Archive of Our Own

When Timothy Drake was born, Gotham mourned. You forgotten child, she wept as Janet Drake pressed a soft kiss to Timothy’s tiny forehead. You hatchling, born with your wings clipped.

Timothy opened his cloudy blue eyes and cried along with her.

***

Jack and Janet Drake were decent people. As decent as one could be when they were millionaires living in Gotham City. A low bar to be certain, but they usually managed to surpass it with little fuss.

They simply weren’t good parents. They told their small, weak son that they loved him and the child believed it to be true, but their actions never showed it. His birthdays were forgotten, they were hardly ever around, and their eyes often skimmed over him when they were in the same room. They loved the idea of having a son, of a little boy who could play dress up and one day grow up to do great things, but they didn’t love Timothy Drake. They didn’t know him enough to love him.

So, when he turned six years old and they started to forget him, it took Tim a while to realize what was happening. In the beginning it was little things. He’d be in the same room as them and they’d become distracted by their phones, a book, a noise coming from the hallway, and when they turned and saw him they would jump a little. “Timothy, I didn’t see you there,” Janet often scolded him, like it was his fault he’d slipped her mind. Jack would just pat his head absentmindedly and then go back to whatever it was he’d been doing before.

Then it began to escalate. They stopped planning meals for him, stopped buying clothing for him. He had to ask for things if he wanted them, and he always hated to ask. They’d look at him like he’d grown a second head and then their eyes would glaze over and slip away from him and it was like he’d never asked at all. If he wasn’t actively talking to them they it was like they couldn’t even remember that they had a son.

It got worse when other people started forgetting him. Mrs. Mac stopped talking to him, started ignoring him when she passed him in the halls. He no longer got rides to or from school and had to take the bus. His teachers always look surprised when he showed up and the other kids didn’t talk to him at all. The little stray kitty he used to feed after school hissed at him when it saw him approaching, and it never appeared in their meeting spot ever again. The last incident had made him cry all the way home until he found himself standing in front of Drake Manor with a heavy realization weighing down his tiny heart.

Timothy Drake was six years old when everyone forgot him and nothing was the same after that.

Little by little his parents stopped remembering him. Instead of confusion being replaced by recognition when they saw him, they demanded for him to explain who he was. “How did you get in this house little boy?” Jack would shout, and Tim remembered the fear that crystallized in his chest when the man who’d raised him lifted his hand at him for the first time. He bolted as fast his legs could take him, wandering around for hours until he dared to come back.

He walked straight up to the front door and knocked, looking up with an unblinking gaze while Jack looked down at him with blank eyes. “Who are you?”

Tim took a deep breath before walking away, waiting for the sound of the door falling shut before he walked back again. He knocked again, and this time both Jack and Janet peered down at him. “Honey, is this boy the person who’d knocked on our door earlier?”

Jack frowned at his wife, eyeing Tim cautiously. “There was no one at the door earlier. I don’t know who this boy is.”

Janet bent down, smiling in a way Tim realized he hadn’t seen in months. “What’s your name, dear?” Tim scrunched up his shorts in either hand and didn’t respond. His parents exchanged glances and Jack groaned when Janet hissed, “Well, we can’t very well just leave the boy out here, now can we?” She turned back to him, reaching out with a gentle hand. “Come on in. Would you like something to drink? How about some orange juice?”

Tim didn’t like orange juice but he nodded nonetheless. He put his hand in Janet’s and marveled at the way it felt to touch another person’s skin. He let himself be guided to sit on a couch, watching as Janet vanished into the kitchen. He kicked his feet and waited for Jack to look away. It didn’t take long.

While Jack was busy brushing dust off his chair to sit on, Tim slipped out of the room and ventured to the staircase nearby. As he made his way up to his room, he heard Janet come in and say, “Jack, why are you standing in the middle of the room? You look silly.”

Jack’s voice huffed back, “Says the one holding a cup of orange juice. A strange craving for the middle of the afternoon, don’t you think?”

There was a pause. Janet sounded off-kilter. “Didn’t you ask for a drink? If not, I have no clue what I’m doing holding this.”

“Old age must be getting to you, Janet.”

Tim had made it all the way to the top of the stairs when he heard faint laughter echo, and he wished he could go down there and join them. He hadn’t heard laughter in so long, the sound was like foreign music to his ears.

But he couldn’t go down. He couldn’t talk to them because then they’d look at him with those confused eyes and he was already doing his best not to cry.

He locked himself in his room and ran to his desk, pulling a notebook out that had sat untouched in a drawer. He grabbed a pen and hesitated with the tip pressed against paper. Almost against his will, his hand moved to write four shaky words down: they don’t remember me.

After that day’s breakthrough, Tim started writing down everything that seemed important. He journaled important moments and wrote down observational notes to the best of his ability. Timothy is extremely smart for his age, his teachers used to say. Now, his teachers didn’t even look at him.

What Tim was able to gather was this; two months ago,  Janet forgot him for the first time. It was a quick moment, and she didn’t seem to realize what had happened. Since then, everyone’s memory of him had deteriorated. Kids forgot the fastest and even animals were affected. He stopped going to school and nothing of consequence ever happened.

He snuck into his father’s office to look himself up the first night, and was equally relieved and confused to see he still existed on the internet. However, searching up his name garnered less and less results as time went on, and eventually his digital existence seemed to vanish. His pictures were gone, any mention of him disappeared, and nobody questioned where the Drake’s six year old heir had gone off to.

His home life was depressingly easy. He moved throughout the manor like a ghost, slipping past servants who turned to yell at him only to blink in confusion and forget what they were doing. He hardly ran into his parents, which was nothing new from how he’d been living before, and when they did cross paths it was like their eyes purposefully slipped off him. They never entered his room, which he didn’t understand. Weren’t they curious as to what the source of the noise in there was? Didn’t it bother them that the light was constantly on?

Mrs. Mac stopped coming to the manor, and Tim wasn’t sure if it was because the Drakes had no need for a maid when there wasn’t a messy boy to clean after or if it was because she’d forgotten she worked there. Could Tim affect people’s memory of other stuff, and not just his existence? Were the things he touched doomed to be forgotten as well?

He wrote down all his questions and scribbled down possible theories. He often wondered if the price of his intelligence at such a young age was people’s memory of him.

Tim turned seven and celebrated his birthday alone. He waited until the manor was quiet and his parents were asleep before he snuck down to the kitchen to rifle through the fridge. He’d gotten good at making his own meals, dragging over a stool whenever he needed something that was out of his reach.

He made himself a meat and cheese sandwich and snatched one of Janet’s muffins that she thought she’d hidden well. He felt bad about it, but told himself that it was her gift to him for his birthday. You’re getting so big now, Timmy, she’d coo to him even though she’d never spoken to him like that even before she forgot him. It was Tim’s imagination, though, and he could have her say all the nice things in the world if he wanted her to. I’m proud of you, Jack smiled at him and Tim grinned back.

The muffin was delicious. The sandwich was cold.

Time went on.

Years of being cooped up in the manor started to drive him crazy, and when he ran out of books to read and grew bored of pretending to haunt his parents (a funny if tragic past time), he started going out to the city.

He never went out during the day, because there were too many people out when the sun was up. It made him feel lonelier, when there were more people surrounding him and yet none of them would remember him for more than a second. At night, it was easier to pretend that he was normal. He was just a rebellious kid sneaking out of his house and not a boy who slipped through the cracks of people’s minds.

The first time Tim went out, he was nine years old. He wandered through the heart of Gotham, taking in the dazzling city night lights and avoiding the dirty alleyways that beckoned. He passed closed store fronts and twenty-four hour convenience stores that looked spooky in the darkness of the night. Rats skittered across the floor, and he craned his neck back to gaze up at the stars.

The Gotham fog was no joke, but he could make out the barest hints of glinting space rocks, and the thought made him wildly giddy. All of a sudden, he desperately needed to be closer to the sky, to try and touch those stars that winked and whispered to him.

From that night on, he found himself on the rooftop of buildings almost every night, as close to the stars as he could get. He grew bolder as time went on, finding himself on taller and taller buildings that seemed to pierce through the murky sky. He enjoyed gazing out at the city, reveling in its terrifying beauty. “Do you remember me, Gotham?” he whispered into the night, and if he strained his ears just right, he could convince himself that the city answered him with the wind.

Tim grew, perhaps, too bold. One night, he climbed up onto the ledge of the building, shivering in the chilly night air. His heart galloped so loud in his chest he thought it’d pop right out of his body, and he curled his hands into tiny fists as he edged his toes over the ledge. The ground looked dizzyingly far, the other buildings shrinking beneath him, but this is what he needed to feel alive. The heartbeat rattling in his ribcage, his breath coming out in startled puffs, the city sprawled out before him, it all screamed at him that he was real. That he lived even if there was no one who knew it.

Tim was nine and a half years old when he wondered what it’d be like to step off the edge and leave his mark in the world. Tangible proof that he existed. They couldn’t ignore him then, could they? He’d be remembered. He’d be known.

He’d be unforgettable.

A thud signaled someone’s presence behind him, and he stiffened defensively. “Hey there, kid, why don’t you take a step down from there?”

Slowly, Tim turned around. Standing not ten feet away was Robin in all his red, green, and yellow glory, hands out as if placating a wild animal. His body screamed of tension, even as he smiled encouragingly at him. “Just step away from the ledge. I promise I can fix whatever’s wrong.”

Tim felt stunned. In all of his nightly escapades, he never imagined that he’d run into one half of the legendary crimefighting duo. His mouth dropped open against his will, and he surprised himself when he spoke. “I doubt you could.” He hated how squeaky his voice sounded, but it wasn’t like most people were ever around to hear it.

Robin took a careful step forward. His masked gaze was steady on him, like he might vanish if he looked away for even a second. The thought made a lump rise in his throat. He didn’t want Robin to look away. He didn’t want him to forget. If everyone just never looked away, then he wouldn’t have to live his life like the ghost of a person.

“I could try,” Robin held out an encouraging hand as he slowly closed the gap between us. “I could try really, really hard.”

Tim loved Gotham more than anything he’d ever had before, but looking down at the hand raised before him, a different kind of idolization took root in his chest. “Promise?” Tim’s lips wobbled, and Robin smiled like he’d said the right thing.

“Promise,” he swore, and Tim grabbed his hand and let his world gain new colors.

Robin quickly but carefully pulled him off the ledge, taking several steps back with Tim’s hand in hostage. He stumbled along after the hero, eyes bright with adoration as he gazed up at him. “You’re Robin.”

“I am,” he grinned down at him, shoulders relaxing. He was younger than Tim had thought, cheeks rounded with youth. Tim found that he liked his crooked grin a lot. “So, what brought a little guy like you up here so late at night?”

The words were deceptively casual. Tim knew all about questions with hidden meanings, and prided himself on answering accordingly. “Loneliness.” He didn’t stumble over his L-words anymore, a feat made possible by constant repetition and self-teaching. Even if he wasn’t in school anymore, he still tried to keep his education polished via textbooks and sneaking in for computer time in his dad’s office.

“Have you been feeling lonely, lately?” Robin crouched down so they were closer in height, and Tim found himself clinging onto his hand. “Do you need a friend?”

Tim wasn’t all too sure what a friendship would entail. Hesitantly, he nodded.

“Great!” Robin spoke like they’d settled upon some agreement. “Then I’ll be your friend. First step of becoming friends, find something relatable and cool to talk about; I like your hoodie. Blue is one of my favorite colors.”

Tim looked down at his navy blue hoodie and then back up at Robin’s garish outfit. “Um. Thanks. Your boots are green.” He couldn’t find it in himself to lie about liking them.

“They are,” Robin nodded sagely, and started pulling them to the door that would lead them down a staircase. Tim allowed himself to be walked down the steps, feeling slightly dazed. “I told Batman we should take a picture of them and frame them on the wall, but he thought I was joking. I thought it’d look cool and artsy.”

“What’s Batman like?” Tim asked instead of addressing Robin’s tragic misconception on what was cool and artsy.

“Brooding. Not very good with children. But he’s cool!” Robin hurried to add when he noticed Tim’s frown. The metal stairs echoed beneath Robin’s silly looking boots, and Tim found he could not stop thinking about them. “He does lots of good stuff and saves a lot of people. His car is very cool.”

“Is he a good dad?”

Robin missed a step, and quickly caught himself on the rail. He laughed, a strained sound, and Tim wondered what he’d said wrong. “To me?”

Tim didn’t see what kind of face he was making because he was too busy concentrating on not tripping down the stairs. That would be very embarrassing to do in front of his new favorite person. “Duh.”

Robin cleared his throat, voice a little rough. “It’s- well, it’s complicated. We don’t always get on very well and he’s not the most fun guy. But he tries his best and he cares a lot, even if he’s bad at showing it. So, yeah, I guess he is a good dad.”

Tim wondered if he was imagining the tightness in his voice. “We’re bonding right now, right?”

That made him laugh, a sound Tim was finding himself very much partial to. “Seems like it!”

They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and Robin pushed open the door and let him go out first. Tim made sure to stay within his view at all times, unwilling to risk the moment. They stepped out into the brisk night, and Tim turned to Robin. “Shouldn’t you be out saving people right now?”

Robin’s lip curled upwards. “Aren’t I saving you right now?”

He was, Tim realized. Every second he stood with him and didn’t forget, he was saving him. He opened his mouth to respond, only for a looming shadow to land directly beside them. He choked on his words, shrinking in on himself as Batman straightened up to loom over them like darkness personified.

Batman’s white lens seemed to flick from him to Robin, and his voice rumbled like rocks scratching against pavement. “Does the kid need help?”

Robin turned to his mentor, and Tim felt his stomach drop. It was inevitable, he knew, but he still hated it. He still wished his first instinct wasn’t to step away and into the shadows. “What kid?” Robin said after a moment, nose wrinkling. “Did the Riddler do a number on you or something?”

Batman took a second to answer, head tilted almost gently towards his partner in crime fighting. “Did I mention a kid?”

Tim was already running, turning the corner around the building and clamping a hand over his mouth to prevent any noise from coming out. He half expected Batman to come storming after him, and he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he didn’t.

He was forgotten again, just the lost wisp of a boy racing across the streets of a city too big for his tiny feet. Everything burned, from the back of his eyes to the hollow place in his chest, and he kept running. He ran and ran until his feet ached and his mind couldn’t keep up and the stars stopped mocking him. He didn’t know how far he ran. He didn’t know how he got back home to the empty manor where no one greeted him and no one missed him.

He flopped backwards onto his bed and stared up at his ceiling. “I made a friend,” he whispered, and nobody heard him. The universe spun and spun, and Tim remained firmly in place as it all went by.

He didn’t go out for a week after that, mostly moping around and dreaming of the rooftop. He quickly grew bored again, and decided to clean out his closet. He was surprised to find a boxed camera at the bottom of his closet, a gift from his parents to him when he was five years old. It was a big, fancy one, and he had no idea why they’d thought it’d be an appropriate gift for a preschooler.

He took it out of its box with careful hands, and fiddled with it until it turned on. It came with film, and he had to sneak into his dad’s office to use his computer and figure out how it worked. He lifted it to his eye and peered through it, imagining that Robin and Batman stood behind the lenses.

That night, he went back out into Gotham’s streets. He picked the tallest building he could find and waited. He used to avoid all the spots that were hotbeds for criminals, but now he watched over them with eager anticipation.

