked Mrs. Mac to do so when he was younger. (Granted, he could have made it down there unaccompanied—he just didn’t need to be catching his rabbi’s attention any more than he already did showing up to Shabbat alone.) (Was he alone? No, now that Tim thought about it, Janet would accompany him at the very least. Tim’s head was all over the place these days.) Now, with patrol and his schoolwork, he struggled to find the time to trek downtown and pick up basic sandwich fixings—much less remembering to make one in the morning. And so, he was left with an unfortunately vegetarian diet while at school. It was just fortunate for Tim that Alfred made it his mission to ensure they were all consuming a balanced diet, fit for the active lifestyle of teenaged vigilantism—which of course included many wonderful iron and protein-rich meals. There were always vegetarian options for Damian, and any meat that Alfred prepared was certifiably kosher for Tim and Bruce.

“Hey, Tim!” Duke set his bag down next to Tim, along with his lunch tray. Tim looked mournfully at the chicken parmesan on his plate.

“Hi, Duke.” The corner of Tim’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “That looks good!”

Duke grinned in return. “Bet you’re glad you weren’t able to stop B from his whole ‘kosher and halal meat’ campaign now, aren’t you?”

Tim started, looking up at Duke with wide eyes. “Shit, I completely forgot about that!” He looked at the chicken on Duke’s plate with newfound appreciation. “Remind me when that happened?”

Duke squinted at him. “Uh…last year? How’d you forget? You were arguing with Bruce about making a fuss for months, even though Jason kept telling you that Gotham Academy is, and I quote, “rich enough to be religiously tolerant.” Are you doing alright?”

Tim gave his head a little shake, as if stirring his memories back around. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just slipped my mind for a minute.” He stood up, pushing his chair back from the table. “I’m gonna go grab some of that now. Save my seat?”

Duke offered a thumbs up. “I’ve got you, dude.”

✻✻✻

Tim stretched, enjoying the sun after hours stuck in classes. His sleep schedule might be better these days (forcibly, by Bruce), but he’s learned that high school will put him to sleep regardless. There’s nothing like an eighty-year-old physics teacher with one foot already in the grave rambling about aerodynamics to lull you straight to sleep.

“Yo, Baby Bird!”

Tim squinted, caught off-guard. It wasn’t necessarily odd for Dick or another one of his siblings to pick him up from school, but it definitely wasn’t the norm for Mondays. He scanned the pick-up line, not sure which of Bruce’s numerable sports cars to be looking for.

“The red one, today.” Duke placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, grinning brightly.

Tim lifted an eyebrow. “You know how little that narrows it down, right?”

“I do, yes.” Duke’s grin took on that mischievous glimmer that he was definitely picking up from Jason.

“Hurry it up, slowpokes!” A familiar shade of blonde caught Tim’s eye, and he turned to see Stephanie Brown with her head stuck out the window of a, yes, red sports car.
Tim jogged over, Duke close behind, and shoved Steph’s head back through the passenger seat’s window. He pulled open the backseat door, only to be leveled with a familiar glare.

“Drake. Took you long enough.”

“Don’t be rude, Dami.” Dick grinned over his shoulder at Tim. “Climb on in!”

Tim clambered into the car, Duke hopping into the other side. Damian sat grumpily between them, like a figuratively sopping wet cat in an ex-Robin sandwich. Tim found himself longing for his camera to capture the moment. You could truly never have too much blackmail material in this family.

“So,” Tim started as Dick pulled away from the school and onto the road. “Not like I’m unhappy to see you or anything, but why’re you here?” He glanced over at Duke, who was gesturing at himself and Damian pointedly. “Okay,” Tim amended, “I know why you’re here. But why am I here?” Tim’s mom had taken to picking him up on Monday afternoons for a mother-son outing. Tim theorized that it was her way of making sure that he knew how much she loved him, especially after her poisoning and subsequent coma. There was nothing like a near-death experience to make a parent realize how much they loved their child.

Steph scoffed, twisting to face the backseat in a manner that was certainly NOT road-safe. “It’s mandatory sibling and sibling-adjacent bonding day. Don’t tell me you forgot?”

Tim averted his gaze. “I mean…”

“Turn around, Steph, or I’m rescinding your shotgun privileges.”

