Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim was of the opinion that four funerals in a little over one month was too many.

He was so tired he didn’t have the energy to cry.

First his dad. Then Kon and Bart. Finally Steph.

Steph’s death had been…

No one should ever have to go through something like that.

Not that any of the other three deaths had been good or anything, but at least the others hadn’t been “torture until your heart goes out.”

As he said, Tim was too tired to cry. He felt like all of the emotion had been drained out of him, like a bathtub with the plug pulled. He was numb. There was nothing left.

He barely felt like a person. He was just going through the motions of survival, doing the minimum needed to stay the course and not cause anyone else he loved to die.

Because see, after fifteen years, Tim had finally picked up the pattern. He was the common denominator. Years of bouncing around from boarding school to boarding school while his parents jetted off to exotic locations. Darla dying in a school shooting. Ives getting cancer. Mom being killed in a villain attack, Dad put into a coma, barely clinging on. And then in five weeks, the back to back punches of Dad, Kon, Bart, Steph. Hell, even his stepmom Dana was in an institution now.

No one survived proximity to Tim Drake for long. People either stayed away or they died. Or, in the fun, lucky case of his parents, both.

So yeah, he created a fake uncle. Better that than finding out just how killable Bruce Wayne was. Besides, the man had only offered to foster him out of polite obligation. That was just what he did. So often that now it was expected of him.

But Tim was not his kid, and he never would be.

The fake uncle made sure of that.

The hardest part about it had been finding an actor who was shady enough to be willing to pretend to be a kid’s guardian so that he could dodge foster care and illegally rent an apartment without immediately calling the cops and/or CPS, but who wasn’t so shady that he would sell Tim’s organs on the black market or whatever. It was a delicate balance.

But this was Gotham. In the end, people would do anything for the right amount of money.

Besides, Tim was confident he could kick “Uncle Eddie’s” ass if it came to it. The man was a down-on-his-luck middle-aged actor. Tim was Robin. It would be easy.

He was not the easy mark he appeared to be. Unaccompanied minor or not.

And that would never change. Even if he wasn’t Robin anymore.

Tim had been thinking about… stopping, lately. Quitting, retiring, whatever. Jason was alive again. The Red Hood, but back, nevertheless. Dick and Bruce were speaking to each other. Hell, Dick came over to Gotham about once a week nowadays. And Cass had been adopted, so Bruce had a new kid to dote on, too.

Tim’s job was done, essentially. Batman was no longer teetering on the edge of a mental cliff. He was stable. He didn’t need to impose his presence on the Bats any longer.

He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He had never exactly been welcomed in with open arms, and that was on him. He had chosen the lowest point in the Wayne family’s collective lives to interfere with their business and butt his head in. A decent person would have left them well enough alone. Called Superman instead, maybe.

Not invaded their privacy and stolen a Robin suit to go fight Two-Face.

Hell, Tim had literally broken into Dick and Kori’s apartment. He hadn’t planted any bugs or anything, but still. That had been mainly because he didn’t have any high-quality, very small bugs.

So yes, Tim knew he was the stalker the Bats were too moral to kill or disappear. That was abundantly clear.

But still, Batman needed a Robin. And there were no other kids clamoring for the title, so for now he had Tim. And that meant he had a job to do.

He leapt through the air to deliver a spinning kick across a goon’s face. Batman was fighting three thugs of his own. Robin landed light on his feet and turned back around to face his own opponent in a flash. He lunged.

Batman had two of the thugs on the retreat, and the third down. “C’mon, Jimmy, cut it! Let’s run!”

Jimmy swung his fist at Robin, and he ducked down to dodge.

“Fuck this!”

Gunfire erupted in the alley. They had taken the guns out of play early on, knocking them away, but now with the goons out of reaching distance, one had picked up a gun again.

Tim dove.

“Robin!”

“Shit!”

His arm was throbbing like he’d just slammed it into a wall, or been hit with a baseball bat. Pulsing, jarring pain. That was what he noticed first.

The second thing he noticed was the blood.

The third thing he noticed was Batman’s absolutely furious expression.

The fourth thing he noticed was the complete lack of any and all goons in the area.

“Get in the Batmobile,” Batman said ominously. Robin swallowed.

