Work Text:
It was late. Well, it was late by any other city’s standards. Gotham is the city that never truly sleeps and neither does her people. Among those people tonight included twelve year old Tim Drake, as it had for many years. Instead of being a part of the skyline with a camera in hand, he was instead on the road.
Tim was on the highway, being trailed by Dick Grayson. More specifically, Nightwing was following him on his Night Cycle. Had been since Tim had snuck out of his window and rode away on his skateboard.
Now, as he held on to a fast moving car, he wondered why. The older man didn’t seem all that interested in Tim before now, sneering if he got too close. It was obvious Bludhaven’s protector did not like him, so why was he following Tim?
Maybe… maybe he’s warming up to me? Tim felt his heart squeeze with hope at the thought. He let his eyes cut back subtly to the vigilante following him. No, that’s a scowl I see. What did I do wrong this time?
Tim didn’t know why Dick would be trailing. He’d finally finished his Robin training, but it wasn’t like Dick to pay attention to him. Was he trying to see if Tim was up to par with his standards? He was the first Robin after all and Tim could understand him wanting to make sure his mantle wasn’t tarnished by some Bristol brat nobody.
It’s fine. It doesn’t change what I’m out here to do tonight. Tim kept his eyes forward, only paying slight attention to the older vigilante. Traffic was thinning and all that, he had to be careful.
A small crash sounded behind him, and at his next glance, the cycle was gone but Tim saw a small dark blue foot tuck itself behind an 18 wheeler. Dick must not have known Tim had made him the second he climbed out of his window to sneak out. Dude has some pretty strong aftershave. I’m guessing he dumped his bike in the bushes ‘cause he knew he’d be easier to spot with the thinning herd of cars.
Giddiness spread through him, but Tim clamped in down. Dick was probably just having an off night and that’s why he hadn’t clocked that Tim knew he was being followed.
Wind glided across the preteen’s face, bringing tears to the corner of his eyes. The sky was smoggy tonight, blocking nearly all the light from the sky. It left Tim relying on the beams of light streaming from headlights and the meager unbroken street lamps along the road. Unfortunately for Tim, he didn’t have any night vision gear like Dick might have.
Bruce’d told him that a Robin should be resourceful. Meaning that Tim needed to come up with most of his gear himself. Grapples, his costume, and batarangs were provided for him, which had been a big help. Tim didn’t even know where he’d begin to find a proper grappling hook that hadn’t been tampered with (it’s Gotham afterall), let alone find a kevlar Robin costume.
The preteen had brought a flashlight with him, but that didn’t help him any on the road. Tim would rather focus on keeping his hands firmly attached to this car’s bumper and not become road kill, thank you very much. Guess I gotta do this the old fashioned way.
Old fashioned way meaning Tim was squinting at sign after sign, waiting for his exit. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before the reflective green sign boasting the numbers he’d been waiting for popped up a few hundred feet ahead.
It was pretty smooth sailing after that, the roads being so empty and all. It may or may not have been 3 or 4 am, so the night crowd was finally settling into their beds and opening shift workers were just stirring. All I know is I’m less likely to go splat this time of night.
Behind him, Tim could see how Dick followed along with the trees, sprinting to keep up. Dragging his foot slightly, Tim slowed the momentum he’d be so graciously gifted by the car. If Dick was following him, it was probably for a good reason. Right?
Whatever the case, Tim was nearing his destination. It wasn’t long before he had to jump off board; where he wanted to go was a little bit too rough for wheels. Flipping on his flashlight, Tim began his journey into the grassy forest.
As Tim trudged up the hill, he brought his hand down to the pocket of his jeans. Cold, polished stone kissed his fingertips. It grounded him in a way, relieving himself of a nervousness he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Next to the small stone figurine was a picture. It was one of only a few non-press photos Tim had of himself as a child. He was pretty sure he was even smiling in it.
At the crest of the hill top, he stared ahead. Not even 100 feet in front of him was a big top. It was actually the big top. Nestled into the worn down grass of an open field was the circus where it all began. Given the small gasp that escaped a figure behind him, Tim knew Dick recognized it too.
Of course he recognizes this place idiot. How could he not? The huge red and yellow cloth draped into a million lights danced in front of Tim. Closing his eyes, his mind brought him back to a night long since passed.
Red and green and yellow sparked behind his eyes and Tim knew he’d always recognize this tent, for as long as he lived. A boy never forgets the first time he was hugged.
Said hugger was still lurking behind him, and Tim decided he’d better let the older vigilante know he was aware of his presence. Tim didn’t want to give another reason for them not to let him be Robin when he’d spent so long proving he could work past his incompetence.
“Evening Nightwing. Or should I say morning?” The quip left his lips with an ease that almost surprised Tim. Apparently, it startled Dick too. Looking over his shoulder to the edge of the forest, Tim could see a miffed Nightwing exiting the brush.
Well shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that. He probably thinks I was trying to insult him or something now. Stupid Tim. Tim held back a wince at his mistake. He wasn’t going to show any weaknesses that could get him fired before he even took the job.
A tight smile painted itself across the acrobat’s face. “How’d you know I was following you?”