Steph stuck her tongue out at Dick, twisting back around to face forward. “Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist, Dickie.” She pointed over her shoulder at Tim. “You, though. Answer the question.”

“It may have possibly slipped my mind.” Tim admitted, smiling slightly. “You know how it goes.”

Damian scoffed. “Tt. Of course you would forget, Drake. I would never forget a pre-appointed meeting with you imbeciles.”

“Damian—” Dick started.

“Last week. Batburger. Thursday evening.” Duke noted, not bothering to look up from his phone. “You, me, and Cass.”

Damian huffed, cheeks reddening slightly. “Richard. Did Todd acquire enough sustenance for everybody?”

“Nice topic change,” Tim noted.

“That’s enough out of both of you,” Dick chided. “Yes, Jason more than stocked his place. He and Cass made a grocery run earlier today, and there’s plenty to go around.”

“Thank god,” Steph groaned. “I am positively famished.”

Duke looked up. “Pretty sure he was planning on ordering some pizza later, too.”

“Yes!” Steph pumped her fist. “Tell Jason I fucking love him.”

“Steph,” Tim started. “We’re literally on our way to his apartment. You can tell him yourself.”

Steph tilted her head upwards in a move that Tim recognized as her rolling her eyes, and wanting everybody to know it. “I can’t believe I ever dated you, Drake.”

Tim stuck his middle finger between the passenger seat and the window, ensuring that Steph saw it before yanking his hand back to avoid retaliation. Dick’s eyes flicked to his right and he sighed, shaking his head slightly but wisely refusing to escalate.

Damian scoffed, eying Dick through the rearview mirror. “Richard, are we almost there? I fear that every minute I spend in this vehicle with Brown and Drake, I am more likely to catch their stupidity.”

Duke certainly caught his exclusion from Damian’s condemnation, because Tim saw the corner of his mouth quirk up. Personally, Tim was of the opinion that this was blatant favoritism— Duke had quite literally just insinuated that Damian was equally as scatter-brained as Tim himself.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you all,” Dick announced. “We’re just about there.”

“Finally.” Damian exhaled under his breath. Tim magnanimously chose not to call him on it.

✻✻✻

“Alright, you little shits,” Jason announced as Tim and the rest of his car-bound siblings (and sibling-adjacents) entered his apartment. “There’re snacks on the coffee table, sodas and beers in the fridge, and several pizzas on the way. If you track dirt in here or make a mess or some other shit, then you’re cleaning it up or getting my fist in your gut. We clear?”

Tim surreptitiously wiped his shoes on the welcome mat, and noticed Damian doing the same. Duke, for some god-forsaken reason, did not, because he lacked self-preservation instincts. (That, and Jason seemed to have a soft spot for the kid—something about a fellow nerdy kid who loved school, fucked over by the foster care system. It was sweet, even if Tim wished that leniency extended to him sometimes, too.) “We’re clear,” he offered.

Cass smirked from behind Jason, perched on the corner of the couch in a manner quite reminiscent of the gargoyles that lined Gotham’s cityscape. As mud, she finger-spelled with a wink.

Steph snorted, then attempted to cover it up with a cough. Nobody, Tim imagined, was fooled.

“Wait,” Dick said as everybody began to spread out through the apartment. “Why do you have beer?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, shooting Dick a deadpan expression. “Dickie, I was a crime lord. I think I can manage to get my hands on a six-pack.” He paused. “Also, Roy bought them.”

Dick made a slightly pained expression, like a grimace was warring valiantly with a grin. “I…we’ll talk about that later.”

Jason walked over to the fridge, opening the door and grabbing two beers. He tossed one to Dick, who caught it with a troubled expression. “We will not.”

Steph clapped her hands together, effectively ending the standoff. “What’s the plan? Games? A movie? Ooh, Cards Against Humanity?”

Tim gave her a look. “Damian’s eleven, Steph.”

Damian huffed indignantly. “Tt. I have trained under elite assassins. I’m certain that I can handle this…Cards Against Humanity.”

“Yeah, no,” Dick announced. “We will not be doing that. How about it we take it to a vote? Games or a movie?”

“Question,” Steph started.

“No.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask!”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Did it have to do with playing Cards Against Humanity?”

Steph developed a sudden interest in Jason’s throw pillows.

“Okay. Hands up for games?”