Soon enough, some thugs tried to break into a nearby jewelry store and the alarm went off as they scrambled to put things in a large sack. He watched them through his camera, marveling at how well it zoomed in and out. He could practically see the scruff of one of the robbers peeking through his ski mask.

It didn’t take long for Batman and Robin to descend, and he quickly swung his camera over to them when they arrived. The first shots were blurry and disappointing, but by the time Batman was tying them up in rope, Tim had gotten a few good pictures. He clicked a shot of Batman punching the guy with the scruffy beard, and another of Robin jumping over one of the robber’s head.

Despite himself, Tim zoomed in and took a picture of Robin’s boots as he bantered with Batman, unable to keep from smiling at the little inside joke. He liked that picture best of all, and conceded that perhaps it would look good framed on a wall.

The duo grappled up a nearby building, and Tim watched in amazement as they started jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He watched them as they vanished into the distance, but before they could fully disappear, Robin did something that made his breath catch in his throat. He performed a flip of acrobatic talent that he’d only seen once before in his life; the night the Flying Graysons came crashing down.

There was no way. Tim couldn’t believe it, but it was like a little voice in his head was chanting yes, yes, yes. A quadruple somersault could link Robin to only one person, and Tim hunched over in shock as he tried to do the math. The smallest remaining Grayson would be around Robin’s age by now, and if Richard Grayson was Robin then-

Bruce Wayne was Batman. Richard Grayson was Tim’s first friend and Bruce Wayne was his dad. They were neighbors.

Tim sat huddled on that roof for a long time, trying to process what he’d seen. It was destiny for them to meet, for him to be able to put the pieces together; it had to be. Batman was smart, the world’s greatest detective. He could figure out what was wrong with Tim, and then he’d fix him. He’d help him become normal, and then maybe the thing that was missing in the concave of his chest would be filled. Maybe he wouldn’t stand on the edge of a roof and think about taking another step.

“Batman,” he said into the cold night air, breath fogging in the air. A smile curled at his lips. “My Robin.”

From then on, Tim decided to gather as much information as possible about them. From the moment he’d taken Robin’s hand, he’d decided they were family. Bonded by the stars, brought together by Gotham’s will.

Tim needed everything to go perfectly when he told Batman that he needed help, and that meant he needed to understand the man better than he knew himself. Not only did he go out to capture pictures of the vigilantes almost every night, but he also started cyber-stalking the man behind the mask.

Brucie Wayne was a good cover story, but to a desperate boy with nothing but time on his hands, it was all too easy to see through the cracks. He skimmed past the articles about his drunken antics and superficial ditziness, and delved into the few posts he saw about his donations to orphanages and shelters across the city. Very little was said about Bruce’s extended vacations or injuries he often brushed off as ‘ski-incidents’, and even less was mentioned about the boy in his care.

Dick was what he learned that Robin’s civilian identity went by. A cheerful boy who Bruce was careful to keep out of the spotlight except for a few galas. If Tim hadn’t been forgotten, he might’ve been able to meet him at one of those galas, since Bruce and the Drakes were involved in the same social circles.

Tim invested so much of his time in researching the Waynes that he ended up buying himself a laptop. He carefully entered his parents’ credit card details for an online order and prayed that they wouldn’t notice a thousand dollars slip from their bank account. It wasn’t like it’d be missed, but he knew Janet had an iron grip over their finances and watched each number go up and down with a hawkish gaze.

He woke up early every morning to check the mail, practically vibrating with nerves when he didn’t find it. Even though his parents were in Australia for an archeological dig, he found himself paranoid that they’d somehow find out and question who’d ordered a laptop to their address. It was a lot easier to breathe once the laptop arrived and he could hurry it away to his room.

Stalking Batman and Robin during the night and then digging through their online lives during the day was no doubt an awful thing to do. But Tim couldn’t help it. It gave him a thrill like nothing else, and foolishly gave him a sense of comfort. Like he knew them better than they knew themselves. Like he was a part of the secret, too.

He polished his technological abilities, and found that he was actually quite good at it. It was fun learning to sneak past firewalls to get to the juicy information, and he watched youtube videos all afternoon about coding and hacking. He caught on quickly, and the bitter part of his mind often whispered that his parents would’ve been proud if they knew he existed. What was the point of having all the talent in the world when there was no one to love you for it?

As good as he got with his computer, though, nothing would ever beat the feeling of the cold night air cutting through his clothing as he watched Batman and Robin through his camera lens. He learned to scale buildings and keep out of the way, stalking them from just the right view without ever getting caught. He liked to think that it was Gotham herself keeping him hidden, helping him along in his journey. Tim often dreamed that he was her favorite and that even if the entire world forgot him, the city would remember. That the city knew him like how he wished to be known.

Tim and Robin grew up together, even of the latter didn’t know it. Tim lost the last of his faint lisp and Robin’s voice began to crack with puberty. Tim learned of the simmering anger that lied beneath Robin’s light-hearted nature, and he wished he could find it in himself to go up to him and speak with him. To assure him that he was on the right path and to tell him that he was saving people.

But over and over, Tim would tell himself it wasn’t quite time. That he still had to prepare himself for their inevitable meeting when the world became right again. That he needed to wait and gather more information and continue his stalking until he knew Batman and Robin to their very bones. There was no room for error, he’d whisper to himself.

Of course, the truth was that he was just a coward. It was never the right time because he never wanted there to be a time. He wanted to stay in his little bubble where things were good and he could pretend him, Bruce, and Dick were all one happy family. Where he could watch the vigilante duo from afar and pin up their photos when he got to his big, empty home.

In the end, he never got to go up to his first Robin. That chance slipped from his grip when Dick Grayson vanished and a new Robin took his place.

***

 Jason Todd was much rougher around the edges than Dick had been, but somehow he still fit the Robin role perfectly. He interacted well with the general Gotham public and he was just as bold as Dick when it came to leaping into a fight. He was loud and chirpy, and the first time Tim saw him soar over the city, he thought he was watching a real bird in flight.

Most importantly, he got along with Bruce better than Dick ever had. They were shockingly close, and they never argued or shouted the way the original duo had. Dick made Bruce smile, but Jason made him laugh. Dick’s Robin was irreplaceable, but Jason’s was magic.

Tim had been upset at first that Dick was no longer Robin, but it was difficult to hold a grudge when it was so clear that Jason bled for Gotham. Jason’s presence washed away any of Tim’s delusions of being Gotham’s favorite; the second Robin embodied the city in all of the best and worst ways possible. He breathed the Gotham fog and walked the grimy streets like he was born to do so, and Tim found himself just as intrigued with Jason as he’d been with Dick. Perhaps even more so.

There was only ever one time when he spoke to Jason as Robin, and it was when he’d fallen asleep on the rooftop of the same office building he’d first met Dick on. He liked that building most of all, and thought of it as a turning point in his life. He often came to it just to relive the moment he took Dick’s hand, obsessively retracing his steps as if it might summon the first Robin.

That night, Tim hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been chasing Batman- who’d been operating solo that patrol- trying to get the perfect picture into the deep night. It’d been difficult, despite the years of practice he’d had, as Batman had seemed hellbent on finishing every criminal he met as swiftly and brutal as possible. He worked later in the night than usual, and Tim found his eyes drooping close as he finally let Batman get away from him.

He’d only meant to rest for a second, leaning against the roof-top generator with a tired sigh. His eyes had drifted close, and the next thing he knew, tiny sniffles were stirring him awake.

He stumbled to his feet blearily, rubbing his eyes as he searched for the source of the sound. He turned the corner around the generator and nearly tripped over a small form huddled against the side. “Sorry!” He blurted out, glancing down to see a boy a few years older than him hunched over with his head in his knees.

The boy looked up, and Tim bit back a gasp. Staring up at him with dark blue eyes, Jason Todd looked far younger than he did in the tabloids. His eyes were puffy and his face streaked with tear stains, and there was a roundness to his cheeks that Tim’s pictures never quite caught.

“What are you doing up here?” Jason croaked out, wiping aggressively at his runny nose. “It’s not safe.”

“You’re up here,” Tim pointed out, and the waiting game begun. It was only a matter of time before Jason would look away, and then this conversation and his entire existence would be lost to the world once again. He just had to see how long it would take.

“Yeah, well, that’s different,” Jason replied, surly. It was odd seeing him so down. While the second Robin was prone to emotional swings, the periods where he was gloomy were usually short. “You’re not like me.”

“Sad?” Tim offered, because he doubted Jason was about to reveal his identity to a random elementary schooler.

“Stupid,” Jason grunted, little fists curling into tight balls that he pressed against his thighs. He wasn’t crying any more, but the listless look in his eye wasn’t much better. “Only stupid people would be up here before the sun even rose.”

The sun was just starting to slip over the horizon, but Tim didn’t bother addressing that part of his statement. “You’re not stupid, though.” It was true. Jason did well in school and was clever when it came to taking down villains. He’d no doubt become a great detective just like Batman when he grew up, and Tim didn’t like the idea that he was doubting something so fundamentally true.

“That’s not what my dad thinks,” Jason grumbled, and his eyes flicked to the right of Tim’s face for a heart-stopping moment. When they focused back on him, though, he didn’t appear confused or startled. Maybe having him in his peripheral vision meant he hadn’t been forgotten.

“Your dad doesn’t think so?” Tim echoed, nonplussed by the claim.

Jason’s face flushed. “I mean, he’s not really my dad. I didn’t mean to say that. He’s just someone who’s taken me in for a bit.”

That was very much not true, but Tim couldn’t exactly argue the point without revealing that he’d been stalking the Waynes for years. “He said you were stupid?”

 Jason’s shoulders hunched upwards. “He didn’t have to. It was implied. I made a mistake and he got mad at me and grounded me. Now he won’t let me go with him to his job.”

Tim took a moment to process that, and he felt himself relax in relief. He crouched down next to Jason, ignoring the way he bristled at the action. “I doubt he thinks you’re stupid unless he actually said so.”

“But I was. I am. I just-” he cut himself, frustration palpable in his voice. He leaned back against the generator, his gaze regaining back some of its usual intensity. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Little kids should be asleep in bed at this time, not wandering around Gotham’s rooftops.”

Tim wasn’t that little, but he managed to restrain himself from protesting. “My parents don’t mind when I go out early. They’re tracking my location, so it’s fine. What about you? Do you think your dad would be worried about you being up here?”

“Maybe,” Jason self-consciously rubbed his face with his shoulder, as if trying to get rid of his tear stains. “Your excuse is full of shit, by the way. I mean, crap. It’s full of crap.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at him. “I know bad words. Like motherfucker.” He pronounced the word very carefully, proudly lifting his chin up as he did so.

Jason’s lip twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “That’s a good one. My dad- guardian, gets all crinkly in the face when I swear. It’s super funny. I used to cuss people out all the time when I lived in Crime Alley, so it’s no big deal. You look like you’d faint if you saw a dirty street, though.”

Tim cocked his head curiously, ignoring the jab. “Do you like your new home? Even though you can’t swear any more.”

“I still can. B can’t stop me,” Jason hesitated, body tilted towards him like he was trying to open up to him. “I’m pretty sure I don’t belong at my new home, anyway. It’s like being trapped in a big glittery prison. And the one part about it that I like was taken away from me, cuz I’m grounded.”

"I’m sure he’ll unground you at some point,” Tim said with all the confidence of someone who'd never been grounded before. “He won’t be mad at you forever.”

"The thing is, he’s not even mad!” Jason blurted out, like it was a terrible crime. “I could totally handle it if he got mad at me. My parents used to get mad all the time and I could handle their punishments just fine. But he’s not angry, he’s just disappointed.” He whispered the last word like it was poisonous.

“But you’re doing good,” Tim couldn’t help but announce indignantly. “He can’t be disappointed forever because you’re-” Robin “-good.” He finished lamely.

Luckily for him, Jason just laughed at him, frustration draining out of him like helium escaping a deflated balloon. “All due respect, kiddo, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“I do,” Tim insisted, leaning in close like he could push all his conviction onto him if he just tried hard enough. “I can tell that you’re a good person. That you make people happy.”

Jason looked surprised, and his expression wobbled precariously. His eyes took on a watery sheen, and a small smile pulled his lips up crookedly. “If you’re the one telling me that, then I guess I have no choice but to believe you.”

Tim threw himself at Jason, who let out a noise of surprise, wrapping him up in the tightest embrace he could. He hugged him like he could squeeze the fear out of him, and tentative arms reached around him to hug him back.

He pulled back, not surprised to see Jason looking at him with confused, glazed over eyes. Still, it hurt when he started to ask, “Who-?”

“You look cold,” Tim interrupted, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck to pull it over a flabbergasted Jason’s neck. Jason’s nose was pink with cold, and Tim had an odd vision of him, Jason, Dick, and Bruce all sipping on hot chocolate and laughing like a proper family. Bruce would hate for his kid to be cold.

Jason gaped at him, eyes darting around in blatant confusion. Tim clambered to his feet and ran, leaving him behind as he called out, “Wait!”

He sped up as he scurried down the stairs, relying on the fact that Jason would still be bewildered by the appearance of a random boy he’d forget in seconds. He nearly tripped in his hurry, heart clogging his threat as he clumsily raced away.

He burst out of the exit door, leaning over his knees to catch his breath for a second. He allowed himself a moment to gather his bearings, before he quickly began his journey back to the lonely Drake Manor.

When he finally collapsed into his bed, the early morning birds were chirping and the sun was making it’s steady orbit through the sky. He stared up at the ceiling, clutching his camera to his chest. He’d now talked to not one, but two Robins. On the same rooftop. Like it was fate.

Neither Dick nor Jason may remember their conversations or interactions, but Tim would. He’d hold onto those moments for years. He’d lament the stuff he didn’t say and reimagine the way they’d smiled down to the way their cheeks crinkled. He’d burn each gesture and word into his mind until he could replay it all without fail.

His collection of Jason pictures outgrew his Dick and Bruce collection, and for a beautiful, short time, everything seemed good. Dick seemed so much freer as Nightwing, slowly warming up to Jason despite his initial hang-ups. Bruce and Jason had clearly made amends, and Tim liked to think it was partially in thanks to him, even if Jason couldn’t remember him. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could get.

Then a clown killed a robin and it all fell to pieces.

***

When Tim first found out what happened to Jason at Joker’s hands, he considered killing the Joker. Then he abruptly felt sick and threw up in his bathroom sink until his stomach was empty.

Murder was against everything Batman stood for, and so it was against everything Tim stood for. But Tim wondered, briefly, furiously, if it could be considered murder if the one being murdered wasn’t human.

“You can’t take him away from me,” he whispered, curling into himself on the soft carpeted floor of his room. He closed his eyes and imagined the quirk of Jason’s smile. “I won’t let you.”

Tim was only mildly ashamed to admit that he went absolute batshit insane and tried to bring Jason back to life in the first few days in the wake of his death. It’d been a very bad plan, based off conspiracy theories and the very little science that Tim knew. He’d had practically no tools despite being rich, and he’d been fueled purely by his desperation.

That fuel had promptly died when he’d made it Jason’s grave with a backpack full of high school level chemicals and medical supplies that he’d purchased off Amazon. He snuck in when he knew Batman would be out on patrol, adrenaline making his hands shake as he approached the gravestone.

