Chapter Text
Tim knew that it would perhaps be wise to take a moment to think about this further. He knew that he was making possibly one of the biggest decisions of his life, that this would change everything. Nothing would ever be the same again, and there was so much to consider, so much to think about. But he really didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t want to poke holes in the pipe dream that was starting to become reality. He didn’t want to overthink and calculate the likelihoods of a million failures and catastrophes. Tim just…
He just wanted a goddamned hug. From his family.
And he got one. First from Damian, low and vicious promises of Tim being looked after by both him and his cat whispered in Tim’s ear. Small, strong arms almost holding him in place rather than hugging, which Tim supposed was fair. In some peoples’ eyes he supposed he could be seen as a flight risk. It wasn’t like his track record for staying put after emotional conversations was the greatest.
Then from Bruce. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. He knew that they would have lengthy conversations later on, discussing how to proceed and what to do. But for now, Bruce was solid and steady, and that was all that Tim needed.
Dick came next.
“We’re gonna go on so many shopping trips, you and I,” Dick said with glee, chin on top of Tim’s head.
“I changed my mind. Please someone drive me back to my apartment.”
“Not a chance!” Dick squeezed harder, and Tim laughed before being yanked out of Dick’s grip and into a broader, stronger chest.
Jason’s hoodie smelled faintly of gunpowder and motor oil, probably because he was the edgiest person Tim knew. It didn’t matter much. What mattered was that he was hugging Tim hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. It was good that someone was holding him together, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do it himself.
“Wouldya look at that, Mortimer,” Jason said, voice low and gruff, but still kind and sincere. “Another dead boy, back alive.”
Tim punched him in the side, and Jason snorted.
“We’re gonna hafta work on your punches. Barely felt it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tim mumbled into his chest in his best Crime Alley drawl, “Bring it on.”
Jason huffed and let him go, tousling Tim’s hair as he went.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret sayin’ that.”
Then, finally, came Steph, who flung herself into his arms with such force that he probably would have tipped over had Jason’s quick hands not reached out to steady him. He got probably half of her hair in his mouth in the process, and though the hug tasted vaguely of verbena and lavender shampoo, Tim buried his head in the place where her shoulder met her neck and shut his eyes tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her shea butter lotion and fruity perfume. He felt her gently stroking his hair, nails softly scratching against his scalp, and melted into goo.
Really, it was all because of Steph, wasn’t it? Her persistent invitations to the Manor, that first reading in the coffee shop with numbers exchanged, the drunken chick-flick marathon that followed, and her forgotten scarf that had led to Christmas dinner. Steph seemed to read his mind, because she whispered,
“I didn’t really forget my scarf, you know? I knew you’d return it.”
A few hot tears dripped onto her sweater. Tim pretended that they weren’t his.
“Thank you,” He whispered back. “But I don’t believe you for a second.”
“Shut up, stupid boy. It was all part of my master plan. Just keep hugging me,” She muttered. And Tim laughed, gladly obeying.
-
Tim was going to keep his apartment, but he’d still keep the majority of his stuff here. Dick and Jason were helping him unpack, and Dick was playing some truly insane mix of early Britney Spears and ICP in the background.
(He’d thought about what to do with the apartment for about three seconds before Jason had leveled him with a steady look and said,
“Keep it. Trust me on this one. You’re gonna want to get away sometimes.”)
“You really did sleep on your grave, that one time, huh? I feel like we glossed over that pretty quickly, ‘cause that… that sure is something.” Dick said as Tim handed him a bag. They’d moved his things to a bigger room. A room that was practically bigger than Tim’s entire apartment.
Tim felt defensive.
“It’s my grave! How was I supposed to be chill about that?”
“I was pretty chill about my grave,” Jason butted in, slotting Tim’s worn paperbacks into a massive bookshelf that was definitely too big for his meager stack of books. It was okay though, he'd have plenty of time to fill it. Tim leveled him with a flat stare. Britney Spears kept singing about a circus in the background.
“Oh, is that why you demanded it be removed mere weeks after you came back? I’ve seen your texts. You literally threatened to go on a killing spree unless Bruce removed it.”
“… Fair enough. Didn’t sleep on top of it, though. And while we’re on the subject of strange things, fuck kind of a name is Mortimer Von Brusseltrout, anyway?” Jason raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think we’d believe that?”
“Hey,” Tim laughed, “It wasn’t that bad. It could have been worse.”
