Chapter Text
The children chatter excitedly, all awake far past the average ‘bedtime’. There was no such enforcement in Crime Alley - especially not to those who barely have a bed; having a set sleep schedule meant having a schedule for someone to exploit. Besides, no kid would want to be asleep.
Robin was patrolling, after all.
The lithe boy with Bristol on his tongue had been absent for the past few days; and if the city were to guess it would be because the Gotham Academy exams were happening.
Crime Alley loved exam season - after it ended the stuck-ups would pile their textbooks and send them off, perfect for the children to take and learn from themselves. It was a safer source of education than trusting a government school - not when it was the government who decided that Arkham should stay right where it is, even as the city expanded and resulted in the asylum having close access to the middle of the megalopolis and the Gotham River.
The people trust the strange man in the leather bat-suit more than the man making the executive decisions.
Said strange man’s sidekick however, was the true gift to all of them. Gotham remembers when the second died, when the city weeped rain of acid and muck over Arkham as a reminder that you killed what was mine. The prostitutes remember when they lost the child so eager to help, a true light in Batman’s dark, familiar shadow. The children remember losing the boy just like them, the boy who allowed them to dream that one day, I’m gonna be a Robin!
Everyone remembers the gaping hole in Gotham’s heart. And they remember when the third started to fix it.
The Alley didn’t trust the boy - he had privilege in his movements. He had been skinny, yet healthy, and was always fresh every day. Similar to their last one, but such health was natural to the new boy - there wasn’t a hint of lower-class in his stature.
Gotham wasn’t ready to trust a new one yet, not after their beloved left. No one was cruel to the child (one cannot blame a child for being born in a lucky life) but they did not trust him. Did not trust him to better the city that he had obviously never understood.
But oh, how that child proved them wrong.
…
The child was… terrible at it, at the start. He didn’t understand the curses made up by the different districts, and most certainly had stayed completely separate from the islands of poorer Gotham. It was honestly amusing; the child wasn't insulting, but he certainly was like Batman in the way that he didn’t understand Crime Alley in the slightest.
He wasn’t like Batman because he tried regardless.
He carried this small notebook, writing little jots whenever he heard something new or learned something from anyone. He talked to the other kids his age for a long time, asking questions not about their struggles, but about their culture - what special habits everyone had, what words meant what.
(They remember one night where the third had been in a deep conversation with a child about ‘Crime Alley’ celebrations, when Batman had called in between.
“Robin, there's a fight happening in Tricorner. Can you arrive as backup?”
“Sorry B, there was an undocumented attack in Crime Alley that I’m dealing with, can’t stay on the line.”
“...I will not be able to provide any assistance.”
“Yeah yeah, you don't like the Alley. I’ll report back in the cave later.”
“Hn.”
The boy had just lied to Batman. The city had never seen a Robin so easily, so nonchalantly lie to their father figure.
And the boy had lied for the sake of Crime Alley. Not to protect it, but to learn about it.)
(Gotham trusted him a little more after that. They liked that the boy wasn’t a yes-man to the good, yet inherently biased bat. They liked that Robin was his own person.
That Robin was a good person.)
The third Robin became the favourite for the majority of the city. The first was kind, yet unfamiliar. Every district in Gotham had an accent, and the first matched with none of them, the closest being to Batman’s own. He was a good, sweet boy - but he wasn’t Gotham’s. He would follow where the Bat led, and never went further.
When the boy grew tired of the man’s all-encompassing shadow he ran, finding his refuge in Gotham’s sister city. Gotham accepted it, and the people saw that he was happier. They missed him, but there was nothing to mourn, not when the boy-turned-man was still in reach with his smile of unfamiliar yet shining sunshine. Blüdhaven adored him, so Gotham smiled and waved goodbye, knowing that the boy would always have a place if need be. He was a wanderer, and Nightwing allowed him to spread his wings enough to fly.
The second started flying soon after, and the city immediately knew that he was theirs. A young, brash yet shining boy who needed to help everyone the way that Batman seemingly helped him. He understood the shadows of Gotham, not in the way that Batman did. While Batman saw them as tools and weapons, the boy saw them as refuge. He knew he was safe under the Bat’s cape, in the posh streets of Bristol, and in the familiar home of Crime Alley. He was light - the Icarus that Batman gave a pair of wings to.
And the wax had melted him, dropping him too-deep underground.
