Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Robin has always been a symbol.

I think Dick’s always seen as the golden boy, but the truth is, he was the angry Robin. He made the title and made it a symbol of self-identity. He snuck out at night, fought with Batman all the time, and went through a little self identifying journey to define his morals. He was always meant to be something more. Something other than Batman’s sidekick. Nowadays he’s Nightwing, and that’s his real self. Angry and goofy and real.

Jason took Robin and made him magic. Jason’s Robin was a shield for the hurt and afraid. He was the good one, filling camera rolls with smiles and laughs. He made B smile a lot, even in the darkest moments. His death created a shift that Gotham wasn’t ready for, a slip into the dark without their shining light in red, green, and yellow.

Steph was a bad Robin. She was never meant for the roll and we all knew it, but she tried to fill it anyways. She fought with B, they mixed like oil and water, because she was authorityless in a way that clashed with B’s strict overbearing concern. In the end, whatever name is best for her-- Spoiler, Batgirl, whatever else she comes up with-- is one that’s not the sidekick. Something standalone and independent.

Damian was given Robin, though. He needed it, I know that, and he’s flourished under Dick’s watchful eye, the sidekick to his Batman. Damian’s Robin is… well, Damian is a sword. Strike first and strike fast. He’s not so murder-y anymore, but a sword can still be used as defense. He’s been a good Robin, I guess. I can’t begrudge him the title.

The sketches strewn across my desk peer up at me and I sigh, twirling a pencil in my hand.

Petroica.

The genus known as the Australasian robins-- not true robins, that’s the European robins-- but, you know how it is. I take a new page and start a new sketch, glancing at the computer screen filled with a collage of various species within the Petroica genus. Color scheme… I think I like the red-- it matches Kon’s colors, even if I think the shirt is stupid. But, then again, I don’t have to mourn him anymore, do I? Even if I still need to call him, just to check he’s still alive, still breathing, still--

Pink is a nice color. Like the Petroica rosea and and rodinogaster species… or maybe just a monochrome, like a large margin of the genus… or maybe I do stick with the red?

I’m thinking far too hard about this.

Functions, functions, functions… The cape glider is awesome. Keeping that. Maybe I should change the cape to be more wing-like aesthetically? We’ll see. Definitely adding a mask. It needs to have a filter of some kind, even if a flimsy one. Can’t afford to get sick on the job. Not without a spleen.

Need to keep things in my utility belt. A pocket for first aid materials, one for batarangs, obviously need a holster for my staff…

Huh. It’s been a while since I used a sling.

I pull up a to-do list on my computer and add ‘R&D, trick bullets for sling’ into the long list of various work and cases piling up. There’s a neat little reminder to contact at least one friend to hang out. I stretch my arms, considering it, tapping my pencil against the desk.

Okay. Sure, who should I reach out to?

Not the Bats. Things are still… rocky… to say the least. It’s only been a couple of months since the whole bringing-Bruce-back-from-the-timestream thing, after all, and things have been… very different. Should I contact a civvie friend? Reach out to the Titans?

Or…

Our Robin: Young Justice reunion?
Impulsive: okay yes yes absolutely
Impulsive: absoleuty
Impulsive: absoslTIM ITS LAE TGO TO SLEEP
Our Robin: you first
Impulsive: OKAY

Young Justice. My team of misfits and teenage rebellions. Sure, Kon, Bart, Cassie, and I are part of the Titans now, but there’s nothing that can top the feeling of belonging that Young Justice has with each other, even if around half of us are retired from hero work.

I snort and put all my sketches away before reading over some contract for Wayne Enterprises. You wouldn’t expect a Bat to be open to communication and friendship. But, then again, when have I ever been the most conventional Bat?

Oh, everyone thinks I am. I know I’m too much like B sometimes. Everyone knows that I can be his spitting image sometimes. But, there’s a big difference between me and the rest of the Bats. Hell, between me and the other Robins.

I have friends.

It’s like pulling teeth trying to get a Bat to trust. Each of us are paranoid bastards with a host of issues that result in somehow being simultaneously too-overbearing and too-distant. It’s ridiculous. But, if there’s anything I’ve got over the others, it’s that I’ve always been one to make friends in every situation.

Contingencies against my team? Never. Paranoia who? That’s my basically family.

Villains and dangerous people? I hear opportunity for a redemption. Or maybe, like, a morally grey ally. That or a new dangerous archenemy, but hey, thems the breaks.

Point is: sure I have walls, but I prefer building bridges. I’m not a communication-ready paragon of healthy relationships, sure, but I’m pretty sure I’m quicker to trust and quicker to reach out.

I squint at my computer. Woah, are those even words anymore?

Impulsive: YOR STIL ONLINE

Damn.

Our Robin: ok good night

Caught out. I shut my laptop and set an alarm for my phone as I migrate to the bedroom. Currently, I’m living in a renovated theatre. Specifically, the one in Crime Alley that B and his parents visited before said parents died. Lots of history for the family here. The place where it all began.

I asked him if I could use the space first. Wondered if it would be a faux pas. He was receptive, at least. It was better, to have the space used by a Bat, his new family, instead of staying a decrepit reminder of grief.

Not that I’ve been feeling too ‘part of the family’ as of right now, but that’s neither here nor there.

