Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to Warner Bros. Entertainment, DC Comics, and/or their otherwise respective owners.

Author's Notes: So I was trying to figure out where I wanted to go next with this 'verse and I know what the two stories before this will be about (and you can probably guess one of them, based off of this story), but I was having writer's block with both of them so I just decided to...write this and see where it went? Anyways, the answer is that it went to nearly 7.8k words lmao, ta da!

Usually I don't tag betas in my ABO fics on AO3, but Tim has some internalized sexism and I wanted to make clear what his designation is because of that. Also, there's some implied/referenced neglect and child abuse. Just fyi, before you read. Story title comes from Straight Back by Fleetwood Mac, too.

Anyways, I hope I don't make you guys wait like two and a half months again before the next update, but I make no promises.

As always, I hope you enjoy,

~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

~the storms 'verse~

~the shadow of my shadow~

Tim was eleven when he figured out the truth: that Batman's civilian identity was the billionaire Bruce Wayne, Nightwing was hid older adoptive son Dick Grayson, and the second Robin was...had been his younger adoptive son, Jason Todd.

Honestly, while Til knew that he was more observant than most and had much more free time on his hands, it surprised him that nobody else had figured it out after Jason and Robin had died. The way that the younger son of Bruce Wayne had died in a car crash the same week that Robin had been killed by the Joker was just far too coincidental to be believed, even for Gotham – although, he hadn't been killed in Gotham. Or maybe it wasn't too coincidental, but combined with the fact that Batman had cars and gear that had to be way too expensive for anybody except for a billionaire to buy/own? How Nightwing performed some of the same gymnastic maneuvers in some of the YouTube videos that there were of him as the Flying Graysons had done before they'd been killed, as evidenced by the YouTube videos there also were of them, though they were much fewer and took much more sleuthing to find? How the designations of the three vigilantes matched up with the designations of the Wayne family? It was obvious – to him, at least.

When Tim first figured it out, he wasn't exactly sure of what to do with the information. He wasn't going to tell the world of what he knew, that was an absolute given. Not only did Gotham need Batman, as revealing his identity would only force him into retirement at best and then things would inevitably end up like the way they had been before Tim had even been born, if not worse, but he suspected now more than ever, Batman needed Gotham. His son had just died, after all. Had been murdered by the Joker. Tim had never really lost anyone close to him before, at least not in the traditional sense (his mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, but he didn't remember her, and how could you really miss someone that you'd never really known?), so he could only imagine how that could begin to feel. So he thought that Batman needed Gotham as a crutch, something to hold onto through his grief. And he most certainly did not need an eleven-year-old kid telling him he knew who he was in order to complicate the issue.

But then, over the course of the next few years...Batman changed. Nightwing did too, just for the record. But it was Batman that Tim worried about the most. He became harsher in his punishments against the criminals of Gotham, going so far as to brand pedophiles so that they would inevitably be killed in jail, albeit the injury rate of criminals that he captured in general increased as well. He didn't really respond to the Batsignal that lit up the sky at night anymore either, leaving the police to work on their own when he wasn't leaving the criminals broken and beaten behind for them. Nor did he partner up with Nightwing once more; in fact, it seemed like most of the contact between the two of them had stopped after Robin's death, both in and out of their vigilante personas.

People began to talk. Their attitudes towards Batman changed over the next few years, as they slowly became afraid that one day, one day soon, Batman would fall over the metaphorical edge just like Harvey Dent and so many others...that he would become the very thing he'd sworn to protect them against.

Now, Tim didn't really care what people had to say. They were just people. But he couldn't deny that he was thinking the same thing as them, too. He did notice how Batman's behavior let up some after the second anniversary of Robin's death, becoming more mellowed out, but it didn't change enough. Something needed to change for him externally, not just internally. Something had to give.

And this was when Tim realized what he needed to do, what he should've been getting ready to do ever since Robin had died:

He needed to become Robin himself, taking Jason's place.

Perhaps he wasn't the best candidate for the role, and for more reasons than one: the only physical training that he had was the karate lessons he'd been taking ever since he'd been a little kid, and once he had presented as a beta, he'd known that he was just that. He wasn't another alpha like Nightwing or an omega like he personally believed that Jason would've been, based on the second Robin's demeanor. But somebody had to be the light to Batman's dark, lest he go down a path that he never could come back from. And since he was the only one outside of Batman's circle, however big it was, who knew his true identity, he decided that it had to be him. It just had to.

