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Tim is twelve when he finally gets caught taking pictures of the Batman.
At first he’s a little scared, because the whole reason he has been following Batman around more and more these days is because he’s gotten more violent. He knew almost everything about him; how he was really Bruce Wayne, how Dick Grayson was the first Robin, how Jason Todd was the second Robin, and how the latter had recently died. He knew that the reason that all of the papers were calling Batman ruthless was because of the second Robin’s death, and he knew that Batman was spiralling further and further into darkness.
But when the man himself drops down in front of him, a defenceless twelve-year-old boy (despite his vast amounts of knowledge in various forms of martial arts) standing under the shadow of the Batman himself, he quickly realises that even though the Batman hadn’t been in the best state of mind lately, he wouldn’t hurt him. He was the one he had been following since he was a young boy, and the one whose secret identity he had known since he was nine. He knew almost everything about him.
“It’s too late for you to be out alone.” The man’s deep voice grumbled at him, and Tim wondered if it would be rude to raise his camera and snap a shot of him. He’d never gotten one from so up-close before, after all. “It’s dangerous.”
Tim suddenly felt bad, suppressing the need to tell him that he could look after himself. Batman had just lost his comrade, after all, and Tim could probably understand how he must feel about a kid walking around a dangerous city alone at night.
“Are you alright, Batman?” Tim asked instead, “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
At that, Tim could almost see the flicker of the Batman’s eyes underneath his cowl, his gaze dropping from Tim’s face to the camera around his neck.
Without asking, he grabbed the camera and pulled it off from around Tim’s neck, who knew better than to try and stop him. He watched as Batman flicked on his camera and started going through his pictures and oh, shit.
Tim studied what he could see of his face. His mouth was pulled into a straight, firm line as always, but when he saw it twitch slightly, he knew Batman found what Tim was hoping he wouldn’t.
Tim didn’t only take pictures of Batman and Robin, after all. Sometimes, when he spotted them in the city, Tim would snap pictures of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Jason Todd as well. Obviously this wasn’t a smart thing to do, but who would ever be around to go through his camera?
He waited as Batman paused, obviously trying to figure out if there was any way that the kid with pictures of both Bruce Wayne and Batman on his camera didn’t know that they were one in the same. He obviously came to the conclusion that there wasn’t one, and he lowered the camera.
“What is your name?” He asked, his voice sounding a little on edge, but Tim wondered if he was just imaging that.
“Timothy Drake, sir.”
“You need to come with me.” Batman didn’t wait for him to answer before he turned and slowly walked away, probably only doing so for Tim’s convenience. He probably could’ve just taken Tim’s camera and disappeared into the night, if he wanted to, but obviously he needed the boy to follow him.
The twelve-year-old quickly ran to catch up, and Batman led him to where he had parked the Batmobile (Tim had plenty of pictures of this on another SD card at home), and with a quick voice command the doors opened up, revealing an interior as dark and sleek as the outside.
“Get in.” Was all Batman said before climbing into the drivers seat. Tim paused for a moment, taking the time to make sure this was really happening, before finally taking a deep breath and climbing into the passenger seat. The doors closed immediately after, and Tim found the seat buckle and locked himself in.
“It’s standard procedure to blindfold anyone I take to the cave, but obviously it would be pointless for you.”
Tim felt a rush of warmth fill him at the Batman’s words. That was sort of like a compliment right? Or was he just annoyed, or angry, or both? Either way, he was sitting in the Batmobile with the object of his obsession breaking standard procedure for him, and he felt like he was a little boy again, meeting the Flying Grayson’s for the first time.
Tim stayed quiet, knowing that Batman probably wanted to save the talk for later. The drive was long, since the manor was a little out of the way, but eventually the car stopped and the doors were opening automatically. He got out cautiously, but quickly threw it to the wind and whirled around in spot at the sight he was greeted with.
“Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually here!”
