Chapter Text
Tim had underestimated exactly how much work it was going to be training four children at once. They all needed constant supervision, but they also all wanted to try the most dangerous stunts immediately, all at once. The number of times that Tim had had to scramble up into the rafters and pull a child (usually Cat or Ace) off the high bars made him want to cry every time he thought about it.
“Okay, for the eighth time, you may not be up on the high bars until you’ve proven to me you know how to fall.” They had a net installed, but Tim genuinely had no faith that they wouldn’t be jumping around on the streets without him there. “And nothing above ten feet off the ground!”
He scaled the ladder at the side, swinging himself forward to grab Cat, hugging her close as he tumbled down into the net, bouncing slightly. She giggled madly.
“I’m so glad you’re having fun, sweetheart. You’ve just been grounded from acrobatics for a week.” She was completely unphased, wriggling free and dashing over to the training mats he used for sparring, looking up at him hopefully.
“One second. Deuce! Put that down right now!” He had picked up one of the training knives left out laying on the side. “I don’t care if it’s dulled, none of you are touching weapons until I’ve taught you hand to hand combat and basic weapon safety. Go practice your katas. And Ace.” Tim turned to fix him with a look. “Wrap your knuckles before you start trying to hit things, or you’re going to break a finger.” Ace very sheepishly went to the side and started wrapping his hands the way Tim had shown him.
Jason was the most well behaved, but unfortunately, he still had his moments. “Jason, you need to go down about ten pounds on those weights. I know you want to get stronger as quickly as you can, but you’re going to tear something, and every second you have to recover is a second you won’t be able to spend training.”
It was the mantra that Tim had used on himself when he was younger, when he was pushing himself past the edges of sanity just to keep up with Robin-Jason’s memory. Hopefully it would work for baby Jason too.
Tim let out a sigh of relief when Jason set down the weights with minimal grumbling. Finally, he went over to Cat. “Okay, show me what you’ve learned.”
Tim helped her run through the forms with minimal corrections, made Ace put down a knife, showed him how to do a round kick, temporarily redirected Deuce towards Judo, and stopped Jason from breaking his fingers when trying to throw a punch incorrectly. By the time the kids were finished, Tim was exhausted, and he hadn’t even started his own routine. It had been less than an hour.
“Okay! Who wants to watch me hit things with a stick!” Tim clapped his hands together, praying they’d take the bait. God knows he had never been this excitable when training. Although, it was kind of hard to get excited around Bruce’s do better Robin face. He kind of preferred the chaos.
Four hands shot up. “Great. Take a seat on the edge of the mats.” Tim took out his bo staff, already warmed up from a) running back and forth across the stage constantly, and b) practicing a more advanced form of his katas right next to Cat.
He struck out with one end, a jab forward and then back, sweeping it in a wide arc behind him, then reversing his grip to swing it down in front of him, as if slamming the staff down on someone’s head. As he moved, he kept a running commentary.
“The point of a staff is to provide decent close and mid-range ability, with uses for both defensive and offensive combat.” He twisted the staff from a sweep to a block to demonstrate. “It’s relatively nonlethal, but if you have a custom staff,” He twisted his wrist, letting electricity crackle down the length of the staff, “then you can have some interesting modifications.” He turned the taser function off, relaxing his stance.
“I use this particular staff for work, so it is very important that none of you touch it. First, you could get very injured trying to mess with it. I have failsafes in place in order to prevent villains from getting their hands on it, including small explosives. Second, if the bo gets damaged, I will be in significantly more danger than I would be without it.” Hopefully the combination of those two incentives would keep their grubby little hands off it.
It was the second motivator that seemed to convince them. He kind of wished they’d prioritize their own safety more, but he wasn’t going to quarrel about it. Besides, it would be a little bit hypocritical of him.
Pot, meet kettle I suppose.
“If you prove you can listen to my instructions during the next month, I will show you the footwork needed to learn one weapon of your choice. You all know the shower schedule for today?” They nodded. “Good. Hop to!”
Deuce grabbed his towel and headed for the shower cubicle, while the other three went to the dining area, taking a seat at the table and beginning to study the engineering and coding books that Tim had gotten for them. He had tried giving them books teaching different math and sciences at a middle school level, but they just started trying to pick up knives again, so he declared it a lost cause. Besides, he had other plans related to their schooling. Namely enrolling them in a school.
While they were occupied, Tim scaled the aerial bars and began twisting through the air again. He kind of missed his old Red Robin suit, the one with the wings. Steph had been right, it did look kind of stupid, but he still loved it.
He flung himself upward, spinning around in a tight spiral and landing on the mats in a sharp bounce that ended in a roll, which then flowed into a more advanced staff routine. He felt a stitch begin to form in his side, and Tim felt a stab of frustration.
Three months ago he would have been just fine, but he’d fallen out of practice. That wasn’t something he could afford, since he no longer had backup. Not that it was something he could afford with backup, but now the consequences were more likely to be lethal.
He finished with a tidy flip and his bo slamming into the mats with a loud thwack. It was a finishing move he’d used against Kon for many, many years. Looking up, he saw all four children crouching at the edge and staring at him with open mouths.
“Deuce, dry your hair, you’ll get a cold.” Tim straightened, twisting his staff back into its collapsed form. He walked over to the bench and took a drink of water, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “Ace, go shower. When I’m done, we can have lunch, and then I have a trip planned.”
