DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman, or Red Robin, or DC comics, or any ideas concepts or characters mentioned in this story! I am a sixteen-year-old girl playing with fanfiction!
A/N: YES, I had another birthday! And yes - I have this awful inability to stick to one fandom. Or story. But you know what, I don't really care anymore.
Would Tim and Damian have gotten along if they met under different circumstances?
Probably not.
Caroline Pham warily eyed the teenager sitting across from her on the subway. He was one of those troublemaker kids – she could feel it. He lounged about, fiddling with some buttons on his camera, casually sliding a skateboard across the floor.
Thump. Thump.
Her left eye twitched. One of the wheels had a dent in in, causing a repetitive sound reminiscent of a broken shopping cart. The teenager, of course, did not care about the discomfort he caused. Instead, he sat there, oblivious to all else but whatever was on his camera.
Caroline frowned disapprovingly. His jeans were torn at both knees; his black hoodie dirty and riddled with holes. He had a backpack, too, in considerably better shape than his clothing, which was in itself suspicious. She couldn't see his hair or face, since his hood was up, but she was willing to bet that it was in one of those ridiculous hairstyles the younger generation found so fascinating.
When he finally got off of the subway, she relaxed. The noise was gone, along with that rowdy child. Now she could could breath easier.
The aforementioned teenager laughed to himself as he hopped off the subway. Based on the expression the elderly woman had on her face, she probably thought he was a troublemaking hooligan.
Though to be fair, she wasn't exactly far from the truth.
He exited Gotham Underground and hopped on his skateboard. It wasn't long before he was cruising through one of the dirtier neighborhoods of Gotham. With his old hoodie and worn jeans, he blended right in, even if it was a little unusual for someone to be skating at this time of night.
He turned a sharp corner and hopped off his board. As quietly as possible, he hid the skateboard in a dumpster and glanced at the alleyway before him. If his hunch was right, there would be a high-profile drug deal going on in the warehouse about two blocks away. And this particular apartment building had the second-best view of the inside of the warehouse – second best, because if he went to the best view it was likely someone else would be there, too.
Hoping that no one would steal his skateboard, he began to scale the wall.
Mentally, he ran through his current inventory. Camera, check. Night lenses, check. Tripod, check. Water bottle, binoculars, pepper spray, and switchblade, check.
He'd never really had to use the pepper spray or the switchblade before, but they were always on him. He'd seen enough crime to know that muggers tended to avoid armed prey.
The rooftop was clear, like he knew it would be. His hands began to follow the nightly routine. Set up the camera, adjust the angles, tweak the settings, and wait. He peered through the binoculars and into the warehouse. There were some figures already inside, but nothing started yet. He sipped some water from his bottle and waited.
Time passed. The water bottle was empty, and his eyes were starting to droop. Tonight would be the second night in a row he was out. Yesterday, he'd been gathering information on these guys.
He was almost ready to go home when the activity inside the warehouse increased.
"Got you," he whispered, and smirked. His hand was already on the shutter button.
Quickly, he began to shoot pictures. One of the drug dealers had his back to him, so he couldn't get a good shot of his face, but the other one was practically posing for a portrait. The teenager resisted the urge to cackle as he got a shot of him tasting some of the merchandise. Finally, when the exchange was over, he packed his camera equipment into his backpack and zipped it up. Quietly, he returned to the alley. On his way out, he grabbed his skateboard from its hiding spot.
Timothy Drake has struck again.
One week later, Art Kendall was arrested for drug abuse. No one knew where the incriminating photographs came from.
"All-nighter again?"
"Yep," Tim flashed a tired grin as he slid into the seat next to Stephanie Brown.
"I'm beginning to think that you never sleep," she muttered. "Like, ever."
"Sleep is for the weak," Tim answered as he took a sip from his thermos. Caffeine, sweet caffeine. It was second in his list his most treasured items: the first being his camera. He couldn't quite remember how he functioned before coffee.
Steph chuckled and leaned back in her chair. The bell rang, and their conversation was over. With a resigned look, they turned their attention to the teacher.
Tim was well aware of Stephanie Brown's other life. Batgirl was out every other night, beating up bad guys and stopping crime. Before that – Robin, the Girl Wonder, flying across the rooftops with Batman.
