Sneaking into Wayne manor is a fool's errand. The security is intense enough that not even a squirrel can go undetected, and those who force their way in will quickly find themselves on the wrong end of a shotgun.
Yet, here he is, sliding through a window on the top floor in the dead of night, using a material that costed the same as a small country to run an experimental invisibility cloak through his suit.
All to keep Batman from turning into a killer.
As much as Tim would like to see the Joker get run over by the Batmobile, he has it, literally, on record that most Rogues stick to their code of honor because Batman does. Once Batman destroys the rules on the board, so will even the most honorable of villains.
Tim would like Gotham to remain as it is instead of wiped off the map, please and thanks.
It's with the thought of keeping the city safe that Red X slowly maneuvers through Wayne manor, looking for anything that screams "Batman Was Here." To his disappointment but not surprise, there is only endless hallways and rooms devoid of anything personal.
Red X does not have too much longer before Alfred realizes that all the stuff going on outside are nothing more than a series of distractions. Once that happens, any chance Red X has of gaining the upper hand slips away.
So Tim stops, he breathes deeply, and he thinks.
First, Bruce Wayne hosts too many parties for any Batman stuff to take place in anything other than a hidden room. Second, Batman goes out every night, so the hidden room is accessed daily. Third, it must be a large room to store all the vehicles, equipment, and villain gadgets that Batman keeps.
Aha, in the basement. Of course.
From there, it's simply figuring out where the entrance to the hidden lair lies. The best choices are the bedroom or the study; they are the only places guests are strictly forbidden from entering. He's heard rumors of Bruce taking guests back to his bed, so he tries the study first.
He finds a passage behind a grandfather clock.
"Bingo."
For all that Red X is slowly becoming one of the greatest thieves in Gotham, he is still just a child. There's no use of brute force to get his way. Red X has only one way to win this fight, and that's setting a trap that even Batman can't see coming.
Tim Drake has just the bait to use.
"Tired of living already?"
The voice comes out flat rather than amused, but Red X sits on the ship's railing, swinging his legs and pretending otherwise. He'd hate to think that Deathstroke actually cares about the fate of his former employers' son.
"I am paying you the big bucks to hit the button if I die and paying you those same big bucks to destroy the files if I don't," Red X says. "I'd think you'd be happy with such an easy job."
A beat of silence and then—
"You're wasted on him."
His communicator makes a harsh clicking noise, and Red X puts the device away. No matter what feelings Deathstroke may have on the matter, the assassin will abide by their contract; of that, he has no doubt.
The only worry he has now is whether his parents will remember to play "Don't Fear the Reaper" at his funeral or not.
There's no sound, no warning of any kind, but a sudden murderous feeling at his back makes Red X jump down to the lower deck of the cargo ship. A quick twist of the ankle, and his black bō staff is at the ready.
"Seems you found me, Mr. Bat," Red X says cheerfully, voice modulator giving it a darker edge.
"Where," the shadowed-out wraith above him hisses, "did you get this?"
Tossed onto the filthy deck between them is a bundle of pictures. Batman and Robin grin at the top with photos of Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd below them in near identical poses. A note attached reads, "I have more and I'm blackmailing you - XO XO Red X."
"I took these photos. I've known for years who you were, Bruce Wayne," Red X says.
He can't see Batman's face; his whole silhouette is shrouded in darkness, but the tension between them is thick enough to choke on. Red X decides to cut it with the precision of a drunken cloth store employee.
"That's right. You are Bruce Wayne. Your parents are dead, you have no friends, and you miss your Robin, Jason Todd."
Red X goes flying into a shipping container from a roundhouse kick to the chest. He struggles to breathe as black gauntlet grabs him around the neck and slams him continuously into the metal behind him.
"Your contract with Deathstroke ended months ago. There is no one to protect you now," Batman snarls.
"Not s'prised y' figured th't out," Red X chokes.
The hand around his throat squeezes, and Red X reaches blindly down towards his belt. The pin, need to get to the pin. It's a struggle, but he's able to wrap a finger around the device he's searching for. He yanks with all his might.
Batman lets go immediately.
A loud, high-pitched wail emits from Red X's suit, leaving them both stunned in place. The only thing Red X can do is gasp for breath as Batman clutches his cowl with a pained grunt. The frequency scrambles the technology in Red X's suit, rendering it unusable. Hopefully, it does the same to Batman's.
