A/N: I mentioned to a friend that I ship Tim/Terry - and while I meant I ship them as teens, she interpreted it as adult Tim and teen Terry. I liked the idea and wrote a quick drabble for her, but found I had a hard time getting to shipping material. I wrote the rest in her tumblr askbox and it spiraled into something bigger than I intended.

More to come, probably. Reviews and crit welcomed.

SMILE

"If you had ANY idea what it's like, what we all went through, you'd give this all up right now. You're just a stupid little punk, still believing in heroes. Well, I've got news for you, there aren't, and even if there were, you'd never be good enough to call yourself one."

Tim Drake loomed over the teenaged boy in the bat suit, arms on either side of the boy's head, forcing him back against the wall. Their faces were barely a foot away, but he was screaming. Maybe something would get through to the little bastard, the way it never did for him. Or Dick. Or Barbara.

Terry's jaw clenched under his cowl. It would be so easy to scream back at the older man, the way he shouted at Bruce. But Bruce was different. All Bruce really understood were screams and violence. Drake was more... human. He could be reached through words.

"You think you're the only one who's got hurt, Mr. Drake? You think you're the only one who stopped believing in heroes? 'Cause guess what - the night my dad died, that's when I found out there were no heroes. No one gives a damn. I don't care if they think I'm a hero, at least I'm not sitting on my hands anymore."

"I bet you think this makes you special." Drake reached out and yanked off Terry's cowl. "If it did, he wouldn't have had so many of us. You're just a puppet like the rest of us."

That hit a nerve. Terry scowled, but his voice remained flat and emotionless. "That's the kind of thing The Joker would say."

Drake flinched, stepping back. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. He was supposed to be helping the boy, wasn't he? That's what Bruce had asked him to do. But this... this was the best help he could give the boy. To get him out of this kind of life that only ever ended in pain and loneliness. He collapsed onto his couch.

"The DNA chip wasn't the only twisted thing that clown left inside me." He murmured.

"Look, whatever," Terry said, sitting down in the chair across from Drake and leaning his elbows on his knees. "Fine, you don't believe in heroes. But at least try to believe in me. I'm not gonna give up being Batman. I didn't give up on you, right?"

Drake took a long look at the boy over steepled fingers. Terry was so much like Bruce, so much of that fierce determination. But unlike Bruce, he could smile. A real, genuine smile. Tim had never been able to feel much after the... accident... but this boy was making him feel something. He felt freer than he had in decades being around Terry. And he owed the kid.

"I'll try," he said, extending a hand, "but I can't promise anything."
"In this city, who can?" Terry grasped his hand firmly.

-

"Are you sure about this?" Terry said, squinting into the microscope. What exactly he was supposed to be looking at, he wasn't sure, but Drake had said it had something to do with... something to do with hacking was all he had gotten. He didn't understand the technobabble.

"I ran it past your friend Max," Tim replied. "She agrees."

"Well, I don't know what I'm s'posed to be looking at here."

"Move," Tim said, leaning over Terry's bad to get a look at the microscope.

Terry tried to scoot over, but the desk was set in the corner of the room, against the wall, and Tim had sort of locked him into place. The older man had to lean over Terry's shoulder to get a look at the scope.

"There," he said, adjusting the lens and leaning back. "Lower right corner. See the smiley face?"

Terry made a face, certain he hadn't seen anything, and looked again. Tim had to hold back a chuckle. The kid was so stubborn. So much like Bruce. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

As the boy intensely stared at the scope, Tim found himself taking a closer look at Terry. Yes, he was a bit like Bruce. He got that same angry, determined look in his eyes. He even looked slightly like the old man. But the similarities were mostly superficial. He was leaner and shorter than Bruce, faster, too. Unlike Dick, he wasn't all sinew and gymnast - he wasn't like any of the kids. It was obvious that his strength came from the streets, not from some dojo or gym.

Tim shook his head. What was he even thinking about this for? He was just doing what he'd promised to Bruce - help the kid out with technology if he needed it, keep an eye on the company. He shouldn't go getting attached. If something happened to Terry, like it had to all of the others... he didn't understand why Bruce would let himself go through that feeling again. Terry must have been something special, alright.

"Gotcha!" Terry exclaimed triumphantly. "I see it."

"Well?" Tim asked.

"Well," Terry replied, "it's definitely a smiley face. Stamped right into the circuit board. But... seriously, the Joker? It's probably just like... the logo of the company that made the board."

