Chapter Text
The rough brick of the office building’s parapet dug into Tim’s elbows, even through his jacket sleeves, and the Bats were apparently not following their usual patrol route for Thursday nights. He’d already checked his phone several times to make sure that there hadn’t been an Arkham breakout or rogue attack that night. Neither Batman nor Robin had been injured the night before, at least not that he’d seen, and it was summer, so it wasn’t any school obligation that would keep Jason in. Maybe the Waynes were going on a vacation.
If it dragged on much longer, then he’d have to give up and go home. He’d give it another five minutes, and then-
There was a soft thud on the gravel behind him, and Tim yelped and scrambled to his feet so fast that he tripped over the parapet and fell back towards the street several stories below.
A hand grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward. Tim stumbled, then caught himself and spun to face his accidentally almost murderer/rescuer, and-
“What the fuck?” Robin demanded.
Tim’s brain died, but Tim’s finger hit the shutter button and captured for all eternity the image of Robin glaring. At him. Five feet away.
Robin’s mask shifted like he was raising his eyebrow incredulously at Tim. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
Tim choked on his own stupidity. “No.”
“That’s creepy, kid.” Jason crossed his arms. “What are you even doing out here?”
Stalking, actually, but Tim had learned a long time ago that if you were digging yourself into a hole, the first thing to do was stop digging.
What Tim had not learned was how to tactfully change the subject.
“What are….you….doing….here?” Was there any way to perform CPR on your last threads of self-respect? “Sneaking up on kids like a creep.”
Robin scoffed and stepped toward Tim. Tim jumped out of the way, but Robin didn’t follow him. Instead, he went straight to the parapet and knelt down. A small part of Tim, probably his last two brain cells crashing into each other at last, pointed out that he should probably be making his escape while Robin was occupied, but the larger, curiouser part of Tim that had drawn him out into the heart of Gotham to secretly photograph vigilantes wanted to know what Robin was doing.
Robin lifted the stone that Tim had been leaning on from its place. Tim hadn’t even noticed that it had been loose, but now he could see that there was a small crevice underneath it, a space between the bricks it had covered.
Robin reached into the crevice, apparently trusting his gloves to protect him from any of the creepy crawly things that lived in the dark, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Tim’s jaw dropped. “You can’t smoke, that’s bad for you.”
Maybe it was none of his business, but he felt personally involved after years of watching the Bats fight through impossible odds and come out swinging, or get horribly injured and yet still appear in public the next day as though nothing had happened. Robin couldn’t just die of lung cancer after surviving a fight with Killer Croc. That was just…not how things were supposed to work.
Robin turned around and stared at him. Or, at least, he probably did; it was hard to tell through the unnerving whiteout lenses. Then he snorted.
“You’re kidding me, right? I’m getting a lesson in safety from a rich little kid in the middle of Gotham, alone, at night, with an expensive meal ticket around his neck. By the way, where do you live, because I’ll take you home after this because I’m nice and don’t like babies getting murdered.”
Tim bristled and clutched his camera defensively. “I’ve been doing this for years. No one’s ever caught me before.”
Again with the incredulous mask lift. “Sure, and the Joker is finally responding to his meds.”
Tim scowled, but the only way to prove that he was telling the truth would be to show Robin the pictures he had from days and weeks and months ago to show that not only had he been doing this awhile, he did it often too. If Robin was a snitch, he might try to tell Tim’s parents, which wouldn’t work, but could get him in trouble. He knew that it was technically illegal for his parents to leave him alone for months on end, but it had worked out pretty well for him and he was loathe to give up his independence if Batman started poking into his homelife.
Robin pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. “Cut me some slack. I need it tonight, kid.”
“I don’t think you can ever need a multitude of health issues,” Tim pointed out.
Robin took in a drag anyway, completely ignoring Tim’s valid points about his health.
