So this was inspired by a tumblr post I absolutely cannot seem to find again, but the basic premise was that someone said Bruce didn't need another child in a costume, he needed a service dog. And I think someone else said Tim Drake should show up at Batman's house with a service dog. And so this fic was born. If I ever find back the post I'll link it here!
I do hope you all enjoy though!

Title is from Beautiful Creatures by Illenium

Disclaimer: I do not own Batamn or anything DC.

The waiting list to get a service dog is too long so Tim has to pay someone to obtain and train a puppy. Luckily his parents aren't ever home and he has a credit card without limits and so long as he's careful, they won't notice a thing. Besides, it's not as if he ever buys more than he needs so really he's due a little splurging right? Other teenagers do that stuff. Tim should try it out. That fact that he's splurging on something that isn't even going to be his is irrelevant.

Jason Todd is dead and he's been dead for months and sometimes the fact that Robin, this particular Robin won't ever fly again makes Time wish he could actually get a service dog for himself because he would really like to press his face between a pair of fuzzy ears as he tries to deal with that fact.

But dogs aren't welcome at his parents' spotless quartz floors so he has to make do with Mr. Fuzzybutt, even if he must remember to hide Mr. Fuzzybutt back before anyone notices him. Stuffed toys aren't welcome in his parents' house either. Not for a boy that's too big for them.

But at any rate, he needs the service dog far, far less than the intended recipient. After all, he can deal with his grief, he's been doing it for years. He's not contemplating suicide. And even if he was, Tim's not important. The Batman though? He's important.

The city needs him. Gotham needs him. All the people that he saves from death or from experiences so scarring they'll never be free of them, they need him. Tim is intimately aware, more so than most, how close they came to destruction and how much they owed their lives to the Batman. To Robin.

Tim doesn't like to follow that line of thought further so he doesn't. Batman needs help, a reason to live, and maybe something to love again. A service dog is kind of perfect for all that. And Tim is pretty sure Robin would want….. Yeah, Tim isn't thinking about that either.

So Tim spends his time not thinking about things, following the news about Batman then following him out, proving his theories over and over to himself with every snapshot that captures Batman very much not himself. He doesn't go out a lot, only a few times really, but it's enough for him to know that his plan is still needed. There's no Robin anymore. And Batman is this close to broken with no desire to heal.

Tim can't be Robin, no one can be the Robin that was lost, but Tim can do this.

It takes stupid long, but it's a lot shorter than if he'd gone on the list, for the dog to be ready. Tim is pretty sure the trainer wants to kill him with the number of times he called to check up in the last few weeks but he can't help it. He's anxious. Batman is going back home more and more injured and criminals are more often going to the hospital before they ever make it to jail.

But at last, at last, the dog is fully trained and ready to help someone through their sucky life.

Tim hires a cab and heads over the very day the trainer says that the dog is ready. The trainer, a pleasant man called James, is happy to introduce him to the dog, a truly wonderful golden retriever with soft fur and a warm tongue, and the nicest face Tim has ever seen on a dog. He kneels down right there on James' porch and hugs the dog, pressing his whole face into the fur and wishing he could stay there forever.

James chuckles a little above him but waits patiently for Tim to come up for air. Tim reluctantly lets go of the dog after a few minutes but stays on the floor petting him.

"His name is Charlie," James says to Tim.

"Hello Charlie," Tim says and then blushes because he realizes that he'd interrupted James. The man doesn't seem to mind though, laughing as Charlie licks Tim's face as a return hello.

Tim resumes petting Charlie as James hands him Charlie's certificate of training, explains the process of putting on the little work jacket and also what it means for the dog.

Tim listens intently, memorizes all the commands James tells him, and then finally gets to his feet. He shakes James' hand politely, thanks him for all his hard work, and then finally takes his leave, Charlie trotting behind him on his leash.

The cab is still waiting, the driver already briefed that there would be a dog on board, takes Charlie's appearance in stride even giving him a few light pets before they're off.

They stop at Tim's house because Tim needs to get his backpack of evidence to make his case to the freaking Batman, and also to pick up the bag of food he'd bought for Charlie. After all, if you're going to dump a dog on someone you might as well buy the first month of food at least. It's only good manners.

Charlie is perfectly behaved, following Tim around and sniffing cautiously in every new room. Tim gathers his stuff and then on a whim pulls out Mr. Fuzzybutt.

"This," he says holding out the battered teddy bear to Charlie, "is Mr. Fuzzybutt. He's a good bear and so you two should be friends."

Charlie sniffs the bear curiously and then licks one of Mr. Fuzzybutt's legs. Tim takes it as a good sign. He stuffs Mr. Fuzzybutt into his backpack, rubs Charlie's head briefly, and then they're thundering back downstairs to the patiently waiting driver. In another few moments, they're back on the road and heading over to the Wayne Manor.