I put my phone on my bedside table and grab a change of clothes before moving to the shower. Night showers are when I get my hygiene in. If I need a day shower, it’s just to get myself together or clean off from some scuffle. That’s my policy.

The warm water from the showerhead is a nice comfort. Especially on cold nights alone at home, without anyone to talk to. My hands drift across my splenectomy scar idly while I clean myself up. Huh. Maybe I should tell people about that. Not about the whole missing a spleen thing-- that’s public knowledge-- but how I got it. Questions for another time, I guess.

After I finish my shower, I throw myself into bed. No Red Robin out tonight-- and honestly, I really need to make that new suit. I literally stole that moniker from Jason. I should stop doing that.

I check my phone one more time before actually committing to an ‘early’ night, just to check I’m not missing anything, and then throw it to the side.

What was I as Robin? Not Dick’s symbol of self identity, not Jason’s shield, not Damian’s sword…

But I know I was home. I know I was everyone’s safety. That I was plenty of people’s guiding light, point of hope, builder of bridges, connector of people. Maybe, I was a star.

With that thought, I drift off. I’ve got plenty of things to do tomorrow, after all.

Chapter Text

What B doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

That’s… like my whole philosophy with literally everything. But, for now, what that means is B doesn’t need to be told about the group of people in my apartment, consisting of what used to be Young Justice. Well, Red Tornado and Snapper aren’t here, nor is Ray or Slobo or the Super-Cycle. But, Kon, Cassie, and Bart are here, and Greta and Cissie made the time, and Anita brought her now-like-five-year-old parents.

Anita and Cissie are playing with said parents on the floor with the various toys I bought specifically for this. Because damned if I don’t be an amazing person who provides for my friends and their family whenever I can with my excessive wealth.

“So,” Greta starts as she helps me make lunch for everyone. You have to make a lot to get enough food for the team. I have been cooking since early morning. Kon and Bart are playing some fighting game on the TV while Cassie chats with Anita and Cissie from the couch, “what’s the occasion for the get together?” That makes the others look up.

“Nothing, really,” I reply, “just felt like it.”

“Felt like it,” Cassie comments, “sure. Hey, while we’re here, mind helping me with something?” We all turn.

“Let us finish lunch first.”

After a while we sit down at a dining table clearly bought to entertain people. If I’m alone I usually sit at the kitchen counters-- it feels less lonely that way-- but today, I’ve got a whole group of friends to entertain.

“So, Cassie,” Cissie starts as Anita plates her kid-parents’ food. Three to four-ish years and we still don’t have a good label for them. “What do you need help with?”

“Right!” she snaps her fingers, “So, you know how I’m Wonder Girl?”

“You are!?” I gasp.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Kon exclaims, hand to his chest as he flops onto Cassie’s shoulder.

“NOOOOOOOO,” Bart wails, “Do you not trust us!? All this time! I can’t believe--”

“Boys.” We all shut up and sit at attention, dumb grins on our faces. Cassie is trying to act annoyed, obviously, but I can see her cracking up. Anita and Cissie roll their eyes as Greta giggles. “Now, as I was saying,” she starts again, “I think I need a new hero identity.”

“Same!” I burst out, making everyone look at me. “What?”

“Finally,” Anita sighs, “Red Robin is a dumb name.”

“I stole it,” I reply, solemnly, “Well-- I took it from Red Hood. But I have plans to change it already!”

“Group rebrand,” Cassie says, “Kon, Bart, change your names.”

“Young Justice two,” Cissie comments, solemnly, “This time, it’s just the four.”

I laugh. “Wait, wait, while you do that, let me grab my sketches.” I jog to the elevator to The Nest. My own personal Batcave. Since things have been rough with the Bats, I thought having my own personal base of operations would be a good idea. Especially since I still don’t quite know how things work in Gotham yet. Being out of the loop sucks.

I gather the various papers and put them in a folder before heading back up. When I do, Cassie is shouting.

“IT’S TOO CONFUSING! GO BACK TO IMPULSE!”

“BUT IT’S FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!”

I sit down at the table. “I support Bart’s naming decisions.”

Cassie glares me down. “Shut up Robin number three.” She perks up at the papers in my hand regardless, sticking a hand out for the folder. “Gimme.” I hand them over and she flips through them with a curious look on her face. Kon and Cissie look over her shoulders.

“Pe-troy-ca?” Kon sounds out as Cassie hands out random papers at everyone’s requests to see them.

“Pe-tr-ow-ick-a,” I correct. “It’s a genus of birds. Australasian robins.”

“It’s always robins with you,” Anita sighs. I just smile and shrug. “Well, at least you stick to a theme-- these are very different.”

“It’s a whole genus,” I shrug, “I’ve got a lot of options.”

“Can we vote?” Cassie asks. I just nod. There’s no real reason not to, after all. 

She gathers all the papers and raises them one by one, watching everyone raise their hands to agree, keep their hands down to disagree. The blander ones are quickly outvoted, it seems. Of course, the team likes the more colorful works. Kon comments how I’m practically synonymous with the color red now whenever it shows up on suit. Bart suggests making the pink ones covered in glitter (absolutely not). Cissie jokes about making all of them, just like Batman with his various suits.

“You can be multicolored,” Greta eventually says, “Red and pink?”