Tim watched as Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian all raised their hands. Dick nodded, noting the vote.

“Cool. Not much point in another vote, but for posterity’s sake: hands up for movies?”

Tim raised his hand, nodding in solidarity with Jason as he raised his, too. Steph gave him an indignant look, so Tim very maturely retaliated with sticking his tongue out at her. “What? I’ve got to get my homework done sometime tonight, and I’d rather multitask with a movie on than sit out a game.”

Why? Cass signed, head tilted inquisitively. Today Friday.

“Yeah,” Steph agreed, settling on the couch next to Cass. “I mean, unless you’ve got some sadistic teacher who decided Friday night was a good time to make assignments due.”

Tim shook his head a bit, as if to scramble his thoughts back into order. “That is…a very good point. I don’t know why, I totally thought it was a weekday today.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Jason remarked, patting Tim on the shoulder before settling on the other end of the couch, beer placed on a coaster in front of him. “I almost had to pull an all-nighter the other day because the professor in my Jane Austen course decided we all had to redo our essays, because we, quote unquote, ‘didn’t understand the symbolism in Pride and Prejudice as Austen intended it.’ Which is total bullshit, in my opinion.” He sighed, annoyed. “Anyway, I’ve had way too much coffee and way too little sleep the past couple of days, and the only reason I remembered today was Bonding Day is because Cass showed up at GU after my 1:00 finished up, demanding that we go on a snack run.”

Tim shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Duke cleared his throat from the armchair he had settled himself in. “What are we thinking in terms of games? I think that seven-person Monopoly could be interesting.”

Everybody groaned. Steph flopped dramatically over onto Cass, hand over her forehead as if she were faint and swooning. “God, you’re just as insane as the rest of them, Duke-y.”

“Don’t—do not call me that.”

Steph grimaced. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as it came out of my mouth. Telestrations, anybody?”

✻✻✻

There really was nothing quite like being a Bat, Tim thought as he grappled forward, soaring through the Gotham cityscape. He and Dick were patrolling together tonight, and Tim was happy—it’d been a while since he’d gotten the chance to spend some time with his eldest brother one-on-one. He was lucky enough to have such a huge family, but it meant that getting anybody alone was pretty difficult. And maybe it was a sign of how messed up their family was, but Tim mainly got his one-on-one time with his older brothers via vigilante-induced crime-fighting patrols.

Sibling and sibling-adjacents bonding had ended without bloodshed—an occasion far rarer than it should have been. It helped that Steph’s suggestion of Telestrations more than mollified Damian, who was notoriously finicky about games, and that Jason had started to nod off roughly fifteen minutes into the post-board game movie. (It also certainly helped that everybody stuck to the newly instated rule of ASL only during movies, and that Cass had subtly lifted Damian’s knives off of him out of an abundance of caution.)

Tim arced through the air, flipping smoothly to land beside Dick at the top of a skyscraper. Crouching along the Gotham skyline, Tim thought he and his brother looked like just another set of gargoyles—just another part of the city that they swore to protect.

Dick grinned at him, a little too wide and slightly sinister—that was the grin that the press never saw from Richie Grayson, the one that the first Robin was known and feared for. It was an expression that only really came out in the suits, and one that was achingly genuine. Tim felt himself grinning back, channeling his own Robin smirk.

“How are things looking on your end, N? Red?”

“All quiet on our front,” Dick reported dutifully. “Anywhere else you need us?”

“Seems like a quiet night,” Barbara said. “Hood’s only had a couple petty thefts to stop, and it was slow enough that B sent Robin back home to get some rest.”

“Bet he was happy about that,” Tim chimed in, eyebrow quirking upwards.

Dick chuckled. “Mhm. He wasn’t any trouble, I hope?”

“No more than usual,” Barbara laughed. “Anything you need from me?”

“Not right now. We’ll check back in soon, let you know if we see anything. Thanks, O.”

“Sounds good. Catch you later, Boy Blunder.”

Dick looked over at Tim and smirked. “Fancy a race? Here to the Wayne Enterprises HQ?”

Tim narrowed his eyes, frowning playfully. “You’re on.”

Dick bounced up, perched on the balls of his feet. Tim followed, watching Dick out of the corner of his eye—rule number one of having siblings was to always anticipate cheating, and/or other brotherly hijinks.