But just because Tim knew didn't mean that Steph knew that he knew. Often he thought about telling her, but he could never quite muster up the courage.
It would be weird, he told himself. They never really talked outside of first period: AP Chemistry. They had an amicable acquaintance, sure, but not exactly a friendship. Their relationship was composed of mutual complaints about their class and a few shared interests.
What would he even say, anyway? Hey, I've been following Batman and Robin around since I was nine, and I know the secret identities of you and several other members of your vigilante group! And I take pictures of you guys sometimes! Not a stalker, I swear!
Steph caught him staring at her, and she lifted an eyebrow. Tim shrugged and turned back to his Chemistry work.
It always got super awkward around Stephanie Brown. Steph was cool – infinitely cooler than he was. Honestly, the thought that he sat next to Batgirl made him "geek out", as some people liked to put it. He wondered what Steph thought of him. She probably thought he was just 'that one weird kid in Chemistry'. Tim often wanted to talk to her, but... it was just too weird. But he still wanted to be her friend.
He'd always thought the heroes of Gotham needed civilian friends to keep them grounded, the way Batman needed a Robin.
The way Batman needed a Robin three years ago.
He could remember it quite clearly. The death of Jason Todd sent Batman into a raging depression, and thirteen-year-old Timothy Drake wanted to help his hero so badly. So badly that he spent days trying to track down Nightwing.
But not so badly that he talked to him. He stood two feet away from Dick Grayson and froze. He couldn't speak. He spent hours preparing a speech, complete with newspaper clippings and photographs as evidence to convince Dick Grayson to return to being Robin. And then he froze.
He'd left the circus without saying a word to Grayson, feeling cowardly and ashamed.
A week later, he'd ran into a purple-hooded girl who called herself the Spoiler. She wasn't as good as Robin, but she definitely had the drive and the determination, and Tim knew exactly what he had to do. It became a game of trying to get the two vigilantes to run into each other without them realizing it was on purpose.
It ended up with Steph as Robin and Tim coming home to an empty mansion, with a camera in his lap and a weary but triumphant look in his eye.
He'd followed them around for a while, to keep an eye on things. Eventually he outgrew his obsessive tendencies. Sure, he occasionally trailed Batman and Robin, but it didn't give him the same thrill it used to when he was ten years old and fascinated with capes. Instead, Tim started focusing on the smaller, more subtle crimes that often slipped under the Dynamic Duo's radar. It was all a game to him – taking the pieces of evidence, putting them together until he had the whole story caught on a camera, and slipping a labeled SD card into the police station without getting caught.
He only really followed Batman when he was feeling nostalgic, or when they were working a particularly interesting case.
Or when something changed.
Tim waited on the roof, a pair of binoculars in his hands. He'd heard rumors of the return of Robin, and his old obsession came back with a raging passion. There was something comforting about climbing up buildings in the middle of the night, to watch your childhood heroes in action.
Batman used pretty much the same patrol patterns for the past 8 years, so it wasn't hard to climb up to the Gotham Clock Tower and wait.
He wondered who the new kid was.
A flash of movement caught his eye, and Tim squinted through his binoculars. There – Batman, swooping through the night. He shifted his view and smirked when he caught a flash of a yellow cape.
Huh. The new kid was young. He apparently changed the costume a bit, too. He'd added sleeves and lace-up combat boots, and wore black leggings instead of green. And he had a hood, too. But the costume was clearly Robin, and Tim could appreciate the evolution of the costume. It was better than Dick Grayson's 'disco Nightwing' phase, that's for sure.
It wasn't hard for Tim to put the pieces together. Bruce Wayne's biological son pops out of nowhere, Robin returns a few short weeks later. Tim did wonder who the mother was, though. This Robin was clearly trained. Batman wouldn't have let him patrol so soon otherwise. But Tim was sure where he trained – definitely not under Batman. He was too aggressive, too angry...
Tim wondered if this was a good match. If this violent child could keep Batman in check. Maybe. He'd wait and see.
"Damian Wayne," he muttered under his breath. "Nice to meet you."
It surprised Tim when his and Batman's cases crossed. Tim chose tiny, relatively low-risk crimes to follow. Mostly they were thefts, but Tim did handle a kidnapping once.