I gasp. I hadn’t even considered that. “That’s so fun…” I start, “I should be red and pink…”

“Now that that’s decided,” Cassie says, sorting the most voted suits to the top. “Kon’s turn.”

“Why me!?”

We all look at him.

“Riiiight, Superboy one and two.” He nods and waves a fork between his fingers. “Okay, I’m thinking of keeping the ‘Super’ part of the name, you know?” he starts, “And, like, obviously the crest--”

“Can you change out of the t-shirt?” Cissie asks, “It offends me.”

He huffs. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Super… Supernova could be good,” Greta starts, “unless someone is using that.”

“Superduperboy,” Bart starts.

Cassie tacks on, “Super-amazing-guy.”

“Superbman,” I say, solemnly.

Kon stares at me. “Superbman…”

We all nod, in complete seriousness. Anita is the first to start cracking up, and soon, we’re all laughing around the dinner table, kid-parents included. After all that time alone abroad, I forgot how nice it was to just… spend time with people. Laugh around the dinner table. Make plans. Tell stupid jokes.

“I love you guys,” I sigh. Everyone turns to me alarmed. Huh?

“Are you dying?” Kon asks, immediately, “You have to tell us if you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying!” I refute. Anita shakes her head.

“He’s going crazy,” she says. “He’s forgetting the Batcode.”

Cissie snorts. “Isn’t that a good thing? Guys, we’re corrupting him. With love and friendship.”

I huff. “Can we go back to Kon’s new identity?”

“You make it sound like I’m faking my death and running away.”

“No, that’s a Tim thing,” Bart pipes up, “Like a super Tim thing. Maybe that can be your name. Super-Tim.”

What? Absolutely not. I pull up a list of words starting with ‘super’ on my phone as everyone protests against Super-Tim. “Superchurch,” I say, unserious, laughing at the half-confused, half-appalled look on Kon’s face. “What if you were just Superhero?” I prompt. 

“Oh my god, it’s him,” Cissie laughs, “THE Superhero.”

“That sounds… confusing,” Greta starts, but there’s a smile on her lips. “And I feel like it wouldn’t go over well with everyone else.”

I sigh, dejected, even though it was a joke. “Superstar?”

Kon sits up and nods, slowly, “Yes. That’s the one. We’ve done it.” Cassie wrinkles her nose.

“What are you? The 80s?”

“It’s just me,” he says, “it’s awesome and suggests hot, cool, and popular.”

“More like superego,” Cissie sighs.

“Nah, that’s Tim,” Bart corrects. I nod, recalling Red Tornado’s words to the three of us when we first annoyed him into being our den mother. Id, ego, superego.

Everyone bickers with Kon on the name a little while longer. In the end, Kon wins, because honestly, it’s his choice anyways. We all think it’s somewhat stupid, but it’s also totally one hundred percent Conner Kon-el Kent. Finally, we all turn to Cassie.

“Finally,” she groans, rolling her eyes, “I started this conversation, you know?” She sits up and places laced fingers on the table, all business. “So, I’m not sure if I’ll keep the ‘Wonder’ part of the name,” she starts, “I just know that we’re all almost adults and I’m definitely not just a girl anymore. Maybe something Greek?”

“None of us speak Greek,” Anita points out.

“I’ll use a translator or something,” Cassie says, already pulling out her phone.

“Pull some object or creature from the myths,” I tell her, “boom. Instant meaning.”

She nods, slowly. “Okaaaay,” she muses, “what, though?” She huffs. “Okay, no, wait, what kind of thing should I be.”

“Don’t objectify yourself, Girlboss,” Cissie deadpans. Cassie laughs.

“Oh, shut up, Cis,” she huffs. “Something battle-ready,” she starts, “maybe a weapon, or a cool piece of armor, or something like that.”

“Whatever the Greek word is for lightning?” Kon suggests, “Like the uhh… Zeus? And your lasso?”

“Attack or defense?” I ask, “Maybe a shield?”

She nods. “Austrape is lightning, apparently,” she starts. “or keraunós? Aspis is the Greek shields… Ooo! Aegis!”

“Athena’s shield, or Zeus’ goatskin,” I mutter, “depends on who you ask.” I blink at everyone’s stares. “What? My parents were archaeologists. I read up on my history.”

Cassie just sighs. “Anyways, yeah, Athena’s shield. And now it’s a word synonymous with protection and support… I think that’s the one!”

“This felt too easy,” I say. Everyone just shrugs.

“Easy’s good. I like easy,” Cissie comments.

“Tim is a freak,” Anita sighs, “he likes it more when there are problems.”

“He just likes to think!” Greta defends, instantly making her my current favorite in the room. I huff, rolling my eyes.

“Whatever.”

The conversation drifts as we go back to lunch. Then, everyone is putting dishes away, and Anita bullies one of the others to do them with her, because ‘Tim cooked, would you dare make him clean too?’, and shortly after that we’re all laughing while sitting in a circle on the coffee table. About everything and nothing, and yeah, it’s great to have friends. So great, actually. I should have more of those.

The warmth of company stays with me even late into the night when everyone’s gone, where I can stretch and do a final mockup of a hero suit before getting ready to finally fabricate it. I’ve got a lot of interesting experimental tech to toy with here, I want it to be ready as soon as possible.