“How?” Dick asked, staring at him in disbelief, “Literally how could that possibly have been any worse?”
-
"By the way," Jason said a while later when Tim brought out his fancy tarot deck to put in his bookshelf. "How you likin' that deck?"
The way he said it made Tim immediately squint at him with suspicion.
"It works well. Too well. You've done something to it, haven't you?"
Jason threw his head back in laughter, and Dick groaned behind them.
"You owe me twenty bucks, Dickface." Jason held out his palm, and Dick reluctantly put a crumpled bill into it.
"What?" Tim asked, now turning his suspicious gaze to the both of them.
"Bruce had Zatanna enchant it. It's legit. We bet on how long it would take ya to figure it out," Jason grinned and pocketed the twenty, and Dick dragged a hand over his face.
"Couldn't you have stayed oblivious for just one more week?"
-
After a few minutes, Steph shooed both Dick and Jason out, and her and Tim got to decorating. Tim had most of his fabrics and decor with him from when he was supposed to conduct his fortune teller business in a room at the Waynes. Now, there was no need for it, but it was still his stuff. He liked it, and he wanted it around him. A reminder and a tether to what he'd managed to build himself during his time alone. But this time it was in a place that he could feel at home in, instead of a rundown apartment where he was one missed rent away from eviction. Steph was the person that has spent the most time with him in his apartment, and she had an idea of how he wanted it. She was of great help and he almost teared up when he saw her hold up two different pieces of fabric to the wall, seeing which would go best next to the windows.
They draped the fabrics along the walls, along the corners to soften out the space. They hung his lights and lanterns, his mobiles and suncatchers, and after a while, it truly did look like a home.
“All that’s missing is your velvet curtains,” She said, hands on her hips as she inspected the place with pursed lips. “That’ll really bring the whole thing together. I love Alfred, but not every room needs linen curtains. There are other fabrics, y’know?”
“I thought you thought my velvet curtains were ridiculous,” Tim said, and Steph turned to him with a teasing smile.
“Well, they are. But it suits you. Ridiculous curtains for a ridiculous boy.”
He stuck his tongue out at her, and she brought over a bag and plopped down on the bed.
“C’mon. Bruce gave you a new, cool laptop,” She brought out a dangerously expensive-looking laptop with a Wayne logo on it from the depths of the bag, “And we’ve got just enough time for The Devil Wears Prada before we have to get you over to Babs.”
“Babs?” Tim asked, and settled in next to her.
“A surprise for later. Now, take me to your best pirating website!”
-
Babs was apparently waiting in the clock-tower, of all places, and when Tim entered the top-floor his jaw went slack.
There were screens everywhere on the far side of the room, each showing a different district of Gotham. Different coloured lights were flashing in a few places on the map, and a small sheet tacked onto a wall showed each colour’s meaning. Red for bank-robbery, blue for car-theft, yellow for assault, and so on. One wall was covered with a giant map, red string and gang-symbols over different places, marking turfs. Spread over different sections were different Bat-symbols. Tim saw blue wings, a red helmet, a purple hood, a red R, and the classic bat symbol. There were boxes of files, mind-maps, and everything one could possibly desire for a classic lair.
It looked almost like his own little information-room in his old apartment. But a million times better.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter my lair,” Barbara spun around to face him from her place by the biggest desk Tim had ever laid eyes on, and smiled smugly at the no doubt awestruck look that he was sporting.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” He said, voice almost a bit faint.
“Did you bring your laptop?” She asked, and Tim nodded absently, still taking it all in.
“Boot it up and get your ass in a chair,” She gestured to a cleared space on the desk that wrapped around about half of the clock-tower.
Tim obeyed, not really knowing where this was headed. A lesson in hacking, maybe?
“So, little fortune teller,” She said once she’d helped connect his laptop to her system and he was sitting in a comfy computer chair. She steepled her hands below her chin. “We’re really not that different, you and I. Oracle, fortune teller, kind of the same, really.”
“Ah.” He grinned, finally having regained some of his composure, “But do you know the crucial difference between an oracle and a fortune teller?”
“Do tell,” Barbara said, looking at him over the rim of her glasses with a fond but exasperated look in her eyes.
“Only one of us gets paid.”
She lightly swatted his arm, and he laughed, feeling better than he had in ages.
“Watch it, or I might not let you join patrol tonight.”
Hold up.
Record scratch. Freeze frame. Zoom in. Top text: JOIN. Bottom text: WHAT?
“What did you say?” Tim asked, because he must have misheard.