He made a suit, delving into the large personal allowance that his father gave him every month as a sort of apology for not being able to be in the vicinity for long of the son that looked so much like the mother who had died for him, the allowance that Tim had always done his best not to use much of up until now because he'd wanted its alternative more. Although he kept the standard red tunic that both Dick and Jason had worn when they'd been Robin, he focused on making the suit his own: making the pants black, the only green of the suit being his gloves and boots, and etcetera. Because of all of the materials that he could afford, it pretty much looked like the real thing, not at all a homemade suit built by an amateur.

By the time the third anniversary for Jason's death came around, he was ready. He went out that night, though he knew that doing so had the potential to make things go horribly wrong because of the obvious. He only hoped that Batman would not take his dressing up as a Robin to be some sort of cruel, twisted taunt, and that he would listen to what Tim had to say rather than punching the daylights out of him, and that he would accept him. Even if he didn't do the last account, however, Tim wouldn't give him much of a choice otherwise. He would refuse to take "no" for an answer, for the safety of them all.

The cool air of the April night felt good against his skin as he moved about on the rooftops, refusing to go down to the streets below and prove his worth, no matter how much he wanted to. Tonight was all about introducing himself to Batman, which meant that he needed to make himself as conspicuous as possible, not about the crime-fighting. That would come later.

And after about an hour or so of him running around on the rooftops, the exertion making his lungs burn in a way that was absolutely exhilarating and delightful, he became aware of the fact that he was no longer alone. Out of the corner of his eye, when he tossed his head parallel to his left shoulder for no real reason other than a slight prickling feeling at the back of his neck, he saw a figure in the shadows of the night, following him. They were barely discernible to even the careful eye, but they were there.

Batman, he thought, hiding a grin.

It looked like his plan was working out after all.

Tim ran for a couple more rooftops, and with each step he could practically the feel the shadow of his shadow getting closer and closer. He recalled to mind the speech that he had prepared, wanting to make sure that he didn't forget it in the heat of the moment as he came to a stop on the last rooftop, his boots almost skidding across the asphalt. When he turned around to face the man that he had already decided would be his mentor, whether he liked it or not, he also made sure that his expression was carefully blank. Even the semblance of a smile would be dangerous at first, as it could be misconstrued for a smirk, and again, he didn't want to be mistaken for a villain. He was supposed to be an ally.

But, he abruptly realized as he watched the figure that had been following him land on the rooftop in a much easier and graceful fashion that he had, there had been an error in his plans and his assumptions. Because the latter category was exactly what his thinking that the figure who was following him was Batman was: he'd never actually looked at them long enough in the past five or so minutes to actually confirm their identity.

...Because now that he was looking at them, he could confirm that their identity was not Batman, though they wore the Bat insignia. Hell, not only that, but Tim was certain that he nor anyone else had ever seen this particular vigilante before.

The vigilante was a guy about five-foot-eight, maybe five-foot-nine, with inky black hair that had a patch of silvery-white in the front. His suit was almost entirely black, save for the Bat insignia and the hood that was over his head, which were both a blood red. He was wearing a leather jacket over his suit, and a black domino mask was obscuring the upper half of his face and his eyes, albeit Tim could just barely see the scars that trailed down the left side of his face in the moonlight.

Oh, no.

Tim was so taken back by the presence of this vigilante, at the way that because of them and his assumptions, the plans that he had so carefully crafted in the past six months were now falling apart within the span of mere seconds, he was not even able to ask the vigilante who he was. He could only stare at him in shock.

The vigilante was not struck by the same plight, far from it. He sauntered forwards like a predator would go after its prey, his shoulders raised, a snarl curling his upper lip. "Where the fuck do you get off to think that you can dress up like that?" he growled. His voice was faintly familiar, but for all the observant person that Tim was, he couldn't place where it was from. "Especially on this night?"

Tim instinctively took a step back. While the other vigilante was not close enough that he could scent his pheromones, he had little doubt by the energy that he carried that he was either an alpha or an omega (most likely an omega, based on his curves, but that wasn't proof enough to say for sure; they could just be an unfortunate trick of the suit), and he knew better than most just how much you did not want to piss one of those designations off, due to his own alpha father.

His act of submission did little to sway the vigilante. "Are you just a punk or something, looking to piss off Batman?" he demanded. "Putting on a fake Robin suit on the anniversary of Robin's death? Huh? Are you?"

