Chapter Text
Too wound up to sleep, Tim turns on his bedside lamp and retrieves his lockbox from inside the built-in closet.
Sitting cross-legged he opens the box and takes out the folder inside. He flips slowly through the pages of photographs and newspaper clippings, thinking.
Alfred expected Bruce and Jason to come home in the next couple of days. They knew that Tim was here. Alfred said they were looking forward to meeting him again. He was probably just saying it to be nice, though.
Tim has had to work hard to conceal his excitement. Well, he had to be a little excited, but not meeting your heros- level excited. Just a normal amount of excited about normal people coming back to their home where they lived normal lives.
This secret-keeping was a lot harder than he’d thought it would be, and Batman isn’t even home yet. Sometimes he thinks he should just come clean to Alfred, who was so nice and patient and would probably not be mad.
“Darling, if you tell us the truth I promise your father and I won't be angry. Now, did you-? Were you-? How could you even dare-?”
It’s easier to say nothing. Tim isn’t stupid enough to think he’d get to live with Alfred forever, but, well, it would be nice to stay here for a while. Maybe if he’s good enough, he can.
The last photograph in the collection is his favourite, but also the most painful to look at. It shows him and Dick Grayson together at the circus, with their parents standing behind them, on the night Dick’s parents died.
He can almost recall the sound of the crowd, the smell of the popcorn and the exotic animal musk. He’d only been four at the time. Can he really remember Dick hugging him and looking down at him with a smile so bright, it burned? Or is his brain just making it up from the information in the photo?
He’s not sure if he remembers the deaths as they actually happened, or as they happened in the nightmares he’d had after. The impact of the bodies; the strange way that Mrs Grayson had sort of… fidgeted, before going still. The screaming boy; the dark, shadowy monster that had descended like a demon and spirited him away.
He knows that he had cried for what felt like forever after that. He’d annoyed his mom and dad by begging them to try and find Dick and save him from the monster.
Eventually his dad had gotten fed up and showed Tim the article declaring Dick Grayson had been taken in by Bruce Wayne.
“See? The kid is fine; that idiot playboy took him for some ungodly reason. As if that little gyppo doesn’t have a pack of oily relations, I’m sure.”
Tim had kept the article and the photo together. And then he’d happened to watch a newsclip one evening and realised that the monster who had taken Dick away wasn’t a nightmare after all, just Batman.
He puts the photo away, turning instead to a picture of Jason-as-Robin punching a man in the face. Jason’s bared teeth and the blood spraying from the man’s face are in perfect focus; the rest is all streaky motion.
The second Robin wasn’t like Batman or Nightwing, or any of the Justice League. Robin operated on the same streets Jason had been surviving on his whole life.
Whether he was helping a lost kid find home, stopping a robbery or punching some asshole’s lights out, Tim got the strong impression that Jason would be doing all that with or without a mask.
Once at a charity gala held for the Gotham Metropolitan Orchestra last year, Tim had seen how all the rich old biddies and social climbers had swarmed Jason, then still new to his life with Bruce Wayne.
Someone had tittered that Jason must get down on his knees and thank God every night that Bruce Wayne had so generously saved him from a life of hell.
“Get the fuck out of my face.” Jason had calmly replied.
Tim had been floored.
Nothing Batman or the Joker or Mr Freeze had done could ever compare to Jason Todd telling the most important and richest people in the city to fuck off.
That simple statement delivered so confidently was exactly the same as Jason punching the thug’s face in. Instead of exposing Jason as an uncultured street rat like the offended people at the party accused him of being, it exposed them . They were the real trash.
His mother had heard Jason’s comment and turned Tim away, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “ I better not catch you hanging around with that little thug.”
Tim couldn’t beat the shit out of a bully like Robin could.
He tries baring his teeth like Robin.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” he whispers in the quiet room.
*
“Hey, what were you doing up there?”
Tim nearly chokes on his apple and stumbles at the sudden voice. There, at the bottom of the stairs, a face is peering at him from around the pantry door.
It’s Jason Todd.
“Guh,” Tim says.
“You can’t be up there, kid. That’s Alfred’s place, don’t you know you ain’t supposed to go up there? You’ve been here a while, right?”
Tim swallows the bite of apple and hastily shoves the core into his hoodie pocket.
