A/N: This is a crosspost from AO3, where I post under the same name. I have at least three other WIPs I could be working on but this one took a hold of me and I couldn't help writing it out. I've been thinking about this for months, but once I introduced Jason the whole thing came together, so I'm jumping on the alternate Tim & Jason meeting bandwagon. Yay! If any locations don't make sense, blame the NML map I'm working off.
Hope you enjoy. Title is from Timothy by Jet.
EDIT: As of Urban Legends #6, Tim is canonically queer! How Jack Drake would react is up in the air, but regardless, Tim is queer and part of the gang :) :hearts:
Tim tossed his schoolbag against the wall and flopped down onto his bed with a relieved sigh. It was finally the weekend, so Tim would be allowed to stay out on patrol later than usual; he grinned, letting himself indulge in a delighted wiggle since no one was around to watch. Dana had gone to stay with her family, so Dad would most likely want to spend the night out with his business friends, catching up with a beer or two over dinner. He always came back late, and despite his promise to spend more time with Tim and be more engaged than, y'know, before, his dad still skipped checking in on Tim and went straight to bed. Tim was kind of glad, in a way; it made it easier for him to avoid suspicion.
Tim was daydreaming about who Batman and Robin would encounter on patrol that night when the front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the mostly empty house.
Dad must be home.
Tim considered going to talk to him, but if he was angry after work, they'd just end up arguing about something else; it was safer to let his dad settle down first.
Tim was scrolling through Discord when he heard footsteps thumping up the stairs, and saw a shadow stop in his doorway.
"Hey Dad," said Tim, not looking up from his phone.
"Tim," barked Dad, "put that goddamn phone away and listen to me when I'm talking."
Uh oh. His father was definitely in a mood.
Tim slipped his phone back into his pocket, and sat up in bed. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" he asked, hedging slightly.
"How about you explain this," said Dad, and stormed across the room to slap a sheaf of papers onto the bed covers. The sound was muted by the fabric, making it lose a lot of the intimidation factor his dad was probably going for.
"Uh, okay," said Tim, and slowly shuffled forward to pick up the documents. The first few pages were weirdly formatted subheadings, like someone had pressed print on a webpage without downloading the attached document. Tim flipped through the papers, and it looked to be a print-out of someone's internet history; a bunch of seemingly unconnected searches, from history questions to the architecture of Gotham. Tim was further into the stack when it began to look a bit familiar, and when he saw some of the search queries he froze, fear trickling down his spine.
It was Tim's internet history.
"Dad?" asked Tim, the slightest tremble in his voice, and had the sheaf snatched out of his hands.
Dad frantically leafed through the stack, his anger increasing with each page he turned, and thrust a specific page in Tim's face.
"What," he roared, "is this."
Tim's heart was pounding in his chest. "I don't—"
"Answer me. What is this?" Dad growled, shaking the page furiously.
Tim scanned down the page, and his heart sunk in his chest.
how to know if you're gay
can you like boys and girls?
how to know if you have a crush on another boy
"You looked at my internet history?" asked Tim quietly.
Dad tossed the printout to the side and grabbed Tim by the arm, pulling him off the bed. Tim was shocked into silence, and stumbled as his feet made contact with the floor. The only thing keeping him upright was the painful grip his father had on his upper arm.
"Dad," said Tim with a gasp, "you're hurting me."
His dad either didn't hear or didn't seem to care. "You keep this shit out of my house. You hear me?" he roared, spittle spraying from his mouth as he loomed over Tim.
Fear flooded through Tim's body so fast he went numb. Gooseflesh erupted on his arms, and his legs turned to jelly. Tim had never seen his dad so angry before, and he felt frozen in place, too terrified to move or speak. He gave a tiny nod, hoping that was enough to answer his dad's question.
Dad leaned in closer and shook Tim hard.