When they get to the Manor's great gate, Tim leans out to the intercom and says, "Good day, I'm here to see Mr. Pennyworth please."

It's his best bet to get inside. Mr. Wayne hasn't entertained visitors since Jason's death. And Mr. Pennyworth is more likely to let someone in who is claiming to see him rather than Bruce. The great gates swing open without another word and Tim breathes a sigh of relief.

The taxi takes him up the long, long drive to the Manor itself and Tim can't help but look on in awe at the house. He's been here before of course, in one or two of the galas Wayne had thrown over the years. But the house was always lit up too brightly and he had always been too concerned with wrinkling his tux and incurring his mother's displeasure to lean out the window and get the view that he'd wanted.

The manor was beautiful and homey and at another time Tim thinks it would have appeared incredibly warm. But now it looks worn down, old, lackluster, as if the walls themselves are mourning Jason Todd. The air hanging over it is heavy enough that Charlie's ears go down as they get closer. Tim rubs his hand over the dog's head and grips his leash tightly.

At last, the car comes to a stop outside the Manor steps and Tim slides out and waits patiently for Charlie to hop down. He pays the driver, waits until the car starts back down the driveway before approaching the house itself.

The steps are almost too big for his feet and Tim is faced once more with the knowledge that he is small for his age. He sighs and follows Charlie who has no problems with the stairs but waits very patiently for him. He's such a good dog. Tim is sure he will be a lot of help to the Batman. To Bruce.

Tim arrives at the doors and raises his hand to knock but the great wooden doors swing open before he has a chance leaving his fist suspended in the air. Tim blinks at his hand a moment before shifting his gaze to the person standing in the doorway. Then he has to look up because Mr. Pennyworth is much taller than he is. The butler is standing there perfectly prim and put together, only a small crease of his brow betraying his confusion.

"Good morning, sir," he greets Tim politely. "I am Mr. Pennyworth. How may I assist you today?"

"H-hi," Tim stammers and then almost smacks himself. "I mean good morning. I'm Tim. Tim Drake. From next door?"

He wants to sink into the floor now. All of his carefully prepared speech is gone, lost in the aether. Charlie helpfully licks his knee through his pants.

"Ahh yes of course. How may I help you, Mr. Drake?" Mr. Pennyworth is of course polite enough to ignore Tim's stammering. "

"Um, may I come in? I have something to talk about and it may take some time?"

"Of course," the butler says, sweeping aside to allow him in. "I should have asked you in. Do forgive me, the Manor has not entertained visitors in.. some time."

Tim does not miss the sad note in his voice. The Manor has not entertained visitors since Jason had died. It hurts Tim to know so many people are hurt in the aftermath. He understands but he wishes people didn't have to hurt at all. (He squishes down the traitorous part of him that hopes someone would hurt the same if he died.)

He walks in, followed by Charlie, and follows Mr. Pennyworth into some of the small sitting rooms in the Manor. He's never been here before. But then he's never really been anywhere in the Manor that hasn't been the ballroom and the bathroom. Mr. Pennyworth indicates a small couch and then sits in a chair opposite.

"Well then Master Drake, what is it you wish to speak about?"

"Um," Tim starts because once more his brain has shut off. "I actually wanted to speak to Mr. Wayne? No offense to you of course but…."

"Mr. Wayne is not receiving visitors right now," Mr. Pennyworth says and while his voice isn't sharp it's definitely harder. Tim tries not to shrink in his seat. He squares his shoulders.

"I… I understand, really," he says. "And, and I'm so sorry about Jason!" Mr. Pennyworth's face fractures, a brief second where agonizing grief pours through. "But I'm really worried about Batman!"

The room somehow gets quieter, as if all the noise was sucked out of it.

"I… do not understand," Mr. Pennyworth says carefully. "Mr. Wayne has no way to contact Batman if that is what you were hoping for but you'd be more successful contacting the police."

"I, I know," Tim says and really he was supposed to be saying this to Mr. Wayne but apparently nothing is going the way he planned today. "I know Bruce Wayne is Batman."

"My child," Mr. Pennyworth starts and Tim knows the spiel that will come out is probably a well-practiced one.

"I know Jason was Robin," he said quietly, cutting him off. "And that he didn't die in some random mugging. I know Dick Grayson was the first Robin, before he became Nightwing. I... He was the first I figured out you know? Because he did a quadruple flip and so did Robin but there are only three people in the world who can and only one in Gotham who was the right age and size."

Mr. Pennyworth is deathly quiet for a moment before he says equally softly in a tone Tim knows is a threat.

"And what do you plan to know with this supposed information, Mr. Drake?"