By the time I’m done, it’s almost sunrise. Holy crap, that was fast. Good thing I have a day or two at home. Tam bullied me into it way too hard. 

‘Whatever, too late to sleep now,’ I think as I make myself a cup of coffee and sit by the window to wait for the sun to rise. My laptop sits in front of me and I click around to start some paperwork, strangely refreshed despite the all nighter.

It feels like a new day is dawning.

Not literally, I swear.

Chapter Text

The suit fits like a charm. You can only really get a feel for it once you’re out there in the night, the cold air nipping at exposed skin, adrenaline pumping through your veins, the city both alive and tensely close to dead below you. I’ll never get sick of it.

Landing on a rooftop and looking out at Gotham, it just reminds me I’m home.

“I see you got a new suit,” Oracle pipes up over comms. “Looking good. Got a new name to go for it?”

“Who is this for?” Dick-- is he back to Nightwing, or is he still Batman?-- asks.

“Me,” I clarify, “It’s Petroica. Got anything for me, Oracle?”

“Not yet, Petroica,” she says. Oh, does it feel good having something of my own said out loud. “Patrol as usual. Keep an eye out. The usual.”

The usual. Not quite sure what that entails yet. Doesn’t quite matter yet, either. Whatever, we’ll make it work. I start moving. Thankfully, my skills of being a little freak (said affectionately by most people I’ve met) and stalking people have not let up, because I’ve already figured out the best patrol route to avoid the Bats.

Can’t avoid the chatter, though.

“Finally fucked off and found your own title, I see,” When the hell did Jason even get out of Arkham? Must have been sometime while I was gone. Even though I’m like… pretty sure he was busy being dramatic when I was gone. Maybe I just missed something.

“Yep,” I reply, “pretty happy with this one, too.” I pause, switching to a private channel. “So… what exactly have I missed recently?”

“Things have been a little rough while you were gone,” Oracle starts, “Batman being dead-- sorry, presumed dead-- shook some things up. Same with when you left, but you made a big shake coming back too.”

“You know me,” I comment idly, “always gotta leave an impact.”

“Right,” she says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. Win! “So, anyways, there was a pretty brutal Joker attack recently.”

Okay, what the fuck!

“I have so many questions,” I say, “what the hell?”

“Joker zombies,” Oracle comments, like that means anything to me. “Point is, without Batman, it was up to the rest of us to handle it. It’s how we got Red Hood somewhat on our side, mostly.” That… makes an absurd amount of sense. “Anyways, the echoes are lasting. Tons of people are still missing, affected by the toxins still.”

“Yikes,” I hiss, “and I thought what I was up to was bad.”

“I would still love to see a report on that,” she notes.

“Not on your life.”

She sighs. “At least I tried.” Sorry, Babs. I’ve got my own people to talk to when it comes to that stuff, and I’d rather not give team emotional-constipation-and-chronic-mistrust the chance to take a stab at all… that… first. “Anyways, in the absence, there’s been another little set of vigilantes.”

“Yeah?”

“They call themselves We Are Robin.”

We Are Robin, huh? “Nice,” I comment. “Love the initiative.”

“Really? The others have been tense about the idea.”

I just laugh. “I would have loved to be in a group of Robin wannabes, are you kidding!? Remember how I got the role? Love the initiative.”

“Riiight. I’ll send you the notes later,” she sighs. “See anything yet?”

“I’ll tell you if I do.”

There’s an easy rhythm to patrolling that I miss. Grapple and move, jump and swing, fly and flourish. I’ve never felt more at home than among the Gotham rooftops. Lights go by underneath me, but I keep my head on a swivel. Always gotta know what’s around you.

Heh. Like a note stabbed in a rooftop. Nice.

Let’s see now…

‘Behind you.’

“Oracle, going dark,” I bark immediately, whirling around with my staff in defense. I’m unsurprised by the person behind the bō that clashes with mine. “Didn’t leave a note this time. Should’ve warned me, I would have gotten something to celebrate.”

“Still with the talking,” Lady Shiva muses, a smile on painted lips. I don’t think it’s very affectionate. “It’s time, Little Bird.”

“I’m not an adult yet?”

“You’ve grown up.”

And just like that, the fight is on.

Strike for strike, trick for trick. Lady Shiva is grace and power. Nuance and strategy. Lethality and control. She, in a way, is freedom. Freedom of choice. Freedom of agency. Being a Bat is locking yourself into rules. It’s definition. It’s restriction, and moral codes, and constant compromises.

I’ve always preferred that. In fact-- my whole life, I’ve molded myself into being a Bat. But, the way I’ve always been has a lot of shortcomings.

I’ve learned a lot since I was 14. I’m no Lady Shiva, I could never be her, but I’ve never had to be to win. She’s right. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from a lot of people over these years, whether by direct lessons or observation, and it doesn’t matter if even that is stretched thin. I figure it out.

But against her, with no time for preparation, with no plan to enact? I cannot figure this one out.

“So,” I start between the flurry of blows. Trading hits and exchanging defenses. Woah, maybe I have gotten better. “Where do we stand, exactly? Because I can’t tell if you hate me or not.”

Lady Shiva does not train people with weapons. I’m pretty sure she’s made it clear that I’m an exception. I don’t think that’s a good thing when it comes to her opinions of me. Maybe she was interested in my potential as an opponent, but in the end, she gave me a crutch before even considering training me properly.