Nevertheless, Tim was a good Robin. He followed orders. And so he got in the Batmobile.

Batman was silent until they were about five minutes out from the Cave.

“You know better than to throw yourself in front of bullets,” he said quietly.

Tim immediately missed the tense silence.

“I do,” he agreed. Always best to agree with angry adults.

“So why did you do that?”

“The combatant was aiming at your face. A bullet hit there, where your armor is minimal to nonexistent, would have killed you. I made a tactical decision. A bullet to my arm is considerably less damage than a fatal wound to your head.”

“And what made you so sure the bullet would hit your arm?” he asked. “You threw yourself bodily in front of me. That shot could have landed anywhere.”

This was tricky. Tim would have to choose his words carefully.

“Statistically,” he started. “Given that the shot could have landed anywhere on me but only one spot on you—”

“You put your life at risk.”

“I do that every night, B,” he said cheekily, trying to lighten the mood. “What makes tonight so different?”

Batman didn’t say anything after that. So. Victory?

Tim was counting it as a victory.

The Batmobile pulled into its fancy spinning platform. Both vigilantes hopped out, Batman far more gracefully than Robin, who was trying to open the door while simultaneously cradling his injured arm.

“Agent A,” Batman said. “Robin was shot in the right upper arm.”

“Oh dear,” the older man said. “Right this way, young sir. Can you tell me what happened?”

He shrugged (carefully) and followed after him. “Didn’t B already do that? I got shot.”

“Yes, but how did you come to be shot, Master Tim?”

“So.” He blew out a long breath. “Some goons were about to shoot Batman in the head. I made sure they shot me instead.”

“And how, precisely, did you achieve that, Master Tim?”

He looked up at some of the stalactites hanging down from the Cave ceiling. They were… so fascinating. Bats hid in those things.

“Master Tim?” Alfred prompted.

“Well, I kinda jumped in front of him.”

“…And why did you do that?”

“To prevent him from being shot?”

“Tim,” Batman said. Not Robin, Tim. Not a good sign. “You could have shoved me out of the way instead.”

“Okay, I’ve been trying my hardest with the strength training, but that’s still pretty optimistic of you.”

“Tim.”

“Right, not the point,” he said. He privately did not know, precisely, what the point was. Hadn’t he just done his job? Robin protects Batman. Covers his blindspots. That’s what he’s for.

“You will go through a full psychological eval,” Batman said.

“What?! Why?”

“You know why.”

Tim’s jaw dropped, but Batman just turned away.

Fine. Fucking fine. He could be that way, for all Tim cared. Not like it mattered.

He wouldn’t be Robin for much longer anyway.

Tim decided to lie through his teeth on the psych eval, because he was the picture of mental health, fuck you very much, Batman. It was a sham of a test, anyway. What did Bruce want from him with that? To prove that he knew the answers? That he could get a perfect score?

What was the point?

He thought he was past the phase of Bruce testing him. He guessed not.

Bruce stared down at the questionnaire in his hands. His mouth twisted.

“How’d I do?” Tim asked.

“Passed. With flying colors.”

Tim smiled. Finally, something went his way.

“Nevertheless,” Bruce continued. “You are benched until your arm heals.”

He nodded. He had expected that.

“And I’d like you to stay the night here.”

“Oh.”

Well wasn’t that delightfully awkward. More of Bruce’s sense of obligation. The man had a near-unparalleled sense of duty.

“I, uh—I should really get back to my uncle,” he said. “He’d worry.”

“You could call him.”

“Nah, I… I don’t think he’d be okay with… me staying over,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“He doesn’t like you,” he blurted out. Great. Good cover. Plenty of people were suspicious of Bruce Wayne for taking in orphans and around children in general. No need to expand on that; leaving lies ambiguous and allowing for the mark to fill in the blanks was always more effective.

“Oh,” Bruce said. If Tim didn’t know him better, he’d say he sounded disappointed.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Bye.”

“Goodbye, Tim,” he said. “Will you be coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Uh. Who all’s gonna be there?”

“The whole family,” Bruce said. “Aside from Jason. Cass, myself, Alfred, Dick, Babs. You’re invited, of course.”