He couldn’t keep his excitement down as he took in the high ceilings of the cave and the equipment and the giant dinosaur and giant coin and the computers and the—
His eyes fell onto the glass case, lit up like a beacon in the dark of the cave. It was sad, but what memorial wasn’t? He walked towards it, stopping in front of it to study the costume. It was probably just one of many that Robin wore; the one Jason was caught in the explosion with was probably torn into a million pieces. He wondered how painful it was for Batman to see this every day, and wondered if keeping it displayed like this was the best idea, considering his mental health lately.
Tim backed away from it and turned to look at Batman. The man was watching him, but Tim couldn’t tell what his expression was behind the mask. He spoke gently, “Bruce…”
The man raised a hand up and pulled his cowl back, letting it fall back like a hood attached to his cape.
It was a weird experience seeing Batman unmask himself in front of him. Tim knew that this wasn’t supposed to be some sort of confirmation for Tim, and Bruce seemed to know that too. It was more like a show of trust on Bruce’s part, and he vowed silently to hope he did what he could to keep and earn that trust.
“You’re back rather early, Master B— Oh, pardon me sir, I didn’t know we were having company.”
The new, distinctively English voice came from someone on his right, and he turned around to see an older man in a suit coming down a set of stairs. He had a long nose, and a bald spot on the top of his head that somehow suited him and made him seem more classier, when on any other man it would only accentuate their old age. Tim knew this man; he was Bruce’s valet, Alfred Pennyworth. He seemed to take in Bruce’s appearance— donning the batsuit without the cowl, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Tim decided that he already like him.
“He knows, Alfred.” Bruce simply stated.
Tim smiled and greeted him politely, wanting to make a good first impression even though he figured he probably wouldn’t be here again. “I’m Timothy Drake. Nice to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth.”
“Likewise, young master Timothy. Always nice to meet young men who know how to properly use their manners,” Alfred replied, and Tim wondered if he was thinking of something else as he spoke that amused him.
Bruce caught their attention. “Alfred, could you please bring Tim upstairs and make him comfortable? I will join you in a moment.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
Alfred ushered him up the stairs he had just come from, and Tim wondered why he had come down in the first place. He noted sourly that they probably wouldn’t talk about anything too important with him around, but he supposed that made sense.
He was lead to a comfortable looking seating room in the manor. From what he saw, the whole manor was a beautiful building, with thick drapes over the windows, warm wooden floors and expensive-looking furniture. Tim lived a luxurious life as well, but his house was definitely not nearly as extravagant as Wayne Manor.
Alfred poured him some earl grey as they waited, and soon Bruce entered the room, this time without the tights. He took a seat in the chair across from Tim, and it was only after Alfred had poured him some tea and he had taken a few sips, that he finally spoke.
“Tell me everything,” The billionaire demanded more than asked. Tim was happy to oblige either way, and Bruce seemed to know that he was willing to share his information.
“It goes back a long way,” Tim started, trying to keep eye contact with Bruce, but sometimes his gaze flickered down nervously to his hands on his knees, “When I was smaller, you see, I went to Haly’s Circus. I was there the day Dick Grayson’s parents died.”
Bruce’s eyes widened only slightly at that, but he quickly schooled his emotions. He nodded, motioning for Tim to go on.
“I watched the performance, and it was so amazing. The Flying Grayson’s were my favourite part of the show, soaring through the air as if they were weightless, but then the lines snapped, and…” Tim faltered here, still disturbed by the memories of that night; the blood, the bodies and the sad little boy in the middle of the ring.
“…and you were there. At first I thought you were the bad guy, the one who had cut the lines maybe, but after I saw you comforting Dick, I knew that wasn’t true. You picked him up and took him off with you, and shortly after that, Batman had a new sidekick. I followed all of Batman’s stories, always listening for things he accomplished on the news. Then one day, when I was nine, they broadcasted a video of Batman and Robin in action, a showdown between Batman and Robin and the Penguin all caught on camera, and I realised that Dick was Robin.
“Robin did a special flip, one that I knew only three people were capable of doing. Two of them were dead, so that left Dick, and it all clicked. After that, it was easy to figure out that Robin was Dick, who was picked up by Batman the night at the circus, and who is Bruce Wayne’s ward, obviously making you Batman.”