When the noise stops, Red X is only able to remain standing by leaning all his weight against the container.
"Guess what? I made a new contract with him. You kill me, and Vicki Vale gets all the juicy details she could ever want," Red X rasps out.
Batman says nothing, does nothing, and he knows this is his only chance to get them both out of here alive. Red X pulls at the fabric around his neck with a shaking hand. He tears off his mask.
"My name is Tim Drake. My parents are never home, I have no friends, and no one will miss me."
The salt and sewer smell of Gotham's docks hits his nose like a brick to the face. It's not nearly as disconcerting as the way Batman suddenly curls in on himself as if frightened and trying to protect himself.
"You're twelve," Bruce says, horrified and taking a step back.
"Thirteen actually," Tim corrects.
He tries not to shudder. The words "Happy Birthday" echo in his brain like a badly done horror movie. His babysitter's last day on the job will haunt him for years to come.
"I didn't do this to hurt you," Tim says, rubbing his neck pointedly. "You need help, and I won't quit until you get some."
Bruce covers the eyes of his mask as if willing the truth before him to disappear. Tim smiles viciously. Bruce lost this round, and they both know it.
"If you don't want me to tell everyone who you are," Tim says in a tone that brooks no argument, "you will come to my office three times a week where we will do nothing but eat snacks, color in color books, and talk about baseball until you are comfortable enough to talk about other things."
He pulls his mask back on but leaves the voice modulator switched off.
"Oh, and Bruce? I like my payment in cash or easily pawned items."
A call to Wayne manor has Tim leave a thinly veiled threat for Bruce Wayne to show up on Sunday, Tuesday and Friday from 1-2 in the afternoon. Without the mask. He gets hung up on without a word, but Tim keeps his schedule clear.
His faith is rewarded when Bruce shows up ten minutes late to their first session. The face is hard to see behind the giant beard, but it's definitely Bruce Wayne. Tim takes his mask off and powers down the lasers.
"Don't put your feet on the coffee table unless you want your legs flash frozen," Tim says, grabbing his clipboard. "All camera's have been removed, but I'm sure you know that since you were sweeping the place for the last ten minutes."
Bruce stares at him, stone-faced and without a word. Tim flips to a page of actual notes, all wrote in his own personal code.
"Any allergies? Triggers, or uncomfortable topics you want to avoid? Snacks you dislike?"
Bruce continues with the silent treatment. Tim twirls his pen and debates whether he wants to ramble about dinosaurs or city infrastructure for an hour.
"How do you feel about pedestrian crosswalk lights? I, for one, find them useless when people make it their goal to run you over," Tim begins, sketching out a "Villains X-ING" sign.
Their sessions follow the same pattern for two weeks. Bruce shows up physically but not spiritually, and Tim gets to vent about the tragedy that is the city budget. Things only change once he discovers that Bruce has something called "paternal feelings."
"So today I'm going to show you how to win at Beer Pong. By win, I mean get the loser so drunk he passes out, and you can steal their wallet."
"You're thirteen," Bruce says, aghast.
"So?"
Tim is a bit proud of the eye twitch Bruce doesn't quite manage to hide even as he's forced to listen to a lecture about the dangers of alcohol.
"What made you start the Batman thing?" Tim asks in a deceptively mild tone, leaning back with his legs propped up on his desk and folding paper hats.
Sometimes the only way to get certain people interested in talking is to pretend no one is interested in listening. It's the same reason he makes Bruce pay for these meetings; it's solely to keep him from thinking Tim is emotionally invested in his well-being.
Heaven forbid Bruce thinks anyone actually cares about him or anything.
"I can tell you why I started dressing up as Red X," Tim offers when there is no answer.
"Gotham was even more violent years ago," Bruce says after a moment of hesitation.
Tim doesn't acknowledge the words with anything more than a hum, and Bruce goes on to talk about Gotham back in the day, carefully leaving out any personal details. It's progress.
The next step in Tim's "Keep Batman Sane" plan involves suiting up and shadowing Batman on his patrols. He braces himself for a rage fueled meltdown but dealing with Batman turns out to be easier than getting Bruce Wayne to talk about his feelings.
"When you hear this beep, it means to stop hitting," Red X says, pressing down on a modified dog clicker.