“Babs will be there?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said indulgently. “Babs will be there.”

Babs wasn’t a Wayne anymore than Tim was. In fact, she was very firmly a family friend rather than family, what with her past romance with Dick. And if she was going, then that meant it wasn’t a strictly family dinner, and therefore it would be okay for Tim to go too.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Tim’s new cast was bright red and started at the curve of his shoulder, ending a few inches bast his bent elbow. The bullet had fractured his humerus along three lines. Some people might call that “shattering,” but Tim liked to think of himself as an optimist, so that meant it was just a regular break.

The cast also came with a sling. And unfortunately, Tim was right-handed. Sure, Bruce had trained them all to be at least functionally ambidextrous. But still. Tim’s left-hand writing was barely legible, and he was by no means an expert at typing one-handed. It kind of sucked, actually.

Nevertheless, he sat down at his laptop and got to work. Now, headhunting for a new Robin was not a task that Tim took lightly. He wanted his replacement to be competent. To be the best Robin there ever was, ideally. Or at the very least, better than him.

And they also had to not die. That was a requirement. Though Tim was going to be lining up three potential Robins in order of preference, just in case.

Which was a grim thought, but also a necessary precaution. Batman needed a Robin. What if whoever Tim chose died within a month and then Batman was Robin-less again? That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

And it nearly had, after Steph died. If it hadn’t been for the timing of Jack Drake’s death…

Anyway. Tim’s top pick was a twelve-year-old kid named Duke Thomas. Twelve was the overall average age to begin a Robin career. Duke was smart, kind, dedicated, and he had singlehandedly tried to outsmart the Riddler and save Gotham every single day during the Zero Year. Kid had only been eight then. Tim’s research showed he and Batman had even met before.

It was a very impressive Robin resume. Plus, Duke was from the Narrows. That would remind Bruce of Jason, while simultaneously soothing the ache of his death by having a new child right there.

Really, the only mark against Duke was that he had two living parents. Happy, attentive, loving. The perfect family.

Perfect parents did not allow their child to run around as Batman’s Robin.

And as Tim had proven, even imperfect parents could be a major barrier to Robin-hood.

He fell asleep some time after 5 AM, trying to think his way around the problem.

He hopped off his skateboard and kicked it up into his hand as he approached the steps to Wayne Manor. Normally, he wouldn’t bother the Waynes so early in the day, but he and Cass had plans to hang out together.

He pressed a finger to the doorbell and waited politely.

And waited.

Finally, Alfred swung open the door, appearing… rushed. It was bizarre. Alfred never looked anything less than unflappable.

“Hey, Alfred,” he said. “What’s going on?”

He pursed his lips. “I believe it would be best if Master Bruce explained that to you himself.”

“…Alright.”

Inside the main living room was chaos. Cass was fighting a child. Dick was yelling. Bruce was slumped over on the sectional, head in his hands. Alfred showed Tim to the room and left immediately.

He’ll be honest, he was hesitant to interrupt. Not entirely certain he wanted to get involved in this.

“—Stop this right now! Bruce! Aren’t you going to do anything?!”

“Mn.”

“Goddammit, B. This is your fucking—Oh hi Tim,” Dick said. “See, Bruce? Now you’re setting a bad example for Tim.”

Cass dropped the little kid she was fighting to the ground, knee on his back and arm twisted behind him. She preened.

“What the hell,” Tim whispered.

“Gaatak dahya! Unhand me, you vile creature!” the little kid yelled from his position on the ground. Tim had to wonder when he had entered the Twilight Zone.

“No,” Cass said simply. “Stop fighting.”

“Never!”

“Hey, so who is this kid?” Tim asked Dick.

“This is Damian. He’s Bruce’s bio son.”

“I am his only son!”

“Sure,” Dick agreed easily.

“No,” Bruce said, finally looking up from his existential crisis.

“Oh, I’m sure Jason would agree, B,” Dick said. Bruce glared. “Tim? What do you think? You good with Damian being Bruce’s only son?”

“Uhh, sure?”

“See? It’s no contest. Have fun with your new kid, Bruce.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, B?”

“Who is this interloper?! I demand to know your name!” Damian, who Cass had by now released, got up in Tim’s face to yell.