Robin dropped onto the parapet and swung his legs over the side so that they dangled far above the sidewalk below. “Well, take a seat, kid. You’re not leaving without me, and I’m not leaving until I’ve smoked at least half a pack.”
Tim sighed and came to sit next to Robin. He didn’t really like sitting so close to the edge, but he also didn’t want Robin to think that he was a wimp, so he let his own legs dangle too, though he sat a lot farther back on his seat than Robin was.
Robin had smoked two and a half cigarettes before Tim finally broke the silence, if just because Robin couldn’t talk and smoke at the same time. If Tim timed it right, he could get the cigarette to burn out. Sure, Robin had others, but if Tim kept it up, he wouldn’t have as many others.
“So, what happened? Why do you need to smoke? Where’s Batman?”
Jason glanced at him, then glanced away and pulled in another breath of nicotine and tar. “That’s a lot of questions.”
Tim gave it a moment, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He had known Robin for maybe ten minutes, and Tim was already annoying him. Still, the situation called for…not tough love, but tough hero worship, definitely.
“It’s only three. Can’t you answer them? Since you are keeping me here against my will?”
Robin snorted again. “I have made a citizen’s arrest of a runaway. That’s not like kidnapping.”
Of course, but it was unlawful imprisonment, probably. “I’m not a runaway, and you’re dodging the question. What are you doing out here?”
“Really, I could ask the same. I did, and you ignored me. So, how about a trade,” Robin proposed, and the orange glow of his cigarette was burning steadily closer to the butt. “An answer for an answer.”
That did not sound great, but if it kept Robin occupied, then fine. He could test out his lying capabilities, anyway.
“Fine. Youngest first,” Tim said, and Robin didn’t dispute it. “Why did you come out here? Why are you running from Batman?”
Robin scoffed, but it was only half-hearted. “That was two questions, but I’ll allow it. I found out some…family stuff. I came out here to get some air, away from the boss.”
“Family stuff?”
“And it’s my turn,” Robin cut in, technically, but legally sidestepping the question. “What’s a kid like you doing out here at night?”
Tim shrugged, but it didn’t stop his pounding heart. A kernel of truth, right? He couldn’t let Robin find out just what he took pictures of, but denying the photography spiel would be hard to sell, especially with his professional camera and bag hanging from him.
“I, uh, like taking night photography of the city. My turn.” Mostly true. Tim tilted his head. “What kind a family stuff?”
Jason’s shoulders slumped, and he turned out to face Gotham with such despondency that Tim couldn’t even manage a scolding or mental disapproval about the smoking.
“I found out that my mom wasn’t my real mom, and that my real mom is working in Ethiopia,” Robin confessed, his vocal disguise slipping and an awful lot of Jason Todd bleeding through. “I want to meet her, but I don’t know if Batman will allow it.”
Tim frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Not your question, kid. Do your parents know that you’re out here alone?” Robin ground out the cigarette butt, then put it in a pouch in his belt with the others. Breaking and entering was fine; littering was where he drew the line.
Tim’s chest tightened and breathing was suddenly not a thing anymore. There was no kernel of truth this time, and he had to really sell it, or Robin was going to think that it was weird and maybe dangerous. “Well, uh, they’re out of town, and the guest bedroom is really far from my bedroom, so, yeah. My babysitter, she um, exists – I mean, she can’t hear me climb out my window. And stuff.”
“That is so not the truth. I want the real answer,” Robin chuckled.
Tim frowned. “No.”
“You agreed-”
“That’s your answer. No, they don’t know I’m here. My turn,” Tim said, giving Robin his most withering glare to dare him to interrupt. Robin didn’t look particularly withered, but he didn’t argue.
“Why do you think that Batman won’t let you meet your mom?”
