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It starts out as a silly little thing.
Or well, not so silly and not all that little.
Tim was freshly eight (and very proud of his age, thank you very much, that was practically an adult) and his mother was freshly 40 (and very not proud of her age, ‘Don’t you dare mention my age to anyone, Timothy’) and for her birthday, he’d made her a hat.
It was a very nice hat, purple and gold yarn knitted carefully together. It fit with her favourite shoes. He had remade it seven times until it wasn’t lopsided anymore because that was how long it took him to figure out what the lady in the video meant with ‘maintaining consistent tension’.
All in all, the hat had kept him busy for almost two months, which was very well, since it distracted him from the fact that his parents were in Guatemala during his eighth birthday.
One of Tim’s classmates had asked what they could give their mommy for her birthday, and his teacher had suggested asking the crafts teacher for crocheting tips. Or knitting. Tim had yet to figure out the exact difference, except that knitting needed two needles and was therefore double the fun.
So since Tim also still needed a birthday present, he had looked up a tutorial and had bought yarn from his birthday money and had set to work.
Now he was done.
Tim didn’t think he’d ever been this proud of something.
His mother took the offered present (Mrs. Mac had helped him wrap it) with a gentle smile she only rarely offered to Tim. The smile dropped away when she saw the hat, which was a very, very bad sign, so Tim hurried to explain. “They fit your favourite shoes, Mama,” he said proudly.
His mother wrinkled her nose. “What on earth made you think I could wear a self-made hat, Timothy? We aren’t poor.”
Tim blinked. He wasn’t sure why self-made equaled poor, but if his mother said so…it had to be true, right? “Sorry,” he said, dejected.
She sighed.
His father rolled his eyes.
And that was that.
The hat was left behind when his parents disappeared again, jetting off to Nigeria.
Tim only cried a little, before he had a sudden bout of inspiration. He had recently started following around Batman and Robin, Bruce Wayne and Dick Wayne, his neighbours, and taking pictures of them. There were always plenty of people around that lived in empty warehouses or haphazardly built carton houses. They were poor, right? And it was growing colder outside.
Maybe one of them would like the hat.
Decision made, Tim rushed to get ready, suddenly giddy again.
Darkness had fallen by the time he’d made it into Gotham, but Tim wasn’t afraid. He’d been here plenty and he knew every hidey-hole ever.
It didn’t take him long to find someone, a group of teenagers. They were smoking, sitting under the entrance roof of an old, burnt out house.
One of them, a girl with long, dark hair that matted together in places, was wearing a purple hoodie. Clearly it was well loved, so she must like purple.
Shyly, Tim shuffled over.
“Piss off, squirt,” one of the boys said menacingly, but Tim’s eyes were fixed on the girl.
He hesitantly held out the hat.
“I made a hat for you,” he said softly.
The group fell silent and the girl lifted an eyebrow, looking at him sceptically.
“You made a hat for me?” she asked dryly.
Tim flushed. “Well, uhm, I made it for my mama, but she…she didn’t want it and it’s getting cold and your hoodie is purple and it will match.”
The girl blinked, but then she smiled and slowly reached for the hat. “Thanks, I guess,” she said, ruffling Tim’s hair. He couldn’t quite help but lean into the contact. Her smile deepened. She put the hat on and twirled once. “How do I look?”
“Very pretty,” Tim assured her.
“Hey, where’s my hat?” one of the boys asked.
“Don’t be an ass to the kid, Pino,” the girl with the purple hat said, but Tim had already fixed his eyes on Pino.
“What colour would you like?” he asked.
“Oh, uhm…” The teenager shifted, glancing at his friends, but the group was simply grinning at him. “Red and green?”
Tim nodded seriously. “Christmas colours,” he said solemnly. “Good choice.”
The girl with the purple hat snorted.
“I’ll be back,” Tim announced, before he walked off.
He was indeed back, one and a half weeks later, with a red and green hat. The group wasn’t there, but he found them deeper in the alley, smoking again.
“I can’t believe you actually made one,” Pino said. “That’s crazy.”
“Oh,” Tim said, deflating slightly. “Were you joking?”
One of the other teenagers elbowed the older boy sharply and Pino shook his head. “No, no, it’s lovely,” he assured Tim, grabbing the hat and shoving it on.
Tim beamed at him.
They all wanted one after that.
He learned that the girl with the purple hat was named Patrizcia and that she enjoyed chocolate protein bars, so he started bringing those for her whenever he brought a new hat.
He learned that Pino was a little bit rough around the edges but got really excited about the puzzle book Tim brought. He needed help with one of the puzzles, but at the look on Pino’s face, he just left the puzzle there.
He learned that the other four people in the group were named Ado, Sierra, Lana and Jason. Their hats were turquoise with little stitched-on stars, orange and red and yellow, pink and purple in the same pattern as Patrizcia’s and red.