All of his determination and crazed fury had died a silent death when he kneeled by the gravestone and read the words etched into stone: Here lies Jason Todd, a Good Soldier.

For a long moment, he just stared. He read it over and over again, sure he’d gotten it wrong. Then he laughed, a short, ugly sound that crawled its way out of his mouth. He traced over the words with a light finger, imagining the body of a boy who’d been so much more than a soldier buried six feet beneath him. “Oh, Bruce,” Tim shook his head, feeling empty of all the resolve that had filled him up just moments ago. “What have you done?”

He stayed there for a long time, grieving a boy who’d never even known his name. Quietly, he picked up his backpack and walked away. He threw away the supplies, backpack and all, into the first dumpster he saw. He hoped the chemicals wouldn’t somehow turn a random rat into a mutant monster that would rampage throughout the city, but given Gotham’s record, the chances didn’t seem too high.

Jason’s death had been like a stab in the heart to Tim, but it seemed to entirely shatter Bruce. Each night he stalked the streets a man out for blood instead of justice. He threw himself into fight after fight like he might die if he didn’t. He brutalized criminals regardless of their crimes, and for the first time Tim questioned if Batman was in the right.

It was like watching Gotham descend into darkness, the Bat-Signal no longer a beacon of hope but a sight that instilled bitter fear in the hearts of the citizens who were afraid to breathe too loudly at night. Batman didn’t kill, but he put folks on the hospital bed at a fast, brutal rate like which Gotham had never seen before.

During his nightly adventures, Tim felt the concrete floor tremble beneath him and he wondered if Gotham was afraid.

He pulled his camera away from his eyes, unable to watch as Batman repeatedly slammed a two-bit thief into the ground like he’d been the one to put Jason six feet under. There was a tension in the dark night air that had been prevelant for the months following Batman’s violent wake. It made it difficult to breath, and even the stars cowered dimly beneath the thickening fog as if they were afraid to light Batman’s way.

"What should I do, Jason?” Tim asked the sky, and the heavens didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and imagined a little bird following after Batman, chirping enthusiastically and making him smile. Making him soft. Dick and Jason. Robin and Robin. His eyes snapped open and he thought he caught a glimpse of red wings fluttering out of the corner of his vision. “He needs a robin.” His heart thrummed loudly in his ears and echoed in his lonely chest. “I need to get him a robin.”

From far above, Jason laughed like an angel uttering its last breath.

***

If a tree fell in a forest and no one was around to hear it, did it make a sound?

If a boy was forgotten by everyone around him, did he really exist?

If Tim was nothing and yet he poured his all into the world, did he really matter?

***

When Dick refused to become Robin again, Tim found himself looking down at one last, selfish choice. “I could do it,” he whispered into the air, and his fingers twitched with anticipation. Tim knew the bats better than anyone else. He knew Batman and he knew Bruce and he could do it. He could be the perfect cog in the machine.

(It wasn’t greedy if it was necessary. It wasn’t shameless if he pushed down the hungry part of him that had always wanted to soar through the sky.)

But how could it work if Batman would forget him the moment he looked away from him? “Maybe if I put on a mask,” he wondered aloud. “Maybe if I wasn’t Tim Drake but just Robin, he wouldn’t forget.” It was a theory based on nothing but hope, but Tim had nothing else to go on.

He bought a rip-off costume version of Robin’s outfit on Amazon that had long green pants instead of the shorts that he never understood the practicality of, and waited with eager trepidation. When his traffic light colored outfit came it was one size too big, but Tim was too wired up to care.

The first time he put on the costume, he felt like a little boy playing dress up. However, putting on the mask felt like entering a world he’d only ever yearned for from afar. It was strangely comfortable against his skin where the rest of the outfit itched, and when he peered into a mirror his breath caught in his throat.

Staring back at him through opaque white lenses in a suit that hung baggy around his shoulders was not Tim Drake, but Robin. Not Dick’s Robin and not Jason’s Robin, but a different one, ready to put his life on the line for Batman and Gotham City. Ready to be someone bigger and brighter than Timothy Drake ever was.

That night, he launched into the darkness of the city and went on the hunt for his first criminal. It being Gotham, it was all too easy to stumble upon a mugging. A skinny, tall man in a beanie was waving a knife at young man, gesturing to his backpack. “You’ve got a laptop in there, don’t ya? Make things easy for the both of us and hand over the whole thing.”

The knife glinted under the street lights, and Tim inched closer from where he was hidden in the shadows of a nearby convenience store. The young man hesitated, and the mugger took an aggressive step towards him.

Without thinking, Tim launched himself forward. He slammed into the mugger’s side, making him stumble but not fall to the floor. He twisted with violent anger, eyes widening at the sight of him. He took advantage of the second of confused hesitation to reach out and twist his wrist, causing him to drop his weapon. Adrenaline burned in his veins, and he desperately reached out to kick the knife away with his foot.

The mugger recovered quickly, grabbing him by the front of his uniform and promptly putting him on his back. Tim wheezed, his back hitting cold concrete as his world spun dizzyingly. Rocks bit into his skin, and he grabbed at the man’s wrist in a desperate attempt to push him away.

He glanced to the side to see the almost-victim staring in shock, and he jerked his head to the side. “Run.”

The man didn’t need any further encouragement. He spun around and ran, clutching his backpack close without sparing a single glance back. Good old Gotham self-preservation.

“You,” the mugger dragged his attention back to him, his eyes scanning Tim like he was searching for something and found him lacking. “You’re not Robin.”

Tim stuck out his jaw, fear drowned by the thrill running hot beneath his skin. He was being looked at. He was being seen and judged as a person and not as a face to be forgotten in mere seconds. “I am.”

“You’re just a little boy in a costume,” the mugger sneered, and he punched him so hard in the face that Tim saw stars.

His face twisted sideways, and he spat out blood in an inelegant arc across the dirty floor. Dimly, he wondered if anyone would scrape his dead body off the floor, or if that would be forgotten as well.

The man hit him again. “The real Robin hasn’t been seen for months, you goddamn poser. He probably died on the streets where he belongs, just like you’re going to.”

Anger lit in him like a fuse at his brusque words, at he fought to turn his head to glare at him. “You don’t get to say that.” No one got to talk about Jason Todd like that, and especially not in front of Tim.

Determination sparked in him, and he brought his knee up, hard. His aim was true, and the man instantly let go of him to clutch at his crotch, howling in pain. Tim coiled back his arm and then slammed his fist against his face, hearing the crunch of his nose and the rattle of the bones in his hand.

He rolled out from beneath him, as the man writhed in pain. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes lit upon the knife that he’d tried to kick away earlier. Quickly, he scooped it up and ran, mind racing and hand burning.

He had been badly beaten into the ground, had failed to call the police or tie up the criminal, and his hand might be fractured. But he’d helped a civilian escape a mugging, and the thought filled him with a prideful warmth he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

“I can be Robin,” he croaked to the mirror once he’d locked himself in one of his manor’s many, many bathrooms. Blood streaked across his chin, and his cheek was already blooming into a dark bruise. His mask was miraculously untouched. “I can do it.”

He just needed to be better. He just needed to be as strong as Dick and as determined as Jason. He just needed to fix himself and mold all of his edges into the Robin that Batman would want by his side.

The Robin that Batman would love.

***

Tim knew love. He knew it chewed you up and spat you out and that it came with the sort of agonizing pain that he could only dream of. Love was beautiful. Love was hideous. Love meant scraping all the worst parts of yourself into nothing until you deserved it. Until you earned that spot in their heart and mind.

He knew that he didn’t become Robin to save the city or to help Batman. He did it because of his insatiable need to be loved until his bones broke. To be loved until that love had taken everything from him and left him empty.

Tim was no Robin. He never would be. He could only ever be the boy that took and took and took like he was screaming into a void that would never respond.

He was unlovable and he was nothing and his fragile little body would crack until it shattered.

***

Tim started sneaking into into a Kung Fu dojo that he would always walk by during his nightly adventures. He went during the day, when they were the busiest and he could blend in with the other students. A couple adults tried asking him who he was, but the minute they looked away they became confused and forgetful, wandering off in a daze. He didn’t even have to wear a uniform, just sulked in a corner and watched and learned to the best of his abilities.

He was a quick learner, able to pick up forms and movements within days. He trained side by side with kids who didn’t even realize he was there, legs aching and core burning by the end of the lesson.

All he was lacking in was muscle and height, the latter of which couldn’t be helped. The former he tried to remedy by working out at home even more intensely than at the dojo. He did push ups and sit ups and bought weights at a store that left charges on the Drake’s credit card that seemed to miraculously go under his mother’s radar.

He trained during the day and went out at night, prowling the city for low-level criminals that he could get a jump on. He won about forty percent of the time and was left a bloody pulp on the ground the other sixty. It scared him, a little, how alive it made him feel. The wins and the losses alike.

He started designing his own weapons, hooking up his laptop to the 3D printer that was gathering dust in his father’s office. His parents had briefly returned from their trip, but they only stayed for three days before they were off on another plane, giving him ample time to figure out how to create some test weapons on the 3D printer.

Tim was a little ashamed to admit that he’d started to miss his parents less and less when they were gone, losing himself to his new life that didn’t involve them. Not that it ever had, even when they remembered him.

He made a miniature version of Batman’s batarang, and the first prototype came out looking more like a black blob. With practice, though, it improved, and he was excited to go out with his first approved batarang in hand a couple weeks later. He’d made adjustments on his suit and created a utility belt that sat perfectly around his waist, and it made him feel like a brand new person when he adventured out that night.

The batarang worked well, although it could use some improvements on its dimensions in order to maximize its speed. He won all the fights he took on that night, and he burned with triumph by the time he’d dragged himself home.

He continued his vigilante activities, and soon enough, trickles of whispers began to creep through the cracks of Gotham’s streets about a Robin on the rise. A smaller Robin who flew solo. Not for long, Tim thought gleefully. Like clockwork, the beginnings of a plan had been put into motion and all that was left was for the rest of the world to follow.

Batman tracked him down a little earlier than he’d been expecting, but he’d already known he couldn’t predict the Dark Knight fully. Part of the plan was relied on his ability to adapt, and Tim made sure not to flinch when Gotham’s protector landed in front of him and took out the robber he’d been facing off with in one single punch.

Tim had heard of the saying never meet your heroes, but he’d never taken it to heart. The Bats weren’t his heroes; they were his family. They just didn’t know it yet. They just didn’t love him yet.

This was the moment, Tim knew. The moment everything clicked into place.

As Batman turned around, it was like the entire city was draped in sudden silence. He was just as tall as he was expecting him to be, but the width of his shoulders surprised him. His cowl hid any hint of humanity he may have and the bat symbol stretched eerily across his broad chest. His cape cloaked him like darkness, and no matter how hard Tim looked, he couldn’t find Bruce in the creature standing before him.

“Go home,” Batman intoned, and the first rumble of his voice directed at him sent shivers down his spine. “You don’t know what you’re doing, kid.”

“Don’t I?” Tim could hardly believe he was talking to Batman, but he fought to keep his composure. He tilted his head up to look directly at his white lenses, and he wondered how a man such as Bruce Wayne grieved. “I think I’m doing good.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Batman said, stoically. “In that uniform, playing at a hero. I’ve been watching you. If you keep going the way you are right now, you will die.”

Tim trembled under the weight of his gaze, but he did not crumble. I have been watching you for far longer. “Then you should teach me. Train me, so that I can survive.”

Batman towered over him, but there was no violence in the line of his shoulders. Just pain. “You are a child who knows nothing.”

Here it was. The turning point, where everything went sideways or he wriggled his way in. “So was Dick. So was Jason.”

The silence that followed his words was the heaviest one he’d ever experienced. Even the depressing quiet of Drake Manor had nothing on this moment. “Who are you?” Batman broke the silence with a question as sharp as a knife’s blade. It was a question Tim sometimes whispered to himself in the deepest of nights, but they were not asked in the same way.

“I’m Robin,” Tim gave his best Robin smile and didn’t budge from where he stood when Batman took another thundering step closer to him. “Gotham made me for you.”

Tim had watched Batman for years. He’d watched him take down criminals and cults and gangs alike. He’d seen him get beat down again and again only to get back up without so much as a pained grunt. In all those years, Tim had never seen him falter the way he did just then. “You are not the Robin this city needs,” Batman said, slowly. “That Robin is gone.”

“I’m not the Robin this city needs,” Tim acknowledged, chest aching. “But I’m the one Batman needs to keep himself from dying.”

He thought of blood on Batman’s fist and the emptiness in Bruce’s eyes. Of criminals being shattered to nothing beneath Batman’s raging grief as the city sang it’s song of sorrow. Most of all, he thought about the way Batman drowned in violence because he didn’t know how to live with himself anymore.

“I will not take in another child,” Batman turned away, like he was shrinking away from the truth. “I will never take on another Robin. Forget about Dick. Forget about Jason. You don’t understand the dangers you are messing with.”

Tim reached out and grabbed a handful of his cape. “You don’t have to take on another child. Not in that way. But you must take on another Robin.” He prayed and prayed that this would work. That he hadn’t forgotten him now that he wasn’t looking. Because this was the only thing Tim had left to give. And if Batman forgot him, too, then he wasn’t sure what he could possibly do from there.

“Go home,” Batman repeated the first words he’d said to him, but Tim hardly heard him over the rush of hope filling his soul. He was still talking to him despite not seeing him. He hadn’t forgotten him. He hadn’t forgotten.

An elated smile spread over his face, even as Batman pulled his cape free and shot his grapple to disappear into the night. He pulled out his own makeshift grapple gun that he’d been practicing with just for this moment, and followed after him on a wobbly swing. “Batman!” He shouted for no other reason than to be heard.

“Leave,” Batman ordered, and Tim laughed in shocked joy. The vigilante tried to lose him, but Tim just barely managed to keep up, and crime slept for no one. When a woman screamed for help, Batman had no choice but to give up on the escape attempt, swinging down with a frustrated grunt. Tim followed eagerly, and together they took down the group of men who’d been trying to mug her.

Tim was just taking down the last man when a large, rough hand yanked him to the side to avoid being tackled by one of their felled opponents. “Never relax,” Batman ordered, and Tim grinned up at him like he’d been praised. Batman quickly took away his hand, averting his gaze from like he burned. Tim couldn’t have cared less. Batman remembered. Batman had given him an order, just like he would’ve given Robin.

Batman had been, as Tim had predicted, far less violent with him around. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to bash in any heads when Robin was watching. “You need me,” Tim insisted as they stood over the criminals’ prone bodies, and it felt good to say it. “I won’t let you keep lying to yourself.”

Instead of answering, he once again grappled away, and Tim grinned as he followed. The rest of the night was like a wild game of chase interspersed with them taking down various criminals that roamed the city. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. Tim had never felt the burn of being alive so beautifully until that night.

He only left Batman alone when the sun started to rise, and when he did he promised the man that he’d be back. Which he was. Every night without fail, Tim would track him down and tag along like a burr stuck on his cape. He refused to be shaken off, and slowly, begrudgingly, Batman seemed to accept his existence. Not happily, but Tim was too proud of himself to care.

It was every bit as thrilling and terrifying as he’d always imagined it to be. Helping Batman take down his first Rogue had been nightmarish, but the feeling of putting the Riddler behind bars was all too addictive.