Batman looms over him with teeth bared. Red X holds up the clicker and presses down on it again in spite.
"Don't tell me—"
"—what to do? I have to because you keep going overboard. Boundaries, B. We're setting boundaries."
The goon hanging from Red X's grappling line continues to moan frantically. His face is so messed up it's impossible to tell if the goon is conscious or not.
"For every nonviolent takedown you do, I'll give you a star," Red X decides. "Twenty stars is a free ice cream."
"I could buy any ice cream I wanted," Batman says, sounding so hilariously serious.
"But could you get a vanilla cone made by Mr. Freeze whenever you wanted?" Red X holds up a finger.
The silent stare Batman gives him is somewhat judgmental.
"Tim, what is that."
He has to give it to Bruce. Somehow, he can make questions sound like declarations of doom.
"Harley has brought it to my attention that the love of an animal heals the soul." Tim clutches the squirming bundle closer to his chest and pastes on the most innocent look he can muster.
"No, Tim. No." Bruce is already scrambling to put on his fake beard and dash out the door.
"Oh, but I already have."
Bruce can only look on as a tiny nose pops out of the blanket followed by little floppy ears and gigantic eyes. A tilt of a head and a quiet whine sees Bruce turning into a statue.
"Say hello to Ace the Bat-Hound puppy," Tim says gleefully, "and just so you know, Alfred has already approved of this."
Bruce remains in frozen as Tim dumps the puppy into his lap. It's on reflex alone that Bruce pats the tiny head when it begins nuzzling him.
"Ace has his shots and his ID chip. You need to go pick up everything else. Go get him food, toys, a bed, and a leash." Tim looks him straight in the eye. "You, not Alfred."
Whatever argument Bruce is preparing gets destroyed the minute Ace nudges his hand and makes a whimpering sound. Tim tries not to smile evilly as Bruce's arms tighten protectively around the puppy.
He fails at keeping his expression clear if the way he's glared at is any indication.
"Today we're going to write letters." Tim waves to a stack of fine, expensive paper on his desk. "We're going to write down everything we wished we could have said to Jason."
"No."
Tim presses a button that keeps his door bolted shut.
"Sit down, Bruce."
"No, I," Bruce chokes. "I can't do this."
Tim keeps his voice level but firm.
"You don't have to finish it all at once, but this needs to be done. You need to put those things you wanted to tell Jason into words."
It takes a month before Bruce finishes even one letter. Tim doesn't know what's in it, but for most people, the length isn't enough to justify the time it took writing it. For Bruce Wayne, it's close to a miracle.
The letter disappears never to be seen again, and Tim doesn't ask where it went. A second, slightly longer letter is made in half the time. Bruce is quietly working on the third, much lengthier letter when something in the man breaks.
"He should have never been Robin," Bruce suddenly says.
Tim stops penning his sixteenth letter to Jason. To remain looking busy, he traces over letters already written, making them bolder.
"Why?"
"He was a child, and now he is dead."
"Alright," Tim nods. "Say you never let Jason become Robin. What would have happened?"
"He would have gone to school. Got his diploma. He'd been safe."
"Would he?" Tim taps the pen against his lips. "I thought Jason liked to do the opposite of what you wanted."
Bruce already knows that Tim has been stalking Batman and Robin for years, knows that Tim has an exclusive insight into their personalities. And what Tim remembers of Robin is a wild boy ready to take the world by storm.
"Would Jason have been content to live a quiet, civilian life, knowing you were Batman?" He asks gently.
It takes an uncomfortably long time before Bruce finally answers with a shake of his head.
"No, he would have gone out on his own."
And that is the damning truth that Bruce can no longer ignore.
"He would have gone out on his own with or without me."
Red X doesn't stop his thieving ways; he can't be called a hero, but he teams up with Batman more often than not. Batman, for his part, looks the other way unless Red X involves anyone other than villains into his heists.
The two of them try to keep their partnership on the downlow, but a blown-up photo of Batman and Red X beating up Condiment King makes its way to The Office. He gets many compliments on it.
Of course, Nightwing hears the rumors and comes scurrying out of Jump City faster than a bat out of hell. The look on his face when Batman calls Red X his partner is glorious.
(The photo of Nightwing's face becomes his laptop's wallpaper.)