Tim's teeth rattled in his skull, and he felt like almost every part of him had vanished, leaving nothing but sheer terror behind. He went limp, as though the lack of muscle tone would lessen the pain from the vice-like grip around his arm. A small, distant part of Tim knew he'd end up with a bruise.
"Y-yeah. Yes. I won't," stuttered Tim, barely managing to dredge up an answer. His heart thundered like a jackhammer in his chest.
Dad shook him again. "Yes what."
Tim swallowed, head spinning. "Yes sir," he whispered.
Dad glared and finally released Tim's arm. He stormed back out of the room, picking up the discarded printout as he went. He slammed the door shut, making Tim jump, and leaving him trembling like a leaf.
It was silent, save for Tim's racing heart.
Tim dropped to the floor, and tried to slow his breathing. His blood was pounding in his ears, and his brain felt hazy and foggy and his eyes didn't want to focus. He felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. He heaved in a jagged inhale, held it for four seconds, and then let out the air in a rush. In for four, out for four. The next inhale tripped over a hiccup. The exhale felt like a sob. In for four, out for four.
Eventually, Tim was breathing somewhat regularly, and his heart rate had slowed down enough Tim felt like he could think again. He leaned back against his bed, and stared at the ceiling. Why was his dad looking at his search history? Had he done this before? That was almost enough to send Tim back into a panic, all-too aware of the churning in his stomach.
He buried his head in his hands. Tim had always known his dad had an issue with anyone who was— different. But he'd never thought it would ever come up in conversation. He never thought his dad would check his internet history. Tim hadn't ever planned on bringing up the topic with his father, knowing he would never approve, but he'd thought— maybe, since his dad was trying harder, he would have tried to understand, but—
But he guessed they were beyond that, now. The fact his father even knew had a pit forming in Tim's stomach. He'd have to be more careful, in the future.
And maybe— maybe Dad would forget it had even happened. Maybe he'd fume in his office for a bit, then get distracted by a new archaeological dig and they could move on. It happened all the time; Dad would yell, maybe toss a book or smash a photo frame or something, then the next day he'd be grinning like nothing had happened as he handed Tim a new video game or expensive roll of film.
Yeah, surely the same thing would happen this time. Tim gently slapped at his cheeks to focus himself with still-trembling hands and clambered back onto his bed. He'd relax with some mindless YouTube videos, and hopefully by the time dinner came around Dad would have forgotten all about his outburst.
Tim settled down, opening a skateboarding trick compilation video he'd saved for later, and tried to put the encounter out of his mind.
An hour or so had gone by, and Tim had mostly calmed down. He was still a little shaky, but luckily it wasn't that obvious. Tim was still poking away at his phone when his dad appeared at his door again.
"Hi Dad," Tim said quietly.
Dad didn't answer, but he swayed slightly, like he'd been drinking.
He came closer, and he stunk of alcohol; the smell of it was thick in the air. His dad had an empty glass in his hand, so he must've been hitting the hard stuff.
"Get out," Dad said, and Tim's heart skipped several beats.
"What?" asked Tim, voice wavering.
"I said," growled Dad, stalking closer and looming over Tim, "Get out of my house."
Tim stumbled down the stairs on autopilot, clutching the straps of his school backpack and duffel bag tight. Dad had only given him enough time to pick up a few necessities, so he had his laptop and camera and secret shoebox of photos, but not much in the way of clothes.
Tim stopped at the foot of the stairs to try to talk some sense into his dad, to see if he could explain, but he just shoved Tim out into the foyer. Tim's sneakers slid on the polished floorboards, and if he didn't want to trip and fall he had to keep moving. He didn't want his arm to get any more bruised than it already was.
"Dad— please," Tim protested, even as he was pushed through the entryway and out the front door. "Can you please listen?" he pleaded, but his protests fell on deaf ears.
"Don't let me see you back here any time soon," growled Dad, and slammed the door shut in Tim's face.
"Dad, don't do this— Dad," Tim cried, hammering his fists on the wood. He heard the lock snick shut and footsteps fade away. Dad wasn't— he'd left. He wasn't opening the door. This wasn't a joke.