He saw Ace’s mouth open wider, but then Cat and Deuce jabbed him in the side with disturbingly well coordinated elbows. He shut up.
“Where are we going?” Jason asked.
“It’s a surprise.” Tim winked, holding up a finger to his mouth. Then he looked over to the window in the breakroom. “You might want to hurry, though. I have work to do tonight, and I want to make sure we have time. You can ask questions later.” All four of his children scattered, Ace to the shower, Deuce to the table, and Jason and Cat to the kitchen to start prepwork. Tim had repeatedly told them that they didn’t have to help, but a week had passed and he hadn’t managed to win that battle even once.
He chuckled, and went back to work.
~*~
Before they were able to leave for the trip that Tim had planned, the universe decided to give him another crisis.
“Has anyone seen Cat?”
The twins exchanged glances, but Jason was the one to answer.
“She’s probably gone home? She might have forgotten something and just ran to get it.” It had the particular cadence of a child that was trying very hard to lie, but didn’t really want to.
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen her leave without one of you present. Are you sure?” He began to gnaw on his lip, now concerned. “If she’s missing–”
There was a loud clatter, and Tim turned to see the leg of a chair on the ground, rattling slightly from where it had been thrown. He looked up.
Cat waved at him cheerfully from a box seat. He heard one of his kids (probably Jason) facepalm behind him, which meant there was definitely something that needed Tim’s attention. Sometimes he admired how deeply independent the kids were, but most of the time it gave him grey hairs. If this was how his Bruce had felt, then Tim probably owed him an apology and at least a week of vacation. “Be right up, kiddo.”
He stared down at the boys. “I know you three know about whatever is happening right now. I’m sure you felt you had a good reason for keeping it from me, but if it turns out to be something that puts Cat or any of you in danger, then we are going to have words about boundaries. Okay?”
The three of them nodded, heads hung low.
“Okay. I’m not mad,” he reassured them. Not yet, anyway. “I’m just worried.”
He climbed up the rope ladder to the box seat where found one of the sleeping bags laid against the wall. There was a small pile of snacks that had been stolen from the breakroom, now piled in the corner. Tim closed his eyes, pinching his nose.
“Cat, honey?” He opened them to see her standing in front of him with the most pleading expression Tim had ever seen on a human face. Dick had nothing on this child. “I’m not mad. But why are you living in one of the box seats?” She shuffled, moving closer and grabbing the edge of his sleeve. Tim sighed, sitting down. She crawled even closer to him, pressing herself into his side.
This is my karma for the fake uncle, isn’t it.
“You know I would let you live in the theatre, right? There are rooms they used to use for visiting actors, and it would be pretty easy to turn one of those into a bedroom,” Tim said gently. He felt Cat sniffle, wiping her nose on his shirt. Tim couldn’t even be mad. He sighed again, running his hand through her hair. “If you don’t wanna live here, I get it–” She tugged sharply on his sleeve twice. “Okay, so you do want to live here.” One tug.
“Do you want to pick out a room?” Two tugs, but gentler. “Then what do you want?”
She pulled him to his feet, and dragged him down the stairs and up another set of stairs, where Tim found yet another pile of blankets and matching snack stash.
“Cat?” She blinked up at him. “Does this belong to the twins?” One tug. “Okay. I’m gathering all of you and we’re having a talk about withholding information.” If Tim was ever brought back to his own universe (which was looking more and more unlikely) he was bringing these kids with him and the bat family could not know. He would introduce the kids, of course but the fact that he had scolded them about withholding information after his own history of disclosure?
Between the twins, both Jasons, and every other bat sibling ever, Tim would never live it down.
He held out his arms, and Cat moved forward. He picked them up, setting them on his hip and moving back downstairs.
The boys were waiting at the foot of the stairs with obvious fear that only grew as Tim got closer.
He tried to reassure them. “First, I’m not mad at you.”
Instead of being reassured, that seemed to make things worse, and Cat’s arms were now wrapped around his neck. “I’m just concerned. If I had known you were living here I could have set up rooms for you ages ago.”
Jason jumped like he had been shot, face going pale. The twins’ faces had gone studiously blank.
“What, did you think I was going to kick you out?” Tim raised an eyebrow. When none of them responded, he sighed. “I’m teaching you martial arts. I’m feeding you three meals a day. You practically live here anyways, and if you had actually told me, then I wouldn’t have had to worry about you being kidnapped every night. I would be happy to have you live here, and the only reason I hadn’t offered is because I thought it might scare you.”
Honestly, Tim probably didn’t give Bruce enough credit for his Robin days. Granted, a lot of it during the beginning and middle of his career was because Bruce just. Didn’t want Tim there. However, as the days dragged on, Tim grew on the man like mold. It was just that Bruce was so emotionally stunted that he hadn’t realized.
As usual, thank god for Alfred.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. Tonight, Ace, Deuce, and Jason are going to sleep on the futon. Cat is going to get the couch, which I will set up with pillows and blankets. In the morning, we are going to work on clearing out some of the old dressing rooms for each of you. Sound good?”
“I– yeah. Okay.” Jason was blinking tears out of his eyes.
Deuce asked, “Where will you sleep?”
“I’m probably going to be out very late.” As in, until morning. “I’ll be back by the time the sun comes up.” He considered lying about sleeping at a friend’s house, but they knew all two of his friends, neither of which would cover for him. It would be a whole Thing, and Tim tried to avoid Things.
