Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nightwing immediately makes his way to the Batcomputer, ignoring Batman’s demands for their post patrol injury pat down. He’ll go to Agent A later for that.

Right now, he has an odd little kid to save. Who smoothly avoided his question about how he got that picture of them earlier that very same night, distracting him with even odder quips about Nightwing being alone. At night. In Gotham.

“Nightwing," Batman growls, not as intense as he is when facing a Rogue or criminal, but enough where there is still a clear line between him and Bruce, “we need to know if you’re hurt.”

Nightwing lets out a harsh puff of air and turns around, lifting his arms in the air above his head. “Not injured. Happy?"

“Come on, ‘Wing, don't be like that," Robin pouts playfully before grinning at Nightwing as he patiently lets Batman check him over for any wounds. “What are you in such a rush for anyway? And why did you go quiet at the end of patrol? You don't look hurt.”

“I accidentally scared this kid on a fire escape and took him to Batburger,” Nightwing explains, not knowing how to explain why this tiny kid was so off putting to him.

“That's it?" Robin questions, full of tween attitude and judgement. Nightwing can't see him from where he has turned to face the Batcompurter again, but he can hear Robin’s eyeroll. "I thought it would be at least something cool.”

Nightwing scoffs as he pulls up his lense camera fottage from the night. He fast forwards it up to the moments he hears a yelp of pain following the clang of metal being hit. He watches as the video blurs as he whips his head in the direction of the sound and remembers being poised, listening for any other signs of something amiss.

Nightwing watches the recording and feels when Batman and Robin walk up to stand on either side of him. The three of watch as Video-Nightwing (Videowing? Nightvideo?) makes his way towards the direction that the sound came from.

“What was so weird about this kid, ‘Wing?” Robin speaks up, his eyes never leaving the screen that is showing Videowing jumping from building to building until he reaches Tim, crouched in a corner on an older-than-legal (even for Gotham) fire escape and rubbing his hands together.

The kid, Tim, stares up at Videowing with wide eyes, visbly settling down after being startled. Maybe that was the first thing that set off alarm bells in Nightwing’s head. He is so quick to smooth away his reactions to things and hiding his expressions.

No kid should know how to school their expressions as easily and as fast as tiny Tim does.

The three vigilantes continue watching the recording in relative silence. The only sounds being their breathing, the stray squeak or wing flutter from the actual bats hanging about, and the conversation between Tim and Videowing.

When Nightwing talked to Tim earlier that night, he had thought that the kid’s self preservation was bad. Now that he’s watching the footage back, he can confirm that the kid’s self preservation instincts are abysmally bad.

Seriously, where was this kid’s parents?!

And why are they letting him tote around an expensive camera so late in Gotham? By himself??

How long has this been going on? How early did his parents start leaving him alone? That the kid doesn't see a problem with his situation?

“Doesn't he ever blink?" Robin asks suddenly, making Nightwing twitch as he’s yanked out of his brewing thoughts.

“What?" Nightwing looks down at his younger brother, his thought process freezing at the odd question.

“This kid, Tim," Robin starts, not sparing a glance away from the screen in front of them, “he hardly ever blinks. When he does blink, he blinks slow.”

“Slow?” Batman repeats, promoting the youngest vigilante to elaborate.

“Yeah," Robin nods and turns to face Nightwing and Batman fully. “You know how cats will blink slowly at someone, or something. That’s how Tim blinks.”

Batman hums and finally looks over at his two sons. “Dragon shifters blink slower than humans do.”

“He could be a shifter, but I didn't smell anything from him," Nightwing recounts and his mask pulls on his skin uncomfortably as his brows furrow. "I didn't even smell that slightly sweet chemical smell of blockers.”

“It is possible that he could be a distant relative of a shifter,” Batman says, his voice taking on a smooth rumble (his tell that he’s thinking outloud.) He shakes his head before pulling down the cowl, switching from Batman to Bruce, and wraps an arm around Nightwing as he looks over at Robin. “We can look into him more tomorrow. Tonight, let’s shower and what do you two say to a movie morning?”

Jason snorts as he pulls the serum to disolve the mask glue out of on of his many pockets. He passes the serum to Dick for him to take off his own domink. “Alfred will have our asses if we stay up any loner than we already are."

“Quite right, Master Jason," Alfred speaks up, making his presence known, and places his tray of post patrol snacks and drink on a clear table. “I believe that you now owe the swear jar.”

“Sorry, Alfie," Jason shrinks back at Alfred’s raised eyebrow, a sheepish smile on his face, before running to the showers.

“Master Richard, if you would," Alfred demands primly as he moves to stand in front of Dick.

Dick grins and holds his arms above his head. “Anything for you, Alfie."

Alfred hums approvingly, poking and prodding at various spots around Dick’s torso. The older man circles around Dick, checking his back and sides for any injuries. God knows how this family of vigilantes like to hide their injuries.

“Do you recognize that boy on screen?" Dick asks as he rubs the area above his ear. The side if head has had an itchy feeling ever since Tim intorduced himself. “He has a Bristol accent that he was trying to cover up with a Crime Alley accent.”