But it seemed, skilled as Damian Wayne was, Batman wanted to start small. And that led to this.
Tim was torn between excitement and frustration. He'd spent weeks working out this museum theft. He'd trailed the guy, took notes – he had half a memory stick devoted to pictures on this particular case. And then, the night of the theft, Batman and Robin decided to bust in, effectively rendering his work useless.
Still, he watched from his hiding spot on the roof. The museum had interesting architecture, and the lights made it look cool at night. Deciding not to waste the opportunity, he started snapping photos for his photography class. Often his instructor would lift an eyebrow at the rather... creative angles Tim managed to get, but she never said anything.
He wondered if she knew what his nighttime activities consisted of.
Tim paused in his shooting when a window suddenly blew out on the third floor of the museum. Out came the figure of the thief, followed by a flash of yellow – Robin was on his tail.
Tim grinned and aimed his camera. The easiest route away from the museum was across the roof of the library right next to the museum, and Tim had the perfect view. His first few pictures of the new Robin were going to be perfect. He switched the camera to burst shooting and waited.
But then. This happened.
It was with rapidly growing alarm that Tim realized he'd overestimated this particular crook's intelligence. Tim always hid in the second-best hiding places – second best, because everyone else took the first best places and never thought to look for him there. And then there was this guy.
Who didn't take the most efficient escape route and was headed straight towards Tim, with the new Robin on his tail.
Tim cursed under his breath and tossed his tripod and binoculars in his backpack. Quickly, he gathered up his stuff, camera still in hand, and ducked behind the rooftop planter. If he was lucky, neither the criminal nor Robin would notice him as they ran past the roof.
He wasn't lucky.
The crook tripped over the edge of the rooftop, sprawled out only feet away from Tim and his rapidly pounding heart. The man got to his feet, and -
And suddenly time slowed down. Crouched behind the planter, Tim's eyes swept over the scene. It was beautiful. The half moon illuminated the rooftop with an ethereal silver glow. The thief had a distinctive profile, his dark silhouette standing strong against the deep blue of the night sky. And descending from the clouds came the new Robin, his domino mask just barely visible underneath his hood, cape billowing out behind him, and a batarang in his hand.
Without thinking, Tim raised his camera and shot.
The burst shooting setting captured the new Robin in all his glory, combat boots planting themselves into the thief's face, landing on the rooftop with practiced ease.
Tim thought he might pass out. He'd never been this close to a Robin in costume before. The thief was swiftly knocked out, and Tim could only think of his photograph – that perfect lighting, that killer composition, the angle, and – oh shit, is he looking at me?!
The ten year old vigilante stood over the unconscious body and glared in Tim's direction.
"Who are you?"
"Crap," Tim muttered, and Robin stepped forward.
Not even thinking about what he was doing, Tim turned and leaped off the building, clumsily landing in the dumpster where he'd hidden his skateboard.
Breathing hard, and ignoring the pain in his ankle, he scrambled out of the trash. He'd have to get his precious skateboard later.
His heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted out of the alley. All he could think of was oh man what if he gets me what am I supposed to say how do I even begin to explain this -
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Tim pushed himself even harder. As he ran, he fumbled with his camera and removed the SD card. He slipped it into his pocket, just in case he had to abandon his camera during the chase. Cameras could be replaced. But that photo was priceless.
Was his hood still on? Panicked, he reached up – yes, it was on. Hopefully Robin didn't get a good look at his face. Though it might not matter. Bruce Wayne definitely had the resources to deduce who he was, especially if the Oracle was helping...
Something whistled through the air, and suddenly there was a batarang sticking out of Tim's left shoulder.
Let's hope no one finds out about that, Tim thought as he continued running. He had no doubt that his shoulder would be in great pain for the next few days, but right now the adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to bring the dead back to life.
Damian – Robin – was fast, faster than Tim, but Tim had the advantage of a split second head start and an intimate knowledge of Gotham's streets. After all, he'd been sneaking through here since he was nine years old.