Something inside Tim recognized that he had to answer the vigilante for his own wellbeing, if not his very survival. Just because he wore the Bat insignia, it did not mean that he wouldn't have the same rule about no killing that Batman was toeing the line dangerously of. "N – no," he said. But his voice was so quiet, it might as well have been a whisper.

The vigilante heard him anyways. "Then what the fuck are you trying to do?"

Tim almost answered him honestly in response, but then at the last second was able to reel himself in. He didn't want to reveal what he was trying to do to this vigilante. He was supposed to be convincing Batman of the role that he needed to play for him, not this guy. He didn't even know who this guy was; he'd never even thought before that Batman would have willingly recruited somebody else to his team after Jason's death instead of somebody recruiting themselves to it. He supposed that the vigilante could be like him in this respect, but it didn't seem like it.

He decided to change tactics to see if he could catch the vigilante off-guard, either to learn more about him or where Batman was tonight, but it was hard to do. "I – I could be asking you the same question. I mean, who the hell – " Tim wasn't one to curse much, so the term sounded strange coming out of his own mouth, but this vigilante was as clearly someone who did as they could come, and he wanted to match that energy to get ahold of his own emotions " – are you? I haven't seen you before?"

The vigilante scoffed, his snarl turning into a sneer. "This is my first night on the job. And you're damn lucky it is with the getup that you're wearing," he did acknowledge. Then: "The name's Mockingjay, kid."

Tim stared at him for all of three seconds, his brain mulling over the information that it had just received.

Then, as impossible as it was to believe, everything clicked into place.

"Oh my God," he breathed, taking another step back, this time out of shock. "Jason Todd! You're alive? How is that even possible?"

The vigilante's – Jason's eyes widened, it was obvious from the movements of his face even with his eyes being obscured by the domino mask, and that alone would have been confirmation enough. The omega quickly tried to get himself back under control. "I have no idea what you're talking about, kid."

But Tim knew. He knew now without any shadow of a doubt. His mind was spinning so badly from the knowledge, it practically made him dizzy.

(How had Jason come back from the dead? Because he had been, dead, they had buried his body in the Wayne family cemetery and everything. And oh God, no wonder that he was pissed at seeing some random kid dressed up almost like him on the anniversary of his death, regardless of Tim's intentions. Maybe he would understand, once Tim told him the truth, but – )

"You're Jason Todd," he insisted. "The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. You were Robin. It's how you died three years ago; you didn't die in that car crash that they faked your death to be. Bruce Wayne is Batman. I just – how even – ?"

As he spoke, Jason's expression underneath his mask went from shocked back to the hardened it had been before, albeit with an addition of something...else. When Tim stopped speaking, the disbelief coursing through his system becoming too overwhelming to bear, the omega crossed the remaining distance between them and grabbed him by the wrist, his grip too strong for Tim to even hope to get out of. "I don't know how you figured it out, kid," he growled. "But you are coming with me."

Jason took him back to where he had parked one of the Batmobiles, refusing to listen to any of the arguments that Tim tried to make. When they got there, he threw him in the back and activated some sort of mechanism that made the back doors impossible to open from the inside, before he hopped into the front seat. Then they were off, the car racing down the streets of Gotham through the night.

Tim sat in the backseat, too stunned to even begin to have a panic attack or hyperventilate. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with reasons for how Jason could still be alive, but besides the obvious that it did not seem he had been in the coffin that had been buried in the Wayne family cemetery and that the body within it must've been a fake, he couldn't come up with anything, and even that explanation only felt like part of the truth.

This was not how the night was supposed to have gone. He was still going to get his wish of facing Batman, that was true, and he knew it from how Jason – Mockingjay – carefully explained the situation into a phone in front of him, his voice quiet but not quiet enough that Tim couldn't hear him. But he was supposed to have met Batman under slightly better circumstances. Now...

Now he wasn't even sure if Batman truly did need another Robin, given that Mockingjay was back from the dead and back to being a vigilante, although under a different name. Maybe the alpha's behavior would change with his return, going back to how it had been before his death. Maybe all of Tim's worrying had been for nothing; it wouldn't be the first time that this proved to be the case.