Tim didn’t look at Bruce here, for some reason feeling self conscious at his own deductive abilities. He liked to think he had things figured out, but he was sitting in front of the greatest detective in the world, and it was making him a little nervous.
“Since then I sort of… kept tabs on you, and I knew about Jason Todd, and how he became the second Robin, and how he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, and how he…” Tim trailed off, not feeling comfortable with continuing the sentence, but Bruce got it. The older man’s eyes grew unfocused as his mind probably wandered.
“Have you told anyone?” Bruce asked.
Tim quickly shook his head, with a little more force than was necessary. “No, of course not! I haven’t told anyone— I wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise. I care too much about the Batman and Robin legacy, and what they mean, and if I gave away your secret, that could be putting you in danger.”
“There is no Robin legacy,” Bruce stared Tim down, “not anymore.”
“What? You can’t just let the Robin legacy die! Surely Dick could become Robin again?” The young teen suggested, the shock at Bruce’s words clear on his face, but Bruce shook his head.
“Dick has chosen to do his own thing.”
“Why don’t you just get another Robin then?” Tim asked, and he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Not only because of the blunt way that he put it, like Robin was just a thing that you could easily replace (he knew better than that, he really did), but because of the hurt in Bruce’s eyes at his words.
“There will be no more Robin, Timothy. I will not make the mistake of constantly putting a child’s life in danger again.” Bruce had stood up in his anger, and Tim resisted the urge to curl in on himself at being on the receiving end of it.
Instead, he steeled himself, got to his feet and tried to meet the man’s eyes. “I’ve seen you lately, Bruce. I have pictures of you ruthlessly beating up criminals and getting yourself hurt. I know I don’t know you personally, but I care an awful lot about Batman and Robin, and you’re letting this kill you. Batman needs a Robin—“
“—Batman doesn’t need anybody—“ Bruce argued.
“—Robin keeps Batman human, Bruce. You’re running around trying to be super-human but you’re not; you’re just one man, no matter how much you can do, and you need a Robin to remind you to slow down and remember what could happen if you’re not careful—“
“Batman.” Bruce interrupted him in a low, dangerous growl, “Doesn’t. Need. Anybody.”
Tim quieted down, his hands which had been so animated while he was trying to get his point across, falling to his sides.
“Go home, Tim.”
Bruce stormed out of the room, and Tim’s shoulders visibly deflated. Alfred, who was standing by the sidelines during the whole conversation, walked over to Tim and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim wasn’t used to being comforted, and the gesture possibly made him feel even worse. He couldn’t stop himself from crying a little.
“I’m sorry, but this is a very sensitive topic for Master Bruce,” Alfred offered. Tim sniffled and brought a hand up to wipe furiously at his eyes.
“He’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t lighten up. I can’t be the only one who has noticed…” Tim confided as Alfred led him back over to a chair and sat him down.
“No, you’re not,” Mr. Pennyworth said with a sigh, and Tim looked up at him questioningly. “Master Bruce has been pushing himself lately, going out to fight when he has barely recovered from his own, careless wounds. Just the other day he had his arm broken and was shot by a bullet, and it’s straining on me too.”
He wondered how much of a son Bruce must be to Alfred, because it was obvious the older man truly cared for him. The wiped at an eye, and he had the sort of face that Tim never wanted to see cry.
“It’s very late into the morning. How about I fix you a room to stay in?” Alfred suggested after a moment. When he didn’t protest, the older man ushered him off the couch and out of the room, leading Tim up the stairs and into a guest bedroom. Alfred gave him a spare pair of pyjamas and he changed into them and washed up a little before crawling into bed. The butler had told him that he would wake him in the morning when breakfast was ready and that he would drive him home in the morning.
Tim curled in on himself under the covers once he had left, closing the door gently behind him. A million thoughts consumed him; he couldn’t just leave it like this. Sure, Bruce had heard his words, but had he listened to them? He wanted to do something to help, but what could he do? He was just a boy, with no influence other than the money in his parent’s pocket. He had to do something. The only thing he could do was try talking to Bruce in the morning; try to get him to understand.
With that thought in his head, he let his eyes flutter closed and let himself slowly be lulled into a deep sleep.
