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Tim waited a half hour after his parents left for a dig in Bialya. Just in case they forgot something, or whatever.
Then he grabbed his backpack (already packed), slung it on over his shoulders, and booked it out the door. It took fifteen minutes to walk from his house to the Bristol bus stop. Another ten minutes before the next bus rolled in. And then, finally, he got on and slid into a seat near the very back.
He put on his headphones for good measure, too. Hopefully, no one would bother him.
It took an hour and a half for the bus to lumber into Blüdhaven.
Tim had long ago memorized Dick Grayson’s address (obviously), but he still dutifully looked it up to be double sure before he started walking. There was practically no security on the building. Tim was able to slip inside the building itself by walking in with someone else, and then he simply picked the lock on Dick’s door. It was easy.
He sat, and he waited.
It was boring. He was tempted to get out his Switch and play games to pass the time, but he knew he didn’t truly need that. Playing games was an indulgence. It was greedy behavior.
He didn’t need it. He needed to sit still, and quiet, and wait for Dick.
So he did.
He did have to get up and use the restroom at one point, but he was super fast! Back in his seat in under two minutes. Dick didn’t appear in the apartment in that time, either, so it was all good.
It was four hours later when Tim finally heard the jingle of a key turning in the lock.
Dick Grayson and Koriand’r stepped inside, chatting and laughing. They stopped dead when they caught sight of Tim.
Green plasma circled around Kory’s fists. Dick’s eyes hardened as he stalked forward.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Timothy Drake,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh, do you?” Dick asked. “Why don’t you tell me who sent you first?”
“Nobody sent me. I came her independently,” he said. “Are you willing to hear me out?”
Dick paused. Looked him over. “Of course,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”
Tim didn’t sigh. Dick was still in interrogation mode. Whatever, though. Hopefully that at least meant he was listening closely.
“You need to go back to being Robin,” he said bluntly.
“What?” Dick asked.
“You need to go back to being Robin,” he repeated. “Preferably, this would also include moving back into Wayne Manor, though as long as your primary residence is within Gotham proper, we can make this work.”
Dick was gaping.
“I’m sorry,” Kory cut in. “Who told you that Dick was Robin?”
“Nobody,” he said. “I figured it out myself.”
“How?” Dick asked.
Tim nodded. He had expected this. “Do you remember the night your parents were murdered?”
“What?”
Oh, perhaps he shouldn’t have been so blunt, actually.
But.
“Well,” Tim said, soldiering on. “Do you?”
Both of the adults looked mad now.
“Of course I remember that,” Dick bit out. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“I was there,” he said. “At the performance. You gave me a hug and we took a picture. You promised to do an extra special trick just for me. The quadruple somersault.”
He paused.
“Only five people in the world can do that trick,” he said. “The timing alone was nothing short of egregious. Dick Grayson became Bruce Wayne’s ward and permanently relocated to Gotham. Six months later, Robin soars. Both of them are the same age, approximate race and gender, and can do the quadruple flip? It was obvious. I’m sure lots of other people have figured it out as well.”
“What?”
“I mean,” he faltered. “Your identities are, like, an open secret in Gotham, right?”
“No,” Dick said emphatically. “No, they are not.”
“Oh,” he said, even though that didn’t make any sense. After all, Tim figured it out when he was nine. Surely a bunch of other people knew as well, right?
“Timothy,” Dick said. Tim wrinkled his nose. “You cannot tell anyone about this. Do you understand that?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m not a baby. I haven’t told anyone.”
“Good. Do your parents know?”
“No? I just said—”
“I know. Just double-checking,” he said.
Tim huffed. “Anyway,” he said. “My proposition. I have some very interesting charts and graphs for you to look at here. The data really speaks for itself. It’s in Gotham’s best interest for Robin to return.”
He opened the shiny folder he had brought and started laying out his data on the coffee table. He had created eight pages, but only three of them were truly essential reading.
Dick and Kory looked over the sheets. Tim struggled not to beam. He had done exceptionally well, if he did say so himself.
“How did you even get this data?” Dick asked.
“Careful observation and field studies,” Tim said. “It’s all laid out in the ‘methodology’ section.”
Tim had done research. He knew exactly how to format a scientific article for publication now, and he had followed those guidelines exactly.
“Is this typical behavior of human youth?” Kory asked.
“No,” Dick said absently, still reading.
Tim didn’t correct them. His family was stealth. Greed demons-- chamadnut-- had certain stereotypes associated with them. And the Drakes just so happened to fit most of those stereotypes to a tee.
They were wealthy. They were business sharks. They were cutthroat. They always wanted more.
They paid an annual tithe to the demon prince Mammon down in Hell.
Most of the seven princes were content to ignore Earth-born demons. They concerned themselves primarily with governing their denizens who actually lived down in Hell with them. Those demons were privileged, and reaped the benefits of living under a fully demonic government, of receiving the protection granted them by their courtly lords.
But Mammon was greedy. He was the only prince of the seven to demand tithes from demons on the upper world.
And so the Drakes spent their lives chasing fortune, pleasure, acclaim, more, more, more. They had to, since they had to give 10% of their wealth away every year.