“What?” Barbara looked positively gleeful, “You didn’t think I brought you all the way here just for a show and tell, now did you?”
“You’re gonna have to explain.” Tim wasn’t sure if his ears were working properly.
“Well, you’ve got the skills, that much is true. It would just be a matter of giving them a new purpose. This team could really do with a new set of eyes, and you’ve proven yourself an excellent observer.” She huffed, “Hell, you even made a business out of it. Anyway, the job is yours if you want it.”
“I’d… I’d be like you?” Tim asked, not really believing it. But Barbara nodded.
“Damian showed me a few pictures of your little…” She waved her hand around, looking for the word, and Tim filled it in for her.
“Information room?”
“Yup,” She snapped her fingers, “Information room. Or stalker-lair, however you wanna call it.” She winked. “Point is, I love it. I want you on my team. As do the others. Patrol tonight looks like it won’t be too busy, none of the major players are out of Arkham, night seems calm, perfect for a newbie.”
“That would- It’s- Oh my God!” Tim stared at her, “You’re joking, right?”
Barbara looked uncertain for a moment.
“No, I’m very serious, Tim. You obviously don’t have to if you don’t-”
“Jesus Christ. When do we start?”
Because the thing was, Tim loved knowing everything about everyone. He loved having the upper hand, observing and calculating, collecting information until his notebooks were bursting. What better way to do it than this? Where he also got to work with the honest to God Bats?
This was his dream job.
“Can I also gather intel?” He asked eagerly, “I’ve still got my camera, and I could really be an asset. This is- Oh my God.”
“Hey,” Babs laughed, “One thing at a time, buddy. Bruce would have to train you a bit before you got out on the streets, but I’m sure you could. From what I've heard, I honestly don’t think he could stop you if he tried. But for now, are you ready to play guy-in-the-chair to the Bats?”
Tim didn’t think he’d ever be more ready.
He told Babs this, and she laughed again and handed him a headset identical to her own, showing him which button turned on his mic.
“You’ll need another name though. Fortune Teller is a bit long for comms. It needs to be snappy.”
Tim put on the headset and thought about it for a second. He wanted to stick to the fortune-teller theme, after all, it was how he'd gotten to know the Waynes in the first place. It felt important to keep.
“How about…” He grinned, wider than he’d ever done before, “Seer?”
Babs smiled at him, and flicked on her mic. Tim heard a slight crackle in his headset as Oracle opened the comms for the night.
“Good evening everyone, Oracle here. Since Batman gets to have as many sidekicks as he wants, child-labor laws be damned, I thought it was time I got one of my own.” She cast a soft glance over to Tim, “Everybody say hi to Seer, the newest member of our team.”
“Seer, huh?” Jason said, and Tim could hear the faint whooshing of the wind as he and the others swung through the city. “Suits ya. Glad to have you on our team.”
“Seer? That’s just perfect!” Spoiler whooped, and Damian spoke next.
“A very fitting name, indeed. You will be a fine addition to our team.”
“Welcome, Seer,” Said Bruce, smile in his voice, “How’s Gotham looking tonight?”
Tim looked at Barbara, who nodded, and he turned his gaze to the blinking lights on his laptop’s map of the city. He took a breath, assessed the situation, focused on one of the red dots, and flicked on his own mic.
“Good evening, folks. This is Seer.” He leaned back in the chair and smiled, heart bursting with happiness. “There’s a robbery in progress at the National Bank, any takers?”
-
A FEW WEEKS LATER. CITY OF HAVANA.
It was a wonderfully sunny day in Cuba. The sky was azure and enchanting, the ocean lapping playfully against the shore. Way out on the water, a couple of sailboats were bobbing up and down on the gentle waves.
The sun hit Jack and Janet’s balcony in just the right way, and they were both leaning back in their expensive chairs, now and again reaching for their champagne glasses. The drink was refreshing and cold, and they clinked their glasses together once before sipping on it. They settled down into their chairs again, closing their eyes contentedly. Janet had a book by her side that she’d given up on reading. It was too hot to do anything except drink cool drinks and relax.
It was a wonderfully sunny day in Cuba, when suddenly the sun was obscured by something and a shadow was cast down over Jack and Janet Drake. They opened their eyes, and squinted through their sunglasses.
Above them, standing on the railing of their balcony, was the towering figure of a man, dark cape billowing in the coy breeze.
Decorating his chest was the hauntingly familiar outline of a bat.