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Brothers Together

Chapter 6: Introduction

Robin scowled one last time at the non-responsive door - stupid locked door, stupid Cyborg locking them in, stupid, stupid, stupid - before steeling his resolve and turning to their 'houseguest.' Despite himself, one eyebrow quirked above his mask in curiosity when he saw that the boy had pulled off one of his gloves and was working on getting a grip on the other. "What're you doing?"

The younger 'Robin' glanced at him with a world-class poker face. "Considering going back to sleep if you're going to keep using that tone with me."

"So you're taking your costume off?"

"Duh," the kid rolled his eyes, finally dropping the gloves to the side and moving to his boots. "Do you sleep in your gear?"

Robin nodded once, and the kid stopped moving just to stare at him in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, you're even more obsessive than Bruce."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"I didn't think it was possible."

Robin scowled again and the kid remained stubbornly unaffected by it. He pulled off his boots and cape and disengaged the utility belt, laying it within easy reach. He also removed the 'R' on his breastplate - Robin noticed that the edge of it was strangely sharp - and wiggled out of the top layer of armor to reveal a simple, skin-tight tunic with the same basic design and pattern underneath.

Robin frowned, distracting himself with examining the kid's armor before turning back to the younger boy as he settled on top of the bed again. "You're not taking off the mask?"

"Not on your life," the kid said matter-of-factly. "I'd like to say that whatever… world, time, wherever…I land in, I can always trust the Titans. But I've seen places where that isn't true, and I can't take the risk."

Robin frowned contemplatively, leaning over and resting his arms on his knees. "But you'll take off your weapons and armor?"

"Oh, come on, Dick," the kid smirked, a few pale white teeth glinting in the half-light of the room. "You honestly think I don't have anything left on me?"

Robin blinked once, taking a brief moment to wonder just how much gear this kid carried and what in the world it could all possibly be used for before he narrowed his eyes sharply. "Don't call me that."

"What, 'Dick'?" the kid raised his bare hands almost in a sign of defeat…or possibly contempt. "What do you expect me to call you? In case you can't tell, 'Robin' is going to get a little confusing."

Robin's scowl deepened. "I don't use that name. I haven't used it for years. As far as I and my team are concerned, it doesn't exist."

"Yeah, yeah," the kid pulled his arms behind him and languidly stretched his shoulders. "Secret identity issues, split personalities, whatever…I'm Tim, for what it's worth."

Robin could practically hear the screeching grind of his own mind shifting gears without the clutch. "You're…what?"

"Tim. I'm Tim," he shrugged, rolling his shoulder until it popped comfortably. "Since I know your name, it's only fair."

His face was neutral, almost friendly, but Robin recognized the glint within the lenses of the mask. The kid was leading him on, giving him a tiny bit of information and dangling it. "And you're just going to tell me?"

"There are approximately 300 million people in the general U.S. population, with six million of those residing in Gotham City alone. At any given time, approximately eight percent of that population could, conceivably, go by the nickname 'Tim,'" he smirked like a cat, the grin stretching from ear to ear. "Good luck figuring out which one I am."

Stupid little stuck-up smart ass…

Robin didn't grit his teeth, but he did have to bite his tongue the slightest bit. This kid, 'Tim,' was good - real good. He had completely control of the conversation and he not only knew it, he was going to keep batting Robin around like a catnip toy for as long as he wanted, always dancing around the actual issues…

"I will figure out who you are."

"You already know who I am," the boy said, keeping his voice soft and simple. "I'm Robin."

"I am Robin."

"Now."

Robin growled, grinding his teeth together, and reached into the folds of his belt to pull out the photographs. He brandished the snapshot of the baseball game, holding it just out of the boy's reach. "Then who is this?"

Tim's poker face slipped away. The muscles around his eyes that were not hidden by his mask relaxed as they widened and his bottom lip trembled just the slightest bit. "Give that back."

Victory!