Without seeming to notice, Batman started giving him tips. Nothing so extreme as training, but little bits of advice to improve his fighting or to develop a stronger weapon. Tim soaked it all up like a sponge, and he was determined to prove himself capable.

They even started meeting up at the same place every night, like Batman couldn’t help but go there at the same time each night. Tim knew he thrived on routine and an intensely rigid schedule, and he smugly took advantage of the fact. Their meeting spot was the top of a five story building on the corner of Sixth and Treat avenue, and although Batman hardly ever acknowledged him when they met up, Tim still reveled in the fact that he remembered.

Tim had found a loophole. When he dressed up as Robin, people remembered him. Batman remembered him not as Tim, but as Robin. He remembered his actions, his words, the fact that he was real and human. It was almost overwhelming, this sudden existence that he’d carved into the world for himself.

Everything he’d ever made of himself was for Batman. The thought didn’t hurt him as much as perhaps it should have.

One night, he got there early and decided to make ample use of his time by practicing some flips he’d seen Dick do before. He managed a backbend, but when he tried to do a front flip, his foot caught on the ledge and suddenly there was nothing but air beneath him.

Heart in his throat, he fumbled for the grappling gun at his waist, mind blank with terror as he fell. Before he could fall more than maybe ten feet, though, a body swung into his and an arm wrapped around him tightly. The wind was knocked out of him, but he was too relieved at the fact that he was alive to care.

Batman placed him down on shaky feet, and loomed over him with palpable fury. “What were you thinking?”

Tim grabbed onto his arm, needing to hold onto something to feel grounded. He could still feel the cold wind whipping around him as his body became weightless. “I’m alive,” he gasped out, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “Thank you.”

Batman’s shoulders slumped, just a little, and he took a step back. “Yes. You’re alive.” A gloved hand hesitantly reached out, dropping gently against Tim’s mop of hair. “Make sure it stays that way.” Then he was off, leaving Tim standing frozen in shock.

To be touched like a child, like a son to be proud of was nothing short of rapture. His scalp itched and his eyes burned, and he chased after Batman like how he’d chase after the man for the rest of his life.

It took months to wear him down, but Tim enjoyed every moment of it. He felt he was doing good, in the way Batman’s rampage had crawled to a standstill and in the way he could feel both his mind and body improving. Batman never softened for him like he did for Dick and Jason, but he stopped looking at him like his very existence hurt him.

One night, Batman didn’t show up to their meeting spot. Disappointed, Tim had been ready to fling himself into the night alone for the first time in weeks, when a bag sitting on a nearby by bench caught his eye. It was grey and inconspicuous, and had a single post it note attached to it that read To Robin.

Cautiously, he reached for it. There was a good chance it was a trap, but his curiosity beat out his paranoia. He peered into it, and his eyes widened almost comically.

He eagerly pulled out the red, yellow and green suit folded within the bag, marveling at the silky yet firm material. His hands shook as he pressed the clothing to his face, inhaling deeply. All he could smell was fresh laundry detergent, but he pretended for a second that it was Robin’s scent he was inhaling. That his predecessors lingered.

He went home instead of finishing patrol, impatient to try it on. It was obviously newly made, the material sliding over his body like a second skin. He didn’t question where he’d gotten his measurements; it was Batman they were talking about, after all. He probably knew everything about Tim, short of his actual identity.

He stood in front of a full-length mirror and stared for a long moment. Robin stared back, in a suit that actually fit with a faint swell of muscles of to fill it out. He looked different. He felt strange.

In the end, this was the boy Batman and the rest of the world would come to know. Not Tim. It could never be Tim.

“He created this for me,” Tim pressed his palm against the cold mirror, and a jagged smile broke across his face. “For Robin.”

As time went on, Batman started gifting him more and more stuff. A staff, a taser, a new utility belt. He never gave him the gift of kind words, but Tim didn’t need that. He’d never had it before, and it was difficult to miss what you’d never had in the first place.

The first time Batman let him into the Batcave, Tim knew he’d done it. He’d fully become Robin, whether Batman liked it or not.

“Don’t touch anything,” Batman ordered, and he sat down heavily in front of what must’ve been a dozen screens displayed across the wall.

It wasn’t all too clear why Tim had been brought to Batman’s secret lair, except that he had a case he needed to look over and he hadn’t shooed Tim off like he usually did when he vanished to his cave. He decided to take it as a sign of trust and openly gaped at everything around him.

He stared at a huge penny placed on a dais for a while, unable to believe his eyes. He tore his gaze away when one of the screens started beeping, watching as Batman rapidly typed on his keyboard. Two-Face’s mugshot flashed across the screen, and a bunch of maps popped up around him, red pins bright on certain locations.

Tim wandered over, peering over his shoulder curiously. Before he could make a quippy comment (which he’d been making more of since he’d donned the mask), Batman peeled off his cowl and set it aside, revealing Bruce Wayne’s tired, lined face.

He froze for a split-second, trying to cover his surprise. Before he could formulate a response, Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. “I assume you already knew who I am, considering your knowledge about the previous Robins.”

The subtly pointed question was there, but Tim pretended to not have noticed it. He tried to act glib. “I did. It’s nice to finally see your face, Mr. Wayne.”

“I really did think that Gotham had created you for a while,” Bruce said almost casually. His eyes were focused on the screen as he swiped through pages of data, but his words were directed at Tim. “I thought you were a mythical creature meant to mock my memories. I’d seen odder things, after all.”

“And now?” Tim suddenly felt like the thirteen year old boy he was, insignificant and naïve. Scared that Bruce hated him.

“Now I see that you are human,” Bruce passed him something without looking at him, and Tim instinctively took it. “Now I see that you are Robin.”

A circular black patch laid in Tim’s hand, a bright yellow R sewn proudly in the middle. He found himself speechless, fingers delicately tracing over the threading with a faint reverence.

“Alfred made it,” Bruce explained, and Tim looked up to see that he was watching him closely. “Sewed it with his own two hands.”

“It was my pleasure,” a low, British voice called out from behind them, and Tim nearly jumped in surprise. He spun around to see a silver-haired old man in a neatly pressed butler’s uniform, politely warm smile stretching his lined face. “Hello, young man. I’ve heard much about you from Master Wayne. You’ve left quite the impression, I’ve been told.”

There was sorrow in the old man’s eyes, in the way his shoulders were lined with weariness. Perhaps he saw Jason in Tim. Perhaps Tim was being cruel by dressing in the carcass of a dead bird the Waynes had grown to love. But the emblem burned hot in his clenched hand, and he found himself unwilling to be regretful. He was finally a part of something, part of the one thing he’d only ever dreamed of joining.

“This is Alfred,” Bruce stood, and the change in his expression was minute but still glaringly obvious in comparison to when he wore his cowl. He looked fond when he clapped a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, a warmth pervading his expression that rarely ever made it to the tabloids. “He has been a trustworthy friend and ally to me for many, many years.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Tim reached out a hand, suddenly self-conscious of his every little action. “I’m Robin.”

Alfred’s smile creaked at that, like heartbreak. “My dear boy, you certainly are.”

He was startled at the gentle embrace Alfred pulled him into, and found himself quickly melting into his arms. He turned his head into the crook of his neck and inhaled the familiar scent of laundry detergent. He pressed his face against his frail shoulder as his hands crumpled the material of his uniform on his back to hide the tear that managed to slip out despite his best efforts.

Tim couldn’t, for the life of him, remember ever being hugged. Not when his parents still remembered him and certainly not after. It was a foreign, amazing feeling, and he wondered why people didn’t just hug each other for the rest of their lives if it felt like this.

He pulled away first, once he was sure he wasn’t about to burst into tears. “Thank you for the emblem.”

Alfred’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It only seemed right to continue the tradition.”

Tim nodded, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. When he glanced over at Bruce to gauge his reaction, he was surprised to see the man looking satisfied. Upon noticing Tim was looking at him, he gave a stiff nod of approval. It seemed he’d passed some sort of test he hadn’t known he’d been taking. Typical Batman.

“Would you like some cookies?” Alfred offered, and there was such a hopeful look in his eyes that Tim would’ve been a monster to turn him down. “I baked them myself.”

If you’d told Tim a year ago that he’d be sitting in the Batcave eating cookies and drinking milk with Bruce Wayne and his butler, he would’ve laughed until he died. As it was, he soaked in each second like it might slip from his fingertips if he didn’t. They ran through the Two-Face case as they ate, and Tim loved watching Bruce in his natural habitat. It was awe-inspiring. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

“Come back any time, boy,” Alfred told him when the night began to wind down and Tim sensed that Bruce was becoming less and less talkative. “We need some company around here.”

“I will,” Tim promised, eyes darting over to Bruce.

“We have supplies here if you ever need any,” Bruce stated, and Tim left the cave laughing. He knew exactly what Bruce meant by that.

He learned to sew, just so that he could attach the emblem Alfred had made for him over the faint one printed on his uniform, and the end product was worth the bloody fingers and hours of youtube videos. He held up his uniform, the yellow R sticking out starkly, and smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. He danced happily around his room, unaware that just a few miles away, the dirt over Jason’s grave shifted.

***

Oh, Robin, the wind screamed, like a soundless howl that no one would hear. You’re a terrible, terrible little thing.

***

Somehow, meeting Nightwing was so much more nerve-rattling than meeting Batman had been. Nightwing had been his first hero, back when he was Robin and he’d saved Tim from himself. Dick Grayson had been his everything when he’d had nothing.

“Dick wants to meet you,” Bruce told him, and Tim tensed like a spring. Bruce had just put him through a brutal bout of training, the mats soaked in sweat and a faint splattering of blood. Tim was laying flat on his back feeling like an undercooked noodle, while Bruce stood over him looking like he’d barely broken a sweat. “I told him it’s up to you.”

Tim fidgeted with his domino that Bruce had given him just the other day, trepidation and an itching anticipation creeping beneath his skin. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Mm,” Bruce grunted, instead of answering. Which was just brilliant. Very helpful.

Tim imagined a bright smile and a gloved hand reaching out in offering. He stared up at the ceiling and felt every ache in his body throb simultaneously. “I’ll meet him.”

“I’ll give you his phone number,” Bruce didn’t look like he felt any such way about his decision.

“I don’t have a phone,” Tim pointed out, and Bruce looked like he was filing the information away for later. He sat up when Bruce didn’t say anything else, doing his best to give him a pointed look through his mask. “Don’t try to buy me a phone either. It’s just a waste of money; it’s not like I’d use it for anything.”

“You’d use it to contact me,” Bruce said shortly, and Tim knew a closed argument when he heard one. “Besides,” Bruce’s lip twitched into something like a smile. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Tim leaned back on his elbows, shaking his head fondly. It was odd how comfortably conversation flowed between them, even though they never talked about anything serious. It was all light talk and discussions about the newest crime syndicates, which Tim found himself glad of. It was clear Bruce was keeping him at an arm’s length even as they grew more and more familiar with each other. There was still a cloaked loneliness to him, like he wore his grief like a heavy cape. It weighed down their conversations, as if Jason’s ghost was always present.

Sometimes Tim passed by Jason’s memorial display in the Batcave and he tried to understand why Bruce had chosen those words to memorialize his son: A Good Soldier. The same words carved into his gravestone that had made Tim sick to his stomach. How could a child be a soldier? How could that be all Bruce thought of him?

Bruce rarely spoke of the previous Robin. He always fell into a sullen silence whenever Tim tried to subtly guide the conversation to Jason, giving him the cold shoulder with icy indifference. It was Alfred who told him stories about Jason, both in and out of the suit. Alfred was all too happy to talk about him and Dick upon request, and Tim savored those moments perhaps more than any other he’d experienced in his life.

When Tim finally gathered up the courage to reach out to Dick, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the swift reply.

Me

Hi, this is Robin

Bruce said you wanted to meet up?

I’m free any time this next week

Dick

Robin, huh?

It’s good to hear from u

How about tmrw night? I’m dropping by the manor

We can patrol together after

Tim fretted over his tone for a while, agonizing over whether Dick hated him for an embarrassingly long time.

Me

Sounds good!

I’ll be at the manor around nine

Dick

😊

Tim also overthought the smiley emoji. Was it an ironic smiley face? Was he trying to subliminally tell Tim that he texted too much? He had to force himself to put down his phone lest he reread their messages a hundred times over.

The day passed torturously slow, and he was running on four hours of sleep by the time their meeting time came around. “Just wait for him here,” Bruce had told him, ushering him to a couch that looked like it’d just been unboxed. Then he’d vanished into his office, leaving him to drown in his pool of sweat.

Tim barely had time to wonder if Bruce had set up cameras in the room to watch them (something he’d definitely do) when faint voices down the hall reached his ears. He straightened up instinctively, slipping his hands beneath his thighs so they didn’t twitch nervously. Alfred’s low voice said something and a cheerful laugh echoed in reply.

The door to the room was pushed open and Alfred stepped in followed by the one and only Dick Grayson. Tim held his breath as Dick faltered at the threshold, staring at him like he was looking at a ghost. Tim shifted anxiously, and Dick seemed to snap out of his reverie.

He approached him with a smile too broad to be real, and Tim hurried to his feet to reach out a hand to shake. He’d seen clips of the galas Dick attended, and people always greeted one another with a handshake. Dick, however, ignored his hand and went in for a quick hug.

Tim froze as the arms squeezed him and then let go before he could blink. “I finally get to meet you in person,” Dick looked tired, his normally bright blue eyes dulled with exhaustion. Even his smile looked like it was taking all his effort to stay in place. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

It echoed Alfred’s first words to him, and Tim’s eyes darted to the elderly man. The butler smiled genially before bowing low and exiting through the door, leaving Tim alone with Dick. He desperately cast around for a subject. “How has, um, Bludhaven been?”

Dick gently guided him to take a seat, sitting next to him without ever taking his eyes off of him. It felt like he was looking for someone in Tim that he’d never find. “Just peachy. How about Gotham? I heard you’ve been out beating up criminals with the best of them. At such a young age, too.” There was a pointed acidity to his words that Tim knew well enough was pointed at Bruce and not him. Still, it didn’t lessen the sting.

“You were younger when you started,” Tim pointed out. “And you were a lot better.”

Dick’s mouth twitched, and Tim had a feeling he hadn’t done a great job of hiding the awe in his voice. “Bruce’s training was brutal but efficient.”

Tim perked up at that. “Right? He doesn’t hold back at all, and it first it was terrible but lately I’ve been able to hold out longer and I feel like I won’t ever come across someone as strong as Bruce, so it’s y’know-” he cut himself off when he noticed the mirth blooming Dick’s eyes. “Cool.” He finished lamely.

"Very cool,” Dick said solemnly, and he leaned back into the couch like he felt at home. “Tell me about your villains and I’ll tell you about mine?”

Tim had dreamed of this moment ever since he’d first parted ways with the first Robin. Chatting away like friends. He stared up at Dick behind his mask and the words spilled from his mouth like water breaking through a dam.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, but it felt like days slipped by as they spoke. Tim’s initial shyness wore off as he dove into his enthusiastic theories about Gotham’s newest criminals, and Dick’s stilted smile began to melt into something real. There was a fondness in his eyes that Tim hoped he wasn’t imagining, and when Alfred came in halfway through Tim’s explanation for a potential time machine, the butler practically puffed with pride. He handed them cookies, and Dick devoured them like he hadn’t eaten in ages.