Tim understood that. He got it. He was grateful, even, that his parents were so dedicated to accruing more wealth. It kept them living comfortably without having to fear that Mammon would send someone up to come collect.
Tim knew he couldn’t get greedy. His parents did all they could for him. It was greed, pure and simple, to want more.
“Timothy,” Dick said. “This is insane.”
His heart panged. “Um. Uhh, I’m… Sorry? What do you mean?”
“I’m not going to become Robin again,” he said.
“But the data--!”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I really don’t care what the data says. You did an exceptional job on it, but that’s not what’s important here.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t want to be Robin,” he said. “I don’t think I can be, at this point. I’ve outgrown it. Robin is-- Robin will always be Batman’s sidekick. I’ve accepted that. And I can’t go back to being in that role.”
“Why not?”
“I’m an adult now, bud. I worked hard for my independence. I’m not gonna throw that away. Not for anything.”
“But Bruce is going to kill someone,” he stressed. “If not a thug, then himself. He’s barely clinging on.”
“Okay,” Dick said. “I’ll check in on him. But I won’t be Robin.”
“He needs a Robin!”
“What he needs is a therapist.”
“A therapist can’t watch his six in the field.”
“Then maybe Bruce shouldn’t be in the field.”
“Gotham needs Batman!” he insisted. “Just look at the numbers again! It all makes sense—”
“I don’t care,” Dick said again. “Look. This is a great presentation. Your numbers back it up. But real life is more than numbers. I’ll talk to Bruce, and we’ll coordinate on benching him until he gets better.”
Tim took the words like a stab to the chest.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Dick said. “Do you need help getting back home? Who brought you here?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine on my own,” he said icily. “Have fun in Blüdhaven, Nightwing.”
“Timothy—”
He all but ran out the door.
Never meet your heroes, he thought.
Okay. Okay. So Plan A failed, so what? Tim was a smart kid. He could figure out a Plan B.
Jason was the Plan B for Robin. Even he had been a stand-in for the original. God, this was complicated.
Maybe Tim could take a trip down to hell and drag his soul back up? Of course, he’d still be dead. Tim honestly didn’t know how that would affect him. He’d be a spirit without a body, right?
No, there was no point in doing that. A ghost was useless as a Robin.
Okay, so time for Plan C. Some other kid was going to have to be Robin.
Tim was a kid.
He… didn’t particularly want to be Robin. It was grueling work, he knew. It would destroy his social life and suck up all his free time. He’d have to start telling lies to everyone he cared about, even moreso than he already did.
Being Robin would ruin his life.
But someone had to just suck it up and do it, at this point.
Tim, again, was being greedy. Just because he wanted more for his life didn’t mean he was allowed to have it.
That’s decided, then. He was doing this.
Tim drew in a steadying breath and pressed the buzzer at the gates of Wayne Manor.
“Hello, this is Timothy Drake. I have urgent business to discuss with Mr. Wayne.”
“May I ask what is the nature of your business?” a British voice asked. The butler, Tim knew.
But what he didn’t know was whether or not he was in on the secret.
“It’s a sensitive matter,” he settled on. “I’d prefer to discuss this in private with Mr. Wayne.”
“I see. One moment.”
The intercom clicked off.
Tim waited.
The gates swung open moments later. Tim hurried inside, walking down the paved driveway and up the steps of the colonnade, ringing the doorbell. It was swiftly opened by an elderly man in a tuxedo.
“Greetings, young sir. I am Alfred Pennyworth, butler of this estate. Master Bruce is awaiting you in his study. This way.”
Mr. Pennyworth led him down a long hallway in the East Wing and then further into a small but sumptuous study. Mr. Wayne was seated behind an imposing mahogany desk.
Tim took a seat in one of the armchairs facing it. He gripped his folder with sweaty fingers.
Alfred left, and shut the door behind him.
“Mr. Wayne,” Tim started. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?” he said.
“Yes. I should be Robin.”
Mr. Wayne paused.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
“I would be an excellent Robin,” Tim continued boldly. “My parents are rarely in town, so I have no doubts in my ability to conceal this double life from them. I already take karate and gymnastics classes, and I’m in the coding club at school. In regards to my detective skills, I independently solved both you and Dick’s identities when I was nine; though I am certain I can become an even better detective under your training. My available hours are highly flexible, as I do not sleep overly—”
“Stop,” Mr. Wayne said. Tim stopped. “What do you mean, your parents are rarely in town?”
Tim nodded. He opened his folder and pulled out one particular sheet. “I compiled the data here. As you can see, my parents spend an average of 1.39 months out of every year in Gotham.”
“Who takes care of you when they are gone?” Mr. Wayne asked, frowning down at the paper.
“Nobody,” he said proudly. “There is nobody who would notice that I am Robin. I am an independent agent.”
Mr. Wayne rubbed at his temples. “Timothy,” he said. “Does anyone know where you are right now?”
“No, of course not. I was careful, Mr. Wayne.”
“And how long has it been since you had a regular caretaker?”
“Just over a year,” he said.
“That’s-- How old are you?”