Tim hesitated. Should he tell Dick that he’d heard two twigs snap before he got on his board, that he’d heard the slight but recognizable purr of the vigilante’s cycle, or that he’d seen the color of the Discowing suit as Dick darted into the woods after getting off the highway? No, that might make him upset with me. I can't just make up bullshit, he’d see right through it. My only option is to go with something that doesn't have anything to do with his skills as a vigilante.
“Well, I could smell your aftershave. Gift from Alfred right?” That seemed to be the right answer given how the strained smile across Dick’s face softened if only a little. The mention of Alfred always put Dick at ease whether he knew it or not.
“Yeah, got it last Christmas. That was some nice detective work, almost as good as Jason would’ve done. Better start sharpening those skills. We don’t want a Robin who’s dull,” The compliment stung, hitting Tim somewhere in the chest. He should have expected the comparison to the former Robin.
Ever since Tim had started coming to train, it happened anytime Dick was around. Jason would have already mastered the grapple by now, Jason would’ve finished that report hours ago, Jason was faster, quicker, stronger. Tim knew that Dick was just pointing out how much improvement he needed to make before he could even think of taking up the mantle. He knew it was how the older man coped.
It was childish of him to wish the man would stop since he was only trying to help. So Tim accepted the comparison like he always did. He’d never measure up if he didn’t take the critiques he was given.
“What’s a little birdy like you doing so far from home so late at night?” Thankfully, Dick had moved on, so it was easier for Tim to bury the naive, foolish hurt that tried to push its way into his chest. If he didn’t have to talk about it, he didn’t have to think about it. “Why are you out here?”
Tim knew that Dick didn’t remember him being at the circus the night his parents were murdered ( of course he didn’t, his parents just died. Why would he care about some stupid little kid? ). So he wouldn’t bring that up, he wouldn’t try to claim any kind of connection to Dick that would bring up bad memories.
“I was actually trying to pay my respects,” Tim’s hand moved down to palm the two items in his pocket through the rough fabric of his pants. When Dick’s eyebrow raised in question, Tim took it as his sign to continue. “This is where you became Robin. Where you lost a part of yourself.”
The questioning look Dick sported slowly started to harden. Panic filled Tim, hitting him like a thousand pin pricks to the back of his skull and shoulders. Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t’ve brought up his parents. Despite the realization, Tim couldn’t stop as his stupid mouth rambled on.
“I just thought, maybe I should leave a part of myself here too,” The more he spoke, the more the lines of Dick’s face deepened in the glare of Tim’s flashlight. Reaching towards his pocket, Tim tried to salvage the conversation into something he wouldn’t have nightmares over. “I- I was going to bury these here-”
Before Tim could pull out the tiny print of himself smiling or the smooth stone Robin figure, Dick cut him off. Fury exploded in every word, radiating out in spikes that cut deep into Tim.
“ Bury ?” An eye twitched under Nightwing’s domino. “What could you possibly bury here that will ever equate to what I lost? You are just some kid that B is forced to put up with because you’re blackmailing him. For Christ's sake, you threatened my family’s whole lives because you’re an entitled little brat who’s never been told no.”
Dick’s words were daggers stabbing themselves into him, but Tim knew he alone forged the knife. He should have known that he was only hurting himself trying to force himself into a grieving family. God, I’m so self centered.
“My parents were murdered here. Whatever trinket you thought could pass off as something of value will never be enough," A sneer carved itself into Nightwing’s face and it was because Tim put it there with his stupid fucking idea. “Get lost. You clearly don’t know what family means.”
Turning around and stalking off, Dick took one last look over his shoulder at Tim. He could hear the scoff, the muttered “Why does B put up with that little freak.” Tears pricked the corners of Tim’s eyes but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep them at bay. He watched as one of his heroes disappeared into the thick forest because he was so disgusted with Tim and his stupid, selfish ideas.
Fuck. I can’t do anything right. Tim sank to the ground, his butt hitting with a rough plop but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to care. It’s always something with me isn’t it? I can’t go one fucking day without screwing something up .
Despite his best efforts, tears spilled over the edges of Tim’s eyes. Anger and embarrassment coursed through him. Reaching into his pocket, Tim tore out the stone figure and his picture.
Without a second thought, Tim chunked the little Robin at the base of a tree. It shattered on impact, its pieces splintering out in a million different directions. Now that it was destroyed, Tim turned his blurry gaze onto the source of all his problems.
A young Tim, a Tim that was still a kid smiled back at him. It was weathered, yellowing around the edges from being lost somewhere beneath mountains of old newspapers in the storage closet. In the photo, he was being held by a smaller Dick, one that was smiling brighter than Tim had ever seen.
Facing twisting, Tim saw the tears dribble down to stain the photo, little droplets splashing onto his stupid smiling face. His lip trembled as he took the top side into both of his hands and tore. Clamping his eyes shut, the sound of paper being ripped over and over filled his ears as he reduced that photo to unrecognizable pieces.
After a while of tearing and tearing and tearing, Tim opened his eyes. No longer was there a picture in his hands, but a million tiny pieces of black and white confetti littering the ground around him. He sat and stared, tears carving their way down his cheeks.
By the time Tim looked up from them, he saw the sun peeking out from the horizon. Slowly, he rose to his feet, brushing off the dirt. He was tired as he grabbed hold of his skateboard and rode off. It didn’t matter. He had to go to school and training. He had better things to think about that a stupid little bird figure or a picture of the stupid little kid who fucked everything up.