"Your friend already check on that, there's no electronics company with a smiley face logo."

Terry sat back and frowned, the back of his head bumping into Tim's chest. He leaned his head back, looking at Tim up-side down.

"Look," he said, getting that intense expression on his face, "the Joker's gone. I know you're scared that he's trying to use you again, but we went over you with a fine-toothed comb, and kept tabs on your movements. You haven't been sneaking out and building a death-satellite again, I swear. This is probably just a coincidence."

"Hell of a coincidence," Tim muttered.

Terry sighed, sitting up properly and turning around. He lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the desk so he could be on the same eye-level as Tim.

"Look," he said, "if anything, it's a copycat, and I'll weed 'em out. Mr. Drake-" he reached out and gripped Tim's shoulder, "-let me worry about this. You haven't done anything and you aren't about to."

Tim nodded, but it was half-hearted. He wanted to believe Terry, he really did. But for years he had lived with that monster inside of him. It was hard to believe that the Joker could be destroyed so easily.

"I'm gonna get out there now, see what I can find," Terry said, hopping off the desk and grabbing his backpack. "You got a place I can change...?" He asked, pulled out his bat suit. This time, Tim did chuckle.

"You actually carry that around with you?" He asked.

"Excuse me for not wanting to make the drive all the way out to Wayne Manor every time I need it," Terry shot back. "Gas is kind of pricey for us poor kids who didn't get adopted by a lonely rich weirdo."

"Hey, it wasn't all fun and games being one of his kids," Tim replied. "At least your parents didn't make you wear hot pants into a gun fight."

"No. But they DID put me in Superman pjs for baby pictures."

-

A few days went by without Tim hearing anything from Terry or Bruce. He wasn't surprised, they had bigger fish to fry. And he was thankful for the space. Having Batman keeping an eye on you could be both comforting and exhausting. But after a few days, the phone rang. He answered it, only to hear a teenage girl reply. She sounded shaken. "Mr. Drake? This is Max Gibson. Terry's friend. I just... thought you should know. He was checking on that chip he found, with the face on it? And, well..."

When Tim made it to the Manor, he found Bruce hunched over the kitchen sink, washing his hands. He could see a few flecks of blood on Bruce's sleeves - Bruce had never been quite as neat as Alfred. "Where's the kid?" Tim demanded. Bruce looked up sharply. Their relationship has mended slightly since Terry had defeated the Joker, but it would never be what it once was.

"It's not your responsibility, Tim," he said gruffly. "Go home."

"It's both of our responsibility," Tim snapped. "For being an example and letting stupid kids think they should put their lives in danger."

Bruce gave him a hard look. "Terry knew the risks when he became Batman."

Tim glared at Bruce for a moment, mouth twitching and he considered saying something. Something about no one ever really knew the risks, as he experienced first hand. Instead, he bluntly stated, "Whatever," and made his way to the cave's secret entrance.

He found Terry in the small medical bay. The young man was shirtless, a bandaged wrapped around his torso. A long, diagonal red streak had started to soak through the stark white gauze. He'd been slowly sitting up when Tim stormed up to him and grabbed him by the neck.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He growled. "You could have been killed. You should have waited for the police to get there instead of going in alone. You stupid fucking kid."

"If I'd waited, other people would've died," Terry croaked, narrowing his eyes like a cornered dog.

"Yeah, yeah," Tim responded, drawing Terry closer. "Big bad Batman, has to be the fucking hero. Well guess what, suicidal mission's aren't brave, they're stupid. One day you're going to end up in a body bag, and I for one won't give a damn or feel even the least bit sorry for you."

Suddenly, before Tim could continue, Terry snarled, and his fist connected with the side of Tim's face. Tim let go of Terry, nearly thrown to the ground with the force of the punch. Terry howled in pain, clutching his shoulder as a fresh spot of blood began to spread under the bandage.

"Stop. Slagging. Lecturing me." He hissed through clenched teeth. Tim stared at the boy, blinking. The kid was dedicated, he had to admit. But that dedication wasn't always a good thing.

Taking notice of the blood collecting under the bandage, Tim's face softened a bit, and he stood back up. "Here," he said, a bit of kindness edging through his otherwise enraged voice. "You probably tore some stitches out." He gently pushed Terry back down on the medical slab. The boy's face was contorted with pain, and he made no objection. Carefully, Tim cut off the bandage and set to work on the stitches. He was nowhere near as good as Alfred, or even Bruce, but it would at least help.