He'd been kicked out.
A wave of static coursed through his limbs, and Tim spun and ran down the driveway, all the way to the bus stop down the road. He was in such a daze that he was halfway into Gotham proper by the time reality hit him, and had to struggle not to tear up and cry on a public bus.
Maybe… maybe Dad would calm down overnight, and he'd call Tim tomorrow to say sorry and let him come back home. Or, better yet, he'd forget the ordeal ever happened and Tim could slip back home when Dana got back and distracted him. That sounded like a plan. Tim could hole up in a motel room for a few days—anywhere glitzier would ask questions he couldn't answer—and his dad could relax and realise his mistake, and they could put this whole thing behind them.
Decision made, Tim buried his emotions deep, hopped off the bus and set about finding the least suspect motel he could before it got dark.
It wasn't all that hard to get a room; this was Gotham, after all. The girl at the counter probably thought Tim was a runaway with a stolen credit card, but she'd given him a key despite the embarrassed flush painting his cheeks.
It was already dark by the time Tim found his room, the sodium lights buzzing over the scratched wooden panelling and faded number panel.
He hastily unlocked the door to his room for the night, his nerves fading only once he'd locked the door behind him. With a shaky sigh, Tim dropped his bags by the foot of the bed. The room was small, with a twin bed pressed against the wall, opposite an old, clunky TV. A rickety table and chair were shoved into the corner, about a yard or so from a door that opened up to reveal a mostly clean toilet and shower. It wasn't much, but it'd do for the time being.
Tim collapsed onto the bed, the cheap covers crackling beneath him. He hadn't even gone far, but the exhaustion of the day had caught up to him; he felt like he came home from school a week ago. Tim really needed a nap.
Then, with a jolt, he remembered Bruce still expected him back at the Cave that night. Tim grimaced; even if he called for a rideshare, it would take over forty minutes to get to Bristol, and it was already past eight.
Reluctantly, Tim pulled out his phone once more and texted Bruce, letting him know he was feeling a bit tired and that he'd be staying in that night. Bruce replied within minutes, glad that Tim was taking a night off for himself and reminding him he was welcome to drop by the Manor whenever.
Tim stared morosely at the message. If Tim told Bruce what had happened, that he was staying in a random motel 'cause his dad had kicked him out, Bruce would undoubtedly let Tim stay at the Manor until his dad came to his senses. But with how much Bruce disliked his dad in the first place, Tim couldn't risk making the situation any messier. Bruce wouldn't want Tim to go back home, and then his dad would fight back on principle, and if the situation blew up even more the CPP could get involved, and Tim needed to avoid that at all costs.
He'd give his dad another day to relax, possibly check in before dinner, and spend tomorrow night as Robin, and prove to Bruce, Alfred and himself that everything was fine.
Tim fought down a sudden rush of anger. This thing with his dad had already messed up so much, and it hadn't even been a day. He could've been spending the night flying over Gotham, but instead he was stuck in a grimy hotel 'cause his dad didn't have a concept of privacy. That thought had Tim's rage petering off, leaving him hollow and aching where the anger had buoyed him up. Tim always knew his dad had issues, but he loved Tim. He'd promised he'd do better, and hang out with Tim more, but—
Tim crumpled slightly. He was just making himself more and more upset when he didn't need to be; Dad would come around, in the end.
Tim tucked his thoughts away. Rather than moping endlessly, his time was better spent focusing on something worthwhile. He dug out his laptop and opened the remote Batcomputer partition, navigating to the files on the Red Hood that Batman still didn't know Tim had access to. He'd warned Tim to stay away from the dangerous crime lord, but that couldn't stop Tim from doing his own research.
Tim was feeling a lot better by the time midnight rolled around, and though he had made hardly any headway on his research, he still felt the satisfaction of being closer to an answer than he was before. After a quick brushing of his teeth, Tim felt sleepy enough that he was able to hop into bed and fall asleep almost immediately.