-
Bruce narrowed his eyes at the screen; he had retreated to the batcave so that he could both escape from Tim and continue working on some cases.
He was surprised and a little worried about the boy. The way he had explained the story to him made it seem like it was easy figuring out he was Batman. And, well, if that were the case… who else knew but just wasn’t telling anyone? Was Tim really the only one? Could he trust him to not give away his secret?
Bruce decided to do a little background check on him. It wasn’t hard; he seemed to be quite accomplished. For one, his parents owned Drake Enterprises, a business competitor to his own company, which meant that he lived quite literally next door to him. Was it a coincidence, or…? He decided to worry about that later.
A little hacking told him that Tim was quite a genius, if his test scores were any indication. He also took classes in gymnastics, karate, and tae-kwon-do, and Bruce briefly wondered if there was a specific reason for that.
The most concerning thing of all, though, is that while trying to hack into Tim’s personal computer, he was stopped by a pretty strong firewall. It wasn’t anything special to someone like Batman, but anyone else probably wouldn’t have the easiest time with it. He added strong computer skills to the kids growing list of talents, but what was Tim doing on his computer that needed this level of security?
-
Alfred had woken him up with the promise of breakfast on the table, like he had said last night. It was delicious, better than anything he could ever cook up for himself, and enthusiastically said so.
“Do you live with your parents?” Alfred asked afterwards when Tim had offered to help him do the dishes.
“Sort of. They’re usually away on business trips. My father, Jack Drake, owns Drake Enterprises,” Tim explained, and Alfred let out a sound of recognition.
“Ah, you’re the young lad who lives next door.” Tim nodded in confirmation, grabbing the plate Alfred was handing him to dry off. Doing the dishes wasn’t exactly his favourite thing to do, but for some reason Tim found it calming and warm to just be here, talking to the older man while drying plates.
When they were done, Tim took a shower and got dressed in his own clothes. He carefully folded up the pyjama’s Alfred lent him and placed them on the end of the bed, which he made up to the best of his ability.
When he arrived back downstairs, Alfred was waiting for him with his camera in his hands. Tim rushed forward to take it gratefully, glad that Bruce decided not to confiscate it.
“Where is Bruce? I guess he’s avoiding me, huh?” Tim asked sadly as he looked around the front foyer they were standing in.
“It’s not unusual for him to disappear early in the morning, despite being up all night; do not take it personally,” Alfred said, “If you’re ready to go, I can pull the car around.”
Tim quickly stopped him. “No, it’s okay, I can walk. I live just next door, remember?”
“Of course.” Alfred nodded, “I apologize for Bruce leaving like that last night. He’ll most likely come around eventually. I’m sure he’ll take what you said to mind once he cools down a bit.”
Tim doubted it, but he didn’t know Bruce as well as Alfred did. He hoped that he could believe him.
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Pennyworth.” Tim bowed, and he meant it. He was so generous and nice to him, both yesterday and today. Alfred and Bruce both seem to trust him with their secret, and Tim couldn’t feel any happier. He hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time he got to talk to them.
As if reading his thoughts, Alfred smiled warmly. “Feel free to come visit if you are ever in the need of any assistance.”
Tim grinned widely at the offer and gave him an enthusiastic nod. “Okay!”
Alfred saw him to the door, and Tim waved back at him before hurrying home.
-
When Tim got home, he was greeted with a message on his computer screen. It was a warning message from Batman, telling him to stop what he was doing.
So Bruce had hacked into his computer; that wasn’t surprising. If he were him, he’d probably want to know everything about a kid who knew his secret identity as well. If he had hacked into his computer, then the message from Batman was most likely not about the photography.
He had recently started stealing money from crime lords and giving the money to local charities. It was stolen money anyways, so he figured it would be more useful in better hands. He wasn’t worried about getting in trouble, because they wouldn’t be able to involve the cops. His firewall hadn’t failed him yet in stopping them from tracking him down, so he didn’t have to worry about his safety either. At least for the moment.
Tim deleted the message from his computer; he didn’t want to stop. He was punishing the unjust, and helping the innocent. He was doing good, just like Batman and Robin.