He turned a corner, shortcutting through an alley leading to one of the busier streets of Gotham. It may have been 12:38 am, but cities like Gotham don't sleep. The nighttime crowd was thin, but it was enough. Tim slipped through the crowd like butter; he had plenty of experience running through groups of people. And Robin, as athletic as he was, had the disadvantage of being shorter than everyone else. Tim knew the boy was still on his heels, though, so he pulled out his wad of emergency cash and dropped it onto the ground. The effect was immediate – passerby crowded the fallen money, and the gap between Tim and Damian was widened from three feet to ten.
Tim ducked into another alley. This particular one had a broken manhole cover that hadn't been fixed for at least five years. Tim skipped over the hole in the ground. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone hitting the ground, followed by a ten year old cursing. He didn't look back.
But now he was getting tired. Tim took another turn and scrambled through the broken window he knew would be there. This was not the first time he sought sanctuary in this abandoned apartment room. He barely managed to duck his head out of sight when Robin's footsteps caught up. Tim held his breath and curled up into a ball under the window, praying that Damian wouldn't look inside.
"Robin to Batman. I've lost the unknown."
Tim relaxed, but did not breathe.
"I – yes. Fine. I'm on my way."
The sound of a rustling cape. Faint footsteps. Tim counted to twenty, and finally he deemed it safe enough to breathe.
He'd just outrun Damian Wayne. Damian Wayne, the fourth Robin. Damian Wayne, the son of Batman.
Suddenly, Tim remembered his photo. He grabbed his camera and winced at the pain in his shoulder. He reached up to touch his wound. It was bleeding. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, so he tried not to worry about it.
Still thinking of his photograph, Tim patted his pocket. The SD card was sitting safely inside. He sighed in relief. That single photo was probably his greatest achievement in all his vigilante stalking career.
Tim pulled off his old hoodie and his shirt and rummaged through his backpack. He pulled out a bandage and slapped it on. He'd have to do a more proper job of wrapping it up, but he'd save that for when he got home. He pulled his clothes back on and got to his feet. It was 12:42 am. If he wanted to catch a decent amount sleep, he'd have to head home now...
Tim's head snapped up, the implications of his wound suddenly becoming clear.
He was bleeding. The batarang fell out. Logically, his blood would be on the batarang. If Batman or Robin went back to find it...
Oh God.
He put his head in his hands. It seemed like he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.
With Simon la Rue tied up and deposited at the police station, Damian could now focus on the other chase of the night.
That photographer.
Batman and Robin flew across the rooftops, speaking about the mystery person who'd managed to outrun Damian.
"Here," Robin said, as they landed on the rooftop where he knocked out la Rue. "They were hiding behind this planter."
"Oracle, check the security cameras on all the streets within a 3-mile radius," Batman spoke into his comm as he knelt down by the planter.
"On it."
Batman frowned at the crushed plants. There was nothing, no trace of this photographer.
"You say they jumped off?"
"Into that dumpster down there," Robin commented. "It was a bad landing – they were limping while I chased them, but they ran it off."
"Not trained in falls, then."
"Trained enough to scale the walls of this building," Robin pointed out. "There's no fire escapes or ladders. I checked."
"Curious," Bruce commented. He nodded to Robin, and together they swooped down to the dumpster below.
There were crushed bags from the landing. Batman studied the contents of the dumpster. Old bottles, various trash items, some food products in various states of decay, and -
"A skateboard?" Robin tugged the object out. Unlike the rest of the dumpster, it was clean. It was too clean to have been there for long.
"It's functional," Robin commented, rolling it along the ground. "There's a dent in the wheel, though."
"Must be how they got here," Batman said. "They probably left it behind in their haste."
"Nothing else, though," Robin frowned.
"I've got a visual of the chase," Oracle said through the comm. "12:39 am. They were running through 8th."
"Yes," Robin said. "I would've gotten them if the people weren't there."
"Ooh, clever," Oracle commented. She was watching the security feed. "Dropped some cash to cause a jam for Robin. Not bad."
"Hmm," Batman mused. He grabbed the skateboard. "We'll have to take this back and look for prints. Maybe we can identify them from it."
"Doubtful," Oracle sang through the comm. "Skateboards get roughed around a lot, any prints would be smudged past the point of useful. But..."
"But what?"
"Apparently Robin hit them with a batarang, and it drew blood."
Batman threw a sharp look towards his son. Robin shrugged.