He also learned that Ado was a fiend for bread, Sierra wanted to be a singer, Lana disappeared for days sometimes and came back looking healthier than when she’d left and that Jason was really into literature.
Soon enough, Tim had a schedule. He went batwatching on Tuesdays and Thursdays, stayed in on Mondays and Saturdays and went to see Crime Alley on the other three day.
They soon started bringing him more orders. Some people even offered to pay, but Tim declined. He had an allowance big enough to quiet his parents’ guilt at leaving him alone and he could damn well use it for yarn.
That was a word he’d learned from them.
Damn.
(Also a plethora of other words and when he had used one at school, he had gotten a week’s worth of detention and a cease and desist order from his parents over email.)
The teenagers helped him with homework sometimes or just let him stay around them. And Tim told them things. He said his name was Alvin Draper, but that was pretty much the only lie he told. They knew he had money, they knew his parents were never home and, when his father had gotten a little handsy after Tim had talked back during a gala, they knew about that too because he needed to ask them how to hide a black eye.
“Piece of shit,” Jason said when he saw it, but he still borrowed some of Patrizcia’s makeup and showed him.
Jason was super, super cool and only three years older than Tim. Three.
Weeks passed and then months and then years.
The group changed and he started fluttering from person to person, from group to group, until most of the homeless population in Crime Alley knew the boy named Alvin and had knitted hats or gloves or scarves (he had branched out.)
Jason got adopted by Bruce Wayne, which was super, super cool, but also meant that Tim spent the galas both of them were at hiding, because Jason knew a little too much about Alvin and unfortunately, Tim was Alvin.
His parents weren’t a fan of the behaviour, but they couldn’t do much more than try to knock some sense into him, because the day after they were gone to Belize.
Patrizcia, who still often showed up in Crime Alley, even if she had a roof over her head now, helped him cover up those bruises.
“I don’t know what to do,” Tim whined.
He was eleven now and eleven years olds didn’t whine, but he couldn’t quite help it.
“What about, squirt?” Pino hadn’t changed much except that he now had a baby and worked for the Black Mask to feed them both.
Tim had made little baby socks and a little stuffed lioness for his daughter. He’d also offered money, but Pino had said that there was a difference between supporting a single dad and buying yarn and he didn’t want to be the reason that Tim got his ass kicked and that he would figure it out and stop being a criminal soon.
Tim didn’t point out that he would hardly call it an ass kicking and that he also didn’t believe Pino when he knew that the man loved his daughter dearly, but loved beating up people a little bit more.
He just silently brought diapers and baby formulas whenever he knew Pino would be around.
It wasn’t enough, Tim didn’t think anything he could do was ever enough, but he tried.
“We need to do a community service project. And then at the end there is this huge fair and people can buy symbolic things from your community service and it all goes into making Gotham a safer place.”
Pino scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
Tim glared at him. “I know it’s bullshit,” he hissed, “but I still need to have an A.”
“Kid,” the man said patiently. “You routinely knit shit for the community. You bring food and money and occasionally medicine, even if I did tell you to stop doing that.” Pino had told him to stop, mainly because the man thought Tim was just bringing his own medicine (which may or may not have been true).
“Yes, well, I can’t very well put that on my project, now can I?” He affected a high voice. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Draper, we just wanted to know if you’re aware that your son Alvin has been running around Crime Alley during the night, giving out things to the poor. Yes, yes, he’s been spending your hard-earned money on the peasants.”
Pino rolled his eyes. “We all know that’s a fake name, by the way.”
Tim just shrugged.
“You could always…I don’t know…”
“Helpful, thanks,” Tim replied, jumping off the trash container he’d been sitting on. It was getting late and he had a math test tomorrow. Or…well, technically later today. Eh. Sleep was overrated and caffeine existed for a reason.
“You like the Bats, don’t you?”
Tim tensed slightly at the new voice, a young woman named Tessy. The Bats were a fifty-fifty topic, some people really hated them, some liked them.
“Maybe,” he said and Pino rolled his eyes again, as if to say ‘You ain’t fooling anybody, kid.’
“So, the Bats help the community. You could help them.”
Tim stared at Tessy.
She had a point. She had a very good point.
“In fact, you could just make them hats or something,” the woman continued. “Rich people love symbolic shit, so I doubt any of your teachers actually care that much about how genuinely helpful your project is.”
“Hm,” Tim said. She had a very, very good point. “Thanks, Tessy.”
“Course,” she said. “Just list me as your muse.”
He grinned. “I will.” He wasn’t joking.
He started with Robin, because Jason was Robin. His Robin.
Picking the yarn wasn’t all that fun. While Tim thought that Robin was super cool, he found his costume…well, the colours could definitely be prettier, but Tim digressed.