“Right now, I am making all of you cookies. After we eat cookies, we are going to go shopping for stationery. That means notebooks and pencils, because I will make sure you get an education, even if it kills me.” Tim was more determined about this than he had been about certain near-suicidal plans of his.
Tim had been planning on using one of Alfred’s old recipes, but Jason interceded, deciding that cayenne pepper chocolate chip cookies were even better, and honestly? Tim had to agree.
Tim hadn’t lied about the cookies, but he had led the children to think that the conversation about secretly living in his house was over. When each of them had been settled with a small plate of cookies, Tim sat down at the head of the table and folded his hands.
“So I may not have been clear.” The kids stiffened. “When I said, ‘tell me if there is something you think needs to be handled,’ that includes you. If you need a place to stay, or more food, or even just an umbrella. You call me. Okay? It’s not going to be an imposition, I’m never going to be mad at you for needing help.” Tim remembered what it felt like to present scraped knees and bruised cheekbones to his mother, only to have her grimace and hand him off to one of the housekeepers like he was something dirty. He never wanted another kid to feel like that, much less his kids. Not that they were really his, but close enough.
“What if we need a bedtime story?” Ace was being sarcastic, but Tim could hear the undercurrent of unease.
“I have a severe lack of bedtime stories, but I’m sure I can make something up if you ask.” Tim let the corners of his mouth pull up, attempting to soften the tense atmosphere. He made a mental note to organize a group storytime at some point, even if it was just to prove that he was listening to what they said. “But. Right now, I think we should go on that trip. We’ll need to take the bus into the nicer part of the city.” At that, the twins traded glances.
“It’s fine, I’ve done it before.” Jason puffed up his chest. Ever since they discovered that Jason was six months older than the twins, at eleven and a half, he had declared himself the protector of the group. Tim thought it was both adorable and concerning. Besides, out of all of them, Cat was the one that had the most common sense, love of high places notwithstanding.
Tim made sure his bus pass was in his wallet, which was then tucked away into his pocket. He was dressed in faded jeans and a clean brown pullover. Jason had eyed his outfit and called him a fancy trust fund bitch, to which Tim raised an eyebrow. That gave most trust fund kids too much credit, and too little to the bitches, but he wasn’t about to encourage bad behavior. Maybe he should have a swear jar?
Before he could contemplate the pros and cons, the kids were ready to leave. Tim wrapped a scarf around Deuce’s neck, plonked a hat each on Cat and Jason’s heads, and handed Ace a pair of gloves. “All set?” They nodded. “Great. Off we go.”
The nicer parts of Gotham were less hostile, but the kids were still in danger of getting swept away in the larger crowd, and then kidnapped. Their usual chain, with Tim in the middle and two children on each side wasn’t quite cutting it. The kids were too small, so Tim hefted Cat up, giving them a piggyback ride. The boys were older, big enough that holding Tim’s hand made it easier not to get swept away, and the twins had an almost uncanny sense for when the outside twin was about to get lost. Jason had a death grip on Tim’s hand and thus, survived.
The air was getting colder and colder as the true winter months approached. Tim would have to get some kind of thermal wear for cold-weather patrols or he’d get very very sick, very very quickly. Cat sneezed right on the back of his neck in a spray of cold snot. He reached back, handing them a tissue, which they accepted. Tim heard a wet sniffle.
Looks like someone else might be getting sick. He added chicken soup to his mental shopping list. The genuine health benefits might have been unproven, but the social perception of chicken soup equalling concern was still present.
They made it to the bus stop without incident. Tim shifted Cat around to his hip, placing her down on the seat next to an elderly woman. Elderly women were one of the least likely demographics to be either serial killers or pedophiles. Plus, Cat was cute. Exactly the kind of kid a nice old woman would like.
The twins were eying a shiny watch on the wrist of a man across the bus. It was crowded enough that they could probably steal it and get away scot free, but it was the ethics of the act that made Tim give them a strong expression of disapproval. Both twins tucked their hands away in their pockets, faces twin pictures of innocence.
Tim sighed. Only now was he noticing that Jason’s pockets were weighed down, heavier than they had been when all of them had left the Nest.
At least Cat–nevermind. He saw a sparkly bracelet on their wrist, something they also hadn’t had when they left the house. Tim was starting to get a headache. He’d have to talk to the kids about their pickpocketing habits later.
They made it off the bus without incident, and Tim kept an extra close eye on the kids in order to prevent more sticky fingers. They seemed to take it as a challenge, and Tim felt a pang of exhaustion accompanying the growing headache. He would never regret meeting them but sometimes. Sometimes he got tired. It was barely ten in the morning and he was already exhausted.
The shop itself was nice, with pricey notebooks and erasers covered with cutesy designs, and clean white floors that sparkled under bright lights. There was an attendant in a pink apron who approached the quintet. Jason jumped behind Tim, peering out suspiciously.
“Hi, can I help you find anything today?” The attendant seemed unfazed by the way the twins stepped in front of Tim, staring the attendant down like they would a moving vehicle.
“I think we’re alright, thank you.” Tim smiled serenely, nudging the twins out of the way and ushering the whole group forward like three out of the four children hadn’t collectively been plotting murder for no reason.
“Of course, let me know if you need anything!” They seemed relieved at not having to deal with Tim and his kids and yeah. Tim got it.