"It disappears in between these two cameras," Oracle muttered. "You'll probably find it somewhere along that alley off of 8th leading to Darwin."
Robin was already on his feet. Batman quickly followed, the skateboard still in his arms.
Batman thought about this mystery photographer. Perhaps they were just a person at the wrong place at the wrong time. But otherwise, they wouldn't have run.
Whatever it was, Batman was going to get to the bottom of it. He wasn't called the Great Detective for nothing.
When they arrived at the alley, they were surprised to see a pair of legs sticking out of a hole in the ground. Batman held up a hand, stopping Robin from moving ahead. They watched the legs wriggle around. Whoever the person was, they were looking for something.
"Is this the person you were following?" Batman asked, quietly.
Robin nodded.
"Probably realized the batarang fell out," Batman said. He shot Robin a look of disapproval.
"I didn't aim for anything lethal."
"'Course you didn't," Oracle chirped in their ears. "You see the weapon anywhere?"
"We have a visual on the unknown," Batman answered.
Robin's muscles tensed. "I'm going in to confront them."
"Robin, wait -"
It was too late. Batman sighed as his son dropped into the alley.
The sound of boots hitting the pavement obviously startled the person in the manhole. The person yelped, and there was the sound of metal hitting metal, and finally, they pulled their head out of the hole in the ground. Batman observed dark hair and pale skin. A young man, more of a boy, really. Older than Damian, but younger than Jason. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting.
Batman followed his son down to the street, effectively trapping the photographer in the center of the alley.
The photographer glanced at Robin, and then to Batman. Then – to Batman's surprise – he groaned. His hand went to his face.
"Oh my God, this is so embarrassing," he muttered. Batman glanced at his hands. One hand was covered in grime, but it also held a red batarang.
"Who the hell are you?" Robin asked. Blunt and to the point. Batman made a mental note to teach his son about interrogation. Batman could get away with angry grunts, but Robin? Not so much.
"Hi, Robin," the photographer turned to Robin. His tone seemed that of forced light-heartedness. "Uh, how's it going?"
"You were following me," Robin growled. "Why?"
The photographer took on a defensive tone. "I wasn't following you! I was following -" he cut himself off.
Batman's eyes narrowed behind his cowl. "Were you following me?"
The photographer whirled around to face him, and Batman got a clear view of his face. He looked familiar, although his face was smudged with dirt and grime from sticking his head into the sewers. What took Batman off guard was the bright blue eyes.
"Oh my God," Oracle murmured in his ear, taking in the live feed from the camera in his mask. "Black hair, blue eyes. Not another one."
Batman was going to have words with Oracle.
"I wasn't following you, either!" The boy protested, his face flushing pink. "I, um – I was uh, following the thief."
Batman growled. "As his accomplice?"
"No!" The photographer looked almost offended. "I'm an upstanding citizen!" he paused, looking thoughtful. "Uh, I think?"
"You think?" Robin growled, and he stepped closer. "You're either following the law or not. Make up your mind."
The boy leaned away from Robin, his hands fidgeting with the batarang. "Well, technically vigilantes are illegal so you guys are breaking the law except the Commissioner needs you guys because Gotham's one of the most crime ridden places on the planet and since Batman came around crime dropped by like fifteen per-"
"Are you saying you're playing at being a vigilante?" Batman cut off the nervous ramble. Oracle was laughing in his ear. Batman resisted the urge to turn off the comm.
"...No?" The boy himself looked uncertain.
"Tt. You're coming with us."
The boy looked even more embarrassed, if that was possible. "Oh my God," he muttered, his eyes darting around the alley, but more out of shame than of looking for exits. "Eight years and it's finally bitten me in the ass. I should've never watched the news that night."
Batman frowned. "Care to explain?"
The boy bit his lip. "I, uh, I think this conversation should be held somewhere more private."
Robin lifted an eyebrow. Batman never understood how his Robins were so expressive underneath a domino mask.
The boy wrung his hands through his hair. "It's kinda a long story. And it kinda involves certain billionaires and acrobats and street kids and -" He paused, searching for words. "A ten year old probably assassin child?"
There was silence.
"Well, he's not wrong," Oracle piped up in the earpiece.