It was fun to figure out how to knit in a hat and only a week later, Tim was staring proudly at a hat and handwarmers in Robin’s colours.
He was getting really fast, having knitted them only in the free time allotted for knitting, without even skipping Batwatching or school or Crime Alley or his overwhelming amount of assignments.
Tim put them down on a roof Robin frequented, with a small note that read ‘Thank you for everything you do for the community, Robin’.
Naturally, he took pictures to document his project.
Then, he hid in one of the huge vents and waited.
“Wait, N, hold on, what’s that?” Robin almost soundlessly landed on the roof, before not-so-soundlessly letting out a whoop. “Alvin,” he yelled.
Tim got an amazing shot of Robin clutching the knitwear.
“What?” another voice asked and then Nightwing was standing next to Robin, sceptically looking at the gift from Tim and Tim himself was taking picture after picture, giddy with hero-worship and the warm, warm feeling of being remembered.
“It’s from Alvin. The kid from Crime Alley I told you about. The one making everyone hats.” Robin pulled the hat and gloves on and for a moment, despite the mask and the cape, all Tim could see was the boy who had helped him bring his English grade up.
“The one you asked B to look into?” Nightwing asked, poking at the hat until Robin swatted him for his troubles.
Whelp. Thank you Nightwing for giving Tim yet another very good reason why Jason Wayne and Timothy Drake could never, ever, ever meet. Ever.
“Yeah. Isn’t this so cool?”
Nightwing grinned, but then pouted. “I want one.”
“Tough luck, grandpa,” Robin shot back, running to the edge to jump off it. “Maybe if you were cooler.” Then he was gone.
“Hey, I’m totally cool,” Nightwing shot back, sprinting after his little brother.
Tim rode the high for the entirety of the time it took him to make a blue and black hat with wings on it and gymnastic legwarmers in the same colour.
Nightwing was alone when he found ‘Alvin’s’ gift, but he was so thrilled that Tim was treated to a ten minute, one-sided rant of excitement through the coms. “I told you I was cool,” Nightwing finished and Tim had to clamp his hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
“Thanks Alvin,” his hero added, softer, looking around, as if he could spot Tim. “If you’re around to hear.”
Tim did Batgirl next. He made her a purple and black hat with little bat ears on it and a laptop bag with a yellow bat symbol.
“Do you think he knows who I am?” Batgirl asked Robin after her initial excitement wore off.
Robin shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised? Alvin knows like…everybody. Might’ve just been a good guess though. Either way, he ain’t going to spill on ya.”
Batgirl nodded and then smiled, clutching the laptop bag to her chest. “My dad will have kittens when he sees this,” she said with a wide grin.
Robin giggled.
“B ain’t a fan of this either.”
Tim frowned. Oh. Batman didn’t like his community project?
“Says it’s much too dangerous for a kid to be out and about. Which…fair, but I’ve been telling him that the munchkin has been out and about for ages.”
The boy brightened again. Batman was just worried. That was fine then, Tim could deal with that.
“So B hasn’t learned anything new about this Alvin Draper?” Batgirl asked, bathat slightly askew on her red curls.
Robin shook his head and the two were off.
Tim was jittery with excitement.
“Kid,” a voice called and then Tessy and two younger teenagers called Pip and Trip (with no relation) were waving a newspaper at him.
Tim took it obligingly. “Oh shit,” he said, staring at the picture of Nightwing and Robin in matching hats and the small picture of Batgirl to the side, also with a hat.”
“Oh shit is right,” Trip said gleefully. “You’re so getting an A for this.”
Tim’s face moved into a smile without his conscious input.
Tessy pulled him into a one-armed hug and as always, Tim melted into the contact. The Crime Alley residents had quickly found out that Tim relished contact. Most, anyway, they knew better than to tap his back or grab his elbow. “Good job, kiddo,” she muttered fondly.
“Can I get one of these?” Pip asked, tapping the handwarmers on the picture.
Tim immediately bopped his head into a nod. “Colours?” he asked, opening his project list on his phone.
“Gray and black,” she said confidently.
“Emo,” Trip teased.
“Whore,” Pip shot back, which was a needless escalation in Tim’s opinion, but he’d learned that it was just how the two showed their love.
“It will be done, ma’am,” he quipped and the three laughed.
“So,” Tessy said, voice forcefully casual. “Batman next.”
Tim, who loved and adored and worshipped Batman, shivered. “I’m terrified,” he admitted.
“Good,” Trip replied, rapping his knuckles against Tim’s head. “Means you got some brain cells still bouncing in there.”
Tim rolled his eyes and flipped him off in a way that would have brought his mom into an early grave, before making his way back.
He had a lot to do.
Despite how basic it was, Tim had decided to simply replicate the top of Batman's costume. Mostly, because he didn’t think Batman would wear it otherwise, but also partly because he thought it was hilarious. Tim spent a substantial amount of his time knitting giggling at the mental image of Batman pulling on his bat ears only to reveal a second pair of bat ears underneath.