-
A few days later, while he is trailing Batman again, he is cornered in an alley by a couple of goons.
“So this is the Drake’s boy?” One of them said in a weird accent as they crowded him up against the wall. Tim eyed them cautiously; he knew they were probably going to attack him, but how did they know who he was? He hoped that they didn’t…
He was suddenly punched in the face, and it was so unexpected while he was stuck in his thoughts that he staggered to the side. He was pulled up and push forward by one of the goons, so that his chest was against the wall. When they leaned into him more, he had to turn his head to the side so he didn’t crush his nose.
“You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, kid,” The man behind him said into his ear, and it was only then that he realised that yes, they did track him down. He made a mental note to work on upping his security the next chance he got.
Tim allowed himself a moment of panic before gathering his wits together and bashing his head back into the man’s nose. He heard a sick crack and a scream as the pressure let up on him. He turned around and defended himself as another goon attacked him, parrying a punch before kicking him in the nuts. He didn’t bother beating around the bush; he was going to just hit these guys where it hurt.
The other man came forward, and after getting punched another time, he brought the palm of his hand forward and caught the goon’s Adams apple. That winded the man a bit and allowed Tim to manoeuvre around him to get away. Before he could though, another one grabbed him by the hood and yanked him back. He let out what he could of a yell before a hand was muffling it.
He was just about to bite the hand when a dark figure jumped down and landed on one of the men, punching him on the way to the ground so that he was knocked out cold. A few batarangs were thrown into the other two, and then the man holding Tim was yanked off him and knocked out cold with a boot to the head.
It was over in seconds, and Tim straightened out his clothes awkwardly while awaiting the inevitable I-told-you-so.
“What did I tell you,” Batman hissed out, and there it was, Tim thought. He suddenly felt ashamed that he had let it come to this. He might’ve been able to take those guys on, sure, or ran away, but he also could’ve died. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I’m just trying to make you understand!” Tim couldn’t help but plead back. “If they think they can get away with killing someone like Robin, then you’ll just be showing people that it’s okay to get away with things like this. I don’t know why you decided to wear that costume, but it makes you a symbol. Just as Robin was a symbol. Or Superman, or Nightwing, or the policeman who wears his uniform. And this isn’t just a symbol of the law. It’s a symbol of justice. When one policeman is killed, others take his place because justice can’t be stopped.”
Tim paused, his voice getting quieter. “That’s why I did it, so that the bad guys wouldn’t think they could just get away with things. That’s why the other day, I tried to get you to get another Robin, because you need one, for both yourself and for the symbol of justice, whether you think you need one or not.”
Batman was silent in front of him for a long time. Tim waited; his shoulders tense and his hands curled up in anticipation.
“Let’s get you home, Tim.”
Tim’s shoulder’s visibly sagged.
-
Tim wanted to continue stealing money from the rich just to spite Bruce, but when he thought about the pain in his face and arms, and the potential threat to his family, he stopped himself.
He stared at the ceiling of his room, his arms and legs spread out lazily across the bed. The house was silent except for the occasional beep of his computer as it updated itself, and the sound of his own breathing.
To say that he was disappointed and sad was an understatement. He had tried so hard to get Bruce to just listen to him, but the man was (unsurprisingly, he supposed) stubborn. He thought about how Alfred had wiped away a tear, worried for Bruce’s health, and he just wished that Bruce would see that people cared for him and that people were worried about him.
He turned over in his bed, tucking an arm under his head. Maybe he just had to find another way. Or maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe he was being the stubborn one when Bruce had told him over and over that he didn’t want a Robin and he didn’t listen.
Even so, he still felt like this was wrong, that this isn’t how things are supposed to be. He couldn’t just leave things like this.
Tim sat up, looking out his window. He couldn’t see the manor from his room; his window faced the backyard and Wayne Manor was to their right, but the gesture was the same. He got up, toed on his shoes and head out, intent on trying to help one last time.
-
When he gets to Wayne Manor and rings the bell, no one answers. When he tests the door, he finds that it’s open, and he hopes no one minds as he lets himself in.