Tim blinks for a second and then hurries to reassure the butler. "I won't tell anyone! That's, that's not what I'm here for! Really. I understand why keeping the secret is really important! I really won't tell anyone!"

"Then what are you here for?" The butler fixes those keen eyes on Tim.

"Because I am worried about him," Tim says earnestly, looking into the butler's eyes and trying hard to convey his sincerity. "Ever since… ever since Jason…. He hasn't been the same. And… and that's okay! But…"

"But?" the butler prompts.

"He's hurting people," Tim says. "A lot. More than he used to. It used to be proportionate to the crime or, or the situation. But now it's not. And he isn't. He isn't protecting himself as much as he used to. He's getting hurt a lot. And, he's not blocking punches and blows the way he used to! Last night he took a knife to the shoulder and he could have knocked it away! " Tim's not aware of when his voice rose.

"And, and I know he misses Jason, I know! But Gotham needs Batman. And, and I think Batman needs help," he whispered at last.

Mr. Pennyworth opens his mouth but Tim talks over him cringing even as he did so. "So I got him help," he says and pushes Charlie's leash into the butler's hand.

Mr. Pennyworth blinks and stares down at the leash in his hand for a moment before looking back at Tim.

"I beg pardon?"

"He's a service dog," Tim hastens to explain. "His name is Charlie and he's really sweet. I got him trained especially for Mr. Wayne."

"A service dog," The butler says rather faintly. Charlie, who has been patiently sitting on the floor all this time, licks the butler's hand. The butler in turn pets the dog, almost automatically before turning back to Tim.

"Mr. Drake, this, this was very thoughtful of you, but..."

"I can't take him back," Tim says, cringing a little. "My parents don't allow pets in our house."

"And where were these parents exactly when Batman was being stabbed in the shoulder?" Mr. Pennyworth asks, "Because that certainly wasn't in any news report." the gaze he levels Tim with is piercing.

"Um," Tim says while frantically berating himself for his stupid, big mouth. "China?"

Mr. Pennyworth frowns. "And who is staying with you?"

"I'm a big boy and responsible enough to take care of myself," Tim half-recites. "Mrs. Mac comes in to cook."

He doesn't understand the thunderous look on the butler's face but guesses he should probably leave now.

"But anyway, thank you for your time," he says quickly, standing up, "I left a bag of dog food on the steps. Good day. Bye Charlie!" and then he is running as fast as his short legs can take him.

"Wait!" the butler calls after him but Tim doesn't listen, tearing through the hallway in search of the front door and freedom.

He has his head down, pumping his legs as hard as he can so by the time he notices the feet in his line of sight it is a little too late to stop. He careens right into a brick wall of a human being and would have fallen down if large, warm hands hadn't gripped his shoulders.

"Ow," Tim says in reflex, scrunching up his nose which had taken the brunt of the impact, before looking up into the startled eyes of Bruce Wayne.

Mr Wayne's face is drawn and pale, face covered in a five o clock shadow, cheeks a little sunken. His usually bright blue eyes are dull and pain-filled and angry and so, so sad it makes something awful twist in Tim's chest.

Before he knows it he has flung his arms around Bruce's waist in a tight hug, tears dripping down his face.

"I'm so sorry!" he wails, even as he can't quite figure out why he's crying, where exactly this melancholy is bubbling up from. "I'm so sorry about Jason!"

Somehow, impossibly, the brick wall beneath his shrimp arms is even stiffer. Tim becomes suddenly aware that he is, in fact, hugging Mr. Wayne tightly, while sobbing about his dead son and running away from his butler. He pulls back horrified. He doesn't even know what happened. It's like he lost his mind for a minute. Mr. Wayne is in an open wine-colored bathrobe and shorts. Tim got snot on Batman's abs. He's never been more mortified in his life.

All he came to do was deliver a service dog. A service dog whose nails are clipping sharply on the marble floors along with sleek sensible shoes.

"Alfred," Mr. Wayne says, eyes never leaving Tim who swipes at his face and tries to subtly look for an escape route from the front door. It's okay. He never has to be seen in society again.

"Who is this?"

"This would be young master Timothy Drake sir," the butler's clipped tones replied. He continues before Mr. Wayne can ask about Charlie.

"He had come to bring you a gift sir. A service dog, to help in these trying times."

"I… I see," Bruce Wayne says, sounding rather flummoxed even as the corners of his eyes are creased in pain because Tim, like an idiot, had brought up his dead son while hugging him on top of very bruised ribs.

"I'll be going now," he says quickly. "Sorry about… everything. I hope you like Charlie!" and he dashes through the slight space next to Wayne, heading for freedom.

