Disclaimer: If I owned Tim, I wouldn't be writing. I'd be following him around with a camera.

It was hot outside. It was hot inside. It was just… hot.

He'd roll down the windows but that would mean letting in the humidity. Which would probably do more bad than good. He'd use the AC, except it had broken ages ago. Sure, his dad was a billionaire; that didn't mean he remembered to take it in or, y'know, trick Damian into fixing it. Plus, it had been a crisp 'n' cool 24° until yesterday.

Today the high reached 102° with 75% humidity. (Gotham weather could be even flakier than Texas sometimes.) Tim glanced at the green road sign - only a few more miles. The temperature gauge had been flickering on the border between white and red for the past hour, but with only a few more minutes of highway driving, surely the car could make it. Just to be on the safe (albeit even hotter) side, he switched on the heater to vent the hot air from the engine. Then he looked back at the empty stretch of road.

And that's when he noticed the steam.

"Crap." He pulled the car over and popped open the hood. An explosion of steam released. "Crapcrapcrap." He jumped out of the car and took a look under the hood. Heat and cars just didn't go well together.

He checked his watch. Still an hour before dinner. Which technically meant he had plenty of time to fix this.

He cast an impatient glance at the steam still floating from the motor. Since he needed to wait for that to cool down anyway, he slinked back into the car to grab his water bottle and that towel he kept in the glove compartment. He scooted back out of the car and strode back to the engine. Not sizzling anymore but definitely still too hot.

Another impatient glance, this time aimed at his watch. A whopping whole minute had passed. He had just wanted to surprise Alfred by showing up to the weekly family dinner early.

Okay, so maybe he'd wanted to show up early to dinner to appease Alfred since he hadn't made it the past two (or was it three?) weeks. Details.

Using the rag like a kitchen mitt, he carefully unscrewed the lid to the coolant reservoir. The plastic was a little too warm but not at burning-the-skin-off temperatures so he popped that off and set it on the ground. Fidgeting around for a better angle, he noted that the coolant was only a tad below the full line.

Which meant that this was probably an engine problem, and he had just recently replaced his tool kit with…other, more vigilante-related ones.

Alfred was gonna kill him.

Unless… He glanced at his watch. Still 58 minutes before he was supposed to be there. And only 2 miles until he reached Gotham, which meant about 2.5 miles until he reached Wayne Manor. He could jog that in twenty minutes easy. Which would leave plenty of time to shower and eat one of Alfred's pre-dinner cookies. (They were the best. Proven fact.)

Satisfied with his plan, he screwed the lid back onto the tank, shut the hood, and walked 'round to the back of the car to push his poor vehicle completely off the road and into the grass. Then he popped the trunk and grabbed his briefcase from the front seat before walking to the back of his car again. He swiftly switched the papers in his case with his Red Robin costume that had been in the secret compartment he'd installed. Better to carry his suit 2.5 miles than risk a car thief getting his hands on it.

Finally, he changed into his spare set of running clothes that were also in the trunk and swapped his Oxfords for a pair of sneakers. Perfect. After locking the car, he drenched the towel with his bottled water and hung it around his neck. The water was too warm to convince him to drink it (even in this heat), but it still felt good against his skin. Making sure he was running against the flow of traffic, he set off for Wayne Manor with 50 minutes remaining.

"Hey, Alfred," Dick gave the older man a hug. "I'm surprised to see you in the hall; you're usually still cooking away."

"Master Timothy isn't here yet."

"Oh. Well, dinner doesn't even start for another hour or so," Dick shrugged as he started walking toward the kitchen. Pre-dinner cookies are basically the best thing ever. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. …Alfred?" Dick stopped and turned around when he realized the butler wasn't following him.

"But he hasn't made it the last two weeks."

Dick winced. "That's right. Means he should be at least an hour early."

Alfred nodded.

"Okay, okay. I'll give him a call." Dick pulled his phone out of his pocket and called. But no answer. "Dang it. Let me try one more time."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should, er, text him?"

This time Dick raised an eyebrow. "You text?"

Alfred made no discernible change of expression but merely walked passed Dick into the kitchen. Dick grinned and trailed slowly behind, his fingers quickly sending out a message. "Okay, if he doesn't respond in five - no, make that ten - minutes, I'll give him another call. …do you think we're overreacting?"

"He's never missed three weeks in a row." Alfred paused, his hands stilled from chopping up some carrots for the salad. His mouth opened for a fraction of a second before closing again. He resumed chopping.

"What?" Dick threw him a look before reaching for a cookie and leaning against the counter. He took a big bite. Still warm. And still the best.

"Nothing, sir."

He quickly swallowed. And gave Alfred a longer look. "Alfred. What is it?"

Dick's tone rivaled that of Batman's. The old man continued his chopping but this time voiced his other concern. "Joker escaped from Arkham this morning."

Dick straightened. "I didn't hear that on the police scanners."

"GCPD decided to keep it quiet. Didn't want to alarm the public."

Dick snorted. "So I guess Bruce won't be making it to dinner?"

Alfred didn't bother answering, and Dick dialed Tim again. Still no answer. "Gaaah, okay, I'm gonna head over to WE. If he's not there, I'll swing by his apartment." He paused. A sly grin peeked through. "Text me if he gets here, 'kay?"

Alfred frowned at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll call. You'll do the same?"

It wasn't really a question, but Dick nodded just the same. "Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. He really didn't need words, did he. Dick shrugged. "Y'know, for taking such good care of us."

The butler straightened. "It is my privilege, Master Richard."

His jog was going faster than he'd anticipated (even with his briefcase awkwardly held down at his side, slapping against his leg). The level, city sidewalks made that last half-mile easier, and his knowing which roads would have the least traffic, cars and pedestrians included, certainly helped. Not to mention his knowledge of certain shortcuts. The humidity still weighed the air with moisture, but given his speed and (admittedly heavy) sweating, he actually felt cooler than he had in that stupid car.