“Until you can win without your tricks,” she snipes, laying me flat. Yikes. I roll out of the way of her next hit. “You are interesting, but talentless.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I comment, “I have a proposition.”

“And what makes you think I’ll agree?” I block her next hit again. Oh, I am not going to make it through the night at this rate. Great first outing as Petroica, Tim.

“You want a fair fight against me,” I note, “but I’m not as--” dodge, dodge, dodge-- nope. Ow. “Not as skilled as we both want me to be.”

“You want to train under me properly?” she asks. “You need a crutch to even survive.”

Yeah. I sure do. “But this isn’t fun for you. You want a fight. I can barely give you a scuffle.”

She stops. Steps away. I get my moment to breathe, and she looks like she’s considering it. “What do you propose?”

“I’ve got a group I need to hunt,” I start. I’d been keeping tabs on any reports on the League bases I blew up. It’s been far too soon, in my opinion, but it’s hard to ignore the corpse that killed someone on the rescue team when he so much as touched her. “I’m not good enough to take them down without tricks. And that’s not me doubting myself. It’s the truth.” I lean back on the balls of my feet. “I’ve got a lot of skills. None of them are being good at an honest to god, hand to hand fight.”

“And you think I’d want to fix that?”

“I think you want a fight I can’t give.”

Sometimes. Sometimes I have to ask myself what the hell I’m doing. I’m pretty surprised she’s not, like, tracking down Cass to try and kill. She’s usually more interested in someone that offers a challenge. I’ve never been too interested in being the best, or the strongest, or the fastest. I like my moderations and restrictions. Lady Shiva? She’s none of that.

“I’ve got nothing but trickery,” I tell her, “and that’s why you usually warn me. Because I’ve only ever been my best when I’ve got a plan. This time you hoped I’m different. I’m not.”

“You’re as smart as you seem,” she muses. “You might have potential yet.”

B’s gonna have to forgive me. I’m trying to get trained by assassins again.

“Is that a deal?” I ask, “Because if you want to be the one to kill me, you’ve got a lot of competition.”

This is terrifying. I’ve always been afraid of her. My life has been up to her whims since day one, and any win I’ve ever gotten against her is a testament to how much better she is than me in a fight. Hell, Cass can’t beat her. I’ve always been hopeless.

“I’ll consider it.” Holy shit. And Tim Drake-Wayne lives another day! “This is another ploy of yours,” she notes.

“Yep!” I say, feeling far too relieved. “But, you know what I’m like.”

“I do indeed.” She puts the weapon away. I do the same. “This group of yours is how dangerous?”

“Hunted members of the League of Assassins,” I tell her, “I’m the reason they stopped.” She nods, seemingly pleased about this fact. Of course she is. She likes a challenging fight more than I do. I usually just book it from the unwinnable ones. Shiva, as always, is willing to die for the cause.

“And why ask me?” she prompts.

Good question. Because… because I’ve always been a Bat. Robin had always been carved into my brain, and wired through each muscle. The smartest, the one with a plan. And, hey, I’ve got friends and allies to watch my back. That’s true. I’m the one that’s never really been alone.

This past year has changed a lot. Now I don’t feel as much like a Bat. And I know what it’s like to be alone.

“I need to be my own person,” I say, finally. “Petroica is mine. I need to find where it could lead.”

That seems to be a right answer, somehow.

“You’ll find me in contact,” she says. “When I decide you’re ready.”

What the fuck does that mean?

Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.

I sigh and reconnect my comms to Oracle. “I’m back. No urgent injuries. No situation.” I take off to keep patrolling, because what else am I supposed to do? Still, the revelation sticks with me, because I hadn’t considered it. I’d forced myself to be Robin since day one, and now what? I need to be something different. I bite back a snort.

Wasn’t expecting to have an identity revelation in front of Lady Shiva tonight.

Chapter Text

When I get back to the Nest and clean myself up, I call Cass.

I’m probably not going to tell her about the arrangements I made with her mother. That can come… later. The phone rings. Once. Twice.

“Hello?”

Yay! “Hey, Cass,” I greet, “just wanted to check up on you. How are you doing?”

“What are you planning?”

“Who said I was planning something?”

“You’re you. You’re always planning.”

She’s right and wrong. Some things you just can’t plan for, so you rush in and do the stupidest shit imaginable. Tonight, I took a hiatus from planning. All stupidity over here. Just like the first time Shiva and I met, really. B was watching me then, ready to step in. He won’t be watching this time. I don’t want him to, either.

“I just wanted to check up on you,” I say, finally. “We’re family, after all.”

“Family,” she repeats. “Right. You’ve already said.”

“We could all do with the reminder.”

The conversation with Lady Shiva repeats in my head-- the newfound conviction she pulled out of me sticking out like a sore thumb. Maybe I’ll always be a Bat, somehow. Someway. I’ve been following the footsteps Batman and Robin before I even truly knew all that it entailed. But now I can be something that isn’t just Robin’s partner.

But, the Bats have always been my cornerstone. My starting place.

“You are planning something,” Cass says. Of course she does. She always sees right through me. Through anyone. “What is it?”

“Doing what I’ve always done,” I reply, “keeping the family together.”