He doesn't make it. A large hand latches onto his shoulder and Tim comes to a stop so suddenly, his feet fly off the floor. But another hand lands on his waist, steadies him before he falls.

Tim twists to see that Wayne has hold of him but the man who is the Batman is not looking at him. He is looking at the butler who had no doubt signaled him not to let Tim leave.

"Mr. Drake," the butler says into the silence, "was quite worried about the stab wound Batman took last night. He seems to think our resident caped crusader is not taking care of himself recently."

The hand on his shoulder tightens before Bruce Wayne looks down at him. Tim looks up at him, eyes still red but defiant.

He says nothing and Wayne says nothing but an entire conversation passes in those few moments.

"It was very thoughtful of you Timothy, to bring a service dog," Wayne finally says, lifting his hand from Tim's shoulder. "But not necessary."

And Tim's anger flares suddenly into existence. "It is necessary!" he snaps.

"Mr. Drake," and that is Batman's voice even if it lacks the gravel.

"No!" Tim snaps back, cutting him off. "You don't get to pretend that you're okay! You're not okay!"

"Timothy!" Wayne snaps and his voice is a hiss, a coiled serpent ready to strike but Tim has drunk enough poison in his young life to not fear this.

"You're not even grieving!" he yells into Wayne's face. "This is…. This is punishment! For losing him! This isn't grief! This isn't justice! "

"Get out!" Wayne looms over him, frightening and deadly.

"No!" Tim yells in his squeaky thirteen-year-old glory. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mr. Pennyworth, staring at both of them, as wide-eyed as he's ever seen the butler, knuckles white around the leash he was holding.

"Because he's gone! And it hurts! And it's, it's supposed to hurt! And, and it's the worst thing in the world!" Tim feels his chest tearing and twisting of the thought of the bright Robin who had soared the skies and taken out bad guys and gave candy to the crime alley kids.

Wayne's face is pure anguish. If Tim feels broken, Wayne looks like he's been flayed to the bone.

"But we can't lose you too," Tim says, and he's aware he's crying again. "Gotham needs you. We need you. We lost our Robin. We can't, we can't lose our batman too."

There's silence in the hall save for Tim's harsh breaths as he tries to knuckle tears off his face. When he looks up Wayne's face is a mask but shining tears are tracking down his face.

"I'm sorry you lost Jason, " Tim said quietly, trying not to cry again. "I'm really, really sorry Mr. Wayne. If I could die to bring him back I would. But I can't. But I thought, I thought he'd, he'd want you to, to be happy sometime, to, to live. And I know no one can replace him. But a dog," Tim shrugged. "Dogs don't try to be anyone. And they love you and they do their best. And, and, you're not cruel so you won't hurt him. And maybe, maybe you'd learn not to hurt yourself too."

There is a soft whine and then Charlie is there nudged against Wayne's leg, licking his clenched fist. Wayne startles for a moment before slowly unclenching his hand and petting the dog on the nose.

He takes a deep breath and fixes Tim with a stare that pins him in place.

"I suppose," he says slowly and deliberately, "that I should invite you over for lunch."

"What?" Tim says blankly.

Wayne wipes his face with the hand not scratching the dog behind the ears.

"I think," Wayne says, still speaking carefully, like he has to work around the anger that is still present, breathing in his chest, "we have a lot to talk about. Don't you Timothy?"

"Um," Tim says. "I would hate to intrude more."

And then breathtakingly, a smile, real if terribly wobbly, flashes across Wayne's face.

"We've already had one screaming row Tim," Wayne says, "I hardly think you can inconvenience me more."

Tim flushes red all the way up to his ears and opens his mouth, to say what, he doesn't actually know, but the butler who'd been quiet up till then chose to speak.

"Yes, it would be good for young master Timothy to join us, seeing that his parents are in China."

Wayne… frowns. "What?"

"I have a housekeeper!" Tim protests.

"And only a housekeeper," Mr. Pennyworth says looking pointedly at Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne's eyes narrowed as he turned to Tim.

"I can take care of myself!" Tim protests.

"And how long have your parents been in China?" Wayne demands.

"Two weeks," Tim says stubbornly. They don't have to know they had been in Belize four weeks before that and France two months earlier.

Wayne's eyes sharpened like he knew Tim was hiding something before relaxing a little.

"Then you should definitely stay over for Alfred's lunch then, " he says before looking down at himself. "And I should get dressed. If you would excuse me?" And with that Wayne was heading up the stairs, Charlie at his heels, leaving Tim alone with the butler.

"Come along then Master Tim," Mr. Pennyworth said, as if Tim had, in fact, agreed to stay for lunch. "I'm sure you'd like to wash your face."

Tim stared at him, the butler stared back and Tim gave in to the inevitable. "Yes," he says resignedly.

Please leave a review! They make me happy!