“Each of you has a budget of twelve dollars for notebooks, five for pencils and highlighters, and three for erasers. If you have extra, feel free to allocate your budget however you want.” He watched each kid scurry off in a different direction.
Jason and Cat grabbed the same notebook, a thick spiral bound book with a white cover full of strawberry prints. Ace picked a blue notebook with a bunny, and Deuce picked a black notebook with a full moon. Then there was a mad dash for pencils and pens. They cleverly agreed to split their funds and share utensils so they had more money for the ‘cool things’.
Tim fought the urge to smile, knowing that it would freak them out. But he was just so glad they were willing to get nice things. He remembered going to the thrift shop, and the reluctance they showed to get necessities like winter clothing, even when he had promised to pay for it.
Now they were holding up packages of erasers, trying to decide which one was cutest.
Everything was going according to plan with the kids, now Tim just had to deal with the shady business side of things.
~*~
Nighttime found him lounging on the rafters in the warehouse where Mercy’s gang met. He had arrived early enough to bug the place, and now he was just waiting, letting the light of the moon stream through the windows and illuminate the web of yarn he was using to play cat’s cradle. The yarn itself should have been a pale pink, but under the moonlight it turned into a washed out silver.
Right now he was wearing his old Red Robin suit. It would have to be tailored soon, because the fabric was pulling and wrinkling in ways that could get caught on stray nails or grasping hands. If he had been in his universe, Alfred would have helped him alter it weeks ago, but here they were, and Tim had neither the time nor the tools.
He made another loop with the yarn. Then the main door to the warehouse bay ground upwards, and Mercy and her goons entered in a spray of rust.
“Make it quick, we don’t know when Red will be here,” Mercy ordered, gesturing for the goons to carry in a large folding table.
“Why’re we listenin’ to this guy again, Boss?” One of the men grunted, hefting what looked like a stolen office chair, complete with rolly wheels. “I mean, he clearly ain’t from around here.”
“Experiment,” Mercy said shortly. “Now hurry up.”
It took them a few minutes, but they got everything set up to her heart’s content, while Tim watched from the rafters. Fear seemed to be making her sharper than usual, judging by the side glances her goons were sending her.
“If he’s really that bad, we can always…” The goon drew a line across her throat.
Mercy checked her watch. “The Riddler would kill us. Word is that they’re friends.” She began to tap her foot. Up in the rafters, Tim rolled his eyes. Their meeting time wasn’t for another fifteen minutes, and he planned to be punctual to the millisecond and not an instant earlier.
They seemed to be making good use of the time, though. Mercy was laying out ground rules for ‘dealing with Red Raptor,’ and Tim, still hiding up in the rafters, was making a valiant attempt at not laughing. That sentiment soon faded.
“We don’t know who he is, or what he’s capable of.” Mercy was at the head of the table, facing the door. Her face was half-cast in shadow, giving her already severe expression a tinge of malice. “We know what he wants, but we don’t know why. And until we do, until we know what he wants from us, I want all of you to stay out of his way. Treat him like a loaded gun and for f*ck’s sake, let me do all of the talking.”
A timer vibrated on Tim’s gauntlet. Two minutes to the meeting time. Below, Mercy’s watch beeped, and she went up about two notches in his esteem, even with the way she grimaced at the reminder.
Tim swiftly undid the cat’s cradle he’d tied around his fingers, then made his way to the side window and slipped out. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he threw on the now-infamous hoodie (if adult Jason ever found out–) and stained jeans, then traded his vigilante boots for his work boots, and the switch was complete. Red Robin had faded, and Red Raptor was on the scene.
Same person, different faces, same flair for the dramatic.
Tim knocked on the door, and the resulting clang echoed through the empty cement yard. While he could drop in from the rafters, that would set the wrong impression. It would set a Batman-esque impression, and that wasn’t what he wanted. And he didn’t want a Jason impression either, with the banging and the guns and the shock and awe (fear) tactics. No, Tim was a businessman at heart, and he was going to do what a business man did best.
He waited.
Footsteps came from inside the building, and Tim settled his shoulders. He glanced down, checking the range of the door.
Excellent.
When it swung open, it opened a scant inch in front of his face, and the goon leaning outward flinched back. Tim gave him a toothy smile, lifted a hand, and said, “Yo.”
The man tried to back up and draw a gun on him, but Tim tripped him in the process, grabbing the gun from his hand before it could go off.
“Now, is that any way to greet one of your bosses’ new friends?” He ejected the magazine and turned the safety on, before tossing both pieces in opposite directions. “After all, I have an appointment.”
“Knock it off, boys. He’s the one I was telling you about.” Mercy lifted her chin and tried to stare Tim down. “It ain’t nice to scare your friends.”
“I’m not nice,” Tim shot right back, keeping a Bowery twist to his voice. He looked around the warehouse as if seeing it for the first time and sneered, “Quaint. Now, shall we get down to business?”
Mercy’s jaw clenched. He could see the indecision warring on her face, likely between compliance and a show of intimidation. Tim kept completely still, calculating each twitch of her face. When it settled into resignation, his smile widened.
Resignation didn’t mean compliance, but it did mean resolution. It meant action, and the ability to make a clean decision, both of which he respected.
“Everybody, sit down.”
Oh, good. I’d hate to come home with a bullet wound. Tim’s smile grew wider, and he heard the goon behind him hesitate.