When they arrived at the Batcave, Tim was barely given time to marvel at the fact that he was in the Batcave before Mockingjay was opening the back door of the car and pulling him out, this time by the scruff of his neck. Tim yelped at the action, because it did hurt, but he was nevertheless led over and forced into a chair. He wasn't tied down to it, he noted, but that did little to comfort him as he lifted his head.

Standing in front of him was not just Mockingjay, but Batman and Nightwing, too, effectively squashing any already impossible attempts of escape that he could have attempted to come up with – not that he would have come up with them. They were all glaring down at him, he could tell that much even with the domino masks and the cowl. It was both amazing and terrifying to be in their combined presence. Mostly terrifying, because of this particular set of circumstances.

"How much more does he know besides our identities?" Nightwing asked, as if Tim wasn't even in front of him.

"I don't know; I didn't ask," Mockingjay admitted.

Nightwing gave his younger adoptive brother an incredulous look. "Jay, seriously?"

Tim couldn't help but think then how clever the younger vigilante's new name was. Nobody would bat an eye at Batman and Nightwing calling him "Jay" out on the field. They would never think like he had that Mockingjay and Jason Todd were the same person, especially since the entire world still thought that the latter was dead.

"Excuse me," Mockingjay snarked. "I was mostly focused on getting him back here so we could figure that out without risking him running away on us."

Nightwing winced. "That's fair," he acknowledged.

"Focus," Batman chided the both of them. As they both did as he ordered, the most powerful alpha of Gotham between his vigilante and billionaire statuses reached down and took off Tim's domino mask. Tim flinched at the action, unable to stop himself, which gave Batman pause. But he nevertheless completed his action, then nodded to himself when he saw who Tim was underneath the mask. "Tim Drake, son of Jackson Drake."

While the news obviously did not mean much to Mockingjay, Nightwing stared down at him in surprise. "Tim Drake?" he repeated. "You're the little kid I did that acrobat performance for at the Christmas Gala of '09?"

Tim was equally surprised at the fact that Nightwing remembered who he was, though it stood to reason that he would remember that he had swung from the chandelier at the gala for the sake of an eight-year-old boy who had been miserable that none of the other kids his age had wanted to play with him – a scenario that had continued to play out even in the present. He didn't really have any friends at Gotham Academy, not that he was going to complain about that; it was part of the reason why he had so much free time on his hands. "Uh...yeah."

Batman once again had to redirect the conversation. "How did you find out about our identities?" he asked. It wasn't quite a demand like he would've done with the criminals of Gotham, but it was clear that he was not going to let Tim go without answering it. "And what else do you know?"

Now that the original vigilante of Gotham was here – or rather, that Tim was here before him – the beta decided that he might as well come clean. "It wasn't that hard to figure out; I've known for the past three years," he admitted. Then he told them how he had done it.

The news did not comfort any of the three vigilantes; if anything, it disturbed them. "You're telling me that an eleven-year-old kid figured out our – ?" Mockingjay said.

He was cut off by Batman. "So you figured this out on your own?" he pressed on. "Nobody else told you? Not Two-Face or one of the other Rogues? Not somebody from the League of Assassins?"

Tim noticed how Mockingjay and Nightwing both tensed at the mention of the latter group, but all that he could do was blink stupidly. "What's the League of Assassins?"

Mockingjay snorted. "That answers that question."

"Okay," Nightwing said, "but if you figured it out on your own, what else do you know?"

Tim was quickly getting frustrated. "What else am I supposed to know?"

The vigilantes all shared a look. Whatever it was that they were thinking he might know, they weren't going to tell him outright what it was.

"Why did you dress up as Robin tonight?" Batman eventually questioned.

"Because..." Tim huffed, looking down at the floor, blowing a piece of hair that had fallen in front of his face away from it. As he had implied before, it seemed especially stupid to mention what he had been planning now. But he did so anyways, just quietly: "Because Batman needs a Robin."

There were several seconds of silence.

"What do you mean 'needs a Robin?'" Mockingjay inquired carefully.

"You haven't been here. I mean," he hurried to correct himself, still not looking up, "I'm assuming you haven't. Or maybe you agree with what Batman's been doing. But he hasn't been holding back besides not killing people, and that needs to stop. The people of Gotham are beginning to fear him instead of trusting him as their protector. He needs somebody to balance him out."

"I don't – " Batman started to say, before he abruptly cut off.

