Work Text:
“I am coming to you live from a holding cell in a musty underground cave system.”
Tim Drake is a normal teenager. He goes to school, takes pictures, and keeps up with public figures. No matter what Ives says, it’s not stalking. They live in Gotham! All the information is for his… personal safety.
Just because he knows where Batman and his rotating cast of Robins live, the routes they take on patrol, and their usual chili dog modifications doesn’t mean he’s invading their privacy. He likes them a normal amount. It’s for this reason that he acts like a perfectly normal person when he finally gets the opportunity to meet one of his heroes.
“Huh.” Nightwing stares at Tim’s incredibly professional set-up (his busted Macbook mini and the $6000 mic he keeps in his travel backpack). The light of his life (a doubly expensive mic) stays at home. “I’ve always wanted to know how you could lug around recording equipment while running around Gotham.”
The only reason Tim hasn’t passed out is because he’s not sure the Riddler won’t feed him to some giant rat. You see, Tim is a stowaway. He's really not supposed to be here. He has a nice, warm bed waiting for him at home. His parents probably think he's picking his nose or drinking toilet water or whatever they think children do. Lord knows they don't stick around enough to find out.
An hour ago, he was camped out on top of a nondescript building watching Nightwing fly through the air. Usually, he’d focus on Batman and Robin. But it’d been a month since Nightwing was in Gotham, which felt like more of a lifetime to Tim who’d developed an unhealthy parasocial relationship. He would never admit to the stalking, but he knows the way he feels is sad. Very sad. His dreams have escalated from a 5 year old’s wish to swing around with Robin to a teenager’s slow and steady flame of passion. He no longer fantasizes about swinging with Robin - not publicly, anyway - but the joy he gets from his favorite vigilantes has stayed the same.
Moving on. Tim could never justify a night trip to Bludhaven, but he could make up for the lack of Batman and Robin this week with a surplus of Nightwing photos to add to his ‘Best Flips’ tag on Tumblr. Nightwing has a very passionate Tumblr following. Tim had to take advantage of the opportunity.
What had been a chill and mostly normal night of watching Nightwing fend off the Riddler’s newest plans was interrupted by a deep thud from behind him. A whimper from the ground revealed his assaulter. Tim had nearly been crushed to death by a giant monkey.
Nightwing soon followed, dropping beside the unmoving monkey. He spared Tim a glance to make sure he was unharmed and then got to trading blows with another foe. Tim kept himself busy with taking pictures, excitement winning out over self-preservation. This fight would give him dream material, daydream material, blog material, and a script!
Only, seconds later, Tim’s vision blacked out from what he assumed was a gas of some sort. He’d woken up propped against a wall in the room they were currently in, backpack secure and camera slung around his neck.
Not-so-good situation aside, he thinks it’s worth it since he can have a normal conversation with one of his heroes. Or semi-normal. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“It was only a problem in the beginning. I had a few close calls, but ever since I lost my first laptop out here this one hasn’t abandoned me yet. It’s a steep price, but the tiny size is perfect for travel. I spent a while picking this one out.” Tim rambles.
Nightwing hums in acknowledgement, a slight uptick to his lips. “That’s very diligent. How old are you, by the way?”
Tim will never admit to swooning at Nightwing’s voice. But who can blame him? It’s Nightwing ! He’s Tim’s favorite (and the first) Robin. Even after branching out on his own, his passion hasn't changed. If anything, he’s gotten bigger and bolder, growing in skill and experience and man Tim just doesn’t know how to contain himself.
His most memorable hug, his most tangible first memory, the first inkling that he had something to dedicate his life to. Nightwing. Dick Grayson. Robin. Tim loves all of him, in every way, for all his reasons.
Tim shifts as the fan on his laptop reminds him of its presence. Well, he can’t just not answer Nightwing. “I’m 13.” He’ll just cut this conversation out of his recording - if he even uploads anything from tonight.