By the time Bruce came in to tell them it was time to patrol, Tim was giggling at all of Dick’s jokes. “Suit up, Condiment Man is on the prowl tonight,” Bruce ordered Dick, who groaned aloud. Tim hummed in sympathy.

“Ugh, that’s one criminal that I’ve never missed. I still can’t get the smell of mustard out of my suit and it’s been half a year,” Dick gave an exaggerated shudder, grinning smugly when Tim snickered in reply. “Do you see that, B? Someone here appreciates me.”

“How moving,” Bruce said dryly, but there was an affection to his tone that Tim had never had directed at him before.

Oblivious, Dick bounced to his feet and held out a hand to Tim. He yanked him up quickly, warm hand firm in Tim’s hesitant grip. “Let’s go, baby bird. We’ve got some bad guys to catch.”

That night was by far Tim’s favorite patrol. His and Dick’s fighting styles meshed surprisingly well, and he couldn’t recall a time where knocking around Condiment Man had been fun. Dick taught him how to do more and more extravagant flips as Batman looked on in disapproval, and Tim’s childish laugh could be heard all throughout the Gotham night.

Eventually, Batman split up from them to work on a case he’d been tightlipped about all week. Tim hadn’t even been annoyed about being kept out of a case as he usually would’ve been, all too happy to follow Dick to the nearest rooftop as faint rays of Sun began to peek over the horizon.

“You’re pretty smart,” Dick called down to him as he scaled up the side of a building. He flipped up and over the edge, Tim trailing behind. “I think you and Oracle would get along.”

“We’ve met!” Tim pretended he wasn’t out of breath, flexing his aching fingers. “She’s taught me a lot about coding and she gave me this comm to use on the field.” He pointed at his ear where the comm he’d been gifted sat snugly.

Dick patted his back, turning towards where they’d climbed up to rest his arms on the ledge. His smile had faded, and it was difficult to read his expression when he had his mask on.

“You know, I really wanted not to like you,” Dick quietly confessed to him. He gazed over the city, wind ruffling his dark curls. His whole body was relaxed and lithe, but there was something intense about him that made it difficult to look away from him. “I was angry that Bruce had taken in another Robin. Even when he tried to tell me you wouldn’t leave him alone I refused to believe him. I thought he’d replaced Jason, just like that.”

Tim kept quiet. It didn’t seem like Dick was expecting an answer, and even if he was, Tim wasn’t sure he had one to give.

“Honestly, I wasn’t a very good brother to Jason,” Dick smile was brittle and self-deprecating. “I didn’t like that B had take on another Robin. My resentment was meant for B, but in my carelessness I’d hurt Jason. It feels cruel now, especially when Jason was always so eager to talk to me. I want to be the person I should’ve been for Jason, for you. I don’t want to let another opportunity to slip from my fingers.”

Are you only using me to forgive yourself for Jason, then? He managed to keep the words from slipping out, staring up at his first hero with something like yearning. “I’d like that, too.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” Dick grinned at him, and it was blinding. “Now, let’s go kick some butt.”

I’ll be Jason if it means you’ll smile at me like that, Tim’s mind whispered. I’ll be whoever you want me to be as long as it means you want me around.

***

In those early days, Tim could only remember one time when he’d seen Bruce on the streets when he wasn’t in Batman mode. It’d been a cold, cloudy day, and Batman had failed to meet him at their usual spot. He’d been preoccupied with Wayne Enterprise business for a while, so it hadn’t been too surprising and Tim hadn’t read too much into it. Just sailed into the dark on a crime fighting crusade he couldn’t quite call his own.

It was reaching one in the morning when he caught a glimpse of a man stumbling from Cheshire, which was a well-known pub in the heart of Gotham. Concerned by his jerky movements, Tim landed lightly behind him, surprised when the man drunkenly twisted around to face him. He’d mastered the art of stealth at this point, and it was rare when he couldn’t get the drop on someone.

“Are you okay, sir? Do you need me to walk you home?” Tim chirped, trying to make out the man’s shadowed face. He bit back a noise of surprise when the intoxicated man swayed into the light of a street lamp and revealed Bruce’s sallow face. “B?”

Bruce stared at him for a long second, and his blue eyes trembled with emotion that Tim had never seen before. He slowly reached out a large, rough hand towards him, like he was terrified he’d vanish if he moved too fast. “Chum?” His breath stank of alcohol, and Tim shifted from foot to foot in agitation, even as he let Bruce rest a large hand against his cheek. That was a nickname he couldn’t remember being given. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Tim pointed out, eyes darting around for potential danger. There was nothing but a sleeping homeless man and an empty street stretching for what seemed like miles on end. “I didn’t think you’d skip out on your night job for a drink.” He’d meant it lightheartedly, but Bruce didn’t seem to register his words.

“Jason,” he breathed, and Tim’s brittle little heart cracked at the name. “You’re here.” His thumb rubbed gently against his face, the rough pad of his finger dragging slowly against his soft skin. “My little Robin.”

Tim’s ribcage squeezed tight, and Gotham let out a mournful groan beneath their feet and all around them. “Your little Robin,” Tim whispered, pressing his hand against the back of Bruce’s. Because he was cruel and because he was greedy, he asked, “Do you love me?”

“More than anything, Jay,” Bruce looked so sad that Tim thought the guilt would swallow him whole. “You are my brilliant little boy. So bright.” His words slurred, but they were said with palpable certainty.

Tim could feel his throat closing up. He dug his fingers against Bruce’s hand, but the man didn’t so much as flinch. Just looked at him with those weepy eyes like he was seeing right through him. “I’ll call you a cab, B.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, Jay? You seem sad.”

Tim gently peeled his hand from his face, feeling sick at the red imprints he’d left on the back of Bruce’s hand. He was like a leech, taking and taking what wasn’t his. Greedy for a love that wasn’t his to feel. “I’m fine. Did you drive yourself here?”

“No, some folks I was having a late night meeting with did. The CEO of Drake Industries and his wife,” Bruce craned his neck back towards the pub, distracted. “Speaking of, I really should be getting back.”

Tim should’ve stopped him from leaving, but he felt frozen in place as Bruce stumbled back to Cheshire. “B,” he croaked out, voice lost in the wind. “Don’t leave me.”

Bruce didn’t seem to hear him, already at the entrance of the pub. He vanished within, and Tim felt a chill creep up his spine. He could feel his worlds colliding, like an explosion drowning everything else out. He hadn’t even known his parents were back, and yet, here they were, drinking with Bruce while their son stood in the cold and wished he wasn’t their child.

***

Tim had nearly become one with his suit by the time he met Stephanie Brown. At first, Tim was convinced that she hated him upon first sight. She’d immediately picked a fight and had challenged him to a round on the training mats that Bruce had broken up after ten minutes of dirty techniques. They squabbled constantly, and she was always bemoaning his very existence. So, it’d confused him when she started willingly hanging out with him.

She’d track him down during patrols and demand that they work together. Even when she was off the clock, she’d tried find out where he was and insist they catch a movie or play video games. For fun. For no other reason than to be in each other’s presence. If Tim wasn’t so grounded in reality, he might’ve thought she was trying to be his friend.

As it was, he really came to enjoy her presence. It was nice hanging out with someone his age, and they got along like a house on fire despite their rocky start.

It wasn’t until far later in their friendship that he’d confessed his initial fears about her first impression of him. She’d laughed straight at his face and said, “That was my way of saying I respect you, dude. I mean, yeah, I thought you were a little wimpy at first, but not in like, an unbearable way. I’ve messed with you way since then. I even had a little bit of a crush on you for a bit.”

She said the last part so casually Tim almost thought he’d hallucinated it. “Wait- what? You had a crush? On me?” He had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t in some freakish dream.

Steph gave him a scathing look, shoving his shoulder hard. “Hard to believe, I know. Anyway, that was forever ago. I kind of would rather be with someone who doesn’t literally live in his vigilante alias. Being a mysterious workaholic isn’t as cute as you may think it is.”

“But you were into me,” Tim said, stupidly. “At some point.”

“Do not let this get to your head,” Steph narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. “I only told you because I’m over it and you had some weird idea in your head that I didn’t like you at first. Which is obviously not true.”

Tim scratched the back of his neck, thinking back to all of their previous interactions. “You have a weird way of showing it.”

“It’s the Steph way,” she threw an arm over his shoulder, roughly pulling him in close. “And we’re best buddies now, right? Even if you refuse to take off the stupid mask. Or tell me anything of substance about yourself.”

Tim imagined watching the recognition fade from her eyes once she caught a glimpse of his face, and his skin crawled with unease. He could never allow it. Not for as long as he was cursed. “Yeah,” he rested his head on her shoulder and tried to forget all the lies and deception. “Best friends.”

She gently pressed her ear against the top of his head. “You’re stuck with me, Rob.”

“Don’t you ever forget it,” Tim murmured, and he prayed that it was true. That she would never forget. That she was stuck with him until the end of the line.

***

Tim wasn’t stupid. He could see the way Bruce looked at him sometimes. Like he was searching for Jason in him. Like he hated him as much as he loved him. He saw it in Dick and Alfred’s face too, and even Babs would get that look in her eye every once in a while.

It should’ve made him feel terrible. He should’ve felt guilty and unwanted, but instead all he felt was the need to prove them right. To become their dead little Robin and parade around dressed in Jason’s old feathers. He craved their attention and love that he knew wasn’t for him.

He’d never once wanted to replace Jason.

He wanted to be him.

***

Gotham always had a cruel way of reminding Tim of his place when he was too happy.

Titan’s Tower was in a way, his second home. He was proud of his team and comfortable with them in a way that he wasn’t around the Bats. They understood him and trusted him without question. Without doubt. They looked at him and saw Robin, their leader and friend, not Robin, the one who forced his way in.

That sense of home would soon be robbed from him, however, when a man in a red helmet would break in and shatter both his body and heart.

The Red Hood was bigger in person. More terrifying and far, far angrier than Tim had ever imagined him to be. “Look who it is,” he sneered, and his modulator warped his voice into that of a monster’s. He took a threatening step forward, and the entire tower seemed to shake with it. “A little cuckoo in the wrong nest.”

Tim fell into a fighting stance and wondered if this is where it would end. “You’re the one breaking into places you shouldn’t be.”

“Is that right?” The Red Hood was slowly closing in the space between them. “Do you think that you’re in your rightful place right now? Do you think you belong in that suit?” It was like he was giving voice to every one of Tim’s doubts, bringing his insecurities to light.

Instead of responding, Tim leaped forward and their battle begun. It was an ugly, brutal fight and every hit that landed either cracked bone or drew blood. Tim could taste death on his tongue, and he fought with every ounce of desperate energy he had.

It wasn’t enough. Tim hated it with every fiber of his being, but he wasn’t enough. The Red Hood beat him into the ground and then further still. He hit him until his ribs cracked and his arm dislocated and he was one bleeding bruise. He won over and over until there was no sense of defeat or victory just the overwhelming agony of being absolutely crushed like he was nothing.

Then the Red Hood stood over him and laughed, maniacally. Tim could hardly see out of one of his swollen eyes, but still he watched as the crime lord ripped open his shirt to reveal an old Robin costume stretched over his chest like a man trying on a little boy’s shirt. “What?” Tim croaked out, waiting for the punchline. For the gun to his head and the end of it all.

“Look at me,” the Red Hood demanded, and when Tim’s head lolled pathetically, the man reached up and ripped off his helmet. Glowing green eyes glared down at him like rage and mania personified. “Fucking look at me, Robin.”

There was no horror movie on Earth that could’ve broken his mind the way looking up at Jason Todd’s scarred, familiar face did. He looked like he hated him. He looked like he was being tormented by his very existence. Tim’s mouth open and then closed. “Robin.”

Jason punched the ground right next to Tim’s head, not seeming to care about the awful crunch sound that preceded the action. He leaned in close, and Tim marveled at the white streak in his hair and the scars that tore up and down his face. “I may have failed before, but here I am, beating you. I beat you. What the hell made Bruce think that you were any sort of replacement? Why would he go and find another Robin instead of putting a bullet in between Joker’s eyes?”

Tim felt like he was swimming through a furious ocean, unable to surface in order to breathe. Painfully, slowly, he reached out his non-dislocateed arm to press his palm against the bright yellow R sewn onto the chest of his costume. “You came back.” Awe dripped from each word.

Gotham had given him back. Gotham had given him back deranged and broken but she’d still given him back.

“That’s right. I’m back,” Jason’s smile was jagged, and there was an odd sheen to his eyes. Like he wanted to cry almost as much as he wanted to scream. “To make sure there are no more child soldiers.”

“You weren’t a soldier, though,” Tim thought of the plaque in the Batcave and the gravestone he’d once visited. He thought of Jason crying on a rooftop months before it all went sideways. “You were just a child.”

Something flickered across Jason’s face. Something confused and scared. It was gone before he could react, and then a heavy fist was flying once more at his face. This one hurt the most, like it came from Jason Todd and not the Red Hood. He tentatively pressed his tongue against one of his teeth and felt it wiggle loose.

“I have never been a child,” Jason said coldly as he rose to his feet, hand dragging through a puddle of Tim’s blood. “But that’s all you will ever be.”

Tim couldn’t move as Jason started writing on the wall in his sticky, warm blood. Painstakingly, the second Robin wrote out Jason Todd was here as Tim felt his mind warble in and out of consciousness. He strained, desperately, to reach for Jason’s boots as they started walking away from peripheral vision. “Don’t leave me,” he begged, just like he’d pleaded Bruce that night long ago. Just like Bruce, Jason never turned around.

Tim felt, all of a sudden, broken beyond repair. Perfectly unlovable, perfectly incapable. Like a heart bleeding for attention that wasn’t his to seek.

In his mind’s eye, Jason flew across the sky in his young Robin attire, laughing carelessly. In real life, Jason’s name was drying a few feet away from where Tim lay in a puddle of his blood.

“Why wouldn’t you kill me?” Tim asked the silent room. “If you can’t love me, you have to at least want me dead.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, blurring his vision. “You have to care enough to want me dead, please. Please, come back. Please just kill me if you’re going to leave me here!” He shouted, body convulsing as his raw throat pulsed. He gasped through his sobs, fingers trying to dig through the floor beneath him like he could crawl his way to death. “Jason, where did you go? Why am I still alive? You have to kill me, oh God, don’t leave me here to rot.”

He was forgotten again and again. He was being left to waste away from memory and from the heart. You either needed to live or to die to be remembered, and yet here Tim hung in the delicate balance of the in between. Crying for a boy who once meant the world to him. A boy who couldn’t even do him the dignity of putting a bullet through his skull.

 As Tim lay on the cold, desecrated floor, a heavy realization sunk into his bones; Tim was going to live. He was going to survive, and the very thought of it was agonizing.

Wicked sobs wracked his body, draining him until he was empty. My Robin. Tim’s fingers fumbled at the emblem on his chest, too weakened to rip it off. Please carry me to heaven.

***

There was a wickedness to Tim that made him unlovable. A fundamental evil that stained his soul. It slithered and poisoned and only Damian seemed to be able to see it.

“I will purge you of this world,” Damian promised him the first time they were alone together. He was already a prickly boy, but he looked at Tim with a special kind of hatred. “You who contaminates a role you don’t belong in.”