“Uh, a few weeks I guess… but I, uh, but-”
“Jeeze kid, chill,” the older boy interrupts his stammering.
Jason’s got a big bag of cheese and onion chips in his hands. He grins at Tim. “Alfie thinks we don’t know where he hides the good chips. I’m Jason.”
“I know I’m Tim!” he blurts out in a rush.
“You know you’re Tim? Glad to hear it.” Jason says teasingly, heading out through the servant’s passage into the bright, warm kitchen. Tim hurries after him.
“I know you’re Jason,” he tries again. “I’m Tim.”
“I know you’re Tim. You always this twitchy?” Jason asks, clearly amused.
Tim’s face heats up further. Damn his genetic predisposition to blushing.
“No.”
“Well, you can just call me Jay. And I won’t tell on you for being up there, but don’t go in Alfie’s space, yeah? No wonder I couldn’t find your ass anywhere, what were you doing up there?”
Tim’s thinking about how to respond to this, but his stupid brain is still stuck in fanboy mode . Robin is talking to him! Jason Todd is smiling at him like he’s actually excited to meet Tim. He needs a minute to just get his bearings here.
But then he nearly falls off his feet as Bruce Wayne himself strides into the kitchen, Alfred following.
“It’s very nice to see you again, Tim.” Mr Wayne clasps his hand while Tim tries not to stare with dumb amazement. Bruce Wayne is huge. He knew that, but well. It’s like knowing that lions are dangerous. You don’t really appreciate it until you turn a corner and find one there.
“Um, you too!” He replies, then blushes even harder. “To see you, um. It’s nice. Again. I mean-”
“So, which bedroom did you pick?” Jason interrupts. “The one next to mine is empty, it’s pretty OK I think. If you wanted, or whatever.”
“Oh… my room’s next to Alfred’s.”
Jay’s brows contract in puzzlement, but before he can say anything, Alfred cuts in.
“Master Jason, Timothy is staying in my quarters. In the evenings, at least.”
“What?” Jay looks back and forth between Bruce and Alfred, still looking confused. “What for?”
“Alfred is his foster parent.” Bruce answers instead. “While we were away, he couldn’t very well leave Tim alone in the main house every night.”
“But… no one is allowed in Alfred’s place. That was like rule one when I came here. Even Dickhead-”
“Jason,” Mr Wayne hesitates with a half-glance at Alfred. “You know that CPS insists on maintaining as stable a home environment as possible. And Tim needs to stay with his guardian in his residence.”
“Yeah fine, but we’re back now,” Jay replies, and now he’s starting to sound put out as well as confused. “Why can’t he stay in the main house? It’s all the same ‘residence’ or whatever.”
Bruce gives him a warning look. “We can talk about this later.”
“No one but Alfred is allowed in the servant’s quarters! Is Tim a servant or what the hell? He’s freaking seven!”
“Hey, language!”
Feeling more like an intruder than ever, Tim glances around and realises that Alfred has evaporated from the discussion. He’s at the kitchen counter, calmly laying out stuff for tonight’s dinner and ignoring Bruce and Jay’s increasingly hissed argument. Tim slips over and tugs his apron.
“Can I help with the food?” He whispers.
“Wash your hands first, please.” Alfred replies smoothly.
Behind him, Tim can hear Bruce saying in a low voice to Jay, “I said we’ll talk about this later. Go and unpack, please.”
Jason humphs and stomps out of the room, shooting Tim a glowering look as he goes.
*
By dinner time, Tim knows that Jay is definitely mad.
It’s more than a little awkward sitting at the table with Bruce and Jason on one side and Alfred and himself on the other, when for the past few weeks it’s just been him and Alfred.
Jason spends the meal glaring at each of them in turn, and glowering at his steak pie in the meantime.
“Will you be working tonight, Master Bruce?” Alfred queries. Bruce gives a rueful little shrug.
“Unfortunately, yes. That’s what I get for being out of email range for six weeks! Maybe you boys could watch some movies tonight,” Bruce suggests. “Tim, have you seen the media room yet?”
Tim opens his mouth to reply but Jason butts in, whining at Mr Wayne.
“I thought you and me were doing stuff tonight?”
Mr Wayne laughs. “And here I thought you were sick of me! All that camping and hiking together not enough bonding time, sport?”