Tim took a seat to the right of the head. It would traditionally be designated for the guest of honor, but in this case it was a small act of deference. Mercy paused, before taking her seat at the front. There was yet another pause, filled only by the sound of Tim’s chair squeaking as he swiveled back and forth.
When Mercy spoke, Tim dropped ‘Tim’ and took on the mask of Red Raptor. This was business, and none of it was personal, no matter how entertaining, or endearing he might have found her.
The switch showed. Mercy’s speech broke in the middle, and when she continued her words came out halting and stilted. The speech itself was a similar, albeit more formal, version of the speech she had given to the goons before Red had shown up. Red, for his part, never dropped the smile.
“And as for the terms…” Mercy trailed off, gesturing to Red. And Red had thought about this, thought about taking Hood’s terms verbatim, but Hood knew crime, and he knew people, but he didn’t know contracts. Red, on the other hand? Red as Tim used to make lawyers shudder any time he walked into the boardroom.
“I am so glad you asked.”
Unlike a lawyer, Mercy looked more than afraid. She looked determined.
~*~
Tim left the meeting more than satisfied. Mercy had proved herself competent, even if she wasn’t that experienced. They had hashed out rules that included Mercy’s cut (large enough to pay her workers, who seemed rather confused that their wages had been one of his stipulations), not to sell to kids, exclusivity rights (i.e. if they sold to Rogues Tim would eradicate them like pests, if they worked with other gangs then Tim would sell them out to Commissioner Gordon, and so on and so forth.), as well as Tim’s own cut, which was larger than he needed (or would have liked), but small enough that Mercy wouldn’t think he was insane.
Or wouldn’t think he was more insane. And now Tim was returning home, late enough at night that the moon was finally cresting the tops of the buildings that lined the alley. He slid open the window above the stove and crawled in, landing smoothly and silently in the middle of the room, right in front of the couch.
He had been hoping not to wake the kids up, and had assumed that they had been sleeping in the other room. Instead, his shadow had been cast over their sleeping faces, and the change in light was enough to wake Cat up. She yawned, two tiny dull white teeth flashing in the dim light. Tim held a finger up to his mouth in a shh sign, and felt his heart melt when she mimicked him with movements that were clumsy and weighed down with the dregs of sleep.
He leaned down to pet her hair as she nudged against his hand. Slowly, her eyes began to close again, and she cuddled right back up to her brothers. Tim, who was already practically a puddle of goo, felt himself melt even further.
When he was certain she was asleep again, he detangled himself and went to go take a shower, washing off the grime from numerous alley rooftops. He would appreciate it if Robin stopped playing chicken with the ground, but knowing Dick, that wasn’t ever going to happen.
As soon as his shower was finished, Tim dried off and went put on a pair of pants that had been worn soft, the ones that he used as pajamas. Then he grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and went back into the main room where he laid down on the floor at the foot of the couch. Drawing the blanket up to his chest, he made himself comfortable and drifted off to the sound of his kids’ soft breathing.
An undetermined amount of time later, Tim woke up to Ace’s echoing shout of, “EVERYBODY WAKE UP, TIM’S BACK.”
Tim groaned, rolling over to bury half of his face in the pillow. It smelled like dust. “You could have waited until I put a shirt on.”
“But then how do we know if you’re injured?” Deuce appeared to be one of those people who woke up and was just awake. His brother wasn’t so lucky, waking up and stumbling into the kitchen. Tim could sympathize.
“Didja sleep?” Ace mumbled, rifling around in the cupboard for a mug. He had somehow managed to inherit Tim’s coffee addiction.
“Yeah.” Tim grabbed a set of day clothes and ducked into the bathroom to change. “Hold on a sec and I’ll make a pot of coffee!”
He had tried to prevent the kids from drinking coffee, but much like everything else he didn’t want them to do, they just started doing it behind his back. It was honestly easier to just let them drink it, because then he knew when he would have to replenish his stores.
Jason was staying attached to him by clinging to the edge of his sweater, and shuffling along. Tim had to slow down in order to not dislodge him. The kid mumbled, “Did you sleep enough?”
Tim rolled his eyes where Jason couldn’t see. “Yes, I slept enough.” Then an idea occurred to him.
This is the perfect time to start my plan.
“Jason, do you trust me?”
Jason blinked, letting go of Tim’s sweater. His face crinkled in sleepy confusion and a small amount of fear. After a pause, he said, “...Yeah.”
“Good. Ace, Deuce, Cat, can you give us a second?” They filed out, staring back like a line of kicked puppies, filled with both suspicion and disappointment. He knew they’d be trying to eavesdrop, but he had taken precautions.
He turned to face Jason. Then, without warning, he said, “I’m sending you to school.” Jason opened his mouth, but Tim interrupted. “Listen! Listen, I know you don’t want to live here your whole life, I know you want to make things better, I know you love learning, and all of those things require school.”
“But–”
“And!” Tim wasn’t finished. He wasn’t finished until Jason was ready to give it a try. “Ace and Deuce will absolutely become supervillains if they aren’t given something to do, and Cat is utterly brilliant, the same as you. It would be a tragedy if none of them got to hone the skills they have to make themselves better.” He could see Jason still wasn’t sold, but he was at least listening.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re their older brother.” He saw a flash of something that could have been pride enter Jason’s eyes, and he felt a split second shred of guilt for the manipulation. “If you go to school and don’t hate it, then I’ll have an easier time getting them to go.”