Finally, Mockingjay crouched down into Tim's line of vision. He took off his own domino mask, and Tim was surprised to see that his eye color had changed. While his eyes had been green before, like sea glass, now they were really green, almost like emeralds. "You don't want to end up like me, kid," he said. His voice was much softer now than it had been for the entire night, almost...omither-like. "Believe me, you don't."

Tim frowned. "It's not about what I want. It's about what's necessary."

"You're fourteen; you don't need to be worrying about what's necessary, or crime-fighting, or anything like that," Mockingjay said.

Tim wasn't phased. "You started being Robin at the age of twelve. Nightwing was much younger – he was only eight!"

"And look where I ended up," Mockingjay replied, circling back to his original point. "I did die on this day three years ago. I was brought back, but that doesn't negate the fact that I was killed by the Joker. This line of business is too dangerous for kids."

"I don't care," Tim shot back. "I know your identities. If you don't let me be Robin, then I'll – I'll – "

Rather than upsetting Mockingjay, this seemed to amuse him. Him and Nightwing both. "Are you seriously trying to blackmail us?" the older former Robin asked.

"I think he is," Mockingjay agreed, standing up. "He is right, though: what are we going to do with him? Take him back home?"

Tim said the first thing that came to mind, which was the truth: "My dad's not home. He's in Europe on an archaeological dig. He won't be back for two weeks."

That gave all of the vigilantes pause. "And he left you home?" Mockingjay asked.

Tim shrugged. "He does that a lot."

"...Take him upstairs," Batman decided with a gruff. "He can stay the night here."

Nightwing frowned. "Batman, are you – ?"

But the older alpha was already turning away. "It's not like we don't have any spare rooms," he said.

While Batman and Nightwing both decided to head back out on patrol, Mockingjay – Jason – stayed behind, getting Tim a change of clothes that were rather big on him, but would do, before leading him upstairs to the manor. Tim had been in the Wayne Manor before, both for the Christmas Gala of 2009 as well as other occasions, but he'd only been in select rooms on the ground level before, not upstairs in one of the bedrooms that was only down the hall from the family wing.

Still baffled by the way things had gone tonight, it took him a while to fall asleep. But when he did, his sleep was relatively peaceful, and not to mention dreamless.

He woke up to sunlight streaming in through the windows, tickling at his nose, and a shriek of laughter as somebody else said, "Dami! Dami, no!"

Opening his eyes, Tim saw at the same time that he felt a small body climb up onto his bed with effort. The entire situation was so baffling at first, he could hardly believe it as he took in the sight of a toddler probably a little less than a year and a half old, one with the same inky black hair and emerald green eyes as Jason, but with darker skin. He beamed at Tim brilliantly, before Jason came rushing into the room and picked him up with, "Damian Hafid Wayne, I told you 'no!'"

As soon as the words were out of the omega's mouth, he practically froze as he looked down at Tim, his eyes wide. Tim was not faring much better.

"You have a kid?" he blurted out.

It had been one thing to find out that Jason had come back to life after he had died. But now, to find out that he'd apparently had a kid during the three years the world had thought he was dead, too? That was a little too much, even for Tim's mind. Even with how Bruce Wayne had become a recluse after his younger son had died, it seemed impossible that the press had not found out about this, their lesser skills in observance notwithstanding. Tim was surprised he hadn't found out about this until now.

Strangely, the omega relaxed at his question, his shoulders losing some of their tension. "Yes," he said. "His name is Damian. Say 'hi,' Damian."

Damian didn't speak at all, though he did wave at Tim, suddenly overcome by a shyness that had him burrowing his face into his omither's neck.

"Wait..." Tim spoke out loud. Although he was used to being far more tired than he currently was, he was also confused, so that contributed to him being unable to keep his musings to himself. "Why is his last name 'Wayne,' then?"

Jason smiled at him. The smile did not reach his eyes. "Alfred's making breakfast downstairs for all of us, so you might want to brush your teeth. The clothes that you're wearing are fine," he informed him with a cheerfulness that was superficial. "And don't worry: the interrogation and deciding of your fate will continue on after the meal."

Tim gaped at him. "Didn't you guys already make up your minds that you're not going to let me be Robin?"

He hadn't exactly given up the fight yet, just for the record. But the fact remained that they had all made it very clear last night just what they had thought about him trying to become Robin.

"More on that later. Food first," Jason singsonged, making his son giggle. Bouncing him on his hip, he left the room with, "Make sure you come downstairs within ten minutes."