On top of his pictures, Tim has been uploading recordings to Youtube and Spotify for a few years now. His podcast (he's embarrassed to even call it something so official) had a slow start until a certain episode where he got really deep into why he thought Batman wouldn’t kill, then he started trending on Twitter for some reason. That was two years ago. Tim was 11 and chock full of philosophy from a deep dive into Western ideas of morality.
Nightwing stiffens, mouth opening slightly. “I see.”
After a few minutes of listening for bats, birds, and rodent creatures, Tim speaks into his mic again.
“Less than stellar conditions aside,” Tim sniffs and eyes the dingy square room they’re sitting in, a bomb sitting mockingly outside the bars of the cell, “I’m glad to be back to birdwatching.”
Nightwing sits up, seemingly accustomed to badly put together hostage situations. For all Tim knows, he could be watching a monkey picking its nose at the zoo. “Is that what you call it? Birdwatching?”
Tim cringes because the cheesy tone of his podcast title isn’t lost on him. “I mean, you know, Robins… and then you’re Nightwing… and there’s Batman, which– he isn’t really a bird per-say but the spirit is there.”
“I like it! It’s cute.” Nightwing smiles, reaching down to massage one ankle. “Y’know, Robin loves your stuff. He talks non-stop about your episodes when they come out.” He switches to the other, wincing slightly.
Nightwing had fallen wrong while fighting off whatever pandemonium the Riddler had used to distract the Bats. Tim saw him stumble after getting thrown by a man-sized monkey. Tim still hasn’t figured out where the Riddler finds his man-sized monkeys and wasn’t sure whether or not he was hallucinating them in the first place. Only Nightwing’s current actions placate Tim’s worries for his mental facilities.
Even with the slight injury, Nightwing is a lot calmer than he is. Tim can barely record properly. He probably won’t get anything done. The bomb is an imposing presence. He chances a glance at it, scooting further into the cell. He doesn’t know where the countdown is at. Lack of information is one of the problems with being a stowaway.
Tim blushes slightly and buries his mask-covered face into his hoodie. “I didn’t think you guys cared about stuff like that. I mean, not that I’m calling you guys callous, evil, and uncaring–” Tim pauses. His words are coming out wrong. One of his favorite things about the Bats is how actively loved they are by Gotham (and now Bludhaven) and how they love their cities in return. Robin was especially doted on. “No, okay, I mean. I thought you guys would be too busy to listen to–” Now he’s calling them lazy. “I thought he’d have other stuff to do. Not that I think Robin’s slacking or anything. He’s an incredibly hard worker, I think he carries the magic of Robin so well! It’s always the highlight of my night when I can–” Tim stops suddenly. He’s said too much. This is embarrassing.
A hearty laugh cuts him off and Tim looks up to see Nightwing smiling down at him. When did he get off the cell floor?
“I think he’d love to hear that, Mr. Birdwatcher.”
“My name is Tim.” Oops.
Nightwing doesn’t falter. “Tim, then. It’s nice to meet you.” He pauses and tilts his head just so, almost as if he hears something Tim doesn’t. “Robin wants to say hi. Batman wants to know where your parents are.”
Tim suddenly notices the very open cell doors and the very not-exploded bomb. No wonder Nightwing was so calm. Batman and Robin were en-route the entire time. Huh. Could he outrun the Bats?
He packs away his laptop and mic, testing the grip of his sneakers. He can figure out what he’ll upload later. Maybe he’ll spend this coming Friday following the Bats again. He wishes he could spend every night out, but school has been demanding a lot more recently.
Tim slowly inches toward the exit, back facing the open cell door. He has no idea where he is, but he can make it work. “You can tell him hi for me. And tell Batman to mind his own business.” That hurts a lot to say, and he’ll probably kick himself later tonight. He can’t believe he’s giving up this chance. But if they find out who he is - and Tim knows the only thing saving him is the fact that he doesn’t speak to, properly interact with, or get too close to the Bats - he’s done for.