Very gratifyingly, when he demonstrated this image to Trip and Pip, they also laughed for a very long time.
Funnily enough, it was Robin who found Tim’s gift and note for Batman. “Oh Batman,” he sing-songed into his comms. “There is a gift for you.”
He giggled at whatever his father replied.
“Al?” he asked, looking around. “Are you here?”
Tim went very, very still.
“It’s only…if you are, maybe we could talk? Like the good old times, eh?”
Tim desperately wanted to, but he was not stupid enough to fall for that trap.
Robin snorted. “Yeah…uhm, didn’t think that would work,” he admitted, rubbing his back.
Luckily, before the sidekick could attempt any more one-sided smalltalk, Batman landed behind him.
“Look,” Robin exclaimed, all but skipping over to Batman.
The man let out a weary sigh. “Dangerous and irresponsible,” he muttered.
Tim could hear the eyeroll in Robin’s voice. “Just put it on, you old grump.”
Much to Tim’s shocked excitement…Batman did.
Tim nearly fainted, but he managed to snap a picture for his project instead.
“Looks good, B,” Robin complimented.
“Hng,” Batman grunted.
“That means he likes it,” Robin said, voice a little bit too loud and with a joyful startle, Tim realised that Robin was translating for him. For the second time in his project, he had to clap his hand to his mouth, this time to choke back a squeal.
“Bye, Alvin. Think about what I said,” Robin called.
“Do you really think he was-” Tim heard Batman start, but then the vigilantes were out of earshot.
Tim was so excited, he didn’t sleep the entire night and instead got started on his fair stand. He made cardboard walls to stick his pictures to and added huge notes like ‘Batman saved 126 citizens in the past month’ or ‘Nightwing’s debut decreased Blüdhaven’s crime rate by 47%’. All of his heroes got a stat. Then, he drew the title above it with bubble letters. ‘KEEPING OUR HEROES WARM.’
Finally, at 8am (on a Saturday), he crashed and slept for the next 16hours. Then, he chugged some coffee and got to work. After all, he had to still make the symbolic objects, after all. He had settled on four stuffed animals. Two were Robins, one in traffic light colours and one in black and blue, and two were bats, one in all black with menacing white eyes and one in purple with yellow eyes.
He finished in the nick of time.
The boy stood next to his little stand dressed very properly in slacks and a polo shirt. He had asked his teacher to take a picture, since he’d promised the alley kids (and Tessy and Patriczia and Pino and…a lot of other people, actually) to show them how it went.
His project was a hit. People came to coo over his knitting skills, expressing their shock that a boy would be into such a hobby (which he was both appropriately annoyed by, because hello? but also hoped his parents would never hear about, because they were very big on Tim doing boy things), and praising his creativity. As he’d promised Tessy, he had added her as his muse and he made sure to give her credit whenever his creativity came up.
“Ooh, look at this one Bruce,” a very, very familiar voice said and Tim went rigid.
What were the Waynes doing here?
Hastily, he slunk out of sight, quite pathetically hiding behind his stand. Jason didn’t even take this class and Dick had graduated. So why were the person who knew way too much about Tim’s homelife and said person’s detective father here? Of all places? Come on, universe.
Fuck.
“Oh my god,” Jason muttered and Tim realised that he was now standing in front of Tim’s project.
Double fuck.
“Alvin,” Jason added.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Excuse me miss, whose project is this?” Jason asked Tim’s teacher in a voice so polite that Tim nearly didn’t recognise him.
“Timothy Drake’s. Where did he wander off to, oh there he is.”
Tim had zero moments to process that ‘oh there he is’ meant that he’d been spotted and a blink later, he had been pulled forwards.
Jason stared at Tim and Tim stared back.
“Alvin,” Jason then said with a wide grin and before Tim could apologise for lying or…lie some more, Jason already had his arms around Tim.
It was a nice hug. It was a very nice hug.
“Timothy Drake, you say?” he heard Bruce’s voice from behind Jason, a speculative tone aimed at his teacher who gave an affirmative.
“Your name is the last empty part of the adoption papers for you,” Jason informed him.
Tim blinked. Right. He should really sleep more and drink less caffeine, he was definitely hallucinating.
“We’ll take the lot,” Jason then added, letting go of Tim to coo at the stuffed animals and sweep them up.
“That’s…” Tim blinked. “That’s really not how charity auctions work,” he pointed out.
Jason laughed and half a second later, he found himself in another hug, this time with two knitted Robins and two knitted bats in the mix.
“I missed you, Al.”
Tim sighed and allowed himself to lean into the hug for just a tiny bit, pretending they weren’t here and everything wasn’t crashing down on his head.
“I missed you too, Jay.”