The third… The third was different from both of them.
He was a true Gothamite, though quite obviously a rich one. He held an insurmountable amount of bravery as he glided around the city, similar to the first, and held the innate understanding of Gotham just as the second did - but what was most obvious was the boy’s effort.
He memorised every district, spoke with every child, learned every special little accent. It showed - it showed in the way that they would see him speak with a posh Bristol accent to make the GCPD keep their backs straight before turning to a child and speaking to her with the ragged flow of a Narrow’s roll of tongue. He learned the slang, the swears, everything in between. Everyone felt comfortable around him; Gotham felt comfortable around him.
If the second was Gotham’s blazing sun, the third was a warm, high-quality blanket that made her feel safe. Over the span of a little under three years, he went from a painfully posh replacement to the most beloved boy in the city. He was obsessive, he was a genius, and he was kind. He was Robin, and he deserved it.
…
Dick really loved patrolling with Tim, whenever he stopped by from Blüdhaven. The kid was amazing - able to make Bruce shut the fuck up and listen to him, doing whatever he wanted because while Dick would never say it out loud, Tim was smarter than Bruce ever was. The kid was also a sneaky little shit - Dick had lost count of how many Young Justice stories he had to keep his mouth shut about, because Tim was so good at lying. Not for the sake of evil or dishonesty, but just because he didn’t want to deal with Bruce. Dick adored him for that.
(“We can just take my batmobile, I keep it in the Drake garage.”
“What– B gave you a batmobile? And your dad let you keep it?!”
“My dad never checks the garage, he only cares about his Benz kept outside. And of course B didn’t give me one, I just took it from his budget.”
“You– you embezzled a Batmobile?!”
“Not my first time. Can we go now?”
“Wha… I– okay. Fuck it, might as well do something to annoy the old man.”
“That–” Tim tossed a pair of bat-decorated keys for Dick to catch, a shining shit-eating grin on his face.
“--is what I exist to do.”
And dangit, the kid’s grin was contagious.)
Fucking with Bruce Thomas Wayne aside, patrolling with Tim was amazing because the kid was just a genuine prodigy. Dick knew a thing or four about travelling and learning different accents, but by god was Tim good with Gotham accents. Dick didn’t even realise that there were so many until Tim - Bruce was nothing but Bristol and Jason was his major example of a non-Bristol accent. But no - everyone sounded different. And somehow, his little brother had mastered all of their tones.
(“Dick!” Tim rushed into the Wayne living room where his brother had been relaxing on the couch. Dick didn’t mind, naturally relaxing as his little brother landed, immediately resting his back on Dick’s arm. Tim was holding a tablet, and he quickly opened a spreadsheet before handing it to the older man.
“Gotham People?” Dick read it aloud, skimming through the carefully colour-coded Excel detailed with Gotham districts and their differences.
“Yeah! I couldn’t really… connect with any of them, so I made this so that I could make the civilians comfortable!” the fourteen year old grinned, and Dick ruffled his hair with a huff of laughter.
“You didn’t have to do that, Timbo.”
“Well, no, but it’s fun. Also B sucks at being communicative, and I’m Robin now, so I should be able to keep up with you and Jason!”
Dick just nodded, gently pushing Tim’s head on his shoulder. You already surpassed us, he wanted to say, but he just looks at the colourful spreadsheet, a small smile tilted on his face.)
Well– not somehow; Dick had seen the spreadsheets, the constant mumblings during patrol as Tim rolled words on his tongue to figure out how other people said it. Dick didn’t do it much himself; he knew how to match a Blüdhaven accent and it was enough for him! But it was always incredible to see how much care Tim always put into his heroism - whether it be practising a kick fifty times or learning how a kid from Robbinsville rolls the letter ‘r’ different from a kid from The Bowery.
Dick flew around Gotham with his Robin, watching Tim’s sharp eyes flicker between people and their actions, the action so visible even from behind his mask. And he knew that he had made the right decision when he had handed the younger boy his family colours.
You’re Robin, Tim. And you’re a flying Grayson, just like every bird before you.
…
“How do you know so much?” the little girl asked as the hero kneeled in front of her and cleaned her bruises.
The third looked up, a small yet comforting smirk on his face.
“How do I know so much about fighting shitty men who hurt kids?”
“You trained with a man with a leather kink–”
“Jesus Christ kid what–”
“--and no, I’m asking how you talk like that .”