“This is your other brother, Tim. He’s the current Robin,” Dick said.

“What?!”

“Dick,” Tim said. Why the fuck would he pull that ‘brothers’ joke now of all times?

“There is no honor in besting an already wounded warrior,” Damian said. “However, know this, Timothy: Robin is my birthright and it is a title I shall win my virtue of combat as soon as you are healed.”

“Uh, okay,” he said. “That seems really unnecessary, though? Like have you considered asking?”

Dick snorted.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You will pay for your insolence, Timothy. Not today, but soon.”

“Okay. I’ll be on the lookout for that, then,” he said. “Listen, now seems like a bad time. I can come back a different day—”

“Nonsense, Tim, we’re glad to have you here,” Bruce said. Cass nodded.

“You said… we would dance,” she said.

Tim’s eyes slid over to Damian. “Are you sure? I mean, a new brother is kind of a big deal.”

“Cass, Tim, I would appreciate it if you stayed close to the Manor today,” Bruce said.

“We can… dance here,” Cass said.

“Okay, sure. Let’s head to the ballroom.”

Tim’s violin was still sitting in its case in the ballroom from last time. He rarely took it home with him; most of his practicing he did here, and otherwise, he always dropped by the Manor first before heading somewhere with Cass. Sometimes they played in the park and then gave away the tips to homeless people. Sometimes they went to Cass’s actual real ballet studio, and other dancers would occasionally join in.

Violin had been Tim’s obligatory high-class extracurricular. Apparently piano was cliché and lowbrow, sports were only necessary as far as Tim knew how to play golf, and more academic pursuits weren’t very easy to show off.

When Dick had first introduced Cass to ballet, Tim had casually offered to play music for her sometime. Cass, with no concept of an empty offer, had immediately taken him up on it. Repeatedly. And now Tim was Cass’s personal boombox.

It was fun, though. Sometimes Tim would play real songs, sure, but a lot of the time, Cass liked for him to improvise. And then she would improvise her dance to match. It was tough, she said, to think up moves that matched the music as fast as he was playing it, and especially to try to create a complete dance that looked cohesively nice.

Lately, Tim had been working on a little tune he had been slowly refining over the past month or so. Three weeks in, he had finally written down what he had for it. But he created a fresh music notation every time he played it, changed it. He got his little booklet and pencil out now, setting it up on a music stand in the corner.

Tim warmed up with some scales, switching the way he played rely on his left hand, holding the body of the violin with his right hand. He was lucky the cast only covered his upper arm and elbow, leaving his wrist completely free. A minute later, Cass emerged from the attached bathroom in a black leotard and dark tights and ballet shoes.

Tim dragged the bow across the strings, a slow note reverberating through the air. Cass held a starting pose, head bowed.

And then they began.

Tim’s music was slower today. Melancholic. An entirely new piece today. He was just feeling it.

Cass’s dancing was similarly slow and regal. Dramatic, with big movements. Passionate. Almost angry at times. It was beautiful. She was a talented storyteller.

Tim let the song taper off as slow and gradual as it had started, and he picked up his pencil to notate.

“I miss her too,” Cass said.

“Hm?”

“Steph.”

He set his pencil down. “I’m missing more people than just Steph.”

“Steph isn’t ‘just’.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I miss Steph like you miss Steph,” he said. “I also miss Kon. And my dad. And Bart.”

Cass nodded. She walked over to him and laced their fingers together with Tim’s unbroken arm. “Not alone,” she said. “I am here.”

Tim leaned his head against her shoulder. It was nice. He would never say it, but Cass was wa=hat he imagined having a big sister would be like.

“Family” dinner that night was tense. Babs wheeled in and blinked at the sight of Damian.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Barbara Gordon, but you can call me Babs. Who are you?”

“I am Damian al Ghul-Wayne,” he said imperiously. “Son of the Bat.”

Babs badly suppressed a smile and looked over to Bruce. “Are you now?”

He sighed. “His… story checks out. As does the DNA test.”

“I, personally, am surprised this hasn’t happened to you before,” Dick said gleefully. “You know. What with your ‘cover.’”

“The persona I have created is entirely fictitious and in no way reflects—”

“—Any repressed personality traits, I know, I know. I’ve heard it a thousand times before, B. you’re still not convincing me.”