Robin shrugged, moved to light another cigarette, then didn’t. He just spun the cigarette back and forth in his fingers. “I don’t know. He’s just…overprotective. I don’t know how he’d feel about me running to the other side of the planer to find my real mom who probably didn’t even want me in the first place. I’ll probably just have to run away for a bit. He’ll be made when I get back, but it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”
There was a tinge of desperation in Robin’s tone, like he wanted an answer, and wasn’t just using a phrase. Tim didn’t really know much about moms and how they were supposed to work, but he was pretty sure that Jason was making a mistake. “If she didn’t want you, then isn’t your other mom your real mom?”
Robin looked over at Tim like Tim had just grown a third arm.
“I mean, your real mom was the one who raised you, not the one who gave birth to you.” He was pretty sure that was the rule on that. “She was your adopted mom. And sure, this other lady’s, like, your blood mom, and maybe she’s nice, but maybe you should take things slow. Running away to the other side of the world seems like kind of a dangerous first step toward someone who kind of abandoned you.”
“She might have had a good reason!” Jason argued defensively.
She may have, true. “Have you tried calling her?”
Robin hesitated, then shook his head. “Maybe that would be a good idea.”
“Batman would probably also go with you, right? To make sure that you’re safe, since he cares and all,” Tim added, hoping to get Robin away from the international runaway idea.
“Do you think he would?” Robin sounded even more reluctantly vulnerable. It had clearly been bothering him a lot.
“Of course. I mean, Bruce seems pretty nice.” Batman always seemed to care so much about his Robins. Tim had seen firsthand just how ruthless Batman was after one of them had been injured, and he’d also gotten a few photographs of Batman and Robin getting mid-patrol ice cream or chilidogs. Surely, if Robin wanted to meet his biological mother, then Batman would make it happen.
Robin started to nod, then stiffened beside him. “What did you say?”
Tim frowned. “Batman seems nice?”
But…no.
He hadn’t said that.
Tim swung his legs back onto the roof and got two steps into his mad dash for freedom before Robin grabbed his hood and yanked him back. Tim tried to unzip his jacket – he’d rather freeze and have to buy a new jacket than have to face the wrath he had just unleashed – but Robin threw an arm around Tim’s neck and pulled him back against his chest. Necks were an awful lot harder to replace than jackets, and he kind of liked that one he had.
“Who told you that?” Robin snarled, the vulnerability gone and replaced with rage. “Is this a set up?”
“No!” Tim didn’t answer further, so Robin gave him a shake.
“It was an accident,” Tim yelped. “I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Who told you?”
“I figured it out by myself?”
“Are you asking me or telling me? How did you figure it out,” Robin demanded.
“Are you really sure you want me spelling it out right here?” There could always be someone listening, waiting. Even calling Batman “Bruce” could have been a fatal error for the man.
Jason considered that for a moment, then gave a step toward the edge of the roof. For a panicked second, Tim thought that Robin was going to try Batman’s dangling method of interrogation. It wasn’t like he thought that Robin would intentionally hurt him, but he also wasn’t sure if fifteen-year-old Robin was actually strong enough to hold twelve-year-old Tim over a several-story drop.
Robin dragged him over to the fire escape and shoved Tim onto it.
“I’m taking you to the Batcave, and you are going to tell me, and Batman….” Robin let that threat sink in for a moment. “Exactly how you know who we are. Got it?”
“The Batcave?” They seriously called it the Batcave? And he was being taken there? Impending doom aside, that was cool.
“You don’t sound scared enough,” Robin warned.
Tim thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you’re not going to kill me, and you’re probably not going to beat me up, either. There’d be a big fuss if I went missing, so you can’t kidnap me for long-” A lie, but Robin didn’t need to know that. “-and I have black hair and blue eyes, but I also have parents, so Mr. W-” Tim caught himself before the slip. He was not proving that he could responsibly keep secrets under pressure. Still, at least he'd get the chance to warn Batman about Jason's plan before Jason could get himself killed trying to track down his absentee mom. Actually, if he told Batman about it, then Batman might be too interested with Robin's parent situation to bother looking into Tim's parent situation, which was a definite plus. “-Batman can’t adopt me, either.”