“The voice thing?”
“The voice thing.”
“You know how I usually sound, right?”
“A posh rich kid?”
“Mhm. How would an angry kid react if they heard a posh rich kid tell them what to do?”
“They’d punch you.”
“Pfft– yeah, and they’d never trust me to keep them safe.”
“Everyone trusts you though?”
“Now they do, they didn’t before.”
“My brother was telling me about that.”
“You’re gonna see him after this?”
“Mhm.”
“Good. Yeah, so I just learned how to talk like other people.”
“You learnt all of them for that?”
“It was fun, kid.”
“I’m like, three years younger than you! Maybe!”
“Toddler.”
“Eugh, so the voice thing is like a hyper-fixation?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“My brother has those too. His main one is for math though.”
“He’s smart?”
“Mhm. Can’t go to college ‘cause it's too expensive.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yup. Do you go to school?”
“Yeah. You wanna go home to your brother now?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go, then.”
The girl never said it to the vigilante’s face, but when she got home safe she told her brother all about how Robin was able to match her perfectly. Said brother was just thankful that she was okay.
(He woke up the next morning to a scholarship for mathematics at Gotham University, and a lease for an apartment where he and his sister could be safe.
He had never been more grateful for Robin in his life.)
…
Kon was bored as hell in Metropolis, so when he heard Tim ask if he wanted to meet him and patrol Gotham, the Super agreed pretty quickly. Yeah, Gotham scared the ever-loving shit out of him, but Kon knew that he was safe with Tim.
So here Kon was, grinning as Tim laughed, joking around while the half-Kryptonian flew them around with his TTK. They kicked ass and got some free food out of it too! The only crap part would be that if he said any Metropolitan slang Tim would immediately react with near-teary eyes to shut Kon right up.
But Kon noticed something other than Robin's skills and expressions - his speech. To be specific, how much his speech changed. It didn’t seem major at first; but he’d notice how Tim’s accent changed just slightly, or he said a word just a little bit differently with another kid. It was strange, but it didn’t seem unwelcome - quite the opposite, if the smiles on everyone’s faces were to say anything. Even though Rob had a resting bitch face a lot of the time, he was genuinely sweet to civilians, which only cemented his place as ‘Kon’s bestest-ever-friend-in-the-history-of-ever-and-CADMUS’ even more.
“Rob, how are you doing that?” Kon asked in awe a little while later, as the third Robin was chatting with the few food stalls open at night (and very protected - the one situation in which Gothamites didn’t seem to be crazy was against street food and Kon had to respect it), changing his accent with nearly every person he spoke to.
“Hm? I just know all of their accents,” Tim shrugged with a smile and his usual voice, earning a light whack on the shoulder by a more elderly lady running the stall.
“Give yer’self more credit boy– Metr’politan, this kid learnt all’a our accents just ‘cause he cared enough ‘ta.” Tim flushed a bit pink, chuckling.
“Hah, ‘twas just’a not sound like a rich boy all’a time, Grans.”
“Well it work’d, kid. Take’a corn cob for ‘yer meta.”
“‘Course Grans, g’night!”
“G’night, ‘lil hero!”
Tim stuffed the corn in Kon’s mouth to shut him up, his cheeks just beautifully pink from the reveal. Kon made sure to eat the cob at light speed so that he could answer faster, earning a sigh from the Robin.
“So you just learned–”
“Kon–”
“Nope - you learned all the Gotham accents just to make the civilians happy?”
“It isn’t that big of a deal!”
“Tim– they sound so different from yours!”
“Other heroes match accents all the time!”
“Match! Not learn and master themself! You’re amazing, Rob!”
“I–” Tim groaned softly, hiding his face.
“Thanks, Superboy.”
“‘Course! So, will you speak like a Metropolitan for me–”
“I’d rather jump off Wayne Tower.”
“I’d catch you!”
“I’d let the air resistance get to me first.”
…
She watched him leap through her city, grinning at every wave and waving right back. She saw him imbue himself with her, absorbing every facet of her and her people. She saw a boy; first seen as nothing more than a hero-obsessed-child who would one day become yet another rich stain in her city’s ink, turn into a being so warm and safe while remaining purely hers. Her favourite had come back, she’d made sure of that, but she knows that he wouldn’t stay. He would always come back to Gotham, just like his predecessor, but he wouldn’t stay.