He'd figure the rest out tomorrow.
Unfortunately for Tim, tomorrow came and went, and the weekend passed without Tim hearing a single word from his dad. He went about his days looking into the Red Hood, his evenings at Wayne Manor and the nights patrolling alongside Batman. Flying above the streets of Gotham was the one thing that lifted the weight off Tim's shoulders, and that excitement buoyed him up until he made it back to the cave and changed out of the suit, when he was able to check his phone again to see the continued silence from his father.
Tim had somehow managed to fool Bruce and Alfred for the most part, with a quick lie that his distant uncle was in town and Tim was hanging out with him instead of his father; it explained why he ventured back into Gotham each night instead of remaining in Bristol, but Tim could tell they still suspected something was up. Alfred sneaked little tupperware containers filled with cookies into Tim's backpack to share with his so-called uncle, and Bruce, ever his not-so-subtle self, let Tim know he could tell them if he was having any problems.
Their concern warmed Tim to his core. He knew they cared about him, but they weren't family like his dad was. There was no way he could ever bother them with this. It was his problem to solve, and Dad would— his dad would surely come around eventually. Tim just had to be patient.
Patrol finished early on Sunday, since Tim had school the next day, and he'd made it halfway across the Manor lawn when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and swept away the notification once he saw it was an aimless ping for one of the gaming servers he was in. He was about to put his phone away when he noticed a message from Dana he'd missed earlier. His heart leapt in his chest, and he almost dropped his phone in his haste to unlock it.
Tim breathed deeply. His hands were already sweaty from the anticipation, and his fingers squeaked across the screen as he navigated over to the messaging app.
Dana [Sent 20:43]: Hey Tim, I was looking forward to seeing you when I got home but Jack tells me you're spending the week at your friend Ives' place! Hope you have fun, let me know if you need me to drop anything off :) xx
Oh.
So Dana wasn't expecting Tim at home. His dad had lied to her. He really didn't want Tim back.
Tim's lip trembled, and his eyes burned. He sniffed, and frantically wiped at his face, brushing away the few tears that had leaked out.
He took a moment to compose himself, fighting back the encroaching sadness that threatened to send him spiralling, and composed a reply to send to Dana.
Tim [Sent: 22:58]: hi dana, glad youre back! sorry i wasn't around 2 welcome you home, ives really wanted to hang and his parents offered to let me stay for the week so we could properly catch up. dad's already worked it all out so you don't have to worry about calling them or anything. i'll probably see you soon! gnite :)
Dana [Sent: 23:02]: Good night! [sleeping emoji] [sleeping emoji] [sleeping emoji]
Tim buried his phone in his pocket and powerwalked to the tree line between the Drake and Wayne properties. He hopped the wall and headed further into Bristol, and called for an Uber once he was a safe enough distance away.
Only once he was settled into the back seat did Tim let himself wonder what the heck his dad was thinking. It made more sense for his dad to assume that Tim had gone to stay with the Waynes, rather than Ives. And— well, he could have. But that wasn't fair to Bruce and Alfred either. Bruce had only just started to heal from Jason, he didn't need another kid to worry about so soon. Tim was Robin, he was there to help Batman, not be helped himself.
And anyway, Batman was focused on his latest case, figuring out who the Red Hood was and what he was after. He didn't need Tim distracting him. The first time he ran into the Hood on patrol, Bruce had limped back into the Cave looking lost, but he'd told Tim not to worry, just to stay away from the mysterious crime lord. Dick had met him too, and got a few cracked ribs from the encounter, but he'd told Tim to not worry and stay away from the man as well. Tim had burned with frustration, but he knew the older vigilantes had his best interests at heart, really. He couldn't argue about being kept away from a maniac that left heads in duffel bags.
The car slowed, and Tim realised he was at his designated drop-off. He thanked the driver and hopped out of the car, putting a pause on his train of thought. Being distracted was a sure-fire way of getting yourself stabbed in Gotham, and Tim couldn't defend himself like usual as a civilian and get away with it, so he had to keep his wits about him.