“I-it’s cool, Mr Wayne” Tim assures them. “I mean, thanks anyway, but I’m OK with just going home after dinner.” If anything, Jason looks even more sour at Tim’s phrasing. “You guys just got back, I don’t wanna be in the way.”
Mr Wayne’s aggressively jovial expression softens into something much more natural.
“You can just call me Bruce,” he says in a quieter voice. “And you’re not in the way, Tim. Stay in your, your home , if that’s what you want. But just so you know, we really are glad to have you here, I’m just sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”
Mr Wayne - Bruce - seems to look right through Tim like an x-ray machine, so he drops his eyes to his food and starts hurriedly eating. When he glances up again he catches Bruce and Alfred exchanging a meaningful look.
He’s sorry that Jason doesn’t want to hang out with him. But why would he? If Jay’s hanging out with Tim, then he won’t be out doing Robin stuff. It seems a simple choice to him.
A little thrill runs down his spine, and he has to be careful not to let it show on his face. It sounds like Batman and Robin are planning to make an appearance tonight. And if Alfred is occupied with whatever he does for Batman, maybe Tim will finally get a chance to go out.
*
Nervously, Tim tiptoes through the manor kitchen and deeper into the house.
Fifteen minutes ago, Alfred had come upstairs to their apartment to check that Tim was in bed as usual. Almost every night since he had been here, Alfred had left the apartment around 8pm and returned at 9pm to tuck Tim in.
He never came back after 9pm. Tim was sure of it. A couple of times Tim had stayed up all night just to make sure Alfred didn’t check on him after he was asleep. He hadn’t. Tim had heard him come into the apartment and go to bed around 3am, and that was all.
When Alfred had sat down to play chess with Tim for an hour or so after dinner, as they had done every night since his school suspension, Tim had serious trouble staying calm and not squirming.
Alfred promptly trounced him at every match, and had expressed concern that perhaps Tim was feeling overwhelmed from the new developments.
“No, I’m fine,” Tim assured him. If Alfred was worried, he might not leave. “Let’s go again.”
They had switched colours and Tim made a huge effort to focus on the game and not the prospect of escaping into Gotham City that night.
Ten minutes later he lost again, but this time it was only a narrow loss, and Alfred seemed mollified.
Now, Tim creeps around peeking into the huge, darkened rooms of the manor and finds everything still and silent.
He doesn’t know where Batman operates. He’s sure it’s somewhere on the property, but he’s never found any place that looked likely. It gives him a sort of uncomfortable prickly feeling not to know. It feels like Batman might suddenly emerge from any shadow, and although Tim isn’t scared of Batman (anymore), he would rather not be caught.
Once he’s certain that Mr Wayne and Jason are definitely not in the house, he creeps back to the servants entrance.
He pulls out the electronic keyfob Alfred had given him in his first week. It was the exact same as Alfred’s fob, he knew, because days ago he had swapped them to see if Alfred noticed.
He hadn’t.
The keyfob would allow members of the household to come and go without setting off the house alarm system. There was also a keypad on the outside, and if you knew the combination you could enter without the keyfob. But Alfred hadn’t told him the code. Instead, he told Tim that if he ever went out without his fob or lost it, he should go around to the front of the house and ring the bell, or call Alfred on his cell phone.
Now, he brings the keyfob up to little black box with the glowing red light next to the door. He can feel sweat breaking out across his back, and bites his lip. He wishes that he’d thought to try the fob at night before now.
When the card is close enough, the black box gives a quiet beep and the light turns green. He hears the door click, and quickly opens and darts through it, heart racing.
He lets out a shaky breath and grins to himself as the door shuts silently behind him. That wasn’t so hard.
How do I get out of here?
If he’d had his bike it would be easy to find a way out quickly. But he’d not mentioned it to Alfred when he picked him up from the school office, so it’s still locked up in the bike shed at school.
He’s not too worried though. Shrewdly, he suspects that he isn’t the first boy to sneak out from Wayne Manor. It’s just a matter of figuring out how the others did it.
He jogs around the house to the main drive and makes his way briskly to the gates, which are almost a ten minute walk. At this rate, by the time he gets out of here he’ll probably have to turn right around and go back in!