"How did you come by this information?" Batman growled.
The boy hid his face in his hands. "I'm so dead."
They entered the Cave in silence. Tim – he'd introduced himself on the way over – walked in, a look of awe on his face. His eyes darted around the room, taking in all the information with a slight smile on his face. Damian, by contrast, was sulking and glaring at the boy with suspicion.
"Wow," Tim breathed out. He turned to Batman. "This place is cooler than I imagined!"
"How much do you know?" Batman asked, moving straight to the point. There was a time and place for fancy interrogation techniques. This was not one of them.
Tim turned red and bit his lip. "...A lot. Hi, Mr. Wayne. This was not how I imagined meeting you."
Batman crossed his arms.
Tim turned to the other occupant in the room. "I also know that you're Damian Wayne."
Damian scowled. His hand twitched toward a weapon, but he didn't draw. Bruce silently congratulated his son on self-control; much better than last week.
"I, uh -" Tim waved his hands through the air, trying to articulate. "I've known. For a while." Tim blushed again. "A pretty long while."
"How long?"
"Eight years," he mumbled. "Well, not Damian, since he wasn't around yet, but – yeah."
Laughter sounded through the speakers on the computer. Tim jumped.
Without warning, the computer monitor whirred to life, and the smiling face of the Oracle appeared.
"Oh my God, Bruce. A nine year old figured it out."
Tim, true to his character, was staring at the screen with wide eyes.
"Hi. I'm the Oracle," Oracle said. She adjusted her glasses.
"Holy shit," Tim said. "You're – you're the first Batgirl! Barbara Gordon!"
Bruce took off his cowl. Clearly it was pointless. With a sigh, he plopped down into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how such a large security breach occurred without him knowing.
"Not bad, Timothy Drake," Oracle grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Nice to meet you."
Tim didn't even question her knowing his name. He just stared at Oracle with wide eyes. Babs smirked. Her eyes flicked toward Bruce, then back to Tim. Bruce was immediately on guard. She was up to something, and he wasn't sure what.
"Did you tell anyone?" Bruce asked, a weary note in his voice.
Tim looked offended. "No!"
"Why?" Bruce asked, genuinely curious.
Tim shrugged. "Wasn't my secret to tell."
Damian frowned. "That was your only reason?"
"Yeah," Tim said, looking honestly bewildered. "What other reason would I need?" Babs was smiling so hard it looked like her face was going to fall off.
"So, Timmy," she said. "How did you uncover the identity of Batman at the age of nine?"
"It wasn't hard," Tim shrugged. Then he backtracked, looking panicked. "I mean, it was totally hard, you hide your identity very very well -"
"Just answer the question, Drake," Damian snapped.
Last name address already, huh? Damian must be warming up to him.
"I was, uh, a fan of Dick Grayson's civilian identity," Tim said. "As an acrobat. I met him at the circus the night – uh, that night – and it kinda. Stuck. I met him before the show; he promised to do his signature quadruple somersault for me. Little kid fan stuff.
"Then you adopted him," Tim continued. "And then, somewhere around that time, a video clip of Robin appeared on the news. It showed him doing a quadruple somersault. The list of people who can do that is three people long, and only one of them was a kid in Gotham, which meant Dick Grayson was Robin. And Bruce Wayne was Batman."
"I see," Bruce said slowly.
"Clever," Barbara commented. "Who else do you know?"
Tim thought for a moment. "Dick Grayson's currently Nightwing, there's you guys, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl at the moment – pretty sure the one before her was Cassandra Cain, but not certain – and," he paused and frowned. "All signs point to the Red Hood being Jason Todd, except I'm pretty sure he's dead."
Bruce suppressed a wince. "Is that it?"
"Clark Kent is Superman," Tim shrugged. "Although, he doesn't try too hard to hide it. Glasses? Really?"
Bruce silently agreed. How Superman's identity stayed secret, he would never know.
"So why were you following the thief?" Damian changed the subject.
"It's a thing I do," Tim said nonchalantly. "I get photographic evidence on criminals and leave anonymous tips at the police station."
Babs grinned. "You're that guy," she said. "My dad just assumes that one of us Bats did it."
"Oh." Tim said.
There was a pause.