“The family is doing fine,” she huffs.

“You’ve been gone a while,” I retort. “You don’t have to come back, but you don’t have to be a stranger either. You’re my sister, Cass. I just want you to remember that.”

“Yeah,” she says, softer now, “and you’re my brother. Thank you.”

“Obviously,” I reply, flopping down on my bed. “I’ll be honest. I haven’t really felt in place ever since I came back to Gotham.”

“No?”

“No.” I sigh. “I’m going to fix it. I have friends, family, and allies. I just need to find my faith in them again.”

“You can do it,” she tells me. “You’re… good. You’ve always been good.”

I guess. “You’re good too, Cass. You’re being exactly who you want to be.” I stretch. “Okay, I need to head off now.” Stuff to do. Work to get done. “Call again soon, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

The hang up tone fills my ears as I breathe out, slow, and sit back up, grabbing my laptop as I lean against the headboard. Let’s see now…

Operation Bat Colony

I snort. Yep. Perfect name for that.

It’s easy to get stuck into a job to do. If I think about it, I think taking care of the family has always been my job since day one. Having something to do, a goal to work towards, a purpose to fulfill. That feels good. I can’t rest until my job is done. And, as far as I know, this job will never be truly finished.

But, for now, to find what I can really be without Robin, I’ve got to attend to my unfinished business.

Starting with how to reconnect with the Bats.

Cass might be easiest. She’s isolated, loveable disaster she is, even if no one else seems to see it. But, we’re making progress. She knows she has family. People in her corner. That she can always find a place with us, as a Bat, as a sister, as nothing at all. It doesn’t matter. She is Cass. That’s all I think we’ve ever needed.

Despite what one might think, Dick will be the hardest to reconcile with. There’s a lot of hurt I have to deal with, and that means showing it to him. Dick Grayson can be harder to pull a real fucking emotion out of than B sometimes. I’ll work with him later. Figure it out. I need to make some other things clear first, and he’ll feel better when the rest of the family is improving.

Not sure how to get a conversation in with Damian or Jason without getting mauled alive. There’s gotta be someway. They both need to be secure in their parts in the family. Damian is just a kid. One who has to take a title I held for enough time to make waves across the entire community. Jason is angry and distant-- if he’s still angry. I need to clear some air, find the lines between space and attention.

B. I need a conversation with B, and a lot of regained trust. I’ve never been the most trustworthy as Robin. He knows me to lie and trick my way through life. To disappear at random and come up with some new sin. But, I like to also think he knows me to be loyal. If not to him, then to the cause. The family.

Steph… things are… messy… with Steph. I know I have to have that conversation with her. About what we did wrong. Maybe hash over all our history-- because while she broke my trust, I’ll admit I never gave her enough of mine. Which is awful, because I afforded a lot more trust to people I wasn’t even dating.

Christ. Where do I even start?

No, wait, I know where to start. If I start securing my old relationships again, things might tip into insecure for other people.

Damian Wayne.
> Just a kid
> Good Robin
> Needs to learn his place (is in the family, that seemed really aggressive)
> Prove he’s Robin
> Relinquish the role for realsies. Show you accept him.

… I have an awful idea. Or a really good one.

Before I was Robin, I was a fanboy. This… is not news. I was never the smartest or the strongest kid, sure, but I had some edge up. Edge up enough to figure out the Bats’ identities. Edge up enough to track and stalk an entire team of heroes without anyone noticing. Nowadays I’m stealthier. Better trained.

I pick up an old camera bag I haven’t dusted off in a long while. I only brought it from the Manor when I moved as an idle fancy.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that a picture is a snapshot in time. Not just that, it’s a memory and a point of view. Methodically cleaning the old camera is like clockwork. I could have never done what I’m planning as a kid-- naïve to the world, a clumsy mess-- but I’ve taken up the chance whenever I can for fun.

I hold up the camera and toy with the focus and clarity with a smirk. There’s never a better challenge than immortalizing some memories of a hero.

Chapter Text

I think it’s way easier to stakeout Damian that to follow him.

Kid will know if he’s being tracked. He’s assassin trained, of course he will, but he probably won’t be expecting me to run around the city in civilian clothes all night waiting for him to pass by. Is this a fantastically stupid use of my skills? Abso-fucking-lutely. So, if you excuse me, I’ll now be using this as an opportunity to pretend that I’m testing my own skills instead of stalking my little brother who may not even see me as a brother.

So, it goes like this: I sit in the dark of a secluded rooftop for around thirty minutes to an hour, take a photo of him, and scram off to the next checkpoint I have planned along his routes, rinse and repeat. Is this maybe a little bit creepy? No, it’s sentimental, duh. No, officer, it’s not stalking, it’s persistent paparazzi. Committed candids.

Anyways, I’m surprised I haven’t been stabbed yet. Then again, I’m playing to strengths and weaknesses. That’s what I always do.

By the end of the night, I have maybe five photos being developed and an idea of what to do the next night.

1. Give Damian the pictures and hope he doesn’t stab me.
2. ????
3. Profit?

Maybe I don’t have an idea on what to do the next night. But, it’s a little too late to think about that when I’m in the Batcave right before patrol, with everyone already set up.

“Hey, Timmy!” N greets. I smile back and act like we don’t have issues. That can come… later. “What’re you doing here?”