Tim didn't relax until he'd locked the motel door behind him. He hadn't taken any hits that night, patrol had mostly been quiet, but Tim still felt like his limbs were weighed down. He plugged his phone in to charge and stared aimlessly at the screen as it lit up, and continued to stare until it dimmed again and he was left with a ghost burned into his retinas.
With a sigh, Tim stumbled over to his bag and pulled out his pyjamas.
Tim winced as he fumbled out of his shirt. He'd jarred the bruise on his arm; the skin had blossomed and darkened, and had now become a purple-yellow splodge spanning his bicep. Tim had done his best to ignore the mark over the weekend, and kept it hidden from Bruce and Alfred as best he could. Lucky he had, because the bruise had formed the clear shape of a hand—the discolouration even showed the outline of fingers folding over the delicate underside of his arm.
Tim's eyes darted away and he quickly pulled on the rest of his pyjamas. He went about the rest of his nighttime routine on autopilot, brushing his teeth and washing his face, before he crawled beneath the covers and let his head rest on the scratchy pillowcase.
Without anything to distract himself, Tim's thoughts inevitably led to his dad.
The whole weekend had passed, and Tim had heard nothing from his father himself. At most he'd told Dana that Tim was staying with a friend, and his dad should be glad Tim hadn't told her and gotten him into trouble. Did Dad even think about him? Or was he acting like before, when Mom was still alive, when their main priority was the next destination and not whether Tim, still stuck in boarding school, would want more from them than a postcard?
Maybe Dad had moved on. He obviously didn't want Tim back. Maybe he was trying to forget he'd even had a son in the first place.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the pillow. His breath shuddered, and he curled up as tight as he could, hand gripping the bruise on his arm. It hurt, but if Tim focused on the pain in his arm he didn't have to think about the fact he was sleeping in a motel across town while his father sat in his house and washed his hands of a son he no longer wanted.
It was later that week when things changed for the worse.
Tim stopped by the motel lobby after school to check himself in for another night, and found the counter staffed by a girl with a striking pink undercut and a face full of piercings. She was distracted by her phone, but didn't look upset at being interrupted when Tim came up to the counter.
"Um, can I pay for another night? I'm in room seven," he said.
The girl blinked at him, and gave Tim a little smile. "Sure, kid. Just you?"
Tim nodded, and passed her his card.
The girl clicked at the desktop for a bit, before running Tim's card through the machine. It beeped, and she frowned at the screen before running the card again. She scanned it a third time before turning to Tim, apologetic.
"Sorry, kid. It says the card's been declined. Do you have any other way to pay?"
Tim's heart sunk, while the rest of him filled with ice. He'd— he'd worried about this, but that didn't stop the dread from washing over him. His hands went all tingly, and he had to clench them into fists to stop them from shaking.
"Is it—" Tim swallowed, "could you try it again?" he asked, pretending his voice didn't waver.
"Sure," said the girl, smiling sadly as she ran the card a fourth time, clearly humouring Tim. This time she gave a slow shake of her head, and passed the card back over. "One night is seventy dollars. If you have that in cash I can get it set up for you now."
Tim was shaken. Seventy dollars? Tim had only taken out a few hundred earlier that week, thinking he'd be back home in a few days. There was no way Tim would be able to afford that for more than one night, and he still needed to buy food and use the leftover quarters at the laundromat.
He'd have to find somewhere else to stay.
"Um, that's okay. I'll check out now, then," said Tim, and the girl gave him another sympathetic look at the tremor in his voice.
"Okay. From checkout, you have half an hour to collect your things," she said, with one final click of the mouse. She then leant over the desk and lowered her voice, "If you need somewhere to go, there's a shelter not too far from here down on Fifth that doesn't ask for IDs. I'm sure you could stay there for a night or two," she said helpfully.