He isn’t too sorry about telling Batman to back off, though. He has a right to his privacy. Tim guiltily fingers the straps of his backpack.
“Actually, I’d love to speak to you face-to-face.” Robin speaks up from behind him and Tim shrieks something unholy. He whirls around to see Robin and Batman standing - well, Robin favors crouching nowadays, not sure what that’s about - a few feet away.
“Robin. Batman. Batman. Robin.” Tim squeaks and swivels his head from side to side. “Nightwing. Robin. Batman.” His face is red, and his palms are sweating.
Batman speaks for the first time, ignoring Tim’s malfunctioning. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“He isn’t, but he’ll need a proper checkup later.” So that’s what the staring was about! Tim thought Nightwing just thought he was really irritating or something. Every time Tim felt the weird tell of someone watching him, he’d look up and Nightwing’s eyes would be closed. They even made eye contact once or twice. It got so awkward that Tim brought out his equipment to dissuade the tensions. Only then did Nightwing’s whole intense aura shift.
“Wait,” Tim starts. The conversation is moving along without him now.
“I say we bring him to the cave and pick his brain.” Robin smiles in a way that doesn’t help to dissuade the ‘Robin is a goblin’ rumors. “Hey, Timmy-”
“His name is Tim.”
“-Timmy, what do you say to riding the Batmobile. I’ll drive and B can walk. Nightwing is kinda cool so he’ll sit shotgun.”
"It's Tim-" Nightwing corrects.
“Robin.” Batman cuts off the impending argument.
Robin is not intimidated. “What, B? It was one time!” He stands abruptly and points a finger at Tim. “Listen and give me your opinion.”
“Oh, I'm not sure I-” Tim cuts himself off as he tries to weasel himself from beneath the arm suddenly thrown around his shoulders.
“If your friend steals a car with his broth– his coworker, the coworker is high on cough medicine and laying in the backseat by the way, you’re basically his nurse,” Jason barrels onwards with his totally hypothetical scenario. “Anyway, he - your friend - nearly crashes into a lake. Would you get into a car with him? Make sure you remember it was a near thing. Just near. It didn’t actually happen, alright?” He crosses his arms and scowls, a near imperceptible jut to his chin.
No, Tim thinks. “Yes,” Tim says. Somehow, he's buried even deeper into Nightwing's side. Even with all the muscle, he's warm and soft and brings up memories of red and green and a roaring crowd. Tim can’t bring himself to pay much attention to what he’s saying. He hasn’t been hugged like this in a while. It’s not even a proper hug, which he thinks is a bit sad.
“Exactly!” Robin throws up his hands, indignation in his voice. “Even if my driving sucks - which it doesn't - how can I get better if I'm never allowed drive?” Judging by the way Nightwing grins, this is a recycled argument.
“It’s dangerous.” Batman says it with an air of finality.
Tim eyes their costumes and the colorful bruises adorning the three vigilantes.
It’s a bit too late for that, Batman.
“It was one time too many. You’re worse than me when I was your age - and that’s really saying something.” Nightwing shivers as if recalling some horrible memory before turning to Batman. “Are you done? This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies.” He tightens his grip around Tim’s shoulders, cutting off his means of escape. Tim curses his perceptiveness.
“Follow me.” Batman acts like he wasn’t just bossed around by his son. He turns in a way that has his cape flowing dramatically behind him. Tim loves that cape. It’s almost enough to distract him from the incoming reveal of his identity and poor life choices.
As they walk, Robin makes up increasingly ridiculous worst-case scenarios that always end in him being the only viable driver left, only Batman won't give him the keys. The Batmobile comes into view way too soon. Tim wets his lips and tries to calculate how much firepower it’d take to knock out Batman, Nightwing, and Robin before they bring him to the cave.