If Steph were alive, she would have a field day with this. Bruce would never know peace again. He would be mocked to the ends of the Earth. There would be no escape for him.

And from what Tim had gleaned from stories about Jason, he would be ecstatic if he knew about this. Would probably curse himself out when he realized he missed it.

Both of them should be here.

Well, one side of that equation was solvable.

“I do not understand. What persona?” Damian asked. Everyone perked up at that, except Bruce, who sighed again.

“Dad is… a whore?” Cass asked, looking to Tim for confirmation.

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the right word.”

Damian gaped. For a moment, he was frozen. Then he leapt up in his chair, ready to lunge across the table, knife in hand. Bruce grabbed him quickly by the back of his shirt. He dragged his kid back down into his seat.

“No violence at the dinner table,” he said.

“Where is violence permitted?” Damian asked, clipped.

“The Cave, on the sparring mats,” he said. “Wait until after your meal is finished.”

“You would have me fight immediately after a meal?”

“No, I would prefer if you didn’t.”

“Very well. Meet me at 2000 hours, Timothy. You shall pay for your words, injury or no injury.”

“But it was Cass that said it?”

Damian eyed her. Babs huffed. “I’m guessing you two have fought already?”

“Indeed,” he said. “I was not aware that the One Who Is All was in my father’s possession.”

Which started off a whole argument/lesson about how Bruce did not own Cass, Cass owned herself and Bruce was simply her father, not her handler, and definitely not her owner. Tim let the words wash over him, picking at his meal absently. He was plotting.

The only living person missing from this table was Jason Todd. There had to be a way to get him here. Tim was the Robin who healed the Batfamily. He could do this. This was what he was for. It was his purpose, his ultimate mission as Robin. Heal the Bats and you healed Gotham. Protect them so that they can better protect Gotham. When they went off the deep edge, so did the city, pulled along in their wake.

Ergo, bringing Jason Todd in could finally complete the puzzle. He was the missing piece here. Integrating him back into the family could be… It would be Tim’s final mission as Robin.

“Damian, wait,” Tim said. It was good that he had managed to catch him alone. “Before I leave, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Concerning what?” he asked.

“Robin transition planning,” he said.

Damian narrowed his eyes. “What is your angle here?”

“Well, you’re right. You should be Robin, not me. It’s kind of perfect actually. I was only ever a stopgap measure; someone to fill the role while Bruce waited for the right person to come along. And that’s you! You’re already trained, you’re Bruce’s son, you’ve been preparing for this your whole life.”

“…Go on.”

“So, I wanna hand the title over to you. But we need a plan for the transition, to make it as smooth as possible. Can’t have the Dynamic Duo out of sync with each other, you know?”

“Of course.”

“And then there’s the matter of all my active cases and ongoing investigations. I’ll need to fully brief you on all of them before handing the reins over. Do you have any formal detective training?”

“…No. I believe Mother wanted Father to teach me that.”

“Well, that’ll take too long. I’ll give you a crash course so we can speed up the timeline,” he said. “There’s also the matter of the team.”

“What team?”

“Young Justice,” he said. “But that… kinda disbanded. The remaining members are all Titans now. But, Damian, this is really important.”

The kid nodded seriously.

“Robin is a core and founding member of the Titans,” Tim said. “You’ll be expected to lead them one day, before you inherit the cowl. You have to prove your leadership skills as Robin before you can graduate to being Batman.”

“I understand,” he said, the picture of seriousness. It was a bizarre look on an eight-year-old. Kind of adorable.

“You won’t be a Titan right away, of course,” Tim continued. “Because your top priority will always be serving as Batman’s partner. He always keeps new Robins close to the nest at first.”

“I am confident I will earn my freedom quickly.”

“Of course you will. Just don’t neglect your duties to Gotham in the process, okay?”

“I am an honorable soldier,” he said, and Tim did not laugh. Absolutely no laughing here.

“Okay then, that’s all settled. When do you want to begin your tutoring?” Tim asked.

“Immediately. We have free time now,” he said. “I will… forego destroying you in the Cave to allot time for this ‘tutoring’.”