He approaches the gate carefully, looking for cameras. He knows there’s at least one, because he’s seen it on the little integrated intercom screen inside the front entrance of the manor when Alfred has buzzed visitors in.
The iron bars of the gate look too narrow to slip through, anyway. That means he needs to follow the stone wall either to the left or right.
Which way to go? His natural inclination is to turn left, which would take him to the point on the property nearest to the city. But he knows that the closest bus stop is the other way down the road, on the right.
He follows the wall to the right.
In the shadow of the wall, it’s hard to see where he’s going and he doesn’t dare turn on his phone’s flashlight. He brushes his hand along the wall as he walks to help keep his balance, while looking around for something to help him get out.
After a minute or so of walking, his hand brushes against a piece of metal sticking out of the wall.
Tim stops and peers at the thing protruding from the wall. It looks like a really big nail has been hammered into the concrete between the bricks, and he’s puzzled why it’s here. Glancing down, Tim realises that there’s another one lower on the wall. They’re spaced about a foot apart, or shoulder width when he stands facing them. Tim looks up.
There are more big nails zig zagging up the wall. He grins; wondering which boy was responsible for their placement. Tim puts his foot on the lowest nail and pushes himself up cautiously; the nail holds his weight. He reaches up to the next hold, at the same time bringing his other foot up.
The spacing is a little bit of a stretch for him, but it’s not a hard climb by any means. At the top he peers over the other side and sees the same number of nails progressing down to the ground.
Within a minute he’s jogging along the street to the bus stop, checking the time on his phone to see that he should have only a few minutes to wait. He knows the Bristol night bus schedule off by heart by now, and knows that in order to be back inside the house no later than 2am, he’ll need to leave Gotham by 1:15am.
That gives him just a few hours to track down Batman and Robin and get some photos. It’s a lot more hassle for a lot less time than he’s used to, but as he rides the bus into town, Tim can’t help feeling elated at the challenge.
*
Tim yawns hugely. Across the table, Jason yawns too, then glares.
“Damn, you got me going.”
“Sorry,” Tim mumbles, repressing another big yawn.
It's the next morning, and the two boys are sitting in the little breakfast nook in the manor kitchen.
“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred chides, placing a glass of orange juice in front of each of them. He turns his sharp old hound’s eyes on Tim, who has to resist the urge to squirm guiltily. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Um. Nightmares.” Tim shrugs. Then, because Alfred looks like he’s about to say something else, he asks, “So, where’s Mr Wayne this morning?”
“Sleeping in,” Jay says, rolling his eyes. “Rich people just sleep their whole lives away.”
Killer Croc had dropped a brick chimney top on Batman last night. Robin had had to call in Batgirl for support. Tim had the photos to prove it.
This morning, Jason didn’t have a scratch on him - or didn’t appear to, anyway. He digs into his egg white omelette and turkey bacon with enthusiasm.
“You got school today?” Jay shoots at him, just as Tim is taking a gulp of juice. Jay smirks when Tim chokes, making Tim think he did it on purpose.
“I’m still suspended,” Tim replies, when he can speak.
“Me too. I mean, I ain’t suspended, but I’m not due back in class yet.”
“How come you got so much time off and stuff?” Tim asks, keen to keep the conversation going now that Jay seemed to be in good mood.
“On paper? Because I finished all my assignments ahead of time and only have the extra credit stuff and exams left to do,” Jay explains. “In reality? Because Bruce Wayne wanted to go on an extra long camping trip with his kid and the school administrators are too sycophantic to say no.”
“What’s sycophantic mean?”
“Means that people kiss his ass.” Jay grumbles, then adds “Sorry, Alfie,” at Alfred’s severe glance.
The two boys share a grin as the butler turns away to make coffee for himself and Mr Wayne.
“Seeing as we’re both free, wanna play something? I got Smash Bros.” Jay offers, and Tim tries not to like, explode with happiness.
“Yeah, cool! But actually I gotta do my chores and stuff first.”
Jay’s smile drops. “You do chores?”
“Well… yeah,” Tim says tentatively, not sure why Jay seems to be getting annoyed again. It's not like Jason doesn't do chores, right?
“And, what, you get an allowance for doing chores? ”
“Um, yeah. Alfred pays me…” He glances around as Alfred approaches looking wary.