“What if I do hate it.” Jason seemed to condense inwards, gnawing on his lip. “I ain’t been to school since second grade.”
“Then I move you somewhere you don’t hate. Right now there’s a school just outside of Rebecca’s area that some of the working folk send their kids to. If you really need to leave, you can go straight to them, and I’ll come get you.” Tim got his computer out and turned it so Jason could see the screen. “I did some research, and–”
“No! No powerpoints! It’s okay, I’ll… I’ll give it a shot.” Jason looked like a man marching off to war.
“Thank you.”
Tim hugged him, and Jason pressed close to his chest. He muttered, “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.” Tim huffed a laugh, beginning to pet Jason’s hair in the hopes that it would calm him down. “I can guarantee you’re the biggest, scariest thing in the room short of a Rogue attack, and if a Rogue attacks, then all you have to do is run and hide until I get there.”
“What if the other kids make fun of me?”
“If they hurt you, use your words. Make fun of them back. If you get in trouble, make sure the teacher calls me, and I’ll deal with it.”
“What if I get sick?”
“I’ll come pick you up.”
He felt Jason tilt his head to look up at him. “What if Scarecrow decides he needs more test subjects?”
“Hide until I get there. And you’re reaching.” Tim let Jason free, tapping him on the nose. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. If anything goes wrong, I’m there. Promise.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
“Good! Today is technically the first day, but I was planning to get you a tour first, maybe introduce you to a few kids from the class so you’d have some familiar faces…” Tim trailed off, already planning how to stage some ‘natural’ encounters, when Jason tugged on his sleeve sharply.
“You’re being dumb again. Besides… I already have my stuff, an’ I don’t wanna start too late. That’d be weird.” He paused, lower lip beginning to jut out. “I… I wanna start today. If that’s okay.”
“Are you sure? Nobody will think less of you if you want to take a week or two to prepare.”
“No.” Jason’s jaw squared, and that was an expression that Tim had seen on his older brother’s face hundreds of times. It was the ‘I’m gonna do this, and I’m gonna win’ face. “No, I wanna go today.”
“Alright then. We’ll get your stuff together.” Tim checked his watch. “We should leave in the next fifteen minutes. Do you want to tell Cat and the twins, or should I?”
“You do it.” Jason’s hands were clenched into fists, and a minute tremor ran through them. “I’m gonna… I’ll get my stuff.”
“Make sure you get the good erasers!” Tim yelled after him. Then he took a deep breath, because if Tim was being honest with himself, he was also scared of sending Jason to school. There were too many variables that he couldn’t control, but he had to recognize that he couldn’t control them, or he’d turn into Bruce. And that was something along the lines of his worst nightmare.
All things considered, Cat and the twins took the news rather well. The general consensus was that Jason would attend school while they worked at the newsstand, so they could ‘pay Tim back.’ No amount of reassuring, consolement, or outright begging could convince them that they didn’t have to pay him back. They were determined, and Tim had given up by the time he and Jason had to leave.
For now. Tim had given up for now. He had to go change.
He and Jason made it into the greater city area without an issue, stepping off the bus together. Jason was clutching Tim’s hand just as hard as he clutched Jason’s, and the walk to the school itself was too short for comfort.
They stopped in front of a tall iron gate.
Tim knelt down and put his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “Remember,” He started, but Jason cut him off.
“If anything goes wrong, call you. I know.” He rolled his eyes, but continued to hold the edge of Tim’s dress shirt.
“Correct.” Tim leaned forward and kissed his forehead with a smack. “Go raise hell and get good grades.”
“Sure, dad.” The huff was clearly sarcastic, but Jason still hadn’t let go of Tim’s hand. Tim tried to disengage, but he was unsuccessful.
“Jay, you gotta let go.”
Jason’s grip tightened, but Tim began to unlace their fingers. “You got this.” He lowered his voice. “If you can be in the same room as Jonathan Crane, you can handle a pack of elementary schoolers.”
“Tim, you don’t understand, they have rabies!” Even through the levity, Tim could tell that Jason was clearly still terrified, but his grip had loosened.
“You wanna know a secret?” Tim leaned in. “So do I.” Jason giggled, seemingly against his will. “So do you. So does Cat. Especially so do the twins. You all have rabies, and you get along great. I’m not asking you to make friends unless you want to, but I am asking you to give it a shot. And if you really can’t do this, or if you need a break, call me and I’ll pick you up. You don’t have to do this all at once.”
“Okay. Okay, I think I can do this.”
“You can.” Tim affirmed. “Here’s a note for the teacher, telling her everything I just told you.” He handed Jason a piece of paper. He would have liked to have used the Drake letterhead, which held significantly more sway than plain nice paper, but he couldn’t afford to let anybody know that ‘Timothy Drake’ was living with random street kids. Not yet, at least.
He gave Jason’s hair one last ruffle before gently shoving him forwards. “Now go on, get.”
Jason initially stumbled, but as he continued forward, his movement became steady. He seemed more confident, and Tim watched him vanish through the entrance. He stood there staring at the closed doors for another good, long, five minutes. A middle aged woman came up next to him, offering him a handkerchief.
“They grow up so fast, don’t they?”