This one, this one was hers. And it wasn’t even she who decided it, but him.
She cares for him, silently. Makes a dark alleyway a little brighter to light his path, molds his tongue to speak more easily, and allows the shadows to provide him with comfort when he desires it. She has never asked for a thank you, because none would compare to her thankfulness for him - thankful that he didn’t listen when he was told that he wasn’t meant to be a light, that he was a replacement to Gotham’s favourite. Instead, he took it in stride; becoming a figure who may hold the same name as his predecessors, but one who didn’t need a light to brighten Gotham.
He had warmth, and it provided more to the city than light ever could.
She knew that he couldn’t be Robin forever - none of them could. The name was cursed in a way so similar to herself; cursed to pass down time and time again while leaving a new identity in its wake every single time. But she knew that he would always be hers, that no matter the distance he would come back the moment she asked.
He was not born the favourite like the second, but he had become one of hers anyways. And she never lets her people go.
…
(“Hey, have you seen my Zest– ‘ar mother fuck?! Fuck’ss asshole…” Tim groaned as he stubbed his toe on the dining chair, making Stephanie freeze from across from him.
“...That’s a Bowery accent.”
“Wha– yeah, it comes out sometimes.”
“Comes out– it just appears ?!”)
…
Tim didn’t really want to report to Bruce at four am after a massive patrol, but no one ever lets him not work so here he is.
“Robin, I have recieved a… different batch of information.”
“Different?”
“A civilian report. More-so a… survey, done by the children in Gotham.”
“Which district?”
“All of them.”
“What?” that took Tim by surprise - how in the world did Gotham children find a way to connect with each other?
“Uh– what’s the survey about?”
“Where you’re from.”
“Gotham?”
“No– its–”
“Young master Tim,” Alfred walked in, handing the boy a cup of hot chocolate. “-children have been pondering over which district you originate from.”
“Huh? Obviously Bristol, it’s why I learnt the different dialects.”
“Precisely the confusion, young master; you seem to have mastered so many dialects that the younger generation simply cannot tell which one you naturally own.”
Tim blinks, sipping his drink as he swirls that in his head.
“I– well there’s only one clear answer, right?”
“Not at all - Bristol doesn’t even seem to be an option, young master.”
“O-oh,” Tim really didn’t know what to say to that. He was certain that if his parents had heard of this right now, his mother would have given her huff of begrudged amusement as his father laughed heartily. It made no sense - outside of his few friends and his copious amounts of time alone, he was the pinnacle of Bristol poshness. He had certainly worked to change that image for Robin, but Tim didn’t think he was perfect at it - certainly not enough to make children believe that he was one of theirs!
“I– but my spreadsheet isn’t completed yet. I haven’t memorised the Chinatown accent or the Newtown slang, and my Crime Alley can’t hold a candle to what Jason’s naturally was–” Tim paused as Bruce slowly raised his palm.
“Tim. You may have your stubborn perfectionism, but you truly have mastered this. Enough that when I patrol children come to me to ask if Robin lived nearby - and us Gothamites can differentiate real from fake better than most.”
“Better than Metropolis, for sure.”
“Obviously, we’re far better than that… blinding place.”
“I could barely open my eyes while Kon was flying me around.”
“What right does that meta have to– off track, Robin. What I’m trying to get to is…” the Bat knelt down to Tim’s level, removing his messy gloves to put a clean hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“That you should be proud of yourself.”
“Proud that kids can’t tell where I’m from? It is good for our secret identities–”
“No, though that is another benefit. You should be proud because I have never seen a boy who’d put in more effort than you have as Robin. It’s… genuinely incredible, just how naturally you can transition from one dialect to another.”
Oh.
That– that was one of the longest compliments that Bruce had ever given him.
Alfred seemed to read him like a book, gently pushing the mug back towards Tim, making the young, pink-faced boy sip his drink again.
“I– thank you, B.”
“No, thank you, Tim. Now, what were you saying about Kon flying you around Metropolis?”
“Oh my god–”
…
She watched him smile with his family, the other’s blessed for their need to protect her. She watched him relax, the meticulous faces and tones melting into Tim, just being himself in the moment.
Tim, who Gotham would protect, no matter the cost.
My favourite will come back soon, she thinks to herself in the shadows. I will make sure that he does not harm who is now also mine.
She will never allow harm on her boys, not even from each other.