Tim went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush and toothpaste that he had found there last night among the other stocked toiletries. While the layout of the manor was simple, it was so expansive that it nevertheless took him a few minutes to find where its inhabitants were. He went to the formal dining room first, taking a quick peek inside, but even before he did that he had a feeling that they weren't there, judging by the lock of noise even through the thick wood of the double doors and the walls, and so he wasn't surprised when that proved to be the case.

The informal dining room was down a different, smaller hallway that the main entrance to the formal one, which was also where one of the entrances to the kitchen was. He knew that the informal dining room had to be the correct choice; his ears prickled at the sound of people talking, though it was barely discernible to him. He wasn't a metahuman, after all – the term that the media had taken to describing people who had abilities that ordinary humans did not, usually only applied to certain villains in Batman's rogue gallery, such as Killer Croc.

When he opened up the right side of the double doors to the room, he saw that Jason and Damian, the baby in a highchair, were there, along with Batman and Nightwing – Bruce and Dick. The two older men held themselves in the privacy of their own home differently than they did every time that they were in public, as Tim had expected, though it was nevertheless interesting to note. Their lives in the limelight were just as much as masks that they wore as the ones that they donned at night.

In the milliseconds between his opening the door and the occupants of the room noticing him, he couldn't help but notice that Bruce did not just hold himself differently – when he was around his two sons and grandsons, he was utterly relaxedin a way that the fourteen-year-old beta had never seen before. He was watching with fond eyes as Jason fed cut up pieces of pancakes to Damian, who waved at Tim. This was part of the reason for Tim being noticed, the other being that the sound of the door opening was not exactly quiet.

All at once, Bruce's and Dick's demeanors changed as soon as they looked at him, becoming more like Batman and Nightwing, but nevertheless not quite completely the same. They were both still more relaxed than their vigilante personas, and the fondness in the older alpha's eyes didn't completely go away. "Ah, Tim," he spoke. He gestured to the empty place that had apparently been set for him. "Please, sit. Help yourself."

Tim sat. There was a nice spread on the table, all of which must have been prepared by Alfred Pennyworth, the family's well-known and only butler. He helped himself to the coffee first, which earned a look from Dick that he pointedly ignored, and din't put any creamer or sugar in it, leaving it black. Then he put a few pancakes on his plate, because judging by the ferocity that Damian was exhibiting as he ate them, they had to be good, and a few other items.

In his presence, the talking that he had heard before coming into the room vanished. Jason talked mostly to his son, although he did talk some to the two alphas, but neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about conversation without him talking to them first. Bruce did ask Tim a few questions in spite of the "interrogation" not being supposed to start until after the meal was over, but his inquiries were limited purely to the mundane. "What grade are you in, Tim?"

That was information that he was sure that the man could have used the large computer he had seen down in the Batcave to find out, and in fact he was also sure that he already had, if he hadn't remembered what grade Tim was in potentially from a time that his father had mentioned him (unlikely as the possibility was, hence "potentially") and then done the math from there. He was the world's greatest detective, after all.

Still, Tim humored him anyways. "Eighth."

"And you go to Gotham Academy?"

"Yes."

A smirk twisted at Jason's lips as he looked at Tim. "Do they still talk about how Bruce got expelled back in the day?"

The adoptive father of him and Dick abruptly developed an expression that could only be described as withering. He let out a sigh. "Jason – "

Unfortunately for him, Jason was not the only one who was interested to hear Tim's answer to this, as Dick was, too. "No, no," he said with a crooked grin. "Tell us, Tim."

Tim's cheeks flushed. "There's not much to tell," he muttered. "There's a few teachers who worked then who are still there, but most of them retired. When the story is brought up, it's mostly done as one of what not to do in response to bullying. We're supposed to go to the teachers if we see or experience bullying. There's a zero-tolerance policy for violence, even if it's through tricks or is indirect."

All three of the men looked surprised by that, Dick in particular. "They didn't have that policy when I went to school there," he muttered. "I'm not sure if I like the sound of it...seems too easy for bullies to abuse the system..."

"It is," Tim agreed. He shrugged. "I've never really had problems with it...people at school don't really care about me one way or the other..."

Jason frowned at his word choice, but he said nothing.