“Sorry, I can’t. I have important Robin business to take care of tonight.”

“What business? I can help.”

“Sorry, but no. This mission is a secret surprise for Bruce.”

Damian nodded gravely. “It is acceptable to keep secrets from Father?”

“Always,” he said. “And don’t be afraid to disobey orders either, okay? Robin tradition. Sometimes B doesn’t know what’s best for him. And you’re partners, not his sidekick.”

Damian’s eyes were wide. He looked so little. Tim had never in his life been that little. Was it responsible to make such a small child Robin? Fuck no. But Damian would be fine, he could clearly handle himself. Adorable little murder baby Robin.

“Good luck on your quest, Robin,” he said.

Tim gave him a little salute. “Right back at ya, future-Robin.”

He donned his uniform and headed straight to Crime Alley. Red Hood owned a shitty midrise in the heart of the Narrows. It was made of crumbling cement and had bars on all the first floor windows. The lower three floors functioned as a brothel. The city tried to shut it down every other month, but Red Hood was good. None of the raids had had any success. Not one single arrest.

So Robin naturally walked straight up to the front door and gave a polite nod to the two gun-toting thugs in shirts labelled SECURITY.

“Hi, I’m here to see Red Hood,” he said.

The guards stared at him silently.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, kid?” one asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “Is he in? Or did he already head out for the night?”

The second guard held down the button on his shoulder radio. “Mr. Hood, we’ve got Robin here outside the building. He’s requesting a meeting.”

Static crackled. “Send him up.”

The guards shared a look. One opened the door and led Tim in, while the other stayed behind on high alert, no doubt looking out for Batman. The guard escorting kept casting glances his way, even when they were in the elevator, but Robin didn’t plant one single bug or touch anything.

Finally, he was marched down a hall on the top floor to a room in the dead center. Highly defensible, no windows but three exits. A good office for a crime lord. Tim gave it a 6 out of 10, much better than Black Mask’s, but honestly pretty lacking in the pizzazz factor. He simply wasn’t wowed.

Hood waved a hand to dismiss the escorting guard, but two others had been lingering around the door to his office proper, and those ones stayed. Robin took a seat in one of the cracked leather chairs across from his desk.

“So,” Hood said. “What brings you here, Robin? Got a deathwish?”

“No, actually. You might wanna dismiss your guards for this part.”

“Do I look stupid to you? Morgan, do I look stupid?”

“No, sir.”

“This is so obviously a trap you may as well be wearing a damn sign. Where’s Batman, huh? Nightwing? Are you bait while they try for a raid?”

“It’s not a trap. I just wanna talk.”

“So talk.”

“Alright,” he said. Fuck Jason, he was an asshole. He deserved this. “I want you to integrate back into the Batfamily.”

Dead silence. Red Hood’s expressionless helmet gleamed menacingly.

Tim continued. “Batman and Nightwing miss you. Oracle misses you. And I know Batgirl wants to meet her long-lost brother at least once.”

The silence continued. The two guards were looking very nervous. Possibly fearing that Red Hood would kill them for knowing this about him.

“Plus, you should know that in a few months, there will be a new Robin.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Red Hood asked.

“There’s a new child,” he said.

“Again?”

Tim shrugged. “He appeared this morning. I just found out. So did Batman.”

The goons looked downright perturbed. God knows what they were assuming from this.

“So because there’s a new kid, you’re just gonna, what? Disappear?”

“Well,” he said. “Yes.”

“And Br—Batman is okay with this?”

“Oh, he will be,” Tim assured. “I was only ever a placeholder Robin. Now we have a real one.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I was just stopping the gap after you died. You agree with me. You said it yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he said. “And what has Batman said?”

He shrugged. “Not much. He won’t care one way or the other. He has a real Robin now.”

Red Hood stood up abruptly. “Fuck that. C’mon, kid, we’re going to the Cave.”

“Who’re you calling ‘kid’? You’re like two years older than me.”

The guards’ eyes widened.

“Shut the hell up. Let’s go.” Hood grabbed his unbroken arm and yanked him out the door. Hookers and goons scattered as they passed.

The elevator ride was interminable.

And then Tim was shoved onto the back of a motorcycle, and they were off.