"You've been trailing criminals since you were nine?" Damian asked, after the silence.
Tim's eyes widened. "No! I was -" he stopped. And blushed. Again. "I, uh, I only started this whole thing, like, three years ago."
"And before that?" Damian asked.
Tim looked nervous. "... I followed Batman and Robin to get pictures for my scrapbook," he mumbled.
Babs looked as though Christmas had come early. Bruce resolved to have a talk to her sooner, rather than later.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Damian spoke slowly. "Since you were nine, you would sneak out at night with nothing but a camera to take pictures of Batman and Robin. And no one noticed."
Tim smiled sheepishly. "Yes?"
Damian growled. "You moronic idiot -"
In a heartbeat, Bruce was by his son's side, his hand resting on his shoulder. Damian relaxed, but only slightly. Once he was sure Damian would not fly out of control, Bruce turned a disapproving eye to Tim.
"That's very reckless and dangerous," he said.
"I know," Tim replied. Bruce was surprised to see that, despite Tim's nervous energy, he didn't back away from the hard look Bruce was giving him.
"And you do it anyway?" Bruce asked, a challenge in his tone.
"Sometimes you need someone to work from the shadows," Tim answered. "Besides, it's not like I actively engage in combat."
Bruce gazed at Tim, appraising. The boy was certainly smart. And brave. A risky combination, if left unchecked. But with training, with refinement...
Behind Tim, where he couldn't see, Babs was shooting Bruce a strong glare.
The comm that was still in his ear turned on. "You have your own side-kick. This one's mine."
Bruce bit back a retort, but he knew she was right. He had Damian to watch out for, to take care of. But the potential in this kid...
Conceding defeat, Bruce nodded a miniscule amount. Behind Tim, Babs punched the air.
"So, Timmy," she said, and Tim turned to face her. "You're smart. Do you have school tomorrow?"
Tim blinked, caught off guard by the question. "...Yes?"
"Skip it," she said. "Come back here, to the Batcave. I want to meet you."
Tim looked utterly bewildered. "I, uh, okay."
Babs grinned predatorily. "I'll teach you some of the tricks of the trade."
Once Tim had left, and the screens were off, and Damian and Bruce were upstairs, drinking some cocoa Alfred made for them, Damian turned to his father with an angry glare.
"I don't like him."
"I'm not asking you to."
Damian scowled. "Are you really going to let that – that fanboy – continue whatever stupid thing he does?"
"He'd do it anyway, and I wouldn't be able to stop him," Bruce said slowly. "If he's avoided detection for eight years, it'd be easy for him to avoid detection now."
"But why are you letting that interloper in our house? In the Cave?" Damian asked, frustration in his tone.
Bruce sipped his cocoa. "I can't let a boy wander around stopping crime without supervision."
Damian frowned and slumped back in his chair. He refused to look at Bruce.
Alfred walked in, carrying a tray of freshly baked bread. He glanced at the sulking Damian and turned to Bruce.
What? Bruce lifted an eyebrow.
Alfred's eyes flicked over to Damian. Talk to him.
Bruce sighed as Alfred left the room and looked at Damian. His son was still avoiding his gaze. What was he even mad about? Damian was too young for this teenage angst...
Bruce wracked his mind. Interloper. Fanboy. Moronic idiot. His eyes widened. When he and Oracle were having that silent conversation across the screens, Damian had been there to see the whole thing. And he knew that his son was smart enough to read the clues.
"Damian," Bruce said, in a softer tone. "You know you're still my son, right?"
"Of course I do, Father," Damian scoffed. But he scooted a little closer to Bruce anyway.
"You're Robin," Bruce said quietly. "You're a good Robin." Bruce took a breath, remembering a conversation he had with Alfred a few days before. "I'm proud of you."
Damian didn't answer, but he did turn his head and meet Bruce's eyes. A moment passed.
"Thank you, Father."
They sat in companionable silence, not stirring until Alfred came to shoo them upstairs to get some sleep.
A/N: I really, really, really love civilian!Tim. And fanboy!Tim. And Tim just being a nerd in general. Can you tell he's my favorite character?
I wanted to continue this, but I have no idea where to go with this thing. So I'm just gonna leave it as a one-shot.
-Lazuli Quetzal