Alfred looks away from checking over Dick to the computer screen that is showing the paused video, Tim’s face clear in the center of the frame. Their butler-grandfather takes a moment to look over the kid’s face and appearance.

“I do believe that that is Timothy Drake, he lives in the next manor over,” Alfred answers while he shines a penlight into Dick’s eyes, making his first pseudo grandchild hiss at the bright light.

Jason runs back over to the group, snagging a cookie off of the tray as he passes it. “I don't remember anyone moving in next door."

“The Drakes moved in two years ago. One year before you arrived, Master Jason," Alfred explains before deeming Dick sufficiently free of injuries, who subsequently pulls Jason in for a hug and ignores the youngest’s protests.

Dick frowns as he loosens his arms to let Jason move to stand beside him, his left arm staying hooked over his shoulders. “Don't they travel a lot? They wouldn't leave their son at home by himself, would they?"

Surely they wouldn't let their kid run around Gotham by himself in the middle of the night... Right?

Bruce hums, his lips pulled into a thin line and his eyes glinting in the face of a new mystery to solve. “We can look more into Timothy Drake and his parents tomorrow night.”

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“Timothy Drake’s parents are in Shanghai,” Bruce announces as Dick and Jason exit the elevator into the Batcave, quickly glancing away from the multiple screens at his sons. “Janet and Jack Drake have been in Shanghai at a new archaeological dig site, that has potential to be a major break through, for a month. I have found evidence that the Drake’s will leave for months at a time; leaving Timothy at home with no baby sitter.”

“You know, we were supposed to do this together,” Dick pouts as he slumps over the desk, his arms hanging freely in the air.

If you told Dick three years ago that he would be partaking in cyber-stalking some random kid’s parents as a form of Family Bonding...

He would probably believe you.

At the time, he would have taken any quality time that he could have gotten with Bruce.

Between begging for space and being desperate for his attention.

“Jeez, Dickhead, no need to be so dramatic,” Jason rolls his eyes before pushing his older brother into the floor and taking his place, sitting on the desk.

Dick sticks his tongue out at Jason and laughs when his little brother flips him off.

Jason rolls his eyes and turns his attention to their dad, leaning forward with his hands gripping the edge of the desk on either side of his legs. “Well, what else did you find? There's no way that you stopped there."

Bruce hums as he brings up a file on Tim’s parents. “This is everything that I found on the Drakes and their company, Drake Industries.”

Dick flips himself upright and leans on the back of Bruce’s chair to read over his shoulder. The tab that Bruce opened shows a whole list of flight logs just from January to June, all displaying only two plane tickets.

Dick feels his body stiffen, his shoulders and back tense, buzzing with anger the want to give the Drakes a lesson on why they shouldn't leave their kid alone for months and months on end.

“That's from just this year?" Dick asks, full of disbelief. "How long have they been doing this?!”

“Years,” is Bruce’s gruff reply as he scrolls down, bringing up more, and more, and more flight records. “They started consistently traveling like this six years ago, before that, their records showed them going to dig sites in the United States for three years. Records show payment to a housekeeper for two years before they stopped.”

“Tim is nine years old," Jason speaks up, his voice strained with barely held back anger, as he looks through the sperate file on little, tiny, Timmy Drake. “They've been leaving him alone for three years. All by himself. He’s not even ten yet! He just turned nine years old yesterday.”

Jason looks away from the side monitor that he had commandeered, his eyes shiny with tears of anger and knowing. Jason understands Tim’s situation of being home alone as a kid (he’s still a kid, even if he likes to think and say otherwise) better than both Bruce and Dick.

All of their situations are different, Dick knows. His and Bruce’s parents wrre murdered when they were kids. Jason’s father (not dad, never dad), Willis, was a deadbeat and Catherine, his mom, was a drug addict. Even though Catherine did try when she could, she was still absent.

Dick used to think that a kid’s dying was the worst thing thing that could happen to them. But meeting Jason and getting to know his history (even though it was just the bare minimum mentionned by Jason in mumbles of half awake conversations) had Dick believing that a child’s parents being alive, but still absent, was the worst thing that could happen to them.

“What do we do now?” Jason asks, his voice small and watery.

Dick takes a deep breath, hating what he is about to have to say. "We wait for his parent to come back, China doesn't extradite. We can let the Commish know what's up, but the we will still have to wait for them to be able to contact either the Drakes or their lawyers.”

Jason scowls at the cave floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stands like for a moment before slowly relaxing his hands, the tension slowly leaking out of his body.

“The file says that little Timmy here is going to GA,” Jason starts and smiles the way he does when he’s coming up with an absolutely crazy idea.

"What are you planning?” Dick eyes his kid brother warily, taking a half step to the side.

Jason’s smile blooms into a full on grin, his eyes sparkling something manic. “What if I befriend him? We’re going to the same school, so we are bound to bump into each other at some point.”

“That's a good idea, Jaybird," Bruce starts as he turns around to face Jason, “but what do you think will happen if Timothy finds out about you planning to get to know him only to learn more about his parents?”

“It’s not just about learning more about his parents, B,” Jason frowns and crosses his arms. “Tim needs someone in his corner because from what you have here, he’s got practically no one."