It was, admittedly, not a great first impression. Tim was still reeling in shock from the fact that Bruce had a biological child with Talia al Ghul of all people, and so he was not prepared for a sword to be aggressively pointed up at his face. “Woah there, kid, no need to get stabby right off the bat. Also, I’m not sure if you’ve heard but Bruce has this thing about not maiming people, it’s kind of a big deal to him.” He tried to gently guide the blade out of his face, but Damian stubbornly held his stance.

“That is my suit that you are wearing,” Damian snapped, and it was hard to take him seriously when his voice squeaked like that.

“I think this suit’s a little too big for you,” Tim pointed out dryly, leaning back quickly to avoid a swift swing at his jugular. “Hey, watch it!”

“You are a miserable blight that I shall wipe from the face of this Earth,” Damian glared at him with enough loathing to make Tim pause. “Father doesn’t need you. Not the way he needs me. You are nothing but a placeholder who brings dishonor to the title of Robin. Tell me, what is your true name?”

Tim let his eyes narrow dangerously, although Damian couldn’t tell. “If you were truly Batman’s son, couldn’t you figure that out yourself? Or did you only get the brawns and none of the brain?”

Damian snarled like a wild creature, leaping at him with a glint of his katana. Tim twisted to avoid his strike, bringing a hand up lightning quick to grab him by the throat as he surged past him. Damian wheezed pitifully as Tim’s hand squeezed firmly around his neck, clawing wildly at his fingers.

With a shout, Damian swung his elbow around with vicious speed. Tim tilted his head away a second too late, and his pointy elbow clipped his jaw. He swore beneath his breath and grit his teeth as Damian landed a firm kick against his torso.

He allowed him to escape his grip, only to reach out and twist his arm until the katana fell from his hand. Damian looked incensed at that, swinging a fist at him in a move that was fueled more by anger than tact.

Tim bypassed his swing and moved in close, grabbing him by his shoulder and using his momentum to slam him against the floor. Damian choked upon impact, eyes bulging a little. He went limp for a second, and Tim hauled back a fist to knock him out.

Suddenly, his mind flashed to that day in Titan’s Tower when Jason leaned over him and slammed his fist into his face until he was more bruise than flesh. He recalled the fear and betrayal that the violence had imprinted on him. The thought took the wind out of his sails, and he was abruptly filled with a terrible horror. Damian glared up at him, trying to hide his panic behind bravado, and Tim wondered when he’d become such a cruel person.

Maybe Damian was right. Maybe Tim wasn’t the right person for this role. Maybe he’d tried too hard to become Jason and now that was all he was.

Before Damian could take advantage of his hesitation like he so clearly wanted to do, the door burst open and Dick came waltzing in. “Hey, do you two want to go grab dinner or-” he paused at the sight of them, as they both froze like deer caught in headlights. He propped his hands on his hips, the perfect picture of disappointed mother. “Do one of you want to tell me what happened?”

“No,” Damian grumbled, mulishly. Tim caught the tinge of red that painted his ears as he turned his head away from Dick, and he sighed. It looked like Damian already respected Dick more than he tolerated Tim. Which, frankly, wasn’t saying much.

“It was just a friendly tussle,” Tim clambered to his feet, offering a hand to Damian who swat it away with violent prejudice. “Remember how Steph and I were the first time we met?”

"Right,” Dick said, skeptically. Thankfully, he didn’t press the topic. “So, dinner?”

“Have you told the servant that I am a vegetarian?” Damian questioned as he brushed past Tim, making sure to knock him with his shoulder. Petty little brat.

"His name is Alfred, and you should respect him,” Dick warned him, eyebrow cocked. “He’s the head of the house, you know.”

“Father is the head of the house,” Damian corrected, scathingly. He wilted a little under Dick’s disapproving look, quickly turning to Tim to snap, “And are you going to wear that suit everywhere you go? It is not flattering.”

“You’re one to speak,” Tim scoffed, gesturing at Damian’s outfit from the League of Assassin’s that he’d refused to change out of. “You look like you bought that at a Halloween store.”

Damian bristled like any angry cat, hissing out, “That suit of yours will be mine soon enough.” He swept past Dick before he could formulate a response.

Dick leaned against the doorway, not bothering to chase after him. A playful grin danced on his lips. “Little brothers, am I right?”

Tim imagined Jason hitting him hard enough to knock a tooth loose and Damian leveling a sword at his face. “Brothers. Right.”

“Things will get better,” Dick swung his arm around his shoulder, making him stumble. “Trust me.”

Tim did. He always did. There was no way of knowing, after all, that this would be the first lie of many that Dick would tell him.

***

Jane and Jack Drake died somewhere along the way. Would you think Tim was a monster for hardly noticing? Perhaps he was.

Perhaps there was no humanity in a boy without an identity.

***

“What are you doing here?” The Red Hood’s voice rumbled behind him, and Tim had to deliberately slow his heartbeat before he turned around. His predecessor stood menacingly in the dark, expression entirely unreadable beneath his helmet. “This here is my territory.”

Things had been awkwardly strained between them ever since Hood had revealed who he was to Bruce and Dick and they’d worn him down to the point where he didn’t immediately shoot any of the Bats on sight. His grand plan for revenge had clearly either been put on the back burner or entirely dumped, although he had yet to come fully around. He still killed, whether Bruce was willing to admit it or not, and there were many bitter arguments between the Bats about whether he should be treated like any other criminal.

Tim didn’t interact much with Hood. They’d never discussed the Titan’s Tower incident or the fact that Tim hadn’t told Bruce who he was right away. He understood that he confused Hood. He was always looking at Tim like he was waiting for him to pick a fight or to shout at him for what he’d done. His deliberate quiet messed with him, and in turn Hood was always as tense as a spring around him.

“One of my cases leaked over onto your side,” Tim explained, keeping his posture faux relaxed. “Drug trafficking via the harbor.”

Hood tensed. “How many shipments?”

“Do you want to come check it out?” Tim offered, and Hood laughed, the sound mechanical and distorted. He heard it echo in Titan’s Tower and tried to banish the thought.

“Oh, I’ll be checking it out alright. The real question is whether or not you’ll be coming with me.”

Tim wordlessly took out his grapple gun and took off towards the harbor. Hood shouted expletives after him, but followed him without attempting to put a bullet in his body, which was an improvement from before.

“I let you Bats off way too lightly,” Hood grumbled as they landed on a cargo box, and he aggressively hip checked Tim out of the way. “Stomping all over my territory like you belong here.”

For the first time since Hood had come back to life, Tim flashed an involuntary smile at him. “We keep your life interesting.”

Hood turned away from his grin, shoulders tensing. “That’s one way of putting it. Oh, fucking hell, is that Roberts?”

Tim followed the direction his helmet was pointed in, crouching low as he watched a man step out of a truck, shouting orders at some other men milling around the docks. “Roberts, as in the brother to your right hand man?”

Hood snapped his neck to look at him. “How the hell did you know that?” He held up a hand when Tim opened his mouth. “Rhetorical, kid. I don’t want to know about your stalkerish tendencies; I might be tempted to shoot you.”

Tim tilted his head. “Fair enough. I’ll bet you there’s at least a hundreds pounds of white stuff in that truck.”

Hood let out a short bark of laughter. “A hundred? What kind of sheltered life have you been leading?”

“I said at least,” Tim grumbled, but Hood was already jumping down, guns blazing. Shouting and scrambling ensued, and Tim sighed as he jumped down into the fray.

That marked the first of many moments when they teamed up, working on the cases the others overlooked. Despite Babs word of caution, Tim found Hood was easy to get along with. The distance between them eased, although Hood still sometimes looked at him like he was waiting for him to snap.

Tim wasn’t angry or bitter over the crushing defeat he’d been delivered by Hood’s hands. He felt that nothing that was done to him mattered. He could be beaten, shattered, killed, and yet he couldn’t resent Hood for a second. To love was to hurt, was it not? Didn’t that mean that in his own demented way, Jason loved him?

I care, Jason’s violence told him. I care so much I wanted you to die, Jason’s bloody hands promised him.

I love you, too, Tim’s broken body chirped back. I love you so much I would die for you, his bleeding heart promised in return.

***

“Violence is not beautiful,” Cass told him as he laid in the medbay, throat freshly stitched up by Leslie’s steady hands. “It is demeaning. Always.” She looked grave, dark eyes flicking from his neck to his eyes.

Tim swallowed painfully and couldn’t respond. Not that he’d know how to, anyway. What could you tell the girl who was molded into a weapon about violence that she didn’t already know?

“The one who gave you this speaks only in violence,” Cass gently threaded her fingers through his hair, and his eyes fluttered shut as he relaxed into the soothing motion. “Will you respond in kind?”

Maybe violence was demeaning. But for some people, it was all they knew.

Tim let himself drift off into a dream where the people he cared about called him Tim and the man who’d slit his neck broke each of his bones so gently, it was like being wrapped up in a hug.

***

Damian was exactly like his father, and Tim wasn’t sure what to do with that fact. The way he looked aside, he carried himself just like Bruce. When he scowled, all Tim could see was the stubborn set of Bruce’s jaw, and it made it hard for him to dislike him. When it came to Bruce, Tim struggled not to be biased. It felt like he’d built the world Tim lived in, and hating Damian seemed like a cruel betrayal.

It was just that Damian made it so difficult not to hate him. The (multiple) murder attempts aside, every word the little boy said was vile enough to offend even Duke, who was usually very good at hiding his annoyance. His vendetta against Tim in particular didn’t help his case, either. If there was a Tim Hate Club, Damian would be the president.

“Give him time,” Dick insisted, who was already disturbingly fond of the demon brat. Damian had him wrapped around his pinky and it didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “He just needs to adapt. He has to unlearn years of what he thought was right, and that includes being the ‘true heir’. It isn’t easy for him.”

It isn’t easy for me either, Tim choked on his thoughts, as he always did.

“Everyone must learn to compromise,” was Bruce’s brilliant contribution. “Even with those who wish us harm.”

Tim gave him a flat look, and he liked to think that Bruce’s responding frown was more sheepish than consternated. He looked over to where Damian and Cass were sparring, the former more level headed than he was when he sparred (ie tried to kill under the guise of training) Tim.

The problem was, Tim could see so much of himself in Damian. The part of him that begged the world to see him was so clearly reflected in the youngest Wayne. Damian wanted to mark his place in the world, to be known so badly that it burned in his eyes. More than that, he could see that he needed Bruce to be proud of him. To look at him and care. Just like Tim did.

“You are nothing like me,” he whispered, and the lie was so absurd that he couldn’t trick even himself into believing it.

In the end, only one of them was Bruce’s son, though. In the end, only one of them would be remembered.

***

It was almost funny how much flake Jason got from Dick and Stephanie for calling Tim Replacement for so long. They always seemed so annoyed on his behalf while Tim never uttered a word about it. Because it was true, in any way you could think about it. Sure, Jason replaced Dick once upon a time, but he hadn’t meant to take over his life. He’d just replaced him as Robin, whereas Tim had tried to live in Jason’s skin.

One day, when they were trying to stake out some of Penguin’s goons from a warehouse’s rafter, he told Jason about it.

“Yeah, okay, you lost me,” Jason was balancing precariously on a rafter beam, somehow graceful despite his bulk. He looked tempted to push Tim off the beam. “Is that some metaphorical shit that I’m missing?”

“Isn’t it normal to want to live under the skin of your loved ones?” Tim frowned at Jason, who stared at him like he was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

“There is something fucking wrong with you,” Jason shook his head, disbelieving. “Like, genuinely something fucked up about you. Go check out a doctor, kid. I think that mask is starting to fuse into your skin and is messing with your brain.”

“I’m serious,” Tim insisted. “Haven’t you ever felt like invading someone’s soul and mind? Just because you want to understand them?” Just because you want to be them?

“No!” Jason threw his hands up in the air, and Tim had to shush him before he got them caught. Jason lowered his voice, indignation coloring his tone like a violent bruise. “Are you telling me you want to crawl under Dickwing’s skin? Wear that ridiculously skintight suit?”

“Not Dick,” Tim said, dismissively. At least, not only Dick. “I was talking about you.”

Jason paused, seemingly genuinely baffled. He had long since stopped paying attention to the thugs below them who were unloading cases of guns and bickering loudly. He tried to recover quickly, defensive sarcasm lacing his voice as he said, “I feel so honored.”

There was a surprising tinge of honesty to his words, and Tim wished he could see his face. “To be someone is to know them in their entirety,” Tim explained, although he had a feeling he was doing a poor job of putting it into words. “It is the purest form of devotion.”

“I wonder what the hell goes on in that head of yours sometimes,” Jason shook his head, completely bewildered. “Now, come on. Get your devoted ass down there and kicking butt.” He leaped from the rafter and Tim chased after him just like he used to when he was young and happy and taking pictures of a hero he thought would never know his name.

In the end, Jason would never know his name. But at least he’d know his mind. That was more than anyone else had ever done for him.

***

When Bruce vanished, Tim all but lost his mind.

Everyone was so set on the idea that he was dead that they refused to listen to a word he’d said. Tim was furious and shocked not only by their lack of faith in him, but by their lack of faith in Bruce. It was Batman, Bruce Wayne who’d gone and left no trace. He would never die on them. Not like this.

When he and Dick blew up at each other over it, he was terrified that he was going to lose the man who’d once given him hope. In a cruel turn of events, he lost something almost worse. He lost Robin in the most callous manner possible.

He lost Robin to Damian, and it was like being torn out of his skin. “What,” Tim pointed at Damian, who stood smug in the Batcave like the cat who caught the cream. “Is he wearing?”

“Don’t you think it looks better on me?” Damian opened his arms to show off his tailored suit, and Tim wondered if Alfred was in on it. If everyone around him thought that Damian was more deserving of the role than him.

“Damian needs it, R,” Dick looked at him, pleading but unforgiving. “You are my equal. You don’t need the suit anymore.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I need,” Tim spat, and he couldn’t remember ever spitting words with such vitriol at the man who stood before him. “This is not me graduating from sidekick to something more, this is you giving away what I’ve fought tooth and nail to earn.”

“I’ve been in your position, once,” Dick tried to assure him, holding out his hands like he was soothing a wild animal. Tim certainly felt like one. “I thought that Robin was my whole world. But you’ve grown, R, and you deserve more. A name to call your own.”

“I have no other name,” Tim couldn’t even look at Damian, at the red, yellow, and green he wore. He wondered, faintly, if those was how Jason felt when he saw him. If this was how Dick felt when he first met Jason in his suit. “I have nothing but this, Dick.”

“You can try on the Batgirl costume for size,” Damian gloated, and every single barb the boy had ever sent his way dug beneath his flesh and carved away at him.

“Damian,” Dick scolded, but it was halfhearted. His eyes were full of concern as he reached for Tim, but there was frustration in his face as well. “You need to rest. You need to stop fighting so hard to fit into this suit, and you need to let Bruce lie.”

There was grief in his face but Tim could hardly care. There was no need to grieve, because Bruce wasn’t dead. “I will not let him lie. I will not let this go, Dick, because he isn’t dead. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove it to all of you.”

He shoved past Dick, so angry that his eyes felt hot. Damian looked like he was going to step into his path, but he faltered upon seeing the black rage on his face. For a moment, he looked unsure, and Tim didn’t even deign to look at him.