“I need to talk with Robin really quick,” I explain, drawing some attention. “It’ll be quick!”

“Why would I want to--”

“Robin,” B says. “Just go talk to him.” He nods to me and I nod back as I lead him to the stairs, away from everyone else. Gotta love B helping me out with stuff like this.

Before Damian can open his mouth to ask what I’m doing, I hand him the photos.

“What is this, Drake?” Damian hisses at me. “Is this some kind of threat?”

Okay, I didn’t actually think this far. “I have pictures of the others too,” wrong answer, “it’s nothing special. Okay-- no-- it is special, but not because-- ugh.” I drag a hand over my face. “Let me start over.”

Damian looks at me skeptically. I look back at him for a moment. He has the mask on already, so I can’t see his eyes, but I can see the slight squint and the furrow of brows. The small frown. The tension weaved through his body. I sit down on the ground and beckon him to do the same. He doesn’t, so I shrug.

“Look,” I start properly, before pausing to try and find the right words. “This is me officially giving you my seal of approval.”

Damian scoffs. “I don’t need your approval.”

“True,” I respond, with a smile. “But I’m giving it to you, because you deserve it.” He looks down at me, eyes narrower than before. I tilt my head. “You’ve been doing great as Robin,” I continue, “anyone can see that. You should be proud, if anything.” I inhale, exhale, look up to the tall ceiling of the cave. “We started on the wrong foot,” I continue, “things have been hard for everyone. I took a lot of it out on you. I know you took a lot out on me. I wanted you to know that I’m willing to move forwards. You’re Robin now, and I’ve got a new identity to sail by. So let’s try again, okay?”

“... And the pictures?”

Oh. Right. “I felt like taking them.” I gesture for him to sit down again, and this time he does, hesitantly. There’s one of him staring at a bunch of raccoons in an alleyway, with a smile on his face. There’s one of him swinging through the night next to Batman, backed by the light of a street lamp that makes him look like he’s glowing. There’s one of him in a fight, holding himself with a quiet confidence. There’s one of him, arms crossed, scowling at B like a kid with someone to prove. There’s one of him trying to claw out of one of Nightwing’s hugs. “I’ve collected photos of the family since before I was even a part of it,” I laugh semi-awkwardly. “I was a fanboy. Anyways, when I got the skills to, I decided to add to it myself. It’s like… both a way to keep some good memories in my head and a way to test my skills.”

Damian stares at the pictures in his hands. His brow has smoothed, but I know he rakes his eyes over every inch of the developed photo paper.

“Candids are my favorite,” he continues, “I love being able to take a photo when people are caught unaware. It’s like being able to catch a glimpse of someone’s true self.” I resist the urge to reach out and ruffle Damian’s hair, like Dick has always done to me. That’s probably a little too much. Instead, I just stand up. “Damian: this is how I see you. And the picture it paints? It’s one of a pretty damn good Robin. I don’t know what you want your next steps to be, but… just know. I’m ready to meet you halfway.”

I go back to everyone. B gives me a raised eyebrow and I smile and shrug.

“Got a patrol route for me, or should I do my usual?”

He goes to respond when Damian comes back. “Drake is patrolling with me tonight!” he declares, loudly. B and Dick exchange a confused glance, but I just nod at him. He meets my eyes and nods back. It’s an attempt. A step forward. Hopefully, this time without any grappling hooks being cut.

“What are we waiting for, then?” I ask, “B, I’m taking back Redbird, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” Bruce says, after a moment. “Do you two have a case you’re working on?”

Overbearing. It’s because he cares, though. Probably because Damian wears hostility against me like a shield. “Nope,” I reply, already grabbing the keys, “we’re just hanging out.” I usher him to the car as we go. It’s not with the rest of the Batmobiles, but my beauty of a sleek red sportscar sits in place. Ugh, she’s as beautiful as the day I first got her.

“This car is yours?” Robin asks as we drive off.

“Yep,” I chirp, “My girl. Had her when I was Robin. Personal gift from B.” Damian hums in thought. I once again resist the urge to risk my arm being bitten off. “If you pester him enough he’ll probably get you a car when you get your license.”

“You could not have gotten your license when you were Robin,” Damian sniffs. “You were below age. Therefore, I should also be allowed a vehicle.”

“Nope,” I comment, pulling over when we get to the city, “I got my license early. Legal stuff.”

I don’t elaborate as we grapple up the roofs. He doesn’t ask.

We patrol together for a few hours. Nothing really interesting happens. It’s a mostly quiet night, not filled with easy banter. But it’s definitely a start. By the time the night is over, I’m dropping Damian off in the cave, and we nod to each other in respect, before I leave to bring Redbird back to the Nest.

I open my document. One-- maybe two? Yeah, let’s go with two-- down, four more to go.

The only question is… who’s next?

Chapter Text

It goes like this.

Between doing standard contract reviews as Tim Drake-Wayne at Wayne Enterprises, I’m fielding texts from Oracle questioning Petroica. How my life went form spending a night hanging out with my new kid brother to being brought onto a sudden murder case, I’m not too sure. The problem lies in the fact that Babs brought me on, which can only mean she’s got problems finding which pulse of information this assassin’s call is coming from.