A car turned onto his street, and the adrenaline already pumping through his system immediately went into hyperdrive. This street was a dead end (for cars anyway) so unless this driver was a newcomer to Gotham…

The car honked, and a man yelled out something. Oh, Tim turned around. That was definitely my name, that's definitely Dick, and he definitely sounds ticked off. He jogged across the street to where Dick had stopped the car and stooped over so he could Dick's face. Yep, definitely irked about something. "What're you doing here? This is a dead end, y'know."

"Get in the car, Timmy," Dick nodded to his right, at the passenger door.

Tim pursed his mouth together, clearly thinking, but did as Dick suggested. He hadn't even finished buckling the seatbelt (Dick always refused to start the car 'til all the batkids did so) before Dick asked, "So, Tim, where's your cellphone?"

"It's right here in my—" Oh. "It's back in my car. I must have left it in my suit pocket."

"And where's your car?"

"Dick, what's—"

"Where. Is. Your. Car." That Batman voice again.

Tim scratched his forehead, glancing out the window. He totally could have made it to the manor by now. "It's a few miles outside Gotham."

"Why?"

"Because it overheated. Or something; maybe an engine problem? I really like tinkering with stuff, but cars have never been very interesting to me though—"

"Tim."

The rambling stopped, and Tim found something unusually interesting about the buildings blurring past.

Dick tapped his fingers against the wheel as he turned onto the road that led up to their destination. "So no doubt you're trying to figure out why I'm…agitated."

Tim glanced at him. Duh clearly written in his expression. Dick smiled slightly and took a deep breath. "You haven't talked to any of us in over two weeks, missed two family dinners, are later than your usual to this one, and—" He stopped, and shrugged, as he pulled into the driveway. "And Joker escaped from Arkham this morning."

"Oh, crap. Does Bruce have any leads?"

Dick shut off the engine and looked at him. "I think you're missing the point."

Tim waited. Dick groaned and pushed his door open, stepping out with his typical acrobatic grace, before slamming it shut. Tim followed him, less gracefully and a tad more nervously, up the stairs and into the house.

"Alfred's in the kitchen. I'm gonna go check on Bruce really fast," Dick said as he headed over to the family room. Tim paused, half tempted to follow Dick but… Answers, he definitely needed some answers.

Also, cookies. So he headed down the hall and into the kitchen. "Hey, Alfred."

"Master Timothy!" Alfred didn't even close the oven before slamming a pot on the stove and running over to…hug him. Alfred hugged him.

Tim waited. And blinked a few times. Processing. But the butler still didn't let go, so Tim's arms finally reached up and squeezed around Alfred's back. "Alfred. What the heck is wrong with you people?"

Alfred pulled away. "I need to call Master Richard."

"He's checking on Bruce. Told me to see you. Well, basically."

Alfred, well, snorted. "He still should have called. Where were you?"

Tim shrugged. "Less than a minute away. My car broke down so that's why I was late. Later, I mean."

"We tried calling you. I guess you were on the phone with the tow truck?"

"Er, no, I just left my phone in the car." Alfred was about to get upset. He could tell.

"Wait," The butler finally noticed Tim's sweat-damp clothes. "Master Timothy, please tell me you did not walk here."

Tim rubbed the back of his head, backing up toward the kitchen entry as he did so. "Weeeeell, I better go take a shower so dinner still in about half an hour?"

Alfred was not amused. "How far did you walk?"

"Only about two miles," This time he started rubbing his fingers against the hem of his shirt. "What's wrong, Alfred? You're obviously upset, and Dick's so angry, he's not even talking to me. And you know how Dick likes to talk."

The butler sighed before picking up a tray of cookies. "You remind me a lot of Bruce. He relies on intellect and instinct. And oftentimes, his instinct tells him to rely only on himself too. Why don't you take these cookies and find Dick?"

He didn't go find Dick. Instead he walked up the grandiose stairs and down the hall to his room. Setting the tray down on his nightstand, he checked the dresser for an extra set of clothes and, finding some, hit the shower.

You remind me a lot of Bruce. Ice cold water. He relies on instinct. Numbing. Relies only on himself. Drenched.

So...what? He switched the water off and leaned his forehead against the tiled wall. They were mad at him for not calling for help? He couldn't help the smile (and slight blush) that spread across his face.

"Timmy?" A knock on the door. "When you're done...can we talk?"

Dick. "Y-yeah, sure. Just give me a few more minutes." He finished up and got dressed before grabbing a towel for his hair. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to his bedroom to find Dick...understandably munching on another cookie. "Good grief, you've eaten half of 'em already. Jason's gonna kill you."

Dick winked. "Not if Dami beats him to it."

"Hmm," Tim plopped down on his bed and started rubbing his hair dry with the towel.

"Alfred said he sent you to find me. Guess you got confused?" Dick stayed standing next to the bed by the plate of cookies. "Cuz I'm pretty sure I told you I'd check on Bruce. And yet you here you are. With the cookies, no less."

"Alfred also told me that I'm too much like Bruce, and I need to rely on others."

"He said all that?"

"Basically."

Dick sighed and rifled a hand through his own hair as he collapsed next to Tim on the bed. "It wouldn't hurt." He bumped the younger man's shoulder with his own. "We care about you, y'know."

"Yeah," Tim pushed him back with his arm. "Alfred mentioned that too."

Dick grinned. For the first time at Tim today. And it was really nice. Then, of course, Dick looped his arm around his brother's head, ruffled his hair, and planted a kiss on Tim's surprised forehead. "C'mon, Timmy." Exaggerated horror infused his tone. "We wouldn't wanna be late for dinner."