Tim was going to get Bruce back one way or another. Robin or not. He’d make a different name for himself. Become someone new and let Damian have his leftovers.

Tim was cold and empty and he wish Dick would chase after him. That he’d crawl after him and show him that he cared for Tim half as much as he cared for Dick. But it would never happen. Because Dick had Damian and Tim had never been chosen over anybody else.

***

It wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it’d be. He’d gone through hell and back to find where Bruce had vanished to, and yet now that he’d returned, all Tim felt was exhausted.

He stared at Bruce’s bulky, unmoving form on the cot and tried to reconcile the weak man that laid before him with the powerful one he used to know. It was terrifying how frail he looked, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. It was so at odds with how Tim had always pictured him to be that it felt like it rattled his whole perception.

“He’ll live,” Dick placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, the shock having long been washed from his face. He looked tired, like being Batman had rotted him to the core. “Thanks to you.”

Tim exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t easy.”

Dick squeezed, like he was making sure he was real. “I heard you go by Red Robin, now. It’s a good name.”

Tim hadn’t realized just how much time had passed since he’d last talked to Dick. It felt like he’d been Red Robin forever at this point, even when the ghost of Robin still clung at his shoulders. “You can laugh about it. Steph and Duke thought it was the funniest thing ever. They’ve been to the restaurant more times this month than they have the entirety of their lives before.”

“I like it,” Dick assured him, and Tim had missed this. The easy conversation and Dick’s lighthearted nature. “R, I want you to know I didn’t make the decision to give Robin to Damian because I thought you were unworthy.” So they were going to do this here.

“The problem wasn’t your intent, Dick. It was the fact that you made that decision at all. You made that decision for me,” Tim reached out and gently grabbed Bruce’s hand, refusing to look up at Dick. “Your Batman didn’t want me as Robin; he wanted Damian. And that really fucking hurt.”

Dick made a wounded sound. “R, no matter what my Batman or Bruce’s Batman may want, you know that I will always want you, right?”

It was a lie, but it was a beautiful. It was a lie Tim was willing to let deceive him. “At least Damian will back off on the attempted murder for now.”

His attempt at lightening the mood seemed to relieve Dick, who laughed a little too hard. “Thanks for not giving up on Bruce. We’re all back together now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tim glanced up at Dick, who was gazing down at Bruce with an unreadable gaze. “He’ll be okay,” he said, softly. He reached up to squeeze Dick’s hand, which still laid on his shoulder. “You can finally rest.”

“Right,” Dick reached out to brush Bruce’s grown out hair out of his face. His face twisted in his sleep, smoothing out as Dick gently tucked a flyaway hair behind his ear. “I guess I can.”

***

Once Bruce had been brought back from the time stream, Tim started having nightmares. Not the kind where you woke up screaming, but the kind where you woke up choking on tears.

He couldn’t remember his nightmares, and it made him feel sick. As terrible as they were, he understood what it was like to be forgotten. Like you’d never existed in the first place.

His nightmares were more emotion than images or situations. Indescribable emotions that lingered in his waking mind in unwanted fragments. His tears filled his lungs and his throat and spilled out his eyes in painful rivulets.

Oh, how Tim wanted comfort in those ugly moments. He wanted human warmth and murmured words of assurance and a cup of hot chocolate made from love-worn hands. He wanted conversation and companionship and to be reminded that he was not alone.

Tim wanted and wanted and the world deliberately and methodically forgot every single one of those desires like he’d never had them in the first place.

***

Jason came over for dinner on one of the early days into Bruce’s recovery. Bruce perked up at the sight of him, although he did his best to hide his excitement. Jason moved awkwardly around the manor; not unfamiliar, just unsure.

They had steak that night (sans Damian, who had a tofu salad), and Dick wouldn’t stop trying to pass off his green beans onto Jason’s plate. Steph caught on and started doing it as well, snickering each time Jason looked away and then back to see another vegetable on his plate. “You guys are all sick fucks,” Jason hissed, and Dick clamped his hands over Damian’s ears in protest.

“Language,” Bruce said, softly, and Jason huffed in reply. Bruce smiled ever so slightly, and Jason seemed to straighten at the sight. Like an automatic response. It made something ugly twist in Tim’s chest. Something that felt a lot like longing.

After dinner, Jason looked ready to leave, but Dick grabbed him by his jacket before he could dip. “Do you want to grab some supplies before you go?”

Jason’s eyes were like a tumultuous ocean, suspicion and aching hunger warring with one another. His and Dick’s relationship had never been an easy one, but it’d reached a tentative place where he was the only one Jason called brother. Sometimes Tim saw him staring at Dick with a startled, starry look, and he understood him. He felt his yearning deep in his bones. “I’m all stocked up, Dickhead.”

“Come on, I was cleaning out some of the rooms and I found a few things I thought you might want,” Dick pulled at his sleeve, pleadingly, and the rest of the Bats watched like they were witnessing a ping pong match.

“Fine,” Jason said between gritted teeth, grudgingly trailing his happy older brother up the stairs.

Bruce waved away Tim and Cass when they offered to help him up, and they wandered to the kitchen where they helped clean the dishes despite Alfred’s protests. “You can go make Bruce take his meds if you want something to do,” Duke suggested, happily snatching up the easiest task of drying the utensils.

Alfred looked considering for a moment, before walking back to the dining room with a determined look on his face. Tim and Steph exchanged looks, and Steph snickered out, “B hates taking those pills. Who do you think will out-stubborn the other?”

“Father of course,” Damian piped up, although he looked doubtful of his own claim.

“Bruce doesn’t stand a chance,” Tim shook his head, elbow deep in the sink. “I’ve seen Alfred force feed Jason medicine when he’s sick. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Ten minutes later, and the dishes were all done. They migrated to the foyer, chattering away as Dick and Jason came back down with a box in either of their arms. “This is not a few things, Dickhead,” Jason grumbled, but there were was a deceptive warmth to his face and he didn’t look as tense as he’d appeared all throughout dinner.

“Just be gracious I thought of you,” Dick said cheerfully, stacking his box on top of Jason’s as they approached the door.

“I’ll see you shitheads later than, I guess,” was Jason’s crude farewell.

Just as his hand landed on the door knob, however, Dick exclaimed, “Wait! I forgot, there’s one more thing.” He sped off, practically bounding up the stairs. When he came back down, he was holding something red and orange in his hands. “You used to wear this all the time, just before you…” He trailed off, smile faltering. Without another word, he held out the item and Tim swallowed back a gasp.

It was the scarf he’d given Jason all those years ago on that rooftop. It looked worn and small, but Jason reached out with something like reverence. “You still kept it?” Jason sounded choked up, voice gruff. He placed it carefully on his stack of boxes, gaze steady on Dick. “It’s been so long. I don’t even remember where I got it.”

“You really loved  it,” Dick looked hopeful. “We didn’t throw away a single thing of yours, Jay. You never really died.”

“Yes, I did, Dick,” Jason said, quietly. “But I’m glad you didn’t think so.”

He left without another word, and Dick stared after him like he’d vanished into thin air. For once, Tim was grateful toward Damian, who hesitantly reached out to Dick and pulled him away from the other’s prying eyes.

“I didn’t know Jason was the sentimental type,” Steph said with a smile, but it was subdued. She looked thoughtful. “I wonder if Bruce bought that scarf for him.”

“Yeah,” Tim felt like he was eleven-years-old again, wrapping his knitted scarf around a small Jason’s neck. “I wonder.”

***

One fine Thursday evening, Tim had an unwelcome visitor stop by. There was a jiggling at the window and he only had a few seconds to wonder which of the Bats was breaking in before Damian was slipping in through the now open window.

“Sit,” Damian ordered, and Tim cocked an eyebrow at him. The kid promptly sat cross legged on one side of the low table, impatiently waiting for him to follow in suit.

With a grumble, Tim kneeled down on the other side, cushion worn beneath his knees. “You break into my apartment and try to order me around?”

“Looks to me like you obeyed perfectly,” Damian said snidely, and Tim weighed the pros and cons of kicking him out a window. Pros; his life would be so much easier, Damian wouldn’t be invading his space, and he wouldn’t have to have what looked unsettlingly enough to be a heart-to-heart. Cons; Dick might be sad?

“If you’re just going to be rude, you can get out,” Tim replied dryly, fully aware that Damian would do no such thing until he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

Damian ignored him, looking around his small apartment with clear distaste. “It’s a pigsty in here. Is that the clone’s shirt?”

Red-faced, Tim waved a frantically dismissive hand. “No. I just happen to buy one that looks exactly like the one Kon wears. Don’t tell Jon.” Damian didn’t look impressed, and Tim hurriedly changed the subject. “Why are you even here, Damian?”

Damian’s face turned serious, and he templed his fingers in front of him. The image was so ridiculous that Tim barely managed to choke back a laugh. The twitch of his eyebrow seemed to signal that he’d failed in that respect. “Enough of your hysterics. I’m here to make amends and accept your apology. And give one to you as well, I suppose.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped as he groaned aloud. “Dick put you up to this, didn’t he? Also, I recall ever giving you an apology. If that’s it, you can scram.”

Damian’s face went through a very complicated process wherein he did an impressive job of not drawing his sword and skewering Tim for his audacity. “Grayson’s words have no sway over me-”

“Right,” Tim muttered under his breath.

“-and so I am here of my own accord. Would you be so foolish as to not take this generous olive branch I’ve extended your way?” Damian glowered darkly at him.

Tim snorted. “I didn’t hear an apology anywhere in there.”

“I am sorry for my previous behavior and for attempting to kill you a few times,” Damian sounded robotic, like he was reading off a script. He shifted uncomfortably, and for the first time, Tim noticed how awkward he appeared. “I will likely not try to do so again.”

Tim’s smirk fell away, and suddenly he was exhausted. “Damian, you don’t have to do this. You got the suit and the title, just like you’ve always wanted. You’re Robin now. There’s nothing else you could want from me.” There was nothing Tim had left to give.

“That’s not true,” Damian swiftly said, heatedly. “We share much in common, and would benefit from an alliance of sorts.”

Tim laughed, sardonically. “What could we possibly have in common?”

Damian was the true blood son of Bruce. Tim was the interloper who didn’t know his place. Damian made Dick smile and Tim hadn’t spoken to his first hero in weeks.

“We share the same Father, do we not?” Damian said, intense eyes drilling into him.

It was the kindest thing Tim could remember him ever saying to him, but he couldn’t help the ugly laugh that fell from his lips. He should just accept the olive branch, take his words of camaraderie at face value for once in his life. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t accept such an absurd, foolish statement framed with such innocent conviction.

“We may have been partially raised by the same man, but the one who fathered you is nothing like the man that I’ve known,” Tim shook his head, leaning back in his cushion. “The Bruce who taught you to curb your violence is not the same Bruce who I forced to take me under his wing.”

Damian paused, eyes narrowing. “How so?”

There was a little shard in Tim’s heart that pressed in just the tiniest bit deeper every time he thought about those initial days where Bruce did his best to push him away. “You wanted to be Robin in order to prove yourself worthy. I wanted to be Robin so I could play at being Bruce’s dead son. It was never going to be the same.”

Damian’s eyes darted over his face like he was searching for something. Like he was trying to understand. “Did he hate you? Like how he first hated me?”

The words made Tim’s mind blue-screen and for a second he was at a loss for words. “Damian,” Tim couldn’t ever recall speaking to him so gently, and a part of him wondered if that meant he actually did have something to apologize for. “What made you think that?”

“I’m not stupid,” Damian said quickly, as if Tim had suggested anything of the sort. “I could tell that I wasn’t welcome. Father did not ask for me anymore than he asked for you. I understand that neither he nor the rest of you were fond of me in the beginning, and I accept that. I understand why.”

“You may have been hard to get along with but we hardly hated you,” Tim shook his head. “Bruce of all people never hated you.”

“Sometimes he gets this look in his eyes,” Damian’s shouldered hunched inwards, like he was trying to shrink into nothing. Like he was scared to be perceived. “When I do something wrong. When I use too much force on the criminals or I speak my mind around his office friends. He looks at me like he doesn’t like what he sees.”

Tim swallowed hard. It felt, abruptly, like he was out of his depth. “Bruce doesn’t hate you because of stuff like that. He knows you’re trying to be good.”

“I’m not a good person,” Damian refused to meet his eyes, hands screwed up into tiny fists in his lap. “I’m not a good person and I hate it so much.”

Tim looked at the boy in front of him, and all he saw was the little brother that he wanted so desperately once upon a time. “Dick thinks you’re a good person. Bruce and Alfred do too,” he said slowly. Damian didn’t move. “Damian, I don’t care if you’re a bad person. I don’t care if you can’t be ‘fixed’ like everyone wants you to be. The person you are right now is the one I respect. The person you are tomorrow, good or bad, is the one everyone will care about.”

“What if I can’t ever be who they want me to be?” Damian looked up, eyes dry and mouth set in a grim line. “What if this is all I can ever be?”

“Then that would be enough,” Tim spoke the words he’d wished a thousand times that someone would speak to him. “You would be enough.”

“I’m trying so hard,” Damian sounded small, almost angry in his vulnerability. “I want to be sorry for what I’ve done to you, but I don’t understand why it was so wrong to try and take my rightful place the only way I knew how. I want to feel terrible just like everyone keeps telling me I should, but I feel as if I respect you more now for surviving. I feel that what I did was not wrong and that it simply showed me that you deserved to be Robin.”

Tim stared. “You thought I deserved to be Robin?” Not a single person had ever told him that. Not Bruce or any of the Bats. Not even Cass had made him feel as if he were worthy of the role he’d quite literally taken.

“Of course,” Damian said firmly, his confidence unshaken. “If you were to ever die beneath my blade, then you were unworthy. But you didn’t. You survived everything I threw at you, and you became the source of my respect and envy. So, I still can’t understand how what I did was wrong.”

Tim looked at the innocent face of his attempted murderer and wondered how someone could be both so wrong and so right. Killing had been embedded in Damian’s training and in everything he knew to be right, but that didn’t justify what he’d tried to do to Tim. Somehow, though, it also did. It was right and it was wrong and Tim was tired of the classifications, of the simple black and white of the world.

“You don’t have to understand now,” Tim’s voice trembled like a leaf in the wind, but Damian didn’t mock him for it. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice. “And I know you didn’t truly apologize, but I really don’t give a damn, Damian. I just want you to stop trying to hurt me.”

“Okay,” Damian looked down at his lap and nodded like he was trying not to cry. Even softer, he repeated himself. “Okay.”

If they were normal, this was the part when Tim would go over and wrap him in a hug. This was the part when they would cry and cry out all of their repression and anger and bitter misunderstandings. But they weren’t normal. They could never be. And so they sat there, two sides of the same coin.

Two halves of a broken heart.

***

Gotham City seemed to preen at the fact that her Batman had returned, and Bruce swept through each night like a crushing hammer of justice. He wrapped up cases faster than ever before, his recovery period having given him time to work on the more analytical side of things. Him and Damian worked well together despite their rocky beginnings and Tim was relieved to discover that Bruce still looked to him to provide support.

He had not been thrown away. Not yet. Not before his use as Red Robin ran dry.

“The Riddler has given us almost a month to solve this riddle,” Bruce brought up the display screen on the Batcomputer before moving aside to let Babs take control.