“Subsection 4a)
Either party will be liable of fines for up to…”

Oracle: Nightwing was the one to respond to the body’s discovery last night. It was just a retired teacher. I can’t find a hit on the guy.

“…should any violation of the terms given be discovered…”

Oracle: I can barely even find the assassin. What I can see is inconclusive. A whisper of a shadow in the dark. I can’t confirm if it’s League of Assassins or not.
Petroica: I have a backdoor into League systems. You can check if they have something. I’ll drop it off tonight.

“…will terminate the contract and perpetrators will relinquish any assets related to…”

Oracle: Do I even want to know how you got that?
Petroica: Probably not.

Not what I wanted out of a day, I’ll tell you that much. At least I got some sleep last night. Though, I think falling asleep at my desk doing paperwork is far more reasonable that dozing off from exhaustion on a rollercoaster.

Petroica: Do you need anything else?
Oracle: Nope. N is insisting you don’t get too involved in this one, so don’t worry about it for now.

Now that is a hit. Either he doesn’t trust me-- which bites, seeing as he’s my brother and all-- or there’s something deeper at play here. So, what is it? I’ll bet it’s the latter. Dick is suspicious of me and the shit I get up to sometimes, but he knows my work is always good. I’d hope that stint looking for Bruce was more than enough to show how valuable I can be in a case. Chasing a ghost for months and coming back with an alive man is a big feat, after all.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter that much. It’s Dick. It’s not like he really needs my expertise for a simple murder case.

I go back to work for the rest of the day, reading reports, reviewing contracts, flipping through presentations and planning meetings. This is not the life I’d have imagined for myself-- none of it is-- but it is the one I was raised for, I guess.

Jeez. Who could I have been if I never became Robin? The thought is chilling, in a way. I spent so long forcing myself to be a hero, I don’t know if I could be anything else anymore.

… That’s enough of that line of thought.

Either way, knowing there’s a mysterious murder case is the number one way to distract me with work. It’s not like I can do anything about it, though. It’s N’s case now. I wonder if he’ll bring backup or he’ll resist it until he really needs the help. Like the average Bat, I guess.

It’s a relief when I can finally go home. I do my best with this job, really, it’s not like back in high school where I can let all my duties take last priority with little-to-no-consequence. So, I just power through it every day. It’s… fine. Since I could talk I remember my mother gently guiding me through her work. She always talked about her work, expecting me to take after her.

I guess I did.

On my way down the elevator, I get a call.

“Hello?”

“Tim!” Oh, it’s Cissie. That’s… weird, did I forget something? “I just thought I’d tell you I booked a movie in Gotham?”

I almost stumble on my way to the car.

“Really!? Cissie, that’s awesome! We have to find time in your schedule to hang out!” I plug my phone into the car and wait for the call to pop up on the small screen before pulling out and hitting the road. Streetlights shine down upon me. It’s not quite nighttime yet, but it’s getting darker. I stayed a little later into the evening than I needed to.

“In my schedule?” she asks, “What about yours, bigshot CEO? Do you even have time between all your work?”

“I’ll always make time for my friends.” I’m glad Cissie is calling. Whatever movie she has booked, having her around to hang out with at least once this week will be a nice distraction from Operation Bat Colony and whatever cases and work I’ve got building up. “We’ll find a chance. What’s your movie about?”

“Some action mystery,” she explains, “I’m the main character. I’ve got a co-lead, some guy from Bollywood.”

“Neat. Do you have everything you need to survive Gotham?” It’s very very important that Cissie, as my civilian friend who is not from Gotham, has the necessary survival equipment. “Keep a pen knife, carry a gas mask, so on and so forth?”

“Your city is a nightmare,” she scoffs as I finally park at my apartment. “Yes, Tim, I have everything already. And we’re going to go out to town at some point after my filming for the day, and your going to show me some place to hang out, and I’ll tell you about my careers and you’ll tell me how your schemes are going.”

I raise an eyebrow as I unplug my phone and hold it up to my ear.

“And how, exactly, did you know I have any sort of scheme?”

“... Tim. You’re you.” Does everyone just assume I’m planning something all the time? I guess they’re not wrong, but still.

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” I sigh, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay. I need to pack. See you in Gotham?”

“See you in Gotham.”

The hang up tone resounds in my ears as I throw the phone outside and pull up my document once more. Damian and Cass are already mostly crossed off, but I need to decide who to talk to next… Bruce would be easiest to get it over and done with, I think. I can force him to listen. It’s what I’ve always done, after all.

I’ll just have to confront him sooner or later. Maybe at the Manor sometime. And, while I’m there, I could take another chance to get closer to Damian too. Maybe I’ll invite him to go to the park the next time I can afford to take a day off. Should be this weekend. I’ll talk to Bruce while picking him up…

Tim Drake-Wayne: Wanna go to the park this weekend?
Damian Wayne: Why?
Tim Drake-Wayne: It’ll be a good day. I feel like taking some photos.
Tim Drake-Wayne: And, I want to hang out with you one-on-one as brothers.
Damian Wayne: … It would be an advantageous day for referenced drawing.
Damian Wayne: I shall bring my sketchbook.
Tim Drake-Wayne: I’ll pick you up this Sunday?
Damian Wayne: Very well.
Tim Drake-Wayne: Got it. See you then.