"Oh. Um, thank you," said Tim quietly. She must have thought he was a runaway, or homeless. It was nice of her to try and offer help, really, though there was no way Tim could accept.
"Hey," she called, just as Tim had opened the door. "Take care of yourself, you hear me?"
Tim tried to smile at her in thanks, but tears welled up in his eyes unbidden and he had to press his lips together to stop himself from crying out. Instead, he nodded, and slipped outside before she could say any more.
Tim brushed the tears from his eyes as he stepped onto the street. The corner store ATM had confirmed it; Tim's card really had been cancelled. To make matters worse, he barely had fifty bucks left in cash. What was he going to do?
His dad didn't want him back, and he couldn't bother Bruce and Alfred, and Dick was all the way over in Blüdhaven. Going to Ives was even less of an option; Tim couldn't make Ives' parents worry about him, too. Tim wracked his brain, but nothing came to mind.
Suddenly, he remembered the score of empty apartments at the edge of Burnley he and Batman came across the other week on patrol. They were empty, abandoned and hastily evacuated due to possible fear toxin poisoning the crumbling bricks; the signs still hung from the police tape loosely wrapping the stairwells. It was obvious the city council had never bothered to fix the issue, judging from the dust that covered the tables when Robin had peeked in through a window or two.
It was also closer to the Red Hood's stomping grounds than Batman would like. He'd ushered Robin away, and they'd continued their patrol across the Sprang into the Upper East, and the apartments had slipped from Tim's mind.
Tim was thankful to have remembered them now, though. Sure, the location was much more dangerous than the previous motel he'd been staying in, and there was the aforementioned possible fear gas poisoning, but it would work in a pinch. That was only a problem long-term, and Tim had better resilience to Scarecrow's toxin than most Gothamites. And Bruce was still working himself ragged investigating the Red Hood, so he wasn't as likely to question it if the uncle Tim was still lying about was staying a hotel in Burnley instead.
Tim could make this work.
It took Tim long enough to get to the set of buildings it was already growing dark, and he had to force himself not to sprint once they came into view. Being this close to Crime Alley as a civilian made Tim's heart race, and he kept reaching for a bo staff that wasn't there.
Tim gave a quick look to make sure no one was around before he slipped beneath the police tape and scrambled up the fire escape, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible. He had to pause a few times when the old rusted metal began to squeak and groan, his duffel swinging awkwardly, but soon Tim made it to the top floor. He skirted the building, and came around to the apartment best hidden from the street. He quickly picked the lock on the nearest window and snuck in, gently resting his bags on the floor before he checked each room of the silent apartment.
He found nothing but dust, and some scattered furniture left behind by the previous occupants. There was a bedroom with a mattress on the floor, a passable bathroom, and a connected living room and kitchen, the former with a single beat up sofa and the latter with a small table and three spindly chairs. The cupboards were empty, but held enough dishes and cutlery Tim wouldn't need to find more.
It wasn't much, but it was bigger than the motel room, and it had working electricity and running water. Tim would still need to drop by a coin laundry, but so did Dick, at his apartment.
Tim looked around the room once more, and his excitement over settling in rapidly faded, leaving him with a huge lump in his throat. This was nothing like Dick's apartment. He'd moved out because he was an adult and wanted to be independent, but Tim had no choice in the matter.
He'd tried his best to avoid thinking about his situation, but now his reality was inescapable; Tim was stuck staying in an abandoned apartment halfway across town because his dad had kicked him out and didn't want him home. He couldn't bother Bruce, who'd already done so much for him, but neither could he force Dana to choose between the man she loved and a subpar step-son she hadn't even asked for.
Tim's stomach twisted further with each thought, his breath hitching and eyes blurring. He just— he just wanted to go home.
Tim dropped to the floor, and curled up as tightly as he could, clutching at his sleeves and pressing his forehead against his denim-clad knees. He clenched his eyes and jaw shut, and willed his tears and sobs to stay inside.
He didn't stop shaking for a long while.