Dick cleared his throat. “Alright. Three.” Tim crouched, ready. “Two.” Dick’s eyes flicked over, meeting Tim’s. “One.” He tensed. “Go!”

Tim leaped forward, shooting off his grapple and arcing smoothly, twisting midair so that he was prepared to roll forward and absorb his momentum. Off to his left, Tim watched peripherally as Dick launched into a double backflip. There was a level of comfort that he had always displayed in the air—like he was more comfortable weightless than on solid ground. Tim and his siblings had all trained hard, but they would never be able to replicate the ease with which Dick flew through the air, or Cass’s fluid, intentional movements. Some skills were innate, or had been trained so early that they were practically in one’s blood. That, Tim supposed, was probably why he was so talented at deception and manipulation—the galas he’d been dragged to as a child paid off, though probably not how his parents had hoped.

A piercing scream cut through the night. It was shrill, and panicked, and had both Tim and Dick twisting to grapple in its direction. Tim got there first, pausing briefly to perch on a nearby rooftop and survey the scene. There were four men—only one was currently holding a weapon (something long and cylindrical, probably a pipe), but that didn’t mean the others weren’t concealing any. Backed against the grimy brick wall was a woman, her red dress slightly torn, but not compromising. Dick dropped beside him on the rooftop, glancing briefly towards Tim before nodding decisively.

Tim dropped down, rolling forward to absorb the impact and popping up into a low crouch. He heard the familiar thump of Dick landing behind him, but focused instead on the men in front of him. There was something about a fight that always got his blood pumping excitedly—Tim grinned ferally up at the first man in front of him.

The man let out a cry of alarm, but Tim didn’t let him finish. He bounced to his feet, simultaneously whipping out his bō staff and extending it. Tim planted his foot and pivoted, striking the man across the face with a dull smack, cutting off his voice and sending him tumbling to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Asshole #2 howled with rage, wielding a rusted pipe erratically and without finesse. Tim stepped backwards, easily avoiding his backhanded swing, before rushing inside his guard. The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but his arm continued to swing widely towards Tim’s head. Tim collapsed his bō with a flick of his wrist, stepping in to grab the man’s arm and twisted. He cried out, pipe falling limply from his hand. Tim drove his knee upward, feeling an internal flinch of short-lived sympathy as he struck the man in the crotch. He collapsed with a choked-off whimper.

Tim flicked his bō staff back open, preparing to knock the man beneath him into unconsciousness, when he heard the dull click of a gun’s safety switched off. Tim didn’t even think, dropping low and flinging a Batarang out as he whipped to his left. His aim was true, slicing across the third man’s wrist and wedging in the wall behind him.

“Shit!” the man cried out, gun slipping from his grasp. Dick snatched it out of the air, flipping the safety off while he drove the escrima stick in his other hand straight into the goon’s chest. Tim watched as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground with a twitch.

“Is that all of them?” Tim asked breathlessly, adrenaline still racing through his veins.

Dick gestured behind him with his escrima stick, still gripping the gun loosely in his other hand. The fourth man was already passed out on the ground, a bruise blooming across his temple. “I think so. You counted four, too, right?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. I mean, five if you count the girl.”

Dick tilted his head quizzically, eyebrows knitting visibly behind his domino. “What girl?”

Tim blanched. “You know…the girl? The one who screamed?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Red.” Dick put a hand on his shoulder, steady and grounding. “Are you absolutely sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Am I—yes! We heard that girl screaming, and that’s why we came over here!” Tim felt himself shaking, indignation presently overwhelming the spike of panic that caught in his throat.

“Red—” Dick started, before glancing around furtively. “Tim. We were on patrol, like usual. We heard these guys talking about their successful robbery. Look, the things they stole are right over there.”

Tim followed the direction of Dick’s gaze, eyes landing on a nearby sack, spilling over with cash, jewelry, and what looked like an expensive gaming console. That…was new. Tim wet his lips nervously. “I don’t…I didn’t think…I don’t remember.”

Dick took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s okay, Baby Bird. I’ll give Gordon a call so he can pick these guys up, and then we’ll turn in early. Agent A can take a look at you, and we’ll even call Lesley if need be.”

Tim nodded blankly.

“Don’t worry, Tim. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

✻✻✻