Tim couldn't help but look at Terry as he worked. The kid's entire chest and arms were covered in scars. He was so young - there was no reason for someone that young to have gone through so much. Tim had similar scars. He'd never thought about it when he was a kid, but now, now that that life was behind him, they were permanent records of his own stupidity. He'd hoped he would be the last kid with scars like that in Gotham. It broke his heart knowing he had been wrong.

Terry surfaced from the haze of pain he was experiencing enough to see Tim taking notice of his scars. He seemed to know exactly what Tim was thinking, too, when he started speaking.

"They aren't all from being Batman," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"The scars... they're not all from being Batman. A lot of 'em I got before I started putting on the cowl. You think I'm a dumb kid now, you shoulda seen me back in my gang days."

Tim frowned. He'd known Terry had had some sort of criminal record, but underage records were sealed. He hadn't known exactly what kind of criminal record it had been. "Your gang, it wasn't-"

"No," Terry cut him off quickly. "I never put on face paint or a squirting flower. Naw, just a neighborhood gang, but it was bad enough. I was a stupid kid. I'm still a stupid kid, but at least now I'm trying to do right by this city."

Tim sighed, clasping Terry's shoulder. "There's other ways to do right by this city."

"Yeah... but no one was taking this job. Might've well put a big 'help wanted' sign on it," he said with a grin.

Tim shook his head, silently finishing applying a new bandage. That was one thing Terry had that Bruce didn't - a sense of humor. But that almost a disadvantage in this line of work. Tim had thought of Robin as fun and games, and look what had happened.

"So," Terry said, sitting up again, being careful not to pull his stitches. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Become Robin. Bruce told me about how he adopted Dick Grayson, but he never talks about you. You loose your parents too, or what?"

Tim looked away, but the thing right in his line of sight was the case of suits. He looked at his hands instead. "

No," he said. "At first, I still had a family. Dick had quit, and I knew Batman needed a Robin, so I put on a costume and became him."

Terry was silent, and that bothered Tim. He looked up to see the young man smiling. "What?" Tim asked.

"Nothin'," Terry shrugged. Tim was beginning to think that at the very least, the boy had the tact not to point out the hypocrisy. Then he went a ruined it. "Just... if Batman needs a Robin, I guess Gotham needs a Batman. Guess we're operating on the same wavelength."

Terry slid off the medical slab and slowly walked over to a table laid out with a clean set of clothes. He pulled on a shirt and Tim couldn't help but think it looked familiar. It struck him - it was one of Dick's old shirts that he'd left behind at the manor when he left for Bludhaven. It mostly fit Terry, but he was a bit broader in the shoulders than Dick had been, so it fit tighter. It felt a bit strange to see the kid wearing it. At the very least, he didn't wear any of their old costumes.

"Mr. Drake," Terry began, "I know you're worried something's gonna happen to me. And I appreciate it, really. You don't even know me but you're looking out for me. But I can look out for myself."

Tim looked up sharply. "I had both Bruce and Barbara looking out for me, and I still got grabbed by The Joker," he said darkly.

It took a moment for Terry to respond. "It won't happen to me," he said. He couldn't promise anything, but Tim almost believed Terry when he said that.

Terry didn't give him a chance to respond to it, he was already walking out of the batcave. Tim sat there, alone with his thoughts. He hated the kid. He wasn't sure if it was the thoughts The Joker had whispered in his head about killing Batman, or if he was just angry at Bruce for putting someone else in danger. And yet at the same time, that stupid, arrogant little punk was starting to grow on him. He shook his head. Don't get attached, Timothy, he told himself.

-

THREE DAYS LATER

Tim was enjoying his Sunday to himself when he heard the doorbell buzz. He checked the security camera aimed at the front door that he's installed since the Joker had resurfaced, just in case he transformed and slipped out again. He saw a familiar face on the screen - a face with an eye patch.

"What do you want, Dick?" he said as he opened the door and came face to face with his older brother.

"Timmy!" Dick exclaimed, throwing his arms around Tim. The hug quickly turned into a headlock. Tim protested, telling Dick to knock it off, that they weren't kids anymore. It took nothing short of a punch in the kidneys to get Dick to release him.

"What do you want, Dick?" He repeated.