They didn't really talk with him for the rest of the meal outside of that. When they were done, the Wayne patriarch and his adoptive children (and grandson, through being perched once again on Jason's hip) led him out of the informal dining room to one of the sitting rooms, leaving all of the dishes behind on the table for Alfred to deal with, similar to how Tim's father treated the dirty dishes that he made before the maid came to the house for her daily cleaning – Tim didn't like doing that, he always made sure to clean his own dishes at the very least for her if not tidy up a little, perhaps because she was one of the only people who had ever taken even a mild interest in his life, like the nanny that he'd had before she'd been fired once he'd presented. But, that was a thought for another time.

...Or, so he thought, that is.

When they got to the sitting room, a cozy one with a flat screen TV on the wall adjacent to the fireplace and a nice view of the outside through the windows opposite of the TV wall. There was a square playpen in the center of the room where a coffee table otherwise would've been, and this was where Jason plopped down his son, albeit Damian didn't seem to mind. If anything, he was excited as he immediately went for the blocks in the pen, grabbing one of them and shoving it into his mouth. The omither smiled as he sat down on one of the couches, Dick sitting down on its other end. Bruce chose one of the armchairs; Tim did the same, feeling like his heart was going to burst out of his chest as he did.

He didn't quite understand this particular choice of venue for the continuance of the interrogation, or why Damian had to be present for it when there was another person – Alfred – present in the manor who could look after him while they did this. He was a baby, that was true, but even if he didn't understand the words being said, he could pick up the tones of the room, the emotions that his omither was experiencing. That could cause the baby stress.

He wasn't going to question either of these things, however, most of all the second one. If there was one thing that even he knew was important not to do around an omither really ever, but most especially during the first two years of their parenthood, it was question their parenting skills.

"So, Tim," Bruce began, clasping his hands together and resting them on his lap. "What can you tell us about your father?"

...What?

What did Tim's father have to do with any of this?

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Why? What do you want to know about him?"

"How often does he go on archaeological digs or business trips?" Bruce asked gently.

"At least a month..." Tim said, trailing off as his eyes narrowed. He had a feeling that he knew what the man was trying to do, because now it made sense why they had chosen this room as the venue for the rest of the interrogation, albeit Damian's presence was still strange. But it was not going to work. "I'm not being neglected or abused. That's not why I want to be Robin."

Jason smiled. "Perceptive."

But Bruce and Dick were not similarly swayed. Dick, in fact, was frowning, the action setting deep lines into his face, even though he was only twenty-three. "Does he leave you at home all by yourself every time he goes on one of these archaeological digs or business trips?"

Tim crossed his arms, bristling. "There's the maid, Sonsoles," he rebuked. He was not going to reveal the truth to them. He wasn't going to let them view him as even more of a kid than they already did because of his age, or even weaker than they probably already did because he was a beta. The reasons for why he wanted to be Robin – of which his father's treatment of him was not one – did not matter, only the fact that he needed to be did. And he wasn't going to let them try to convince him of other –

"Why do I have the feeling that she's not a live-in one?" Dick mused in a deceptively light tone.

"That's because she's not," Bruce said, proving Tim's earlier suspicions of the alpha doing research into him. "Her contract says she's supposed to come to the house to clean once a day. You haven't had a nanny for the past two years either, Tim. Not since you presented. The only domestic worker your father has employed for your care is a driver."

"What does that matter?" Tim demanded, huffing angrily. His hands were clenched into fists now, but it wasn't that obvious since his arms were still crossed. So he hoped, at least. "I can take care of myself! And the lack of employees just means that it won't be as suspicious when I'm out as Robin with you, because there won't be anybody around to – !"

"Has he hit you?"

The question had him stopping in his tracks. He felt his face pale to what had to be the color of bone.

It was Jason who'd asked it. The omega's eyes were sympathetic, but also knowing. Like he'd already known the answer, before Tim's involuntary – stupid – foolish – reaction gave him away so effortlessly. "He has before, hasn't he?" he asked, in the same soft tone as he had asked the previous one. Soft, but loud enough that all of the occupants in the room could hear it. Even Damian, as the baby looked up from the blocks he was playing with at his omither with wide eyes. "It was probably just a couple times. You probably told yourself that he didn't really mean it when he did, that it wouldn't happen again. You probably – "

Tim got to his feet. "What does it matter?" he repeated, his voice louder than it usually was not, but not so loud that he was shouting. Even with as angry as he felt at how they were trying to reduce his trying to be Robin down to this, there was a baby in the room. He wasn't going to try to upset Damian, as though the baby was staring at him now, he seemed more interested in trying to figure out what Tim and his family were talking about than anything else.