“I’m thirteen, sir.”
“Timothy,” he said sternly. “You should go home.”
“Why?”
“Because what you are doing here is dangerous,” he said. “You have no proof I am who you think I am. You came here, alone, with no support, to the home of a strange adult man whom you have never met. You are offering yourself up to fill the shoes of a child who died doing what you want to do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I do have proof of who you are. And we have met before, at galas.”
He opened his folder again and pulled out the stack of photos. He handed them over.
Mr. Wayne grimaced. Admittedly, they hadn’t been Tim’s best work, but still, he hadn’t thought they were that bad. Especially given the usual quality of crime scene photos.
“This is… circumstantial,” he said.
“The photos were mainly about establishing your pattern of reckless behavior,” Tim admitted. He hadn’t expected to have to prove that the Bats were who they were. Foolish. He should have.
He had plenty of photos back home that did prove their identities.
“My what?” Mr. Wayne asked.
“It’s why you need a Robin,” he said. “Please turn to page three. As you can see, I have definitive proof that Batman is more violent and risk-prone when operating solo as opposed to with a partner. I already spoke to Nightwing, and—”
“You what?”
“—Refuses to reprise his former role, or to relocate back to Gotham. Batgirl was, of course, never an option. She never acted as your partner and she retired eight months ago. Ergo, you need a new Robin. I have all of the necessary qualifications. I’m sure, with time, I can prove an excellent fit for this position.”
Mr. Wayne stared at him for a moment. Tim valiantly refused to fidget.
“This is not a job interview,” he said. “There will never be another Robin.”
Tim considered that.
“Respectfully, sir,” he began. “This was a courtesy call. I am going to be Robin. You can patrol with me or without me, but this is happening.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Yes.”
“And if I call your parents and inform them of this?”
“Then I’ll tell them who you are,” he said. “I’m sure you don’t want that. My parents have a bit of a reputation.”
“Your parents don’t know?”
“Of course not,” he said. Why did everyone keep assuming that? Tim was perfectly capable of figuring things out on his own. And his parents were never in Gotham long enough to draw the same conclusions. “Well, they don’t know yet.”
“You’re blackmailing me,” Mr. Wayne said flatly.
Tim’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t respond. Never admit to committing crimes, he knew.
Besides, the silence could speak for itself.
Mr. Wayne sighed. “You will not patrol without sufficient training. All other Robins passed the Gauntlet before I was willing to clear them. If you are serious about this, then I expect you to do the same.”
“What’s the Gauntlet?”
“You stay out in the city all night, until dawn. I will be hunting you. If I catch you, you lose. If you evade capture for twelve hours, then you can be Robin.”
Tim nodded. “How many attempts did it take for the previous Robins to pass?”
Mr. Wayne smiled. “Six months.”
Bruce started looking into Tim’s claims about his parents immediately.
What he found appalled him.
Tim hadn’t lied. It was all true.
Bruce called Dick. “There is a child.”
“Timothy Drake?” he asked. “He visited me too. Just tell him no and send him back home.”
“Did you know about his parents?”
“No. What about his parents?”
“They’re absent. He’s alone and very unsupervised.”
“That’s… That actually explains a lot,” he said. “Wait. What are you going to do about it?”
Bruce grunted.
“B, I swear to God. You can’t adopt every sad and lonely child you come across.”
“I wasn’t going to adopt him.”
“Yeah? What’s your plan?”
“...He should stay here at the Manor.”
“What, illegally?”
“No. I will obtain his parents’ permission.”
“What sort of parents would agree to that? They don’t know you.”
Bruce grumbled. “He needs supervision.”
“Clearly. But again, you cannot just steal human children. That’s what their fairy tales are full of.”
“Perhaps the humans should care for their young more effectively.”
“Bruce…”
“I have reviewed the legal definition of child abandonment.”
“Of course you have.”
“There are six key components, and two of them are highly relevant here,” he said. “Failure to provide care and control, and lack of contact.”
“Well,” Dick said. “Can’t argue with you on the first one. When was the last time Tim had contact with his parents?”
“He sends them a weekly email. They rarely respond. His last contact with them was in person yesterday.”
“Uh-huh. And how long do they have to be out of contact for it to count as abandonment?”
“Six months.”
“I see,” he said. “Bruce, have you considered that he might just have a loving family? So they don’t watch him 24/7, so what? Kid’s almost a teenager. He’s probably earned a bit of independence.”
“Dick, his parents are only home about one month out of twelve and he has no nanny.”
“...Oh.”
“Yes,” he said. “The Drakes meet the first criteria for child abandonment.”
“Aren’t they rich?” Dick asked. “Do you think they’ll be able to weasel out of it?”
Bruce grunted.
“I don’t see an alternative,” he said. “Someone needs to be watching Timothy.”
“Okay, so I was definitely joking earlier about him illegally staying at the Manor, but what if we revisited that? Positioned it as a long-term sleepover or whatever?”
“He’d be more likely to accept it as a requirement of his training.”
“I’m sorry, his what?”
Oh.
“I am training Timothy to be Robin.”
There was a beat of silence.
Dick hung up the phone.