Tim had many regrets. Over the course of the motorcycle ride, it occurred to him that perhaps he had made a mistake here. You know, with the impending crime lord converging on the Bats’ home base, with everyone but Oracle still there, oblivious, and unprepared for a full assault.

He did manage to press his panic button, however. But at the speeds they were moving, weaving around traffic on the highway, the Bats’ best hope would be to meet Tim at his presumed destination. By all logic, they should be sitting around the Cave, dressed and armored, ready for battle.

Red Hood blew past the Cave’s automated defenses with ease. The full Bat clan (save Oracle) were on site, ready, waiting. Just as Tim had predicted, they were fully suited up. Even Damian was dressed in League garb and armed with dual swords.

Hood turned the motorcycle on the head of a pin, coming to a skidding stop. Robin jumped off immediately. Batman stalked towards them, all quiet menace and slow-boiling rage.

“Wait!” Tim yelled. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Hood, ever-helpful, pulled a gun and pressed it against Tim’s temple. “Bruce I’m gonna kill you and your precious Robin, and it’s all your fault.”

Robin sighed.

He debated disarming Hood. It would be easy, at this distance. He was trained.

However, Jason and Bruce were currently in the same room together, talking. He decided the gun could stay. If Jason needed a comfort object to feel in control, then Tim was fine with allowing it.

“Hood, let’s talk about this,” Dick said. “Okay? What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?!” Jason asked. “Your baby bird here thinks you wouldn’t care if he disappeared!”

“Tim,” Bruce breathed. “Tim, you aren’t—You don’t mean—”

“Mean what?” he asked.

“Suicidal?” Cass asked.

“What?!” Tim asked. “Of course I’m not suicidal!”

“You jumped in front of a bullet!” Dick said. “Yesterday!”

“Your psychological evaluation results were also deeply concerning,” Bruce said.

“You said I passed with flying colors!”

“That’s precisely the problem, Tim.”

“How does that make any sense,” he muttered.

“Timothy offered me the mantle of Robin an hour ago,” Damian chimed in.

“What?!” Dick asked. “Tim!”

“I’m calling Lesliie,” Bruce said gravely.

“For what?” Tim asked.

“Tim. If you are suicidal—”

“I’m not!”

“—A short psychiatric stay could keep you safe until you stabilize—”

“I am not suicidal!”

Bruce was already on the phone.

Tim hated this family. And he wasn’t even a part of it.

“Tim, you have to admit, giving away beloved possessions, trying to patch things up, saying you won’t be missed—it all paints a pretty concerning picture,” Dick said.

“But that’s not—I just want to help!”

“You mean you wanna leave,” Jason said. Again, fuck Jason.

“You guys don’t need me anymore.”

“Timmy, what do you mean by that?” Dick asked. He looked heartbroken.

“I fulfilled my purpose,” he said. “Batman needed a Robin. So I became Robin. But you have Damian now. He’s… meant to be Robin. Not me.”

“Tim, no,” Dick said. “We don’t need a Robin. We need you.”

He… faltered.

What.

No one needed Tim. Tim was the goddamn Grim Reaper. People needed distance from Tim. To keep themselves safe, to keep themselves alive.

“This is all Bruce’s fucking fault,” Jason hissed. “He was the one who made Tim insecure. He’s fucking Batman! He should be taking better care of his Robins!”

“Hey!” Dick said, but Bruce appeared to be taking Jason’s words to heart.

“He’s right,” Bruce said. “I’ve failed you, Tim. I’m so—I’m so sorry.”

“Bruce, no, you don’t have to be sorry—”

“Yes he fucking does!” Jason said. “And another thing! Why is Tim living alone and not adopted!”

“He has… uncle?” Cass said.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Jason said. “I know he lives alone because I’ve been stalking him.”

“You have?” Tim asked.

“What happened to your uncle?” Dick asked.

“Buddy, I’m telling you, there never was an uncle,” Jason said.

“Tim, who is taking care of you?” Bruce asked.

“I take care of myself,” he said firmly.

“No?” Cass said. “We take care of you.”