“Yeah. They do.” Tim didn’t take the handkerchief, instead shoving his hands in his pockets and wrinkling the line of his slacks. As much as he wanted to stand outside waiting for Jason to come back, someone would probably call the police and that would be… bad. Also it would be weird to stand here for multiple hours. Also also, it was cold.
“I should… get going.” He smiled at the woman, who smiled uncertainly back. “Thank you for the handkerchief.” Then he left.
~*~
There was one place Tim could think to go where he could spend six hours straight and be welcomed, and it was Paradox coffee.
If anything, Nygma would be happy to have a gaming partner, and Tim desperately needed something to keep him occupied. The chime of the bell was bright and cheerful, and a little bit irritating. He ordered his coffee, and Daryl gave him a concerned side eye.
“You know I still have to call the boss, right? I can give you a head start if you want to leave.”
“Nah.” Tim leaned on the counter. “I could use a distraction. But thank you,” he said, voice disturbingly, unintentionally genuine. f*ck it. Might as well. “I know that making that offer is a risk.”
Daryl shrugged. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re the best thing to happen to this shop. The number of death threats have plummeted and our revenue is up twenty percent.”
“Not a lot of customers frequent a coffee shop run by a Rogue? Can’t imagine why.”
“I know.” Daryl shook his head mockingly. “You’d think the lack of murder and the good coffee would be enough of an incentive, but…” he shrugged, handing over Tim’s coffee. “Take care of yourself. You look dead.”
“Thanks, I feel like it.” Tim toasted Darly in thanks. He then headed over to a table hidden in a nook created by floor-to-ceiling shelves of board games. He’d let Nygma pick when he arrived.
“Daryl?” Tim raised his voice, even though the shop was more or less empty.
“Hm?”
“Tell him no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You got it, kid.” Daryl then muttered something else under his breath, but Tim ignored it.
Instead, he sipped his coffee and savored the sharp lavender. Daryl had figured out the right amount of sugar last week, and Tim was in heaven. Still, he wondered if they were planning to add some kind of pumpkin or apple cider drinks for the winter. Maybe he’d make a suggestion. Tim loved nutmeg, in whatever form it happened to come in.
While Tim’s mind wandered, his body was resting heavy in the soft armchair. The lack of sleep was catching up to him, and the coffee made him even more tired. His breathing started evened out, and he began to think about Jason.
Was he okay? Were the kids making fun of him? Did Tim pack him enough lunch? A brief memory of Tim trying to scurry around the kitchen and shove food into a lunchbox before any of the kids noticed flickered through his mind, and the corner of Tim’s lips curled.
He let out a sharp breath, curling into the soft velvet of the armchair. The fabric had absorbed the scent of coffee from the store, but there was also a faint smell of… velvetyness.
He yawned, shifting and resettling again until his body sank into the cushions. There was a quiet murmur in the background, but Tim was half asleep. If it was important, then Daryl would wake him up, but it was unlikely to be a threat. Most people weren’t stupid enough to attack Paradox, considering who owned it.
The carpet rustled as the chair across from him moved. Tim let out another soft breath, and ignored it. He felt near-paralyzed as sleep drew close. He felt… cozy. Warm.
Finally, when he felt rested enough, he opened one eye. Nygma was sitting across from him with a book of riddles cracked open in his lap, reading intently. Unlike the last couple times they had met, the man wasn’t on fire, wasn’t singed or stained, and was in fact, dressed in perfectly respectable human clothing. Tim’s eyes narrowed.
“Crime?”
“Crime.” Nygma confirmed. “Would you like to play poker?”
“You cheat. How about gin rummy?”
“Fine by me.” Nygma’s lips twitched. They both knew that there would be card counting involved. They set up the table and Tim grabbed his favorite card deck, based off of a series of celestial designs.
“Something casts clouds on a bloody bird. What is it?”
Tim looked up from his hand, mildly surprised. “That is. The most roundabout way I’ve ever heard someone ask me what was bothering me. Although it is honestly the most preferable.” Tim tossed down a two, a three, and a four of hearts, placing an eight of spades into the discard pile. “I dropped my kid off at school today.”
“The bitey one?” Nygma drew a card and made a face. He placed down the other three twos, discording a queen of diamonds.
“They all bite, but I’m assuming you mean Cat. No, it was Jason. The one who’s good at games.” Tim picked up the queen of diamonds and discarded a ten.
“Hm. He could intern with me.”
“Not a chance,” Tim said emphatically. Irritation flickered across Nygma’s face, and Tim added, “it’s not that I think you’ll kill him, it’s that I think neither of you would enjoy it very much.” He placed down three more cards, making a mental note to track the probability that he’d pick up the ace of hearts. “Jason doesn’t like knowledge for knowledge’s sake, he loves to use that knowledge, to argue about it. He’s not really interested in trivia, but he loves literature, especially classic romance.” He watched Nygma’s nose wrinkle, and knew that he had successfully thrown the villain off the tail of one of his kids. “Not to mention he has more morals than both you and I combined.”
That had always been true. As much as his older brother had liked to call him the good one, the rule-follower, Tim was just that. A rule-follower. His morals were more of an ongoing mimicry of his childhood hero. Granted, it was a worthy cause, and a name and symbol worth carrying, but… there was nothing intrinsic about his moral compass. It pointed to the North because Batman had said it was North, but if the game changed, then Tim might have to shift with it.
There was no Bat on his chest, now. Eventually, he would have to figure out what that meant.