Clearly it won’t work, so Tim thinks he’ll fall on the floor and start screaming instead. Maybe they’ll leave him in an alley and he’ll end up summoning some giant rats to put him out of his misery. He knows it’s a lost cause. The Bats would carry him in their car even if he pissed himself or something. They’d probably want to talk about feelings and whether or not he’s had breakdowns like that before. When they find out how deeply he’s invested in their lives, they’d ask about obsessions and mental health and whether or not his parents know he’s out this late every night. Which- they don’t know anything about Tim, really, but the Bats don’t need to know that. It’s embarrassing.
After an intense round of rock, paper, scissors between Robin and Batman, Robin actually ends up driving them to the Batcave. Tim doesn’t actually get to memorize the turns and landmarks with him trying not to look, smell, or act suspicious. It might be for nothing because Batman spends the entire trip holding tightly onto his seatbelt and clenching his jaw. Nightwing snores in the backseat beside Tim. Robin takes each turn too sharply and doesn’t lose his smug expression the entire way back. Tim thinks he must have hit at least one raccoon as he was driving. He heard a small thud at some point.
--
“So, Tim,” Nightwing begins once they walk into the cave. He only sounds a little bit groggy.
Tim stops his ogling at the gigantic space and turns to face him. He clenches his fist, wishing his backpack would swallow him whole. Here it comes. He’s going to be interrogated and have his memory wiped by some Justice League member.
“How are you?”
“What?”
Batman softens, meeting Tim’s eyes through the cowl. He’s sitting in front of the Bat-computer - Tim loves the whole Bat theme he’s knighting them with - and nursing a bottle of water. “You just went through a stressful experience.” He explains. “Are you feeling alright?” As Batman speaks, Nightwing disappears somewhere behind a white curtain.
“I’m not hurt.” Tim says while looking himself over. His hands are a little scraped up, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. The biggest threat right now is the probability that this is one big dream. The Bats are brighter up close and Tim itches to take out his camera, his phone, something. Their voices are kind in a way Tim hasn’t heard from anyone else. Well, there’s the occasional old lady. The last one he poured his heart out to offered him her son’s hitman services, though. He had no interest in taking her up on that offer, even if his parents were more charged than usual that day.
Robin jumps up to sit on the computer desk, ignoring Batman’s disapproving grunt. He’s removed everything but his domino. Clearly done in a rush, he’s changed into an old T-shirt and some Superman pajama pants. “It’s the old man’s after-patrol check in. He always asks even if nothing really happened. Stupid, right?” Even as he says those words, he leans into Batman’s space and Batman shifts to curl around him. He does it so naturally that Tim would've missed it if watching the Bats wasn’t his thing .
Nightwing exits the curtained off area and gets to work pasting athletic tape all over Robin's arms. “It’s not stupid. Seeing as he wont stoop to x-ray vision, he just wants to know how we are on the inside. One of these days he’ll just crack and invent Baymax or something.” He dusts his hands on Batman’s cape, seemingly ignorant of the glare he’s receiving. The sight of the three of them makes Tim’s chest hurt.
“I know what internal bleeding is supposed to feel like. I don’t have it.”
“We just want to know that you’re feeling alright, bud. Mentally.” Nightwing speaks in a way that makes Tim’s chest hurt even more. His eyes are burning for some reason. Must be allergies.
He smiles in a way his mom taught him, but he knows his eyes are too tight. Tim feels like he’s about to keel over from being so close to the three of them, not to mention the side effects of his feelings. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, okay.” Robin snorts and makes his way to a dark stairway. “I’m gonna ask Agent A for some hot chocolate. He needs to look you over, anyway. Good luck trying to lie to him.”
Tim has no idea who Agent A is.
A minute or so after Robin disappears, an elderly man in a full three-piece suit and a black domino descends the stairs with Robin behind him, a blanket thrown over his shoulders.
Oh. Pennyworth.
As Agent A greets him and begins laying out steaming mugs of hot chocolate, Tim realizes his fate is settled.
It’s not a bad way to go out, he thinks.