Bruce sobered. His face was weird. “Tim,” he said. “I could arrange for you to go into a very reputable foster family—”

“I don’t want to go into foster care!” he shouted. “I’m fine just the way I am! Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

“Tim, you need an adult caring for you,” he said. “This is non-negotiable.”

“No it isn’t!” he said. “I’m almost sixteen! I can get emancipated in just a few more months! You just need to give me a few more months, and then I’ll sue for emancipation and basically be an adult in my own right!”

“Tim, your situation is illegal now,” Dick said. “Bruce is a mandated reporter. And for that matter, so am I.”

“How is my situation any more illegal than Jason’s?” he asked. “He’s still seventeen! He’s a minor too!”

“I’m no one’s son,” Jason said, like the drama queen he was. “I can’t be parented. I’ll shoot anyone who tries.”

“We’re doing the best we can with Jason,” Bruce placated. “But we’re talking about you right now, Tim.”

“I’m not going into foster care unless Jason does too.”

Jason flipped him off.

“Jason, will you please move back in?” Dick asked.

“Fuck no.”

“Tim, don’t you wanna be more reasonable than Jason? He’s setting a bad example right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to follow it.”

“I’m not going into foster care,” Tim said, voice cold. “And you can’t make me.”

“Legally—”

“Legally, I think there are a good number of things that don’t want Commissioner Gordon or the FBI to know. Isn’t that right, Batman?”

“Holy shit, are you trying to blackmail him?” Jason asked.

Tim folded his arms.

Bruce, again, looked heartbroken.

“Would being our brother really be so bad?” Dick asked quietly.

“What?”

“I—We love you, Tim. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine, we understand, there’s no pressure, but you still need a legal guardian. Would it really be so awful to stay with us?” he continued. “You don’t have to be adopted! You can—You can still get emancipated in a few months. If that’s what you really want.”

Tim was buffering.

He felt like he had missed several steps here.

“What are you… talking about?” he asked.

“Bruce fostering you,” Dick said, half a question in his voice. Good. Tim wasn’t the only one who was lost here.

“No one said anything about that.”

“Oh my God,” Jason said.

“Tim,” Bruce said. Gently. Carefully. “Of course I want to foster you. I have before, haven’t I?”

“But that was always temporary,” he said. Something clicked inside his brain. “Oh! This would be too. Just until I turn sixteen, right?”

“No,” Bruce said. “No, Tim, if you’d let me, I would be honored to adopt you. I understand if you aren’t comfortable with that. I know I can never replace your real dad, and I didn’t want to overstep into your personal family business, but you should know that I see you as my son. No matter what your legal status is. And that won’t change no matter how old you, or what you do in the future. I will always see you as my son, the same way Dick and Jason and now Damian are my sons, and Cass is my daughter.”

Tim was shaking his head. No. It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t just have this. Tim did not get nice things. Tim got death, and abandonment, and more death.

If he became a Wayne, the Waynes would all die. That was the way things worked.

“No,” he said. “No, I won’t do that to you. You’ll—You’ll—”

“We’ll what?” Jason asked, folding his arms. Tim faintly clocked the fact that Jason was counting himself as one of the Bats. A good sign!

“Die,” he said.

Silence rang.

Cass stalked up to him, and oh boy, she looked furious. “How… dare you,” she said. “We are strong. Let us worry about us. Know ourselves. Know what we want. You decide what you want.”

“What I want?” Tim asked.

She nodded. “Love you. What… do you want?”

Tim foundered.

What did he want? He wanted no one to die ever again. He wanted these people he cared about to never be hurt again, which they would be if he stuck around. He wanted to be able to love them without hurting them.

Why couldn’t he travel back in time to yesterday before any of this had ever happened?

“I…” he started. Swallowed. “I want…”

His palms were sweating.

Everyone was staring at him.

Took in a deep breath. “I want you to adopt me.”

“Tim,” Bruce said. “May I hug you?”

Hm? “Yeah?”

And then Bruce moved and wrapped him in a huge, very dadlike bear hug. Dick ran over to join, and Cass physically dragged Jason over as well. Damian joined in too, though Tim had no idea why. Tim was soon buried in the center of a huge group hug with all of the—all of his family.

His family.

Tears pricked in his eyes and fell freely down his cheeks. No one said a word about it.

They just kept hugging Tim.