“That’s more time than he usually gives,” Babs noted, fingers flying across the keyboard. She flicked through files faster than Tim could blink, and he marveled at the fact that he still had much to learn. “Normally, he likes it when we’re working on a time crunch. Part of his gimmick is trying to make us scramble under pressure. The question is whether he’s being generous this time or there’s something up his sleeve.”

Bruce leaned forward like he could parse out the answer just from osmosis. His cowl was laying crumpled next to they keyboard, and without it, his minute facial expressions spoke volumes. He was intent on the issue at hand, but the unfocus of his eyes signaled that there was something else on his mind. “There is no point in mulling over this all day. This will probably have to wait for another time.”

“I guess,” Babs stretched, back cracking audibly. She took off her glasses to gently pinch at the bridge of her nose. “If I have to look at Riddler’s face for one more second, I might be tempted to break the screen.”

“Red Robin, there is something I want to discuss with you,” Bruce turned to him, more demand than suggestion. “If you have time right now.”

Tim tried not to tense, but it was difficult when it was clear Bruce was gearing up to say something that was either a) assholish or b) going to change the very foundation of their relationship. If he was as lucky as he usually was, it’d be both. “I have time.” His whole life revolved around Bruce. There wasn’t much else he could be busy doing.

Babs warily pushed her wheelchair away from the computer, eyes darting between them. “Should I be here for this or is it a private conversation?”

“It’s up to R.”

Tim had no clue what Bruce was about to tell him, but there was very little he didn’t trust Babs to hear. “You can stay. Go ahead, Bruce.”

Bruce squared his shoulders and bluntly stated, “I think that it’s about time that you tell us who you are.”

There was, Tim thought faintly, not a single other sentence that could’ve been as similar to a punch in the gut as the ones Bruce just uttered. “What?” Tim’s voice was strangled, and he cleared his throat. “You already know who I am.”

"Both you and I know that isn’t true,” Bruce told him, and there was as stoniness to his eyes that Tim had never seen before.

“Why are you doing this?” Tim took an aborted step back, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal.

“If you want us to fully trust you, you have to show us your identity,” Bruce took a step closer, and for the first time since they’d met, Tim found himself afraid. Just a little spike of fear, but it was an emotion so entirely foreign that it might as well have been choking him. “We can’t operate to our fullest capacity if you don’t demonstrate that we can trust you. You know who we are; it’s time you show us who you are.”

“Bruce,” Babs said sharply, glaring at him pointedly. Her knuckles were white where her hands gripped on her arm rests. “Enough. You mean well, but you’re going about it wrong. You sound like you’re threatening him.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and Tim dug his fingers into his thighs in order to anchor himself. Stiltedly, Bruce said, “I’m not trying to scare you. I just feel we know very little about you despite how much time has passed, and I want to remedy that.”

Tim barely heard him, breath shuddering uglily in his chest. “You do know who I am. I’ve never once been anyone but myself.”

“I don’t want to know about Red Robin,” Bruce shook his head, expression carved of stone. “I want you to tell me who you are underneath that mask. You have a name, don’t you? Yet you don’t even trust us with that much.”

Babs lips tightened disapprovingly, but she didn’t say anything. Her eyes flicked to Tim, like she was waiting for a response. He didn’t know what to say. Sure, he had a name, but it didn’t mean anything. He might’ve been a person outside of the cape, but he hated that person. That forgettable, unhappy person who wouldn’t be anyone to the Bats if they truly knew him.

Tim may have grown in size and in mind, but in his soul he was still that little boy waiting for his parents to love him again. The others didn’t know anything about that terrified child, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He’d proven himself to be good enough with the mask on over and over again, so he didn’t understand why they needed more from him. He’d trained just like the rest of them, had dragged Bruce from the time stream when everyone else thought he was dead, had given everything he had to his vigilante role time and time again. Yet, here Bruce was, telling him that it wasn’t enough. Asking him for the one thing that he wasn’t willing to give.

“Will you knowing my name change anything?” He croaked out, steeling his back like he had something to prove. Like he might just snap in two otherwise. “Does forcing my hand right now fix that broken trust? Bruce, I would give you anything you asked for, but not this. You have to understand that my identity is the one thing you can never have. I would do absolutely anything for you and for the people we both care about, I just ask for this one thing.”

“But why?” When he wanted to, Bruce could be as unreadable as a blank page. Tim had stalked him for years and had been by his side for even longer, but he still couldn’t parse out the minute changes in his expression. It burned, like yet another border erected between them. “You cannot expect me to fully trust and accept you without even telling me who you are. What makes you so unwilling to reveal your identity? You know how it looks, R. You are only setting yourself up for suspicion and mistrust if you continue to withhold important information.”

Babs inhaled sharply at that, but Tim barely reacted. He did know how it looked. He knew exactly how Bruce operated, and his paranoia would never let something so openly suspicious slide. He simply couldn’t help but wish that he might be an exception. “You’ve never cared before,” Tim took a step away from Bruce, shoulders hunching inwards like he could hide away from the conversation. “You’ve never once asked.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “I admit that I was negligent before. It was a troubling time for me and I didn’t due my due diligence when you appeared from nowhere. But I’m asking now.”

Tim wanted this life so badly. It terrified him how much he wanted it. He wanted the companionship, the trust, the conversations that he’d been starved of for years as a child. He wanted it more than anything, but here Bruce was, asking for the one thing he could not give. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if he took off his mask and they looked at him like he was a stranger. What if seeing Timothy Drake made them forget Robin? What if everything he’d worked so hard to build came crumbling down because of one bad choice?

“My name,” Tim said flatly, like he was giving up his life. “Is Timothy Drake.” It was the first time he’d introduced himself in over a decade, and the name felt foreign on his lips.

Bruce didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgment, although Tim already knew he was breaking down his name and analyzing every single letter. “Show us who you are.”

“I won’t take off my mask,” Tim said, and he offered no explanation. No excuse or justification. He’d made a statement, but it sounded more like a plea. Like he was begging Bruce for once in his life to not ask for more; to be satisfied with what he already knew.

He forgot, foolishly, that he wasn’t talking to Bruce. He was talking to Batman.

And Batman never bent.

“Robin,” Bruce gathered himself up like a looming shadow, eyes steely and voice grim. “Report.”

Tim recoiled viciously, feeling like Bruce had just reached into his chest and squeezed. The days where he’d been Robin were long over, and Bruce knew it. He hadn’t left that identity behind so much as it’d been ripped from him, torn from his limbs like seams coming undone. A puppet becoming unmade. He’d been shunned from that role, and yet here Bruce was, barking the name at him like he was a dog who could be ordered at his will.

Tim wasn’t supposed to be a dog. He was supposed to be a robin, flying high and free without a care in the world. More than that, he was supposed to be one of Bruce’s robins. Bruce’s robins were beautiful, courageous birds that you could never forget, no matter how hard you tried.

Tim was no Robin.

“Nothing to report,” Tim’s voice was frigid, every single wall he’d ever let down for the man before him slamming back up again. “Sir.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and Babs reached out to him. “R-”

He lurched away ungracefully, and turned to storm away before Bruce’s tense expression could tear into him any further. His stitching was coming undone, the ragged edges of his bloody heart pulling apart.

Just as he’d reached the door, Bruce called out to him. “Without that mask, Robin, who are you?”

Tim rested his hand on the doorknob, and the cold metal bit into his fingers like a reminder that he was pitifully human. “Without the mask, I am nothing.” His voice was painfully hoarse, and he yanked opened the door and all but fled before a response could be uttered.

***

Does it matter if someone loves you if they never show it? If their actions wrench the meaning from the word love? Does their love still hold meaning and gravity if they act like it’s a given thing to be known?

Tim didn’t know. He needed it to be spelled out and spoken aloud and shown in every action. He needed a love with effort, or for him it was no love at all.

***

Tim ran like there was a demon on his tail. He ran to his apartment and then spun in a different direction and kept going. His feet burned through gravel and his sides heaved with pained gasps as he tore through the city.

He ran to the edge of the city and found a dirt path that lead up a hill. He ran until his lungs burned and his eyes watered and Bruce’s dark stare was left in the dust. He only stopped once he’d reached the top of the hill, and he doubled over to catch his breath.

Still gasping for air, he slowly pushed himself into a standing position, eyes sweeping over the view before him.

Gotham was a gruesome, cruel city, but from where Tim stood it suddenly looked beautiful. The grime could not be seen from the hill, and Tim took in the bright lights and towering buildings like he’d never seen them before. He imagined families eating dinner and friends giggling at sleepovers.

Without that mask, Robin, who are you?

Tim had no answer to such a question, and as soon as his breath was coming in even, he inhaled deeply and let out a scream that no one would hear. He screamed his voice hoarse, pouring every ounce of his furious sorrow into it. He screamed, and he wondered if the world would remember such a noise of pain if it couldn’t even remember him.

“Who am I?” Tim shouted, and there was no answer. No reply for his pleading question.

Tim placed his face in his hands and sunk to the dirt floor. He was nothing and nobody and Bruce would never love him unless he took off his mask but if he took off the mask than he’d never love him. No one ever word.

“I just want to know who I am,” Tim whispered, and the world seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

That day, he wasn’t sure how he got home. He wasn’t sure when he took off his suit or how he’d gotten into bed. All he knew was that when he woke up in the morning, he was struck by a strange, empty calm.

The boy sat up in bed as the sun streaked through his curtains, and a curious question fell from his lips as it chased a tired yawn. “Who am I?’

In the deepest crevice of the boy’s mind, a bird wept for freedom.

***

The boy had a name once, he was sure of it. He once had hobbies, likes and dislikes, favorite meals, a reason to continue. The boy once had an identity so fully human in its flaws and strengths that it hurt to think about.

Now, he looked in the mirror and a nothing of a boy stared back. “Who are you?” He asked himself, and his reflection tilted its head in confusion.

In the mirror he could see his eyes and his hair, could point out where his nose rested above his lips, but when he tried to think of his appearance, nothing came to mind. He might not have even been a boy. He looked down at his calloused hands and wondered if he was a man. He didn’t feel like one. He felt lost and empty and naively young.

He lived in an apartment that he never left. He locked himself in and ignored his phone that buzzed away on his desk. Nobody ever came around, and it was clear he lived alone. Days passed and his confusion grew. Time became muddled, and he would stare off into the distance for hours at a time. He startled every time he looked in a mirror, almost like he’d forgotten his own self existed, and he began to avoid reflections.

When his dwindling supply of food ran out, he finally decided it was time to go out. He took a shower, put on some clothes, and then went out like a ghost to haunt the streets of a city he couldn’t recall.

He wasn’t sure where he was walking to. Everything was new to him, and nobody seemed inclined to respond to him if he were to ask where the nearest grocery store was. Their eyes slipped over him, looking at him and then away as quick as lightning, and the hordes of people flowed around him like river over a rock.

Despite being surrounded by people for the first time since he could remember, the boy had never felt so alone. To be in an empty room by yourself was one thing; to be so clearly part of a crowd and yet mean nothing to any of them was another. He walked just like they walked and spoke just like they spoke, yet he felt profoundly distant from them all.

He wanted go up to one of them and shake them until they looked him in the eye. He wanted to ask them who am I? He wanted to be seen as more than a face in the crowd, and it scared him how badly he wanted it.

The boy wandered the city until the sky darkened and the people started slinking back home. Back to loved ones, back to the person they were at the end of the day. He had no one to go back to, not even himself.

He walked to the heart of the city and ignored the way his feet ached beneath him and his stomach growled in hunger. Did it matter what his body was demanding of him when he didn’t even know who his body belonged to?

There was a tall building that caught his eye. It was an office building, nothing special, and yet something about it lured him closer. He found a side door that he was surprised to discover was unlocked. He peered inside to find a staircase, and for a second the image of green pixie boots stepping down the stairs flashed through his mind. The thought was gone as quickly as it came, and he was left frowning in consternation.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to go up at least a dozen flight of stairs, but he was shockingly not winded when he made it to the top. Only slightly out of breath, he pushed open the final door and stepped onto the rooftop of the building.

Two figures were already standing on the ledge of the roof, but before the boy could flee, the door fell shut behind him. He froze as both of their heads swiveled toward him, and a small voice whispered in the back of his head, Batman and Robin. The names came unbidden, and his eyes flicked from the tall one dressed as a bat, to the small boy wielding a katana.

Ask, the city rumbled beneath his feet. Ask, and you will finally have your answer.

“Do you know who I am?” he blurted out, and the stars laughed at him from above.

“Should we?” Robin sneered, pointing the tip of his blade at him. He stood straight and proud despite his stature, and there was something so achingly familiar about his bravado that it burned in his chest.

Batman stepped towards him, cowl rendering his face unreadable. “Quiet, Robin,” he appeared to be staring intently at the boy, although it was hard to tell due to his white lenses. Robin scowled but complied, lips pressing into a thin line. “You. Come here.”

The boy stumbled forward when Batman crooked a finger at him, cautiously coming within a few feet of the duo. There was a ringing in his ears and a thrumming in his feet, and he felt that his tenuous grasp on reality was beginning to slip. This moment, he realized, marked a point that would churn the heavens.

Batman reached out and the boy didn’t move, allowing a thickly gloved hand press against his cheek. It felt so viscerally foreign that it wrapped back around to being familiar. It was a touch that seared into his skin despite the cold. Behind Batman, Robin fidgeted restlessly from one foot to another, seemingly frustrated with the way his eyes kept slipping from the boy’s face.

“I think,” Batman intoned gravely. “That I know who you are.”

There was a tremble to his voice that he’d never expected to hear. Inhaling deeply, the boy whispered, “Who am I?”

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and a rough thumb wiped them away. “You are Red Robin. You are Timothy Drake Wayne.”

The boy’s little hummingbird heart trembled. “No. That’s not it. That’s not right.”

Batman bowed his head over him, shoulders curling in like he was trying to shield him with his body. Like he could hide him away and protect him forever. “You are my son.”

There it was. The answer to the question he’d been wondering for his whole life. The only thing he’d ever wanted to hear. “That’s all I ever wanted to be,” the boy wept, and as his legs gave out beneath him, strong arms caught him in a cradle.

“Timothy,” Batman breathed his name like a promise. “I know who you are. I remember.”

The boy shuddered, each word tearing him apart just the same as it held him together. “Will you ever forget me?” His voice was faint, and all around him Gotham mourned.

“Never,” Batman swore, and Tim’s head lolled as he gazed up at the dark night sky.

The stars were clear for once, and they beckoned at him to join them. To rise with the moon every night, never to be forgotten. “Thank you,” Tim’s voice was barely audible and there was a translucency to his skin that made Robin stare. Batman hardly seemed to notice, the white lenses of his cowl focused intently on his face. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Tim began to disappear in the arms of his idol, his mentor, his father, and he wouldn’t have chosen any other place to go. Batman held tight to his slowly vanishing body, and Tim felt a warmth like never before. He turned his head and pressed his forehead against the bat symbol stretched across his reliable chest, and thought he felt his steady heartbeat.

There was a bird in Tim that would never die, even as he slipped away from the world he once knew. That bird spread its wings and for the first time in its life, it flew into the crisp night air and joined the laughing stars above.

Tim was six years old when everybody forgot he existed.

He was seventeen years old when the world finally remembered.