“So you are a servant then,” Jay said harshly, throwing his napkin over his half-finished breakfast and shoving away from the table.
“Master Jason, perhaps the work would be completed faster if you would like to help Tim-” Jason’s eyes seemed to burn with anger at the mention of Tim’s name.
“Why the hell would I do that? I’m not a servant!” Jason yelled, then stomped away.
“I’m sorry,” Tim said quietly, feeling dizzy at the speed of Jason's mood swings. Usually he knew why he made someone mad, but this time he honestly had no idea what he’d done wrong. So how could he know what not to do in future?
Alfred looked back at him and sighed, which made the knot in Tim’s belly tighten painfully.
“I’m sorry,” Tim said again, his breath starting to hitch. “I’m sorry, I’m really suh-sorry.”
“Tim-”
“I - I'm-”
Alfred sits next to him in the nook and puts his arms around Tim, which is nice, but Tim grabs his own napkin and covers his face. He doesn’t want to ruin Alfred’s clean shirt.
*
He feels stupid for crying. Crying over nothing. After he’d calmed down a bit, Alfred had told him that he wasn’t angry, that Tim wasn’t to blame, and not to take Jason’s outburst personally.
“Jason has had a difficult life, and sometimes changes to his routine can be upsetting. I’m not excusing his behaviour, however, and Master Bruce and I will speak to him.”
“Oh, no,” Tim gasped. “Please, that’s OK - I’m fine. Don’t bother him.”
Alfred had patted his back, smiling delicately. “You’re a good boy, Tim. You and Jason will be good friends.”
Tim wasn’t so sure.
Jason finds him again in the mid-afternoon, probably after his “talk” with Alfred and Bruce, judging by his guilty-resentful expression. He comes upon Tim morosely polishing the furniture in the main parlour, the TV turned on low for company.
“Hey,” Jay says gruffly.
Tim looks up. “Hi,” he says, then goes back to polishing the coffee table.
“Sorry about before. For yellin’. I didn’t mean that shi...that stuff.”
Tim shrugs. “It’s cool.”
“Yeah, but no,” Jay replies. “I was bein’ a jerk. Just… I didn’t expect you to be living with Alfie. I mean, in the house yeah. But not like… with Alfred.” He says this last part with so much significance that Tim has to stop polishing and look at him.
Jay’s staring at the floor, brows furrowed, but he glances up when he feels Tim’s eyes on him.
“Alfie’s the best, you know that, right?”
Tim swallowed and nodded. He did know.
“But Bruce is awesome too, right?” Tim blurts out. Then flushes at Jay’s surprised expression. “I mean… he took you camping for like a month and a half, right? My folks’d never do that.”
Tim can’t even remember the last time he’d seen his parents for as long as a month.
Jay shrugs. “Yeah, I guess he’s OK. For a dandy.” Jason starts tidying up some books, putting them back on their shelves. “So, I heard you were pretty banged up when you got here.”
“I guess.”
“That’s rough. My dad was a total cun- ah, creep, too.”
“Oh no, he didn’t hit me. They’d never hit me.” Tim quickly reassured him. “I got in a fight in the group home I was in before I came here.”
“Yeah? Pipsqueak like you? Jeeze, I’d hate to see the other guy.” Jason snorted. “So, your folks didn’t beat yah, what’re you in for then?”
“I don’t know,” Tim shrugged. “They just left for a long time, I guess.”
Jason turned to him looking unconvinced, but at that moment Tim’s attention is caught by the sound of his own name coming from the TV.
“... Drake Industries. The authorities discovered evidence of extensive fraud and market abuse after obtaining a warrant to enter the Drakes’ home and seize their belongs. DI stock price was down over 47% and dropping on release of a statement by…”
“Oh fuck,” Jay swore loudly. “Shit, isn’t that your dad?”
Tim stares at the images on the screen of his parents, alongside some people he recognises as DI board members.
“Tim.” He turns and sees Alfred standing there with Bruce just behind him, both looking very serious. “We’ve just heard from - ah.” Alfred cuts himself off as he realises the news segment beat him to it.
Behind him, Tim hears the chipper voice of the news anchor saying that his parents had been arrested and were being held in a federal detention centre before facing trial in Gotham.