“Hello?” He calls out, but no one is around. Maybe they’re down in the Batcave?
He heads towards the back of the house, towards the secret door that he had taken a note of last time he was here. He fiddled around with various things in the room before it opened, and he walked in, the door closing behind him as he started heading down the stairs.
He didn’t even reach the bottom before an arm grabbed him and slammed him into a rocky wall. It hurt his back slightly and he let out a groan as his face scrunched up in pain.
“Who are you?” His attacker growled out, and when Tim opened his eyes again he was face to face with the infamous Nightwing. He paused for a moment to collect himself because holy shit, he was being pinned to a wall by Dick Grayson!
“Master Dick!” Alfred suddenly appeared from around the corner placing his hands gently on Dick’s arms and lowering them. Dick looked a mix between confused and cautious, because Alfred wouldn’t so carelessly toss his real name around.
“Alfred?”
“He knows,” Alfred offered, and Tim took that as his queue to introduce himself.
“Um, hi, I’m Tim. Don’t worry, I’ve been here before. A few days ago, actually. I was looking for Bruce,” He explained, “Why aren’t you in Bludhaven?”
“I’m taking a small break, and Alfred found me and called me here…” Dick explained, though it was obvious he wasn’t thinking about what he was talking about, because his eyes were focused on Tim and his brow was pulled together. “Sorry, I’m just… how do you know who we are, exactly?”
Tim was about to explain when there was a beep from the computer. Dick seemed to forget about Tim and rushed over.
“Finally, we got a trace on him!” He exclaimed as he rushed off to get a bike started up. Tim looked at the computer screen, where a large map was being displayed with a small black bat blinking in and out, probably the location of Bruce.
“Where is he? What is he doing?” Tim asked, looking between Alfred and Dick.
“He’s going after Penguin, but we think he’s in trouble; we’ve been trying to contact him for the past few hours…” Dick explained as he head over to a bike and started it up.
“The Penguin? Not for the activity with the Dragons…?” Tim asked cautiously.
Dick faltered for a moment. “Yes, actually, how did you…? Nevermind, I’ll ask you about it later, I need to go.”
Tim didn’t want to assume anything, but the Penguin had been one of the main people he had been stealing from. While going through his accounts he’d found some suspicious transactions. After a little more research, he’d found out that he’d been embezzling money and using it to fund a local gang called the Dragons.
He’d had records of it saved onto his computer. When Bruce had been snooping through his files, had he…?
“Let me come with you!” Tim said, running up to Nightwing as he revved up his engine. If somehow, all of this happened because of him. If he had created this mess by messing with things when he wasn’t fully prepared, then he couldn’t just sit here and wait.
“No, I need you to stay here. Do you understand?” Dick didn’t wait for Tim to answer before speeding off.
Tim shook his head, looking over at the Robin costume.
Sorry, Dick, but he couldn’t stay.
-
“You were right, Tim.”
They were all inside now, sitting in the same room where Tim first told Bruce about how he had figured out his identity. Tim had arrived on scene, and at first he had caused more harm than good, but in the end he had actually managed to save Batman’s life. Before all this happened he never thought that one day he might save the Dark Knight’s life.
Bruce continued. “I created Batman to project an image. I succeeded. To be effective, the symbol has to be greater than the reality.”
“So, you’re going to get a new Robin?” Tim jumped up from his seat excitedly. Bruce shook his head, apparently not being able to keep a small smile off his lips.
“I think I already found one.”
Tim pointed to himself a little hesitantly, too smart to know that Bruce couldn’t be talking about anyone else, but also too self-conscious to actually think that Bruce would choose someone like him.
“Me?” Tim asked softly, and when Bruce just stared at him, Tim’s smile widened and he jumped in place.
“You really mean it? Thank you so much!”
Alfred had come and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, and when Tim looked up at him, the butler smiled encouragingly at him.
“Not so fast. You’ll need to be trained, and it will be a while before you’re out on the field,” Bruce explained to Tim, who nodded once, full of resolve.
“I’ll work my hardest! I won’t let you down.”
No one in the room doubted him for a second.