"The kid in the front is you, right? So who's the guy behind you? Maybe a teacher…"

"Give it back!" Tim lunged for the picture, but Robin moved just as quickly. He planted his hand against the boy's chest and held him at arm's length, stretching the other one back where the kid couldn't reach. "Give it back, Dick! You have no idea how important that is!"

"I would, if you'd told me who's in it!"

"Son of a…"

"Who is he?"

"He's my father!"

The boy's voice cracked on the last word and he stopped struggling. Robin stopped as well, the feelings of triumph catching almost painfully in his throat.

Tim looked up at him through the white-out lenses, and Robin could almost imagine the pained eyes behind the mask.

He wondered if they were blue. Like his.

"He's my father. He's dead. Give it back."

Robin's hand moved without him thinking of it, pushing the photo just close enough that Tim could snatch it on the tips of his fingers. He cradled in his hands as gently as one might carry a baby bird, and his expression remained soft and distant.

Robin sat there a while, letting the awkward silence stretch until it finally got to be too much. "What happened to him?"

"He was murdered."

"How long…?"

"Three weeks."

Robin's breath hitched and his brow knitted in confusion. Three weeks? It had been three weeks since this kid was orphaned? That just wasn't possible, it couldn't be. Nobody could get that well-trained in three weeks, and Tim talked like he'd been on the job for a long time…

Tim sighed, letting the photo - and the hand that held it - fall into his lap limply. He turned his head so that even his mask wasn't looking at Robin, and the muscles relaxed again as his eyes slipped closed. "Look, it…It doesn't matter. I can't…I shouldn't…tell you too much. Not now. I don't think that this world is the same as mine, but we shouldn't take that chance. We don't want to change history."

"But you do come from a good…?"

"Dick," Tim brushed his hair out of his eyes, "I can't tell you. It's too much of a risk."

Robin scowled, leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. I'll stop asking."

"That's rather big of you…"

"If you stop calling me that."

Tim glared at him again, exasperated. He sighed, reaching for his utility belt to tuck the picture away again safely. "Find, Robin. Whatever you say."

Robin lifted an eyebrow with a little frown. "Just like that?"

"It's not worth fighting over," the boy muttered, tucking the picture away like a precious treasure. "I just want to catch Chronos and go home."

Robin watched Tim for a while longer, looking for any of the tell-tale signs of lying and trickery. He noted the controlled defensive stance and the shifty movements, hiding secrets, but they weren't nervous or jumpy enough to indicate that he had openly lied. The kid…Tim…was telling at least part of the proof.

For now.

Robin turned away from the boy, pulling his communicator from a pocket of his own belt. He felt a little silly using it to communicate inside the Tower, but in this situation, he really didn't have a choice. "Cyborg. We're done for now. Open the door."

"You sure, Robin?" Cyborg's voice was almost coy, accompanied by the hiss of cooking bacon. "Somehow, I think a little more progress can't hurt."

"We're. Done." Robin hissed, grinding his teeth irritably. "Open the door or I'm breaking it down."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim smirking with amusement. The image made something inside of him twitch, and he growled into the communicator. "Now, Cyborg."

"Okay, okay. Yeesh, some people are so pushy," Cyborg mumbled, but a second later there was a click and the door slid open automatically.

Robin cut the communicator signal and glanced at Tim. "You're staying here."

"What, you don't trust me?"

"Not yet."

"I should be mad," Tim leaned back against the mattress, stretching his legs and back with all the control of a professional gymnast. "But I guess it's understandable. Nobody with any sense would just trust some stranger in a mask."

For some reason, the words made something in Robin's mind twitch, just a little, and he stepped out the door. As long as his back was turned, he carefully eased his face back into a blank, hopefully unreadable expression. "We'll send breakfast up soon."

"Take your time," Tim yawned, not quite waving. The distant expression on his masked face was the last thing visible before the door slid closed again and locked him in.

TBC…