"What, I can't visit my little brother?"

"Sure, but you've got that look in your eyes - eye - that you get when you want a favor."

"Well, I was going to work up to that," Dick said, running a hand through his graying hair, "but I'll get right to the point. I met the new kid a few months ago. Worked with him, even. Now he's asking for my help."

Tim scowled slightly. "The smiley face computer chip?"

Dick nodded. "He said you'd seen it. That hacker friend of him tracked it back to a gang of Jokerz, surprise surprise. But this gang, it's more organized than any I've ever seen. More than the one the real Joker was running, even."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tim demanded, his scowl deepening.

"Because the kid asked for my help on this," Dick replied, "and for your help, too. He needs people who can hack to help us get into a warehouse. His friend can help, but two heads are better than one."

Tim clenched his hands into fists. "Why didn't he ask me himself?"

"He mentioned the last time he spoke to you, you yelled at him and tried to strangle him. Might have something to do with that."

Tim snorted. Yeah, that probably did have something to do with it.

"Is everything okay, Tim?" Dick said, genuinely concerned. "I mean, do you need to talk to someone...?"

Tim shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with The Joker, if that's what you're wondering about," he said. "I'm... worried about the kid. He needs to get out of this world while he still has a chance."

"Would you have got out if you knew what was going to happen?"

Tim's answer was silence.

"That's what I thought," Dick said softly. "Well, at least think about it. If you can't beat him, join him. I doubt we'll be able to talk Terry out of being Batman, so we might as well try to keep him safe while he's doing it."

"Mm," Tim grunted noncommittally.

"Like I said, think about it," Dick ruffled Tim's hair. "Geez, you went gray fast," he said jokingly.

Tim grinned slightly. "Yeah, I don't have the Grayson gift of seductive graying temples."

"We need to get together sometime," Dick said, heading back for the door. "I need to run, but we should just talk sometime. I know it's not like old times, but..."

"I almost prefer it," Tim said. "It's nice to be normal."

Dick smiled, a playful shimmer in his eyes. "You don't really think that," he said as he exited and shut the door behind him. Dick always could see through him like that.

In the end, Tim caved to the request. He wanted to be done with this sort of life, done with all the Batman bullshit. But Dick was right, as long as another kid was putting his life on the line, it was almost his duty to keep an eye on him. The night came when Dick and Terry planned to storm this warehouse of Jokerz came up fast. They'd tried to give Tim details, but he asked them not to bother. He didn't need to know about Jokerz, just point him towards their security system and he'd hack it.

They'd set him up in Dick's apartment, saying something about wanting to have a central headquarters, and that Bruce would never approve of Tim and Max's involvement on the case. Tim had the feeling that it was more like they wanted to keep an eye on him in case dealing with Jokerz brought out any remnants of The Joker, since they hadn't set up Max there, too. Or maybe Dick and Max just had been computers than Tim did and they were trying to be polite by not mentioning it outright.

The hacking went well enough. The system was secure, but it wasn't a challenge. Tim and Max got the security cameras shut down within two minutes, and were already compiling blueprints and sending them to the boys. Max had hacked into the video feed of Terry's cowl, so Dick and Tim could maintain radio silence. The two made it through the warehouse swiftly, without trouble, when suddenly the video feed opened up into a room full of machinery.

Slowly, the video feed swept the room. Tim was an engineer, he knew his way around machines - but he didn't recognize these. But he noticed something - the room was empty. This was supposed to be a Joker nest, but Dick and Terry hadn't seen any in the whole building. The video suddenly focused on a figure in the middle of the room. It began to zoom, enough to see the figure was male, with pale skin and and shaved head. And then the video cut out.

The audio remained. Tim heard Terry make a gurgled gasp in pain, and Dick shouted. Shots were fired. There was yelling, and then the audio cut out, too. A message appeared on Tim's screen.

"HAVE YOU LOST VIS/AUD TOO?"

"Yes," he replied.

"TRACKING THEIR POSITION NOW."

Tim nodded to himself. Max sounded panicked, as much as text could convey emotion. He was worried, too, but he'd had the training to bottle it up. He had to have faith in Dick. And in Terry.

Tim's screen suddenly changed as Max connected their computers and set up a screen share. He saw a map of the city, and a little red blip. The blip was outside of the warehouse, moving slowly. It picked up speed - they must have made it to the batmobile. He expected it to make a beeline to Wayne Manor, but instead it was headed straight towards him. All he could do was wait.