“What’s black hair and blue eye gotta do with it?” He sounded genuinely curious.
Tim shrugged. “He’s clearly got a type.”
Robin scowled and swung over onto the fire escape. He was marching down the rickety, rusted stairs before Tim could catch up.
“B does not have a type, and even if he did, it isn’t kids. I’m so sick of everyone saying that all the time,” Robin snapped.
Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean like that, I just meant that there’s just kind of a pattern. Maybe he wants kids who look like him? Just ignores the suffering of all other children or something? I mean, two’s not exactly a pattern, but if he wanted me too, then it would kind of prove that he’s got a…totally platonic type.”
Robin paused so suddenly that Tim almost ran into him, and looked over his shoulder at Tim. “You are weird. I’m not even wearing pants, but you are weird.”
Which was kind of totally unfair, and Tim didn’t even know what had brought it on, but then Robin had started walking again and Tim had to job to keep up.
“Do you call everything bat?” Tim asked, because now that he knew that they had bat-arangs, the Bat-mobile, the Bat-cave, he was just kind of curious. He only had a bit longer before his parents were called and he entered the seventh circle of Hell, so he may as well get his answers.
Robin groaned. “Do you shut up?”
Tim tilted his head in consideration. Normally, people were trying to get him to start talking, not shut up, except for his parents, and they had work to do that he shouldn’t have been interrupting anyway. “Sometimes on Tuesdays. I’ll shut up for sixty seconds if you answer my question.”
Robin sighed in exasperation and lowered the fire escape ladder. It fell with a shriek and a groan. “Fine. Sort of. Nightwing went through a phase where he called everything bat-, and now the habit’s stuck.”
“So you do call everything bat.” Tim snickered. How far did that go? Bat-showers, bat-cookie, bat-beds?
Robin didn’t bother with the ladder and just jumped the last ten feet to the alley floor. Tim, not nearly as acrobatic and the reason Robin had lowered the ladder in the first place, followed as quickly as he could while vowing to get a tetanus shut before he came out next. Well, if he came out next.
“You said that you were going to shut up,” Robin reminded him, though the edge he snuck in his words didn’t seem particularly forceful.
“I was just clarifying my answer. The time starts now,” Tim said, starting the mental countdown and maybe rushing it a bit so that he could squeeze in a few more questions. How did vigilante healthcare even work?
Robin led Tim to a motorcycle, emblazoned with the Robin symbol on the side, hidden in the shadows. Robin climbed onto it, then gestured for Tim to get on behind him.
“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Robin asked, clearly expecting Tim to say no.
“No,” Tim answered, never one to disappoint.
“Well, get on. I’ll go slow, but hold on tight and try not to die.”
Tim bit his lip to try to stifle his massive grin. He couldn’t completely manage it, so he tried to hide it by paying extra close attention to the enrapturing task of putting his camera away. First, he replaced the lens cap, then he slowly unscrewed the lens. He was pretty sure that Robin didn’t know much about cameras, so he could take the time to collect himself and launch into a made up rant about how easily damaged the screwy-in bit on a camera lens was if you hurried. Robin would probably buy it. Once that was done, he carefully placed the lens in its section, then the camera in the large section, before clipping up the bag and climbing up behind Robin.
“Finally,” Robin muttered. “Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go if you like your face.”
Some slow night it had turned out to be. It was almost like a dream come true. Sure, he’d ticked off Robin, but he was also going to get to see the actual Batcave. They couldn’t be too mad at him, anyway, since it was Dick’s fault that he’d figured it out in the first place. Maybe they’d even let him take some pictures of the place, if his imprisonment went on for long.
Tim wrapped his arms around Jason’s torso and clung tightly. Jason kicked the motorcycle into gear and they took off, speeding toward Bristol. Yeah, things had turned out pretty well.