"No kid would want to be Robin after me without a reason – a reason that is not Batman's behavior," Jason said calmly. His emerald green eyes glittered. "You don't think that your father's treatment of you is that reason, but it is. If he didn't leave you alone all the time, if he didn't have a history of hitting you, would you have still found out who we were? Probably? Would you still have wanted to be Robin? Maybe. But can you say that you still would've wanted to be Robin for sure?"

Tim felt like he was trembling. His entire life, he didn't think he'd ever felt as vulnerable as he did now.

He hated it.

"It's not about me!"

"But it is," Jason insisted. "You're the one who wants to be Robin so badly. You're the one who wants to put himself in this line of work after the previous Robin died. You really didn't think we wouldn't be interested to find out everything about you that we could because of that? To see if we could really trust you?"

This wasn't how it was supposed to have gone. All of Tim's plans were falling apart at the seams – and with them, it felt like the very essence that made up who he was, was, too.

"Here's what we're going to do," Bruce proposed as Tim was vaguely aware of the fact that his body was choosing to sit down of its own accord. In its defense, the beta's mind was spinning so much from everything that had happened since last night, how the events had gone, and the second Robin reading him so thoroughly, it would've been hard for his body to stay upright much longer. "I know you don't see your father's actions towards you as neglect or abuse; be that as it may, what he is doing is not acceptable. So, whether you like it or not, I am going to inform the police of what he is doing on the grounds that you should be removed from his care. With the pull I have, it will work. I will apply to gain temporary custody of you, and that'll also work."

Just like Jason's shoulders had last night, Tim felt his raise. "That's not – "

"Let me finish," the alpha said, phrasing it as a question. But really, it wasn't. "I will train you over the next four months. If I'm satisfied with the results by your birthday, and you do everything that I say afterwards and you always patrol either with me, Dick, or Jason, then you can be Robin. But only if you do those things."

Tim stared at them all for several long seconds.

Then:

"I thought you didn't want another Robin."

He was cursing himself as soon as he said the words, but in his mind, it just did not compute. If becoming Robin was the solution to the equation, d, how he had planned to become Robin was a, getting the acceptance was b, and how everything had gone so far was c, he could not see how the equation a + b = d had failed but b + c = d had worked...ish. If any of that made sense.

Nor had he expected it to be this easy, in that event.

"None of us do," Dick agreed. But then, he smiled. "But you've made yourself a loose cannon, Tim. Think of it as the carrot. We're willing to do this to make sure that you won't tell anyone about us – about Damian, specifically. But, if we have to use the stick instead...we'll do it. Whatever it takes to keep him and Jason safe. It's not about Bruce and me or our wants, either. Not really." He said it all so sweetly, somehow that just made what he said that much more terrifying. Tim had known before that Nightwing was considered by the criminals of Gotham and Blüdhaven to be just as terrifying as Batman in his own way, but he'd never actually seen the proof of it until now.

He nearly gulped.

But along with his fear, he was also curious. He had to ask: "Why don't you want people to know that Jason's alive or that he had a kid so badly?"

"Do you accept our terms?" Bruce asked in turn.

Tim thought about it. He did need to be Robin, for the sake of Gotham and Batman's reputation. He hadn't expected for things to go like this, for the terms of his being Robin to be this, but...was he still not getting what he wanted, what everyone needed? Moreover, even though the constant lack of supervision would not have made it hard for him to keep the secret of him being Robin in the first place, this way, it would be easier still. Just as the world had not questioned before if Bruce Wayne was Batman and his adoptive sons were Nightwing and Robin, they would not question if his latest...foster son was Robin, either.

(And maybe there was some truth to the claims of the patriarch and his family, if it was this easy for him to make his choice. Tim had known his father had never cared for him in the way that he should've because of how Tim had killed his mother, but maybe he really was – )

He shuddered in a breath before giving his answer.

Four months later, on the night of his fifteenth birthday, Tim donned a Robin suit, the second suit that had been made for him and was almost identical to the one that he had made all by himself, except it had been made better. He ran on the rooftops of Gotham once again, feeling the burn in his lungs and the exhilaration that it caused, but this time, it was behind Batman instead of in search for him, only to meet Mockingjay instead.

He had completed what he had set out to do after all.

Word Count: 7,800