A few tense minutes passed, and the door flew open. Dick entered the apartment, holding up a half-conscious Batman.

"What happened?" Tim asked, getting up. On the computer screen, the exact same question flashed.

Tim quickly fired off a reply: "They're here. Alive. I'll keep you posted." As he did so, Dick dragged Terry to the couch, helping him to lay down.

"We got blitz attacked," he explained. "The kid got stabbed."

"And you didn't take him to the Manor, WHY?" Tim demanded.

Dick shook his head. "Too far. His suit's both the key to the ignition and the steering wheel to the batmobile. There's no way he would've stayed away long enough to get us back. Besides, I can do whatever Bruce would do to help him. C'mere, put pressure on his side." He grabbed Tim by the hand and pressed it to Terry's side as he went to find a medical kit. Blood gushed around Tim's fingers. He really hadn't missed kind of this life.

While Dick was looking for the med kit, Terry moaned something. Tim couldn't hear it, so he reached up with his free hand and peeled off the suit's mask. Terry's face turned towards him, his eyes having a hard time focusing.

"I told you," he muttered, "it wasn't you."

Tim's eyes narrowed, and he wanted to ask what Terry was talking about, when Dick reappeared at his elbow.

"Help me," his older brother commanded.

Carefully, the two peeled off the upper half of Terry's suit. Tim cleaned off the stab wound while Dick prepared a suture needle. "It's not that deep," Tim reported. "Looks like it missed any organs, but whatever this blade was, it was sharp. That suit's sturdier than anything Bruce wore."

Dick nodded, then gently moved Tim out of the way. Terry hissed in pain as Dick began to stitch him up, and Tim had to keep a hand on his chest to keep him steady so Dick could work.

With the stitches in place, Tim helped to lift Terry into a sitting position so Dick could wrap a bandage around him. It criss-crossed the long diagonal cut over Terry's chest. Tim couldn't help but shake his head, seeing that. The kid was even crazier than Bruce. At least Bruce had Alfred to confine him to the manor when he got seriously injured and needed time to recover. With the bandaging done, Dick sat back with an exhausted sigh.

For the first time since they'd shown up, Tim took a good look at his brother. His eye and the bridge of his nose were showing the first signs of bruising. There was a shallow gash along his forehead, and he was breathing carefully, like he had a cracked rib.

"You think you can keep an eye on the kid, make sure he doesn't die?" Dick asked. "'Cause I'm two minutes from blacking out, myself."

Tim nodded. "Go, rest," he said.

As Dick shakily made his way to the bedroom, Tim was about to return to the computer to update Max, when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to see Terry looking at him, working through the pain to say something. He kneeled next to the couch. Terry's hand moved to the back of his neck, pulled him towards him so that he wouldn't have to use much volume to speak.

"Tim," he said, voice low and intense, "I told you, it wasn't you. They're... they're making another one. Another Joker."

Tim blinked. But... how? How could that even be possible? He knew he should feel scared, but something about the boy's face put him at ease. Terry didn't have to say anything, but Tim knew that the boy would do anything to protect him. Maybe the boy felt guilty, or maybe... maybe there was something more connecting them.

"Just rest," Tim murmured. "We can talk about this later. For now, just..."

Tim wasn't sure what overcame him. Sure, there had been rumors about himself and Conner, but it had never... he had a wife, for god's sake. Still, something drove him, a feeling of connection, like this stupid kid was an anchor in his otherwise uncertain life. He thought maybe the hand on the back of his neck guided him, but that may have just been Terry being unable to keep his arm up.

Tim leaned down over Terry, hesitantly. Terry made no attempt to move, so Tim went ahead. His lips met Terry's. Terry's lips were chapped, and he must have bitten the inside of his cheek at some point in the escape from the warehouse, because Tim could taste the coppery tang of blood on his mouth. Terry's mouth was open slightly, Tim could feel teeth barely grazing his lips. But he resisted opening his own mouth, from taking this any further.

The hand disappeared from the back of his neck. Tim slowly pulled back, opening his eyes. He hadn't remembered closing them. He looked down at Terry - the boy's eyes were closed, his arm hanging off the edge of the couch. His breathing was shallow. Tim swallowed, leaning back on his heels. He shook his head, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and laying it over the sleeping young man. He should check on Max, make sure she knew Terry was okay.