They went back and forth for a few games, eventually giving in to the urge to play poker, which quickly devolved into a bad pun competition. Tim checked the clock.
“This has been fun, but I should probably get going. I have some grocery shopping to do before I pick up my kid.” Tim lied. He just didn’t want Nygma to be able to figure out where Jason went to school.
“Okay. I’ll tell Daryl to give you a scone before you leave.”
Tim blinked. That was… nice. He hadn’t expected that.
“Consider it a victory prize for the poker game.” Nygma nodded towards the table, where they had been betting with mini-cookies and macarons.
“Thank you.” Tim took a bite of one of the macarons. Lavender. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
When the bell rang to let the kids out for the day, Tim was already waiting at the gate. Jason was the last to exit, peeking out from behind the doors and scanning the crowd for Tim’s face. Tim saw the moment that Jason noticed him, because his whole face lit up. He dashed down the steps and tackled Tim in a hug.
“Take it easy, blue jay. Did you think I was never coming back?” Tim wrapped an arm around him, relishing the contact.
“Nah.” Jason said, still clutching Tim’s knit sweater. “Knew you would come.”
“Trust but verify?”
Jason buried his face in Tim’s shirt. He wasn’t crying, but it seemed like he was getting pretty close. In order to distract him, Tim handed him the scone that he’d gotten from Paradox. He’d already taken a bite out of it, mostly as an older brother tax, partially to make sure it wasn’t drugged. Not that he really expected it to be.
Jason took it, nibbling slowly away during the bus ride home. “You were waiting for me?”
“Of course.” Always.
~*~
That night, Tim decided on doing something Incredibly Stupid. Checking on Two-Face without backup. There had been mutters through the grapevine that he was planning something. Not something important, but Tim might as well look.
He broke a window on the upper level of the sewage plant that Two-Face had decided to use as a base and crawled in through the empty gap, careful to avoid the sharp, filthy edges of the now-broken glass.
Okay. I know I was giving the villains sh*t for always showing up in warehouses, but can we go back to the warehouses please? Tim placed his rebreather over his face, trying to block out the smell of damp, rotting biomass.
Let’s get this over with.
He dropped down onto one of the catwalks running over a sewage tank, landing with a moderately loud clang. There wasn’t anyone around to hear it, not that Tim could see, but the low lighting, damp smell, and general grunginess of the area were giving Tim the skeevies.
He crept along the catwalk, still not seeing any signs of life. Or criminal activity. One of those things was more concerning than the other. Tim holstered his staff with a soft click. He tapped the side of his domino, activating the x-ray vision. Tim sent a mental thank you to Kon for letting him do all of those experiments.
No goons to the left. No goons to the right. No goons above, no goons… Hello there. Tim narrowed his eyes, zooming in on what was supposed to be a sealed, empty sewage vat. Instead, he saw four energy signatures glowing through the thick iron walls.
Here we go.
Tim crept over to the vat, testing the strength of the lid to see if it could take his weight.
It seemed to hold.
He placed one foot on the metal sheet, but as soon as he tried to transfer his weight, there was a horrific shriek and Tim knew he was f*cked.
Yelling came from much deeper in the building, and Tim heard the sound of footsteps begin to thunder in his direction.
sh*t.
He shot a line from his grapple and swung across the room, back towards the same window that he had broken in through. There was no time for caution, and he felt his left hand sting and grow wet as he vaulted through the broken glass, hurling himself into the night air.
Tim let his momentum carry him into a flip, disengaging the grapple and firing again, letting the hook dig into a building across the street and carry him away.
Oops. Tim ignored the voice in his head telling him that this was not an ‘oops’ situation.
It wasn’t the first time he’d gone into a situation blind with no backup. Somehow this time had gone particularly badly, and he wasn’t really sure why.
His feet ached as he landed on a nearby roof, and blood crept down his hand, dripping slowly onto the ground. Tim knew there was a pair of tweezers, disinfectant, and a needle and thread in his future.
f*ck.
His head was still spinning, body amped up on the whiplash of going from a silent, tense room, to a room full of present, active threats, and then to safety, in under three minutes. Tim practically collapsed to the ground, letting out a loud sigh. He needed a minute to get his bearings. The Gotham smog obscured the stars, but the light from the city produced an interesting hazy effect, like a polluted halo, and Tim watched the billows of grey cross the sky. It was edging closer to morning, so the deep, rich purple had begun to fade to a less saturated navy. If he didn’t get going soon, the kids would wake up and find him gone, and he’d be in a truly ridiculous amount of trouble.
Sometimes he wondered just who was the adult.
A huge, dark shape lumbered down the street. Tim saw deep grey and green scales illuminated under the streetlights.
Waylon.
Tim swung himself down to ground level, tucking his injured hand into his pocket. Waylon would be able to smell it, but Tim didn’t really want an open wound in front of a guy who might later in life become a cannibal, if Tim didn’t interfere first. He was, of course, planning to interfere.
“Hey, long time no see!”
Waylon jumped.
“What the hell?!” The giant crocodile man bared teeth as long as Tim’s finger, but his breath wasn’t nearly as rotten as it would be ten plus years in the future, which kinda took away some of the scare factor. Tim was grateful for the reprieve.
“I’m the guy who dropped in on your little meeting the other week!” Tim gave a cheerful little wave. “Super sorry about that, by the way. Hope you didn’t get fired. Very sorry about tasering you.”
Waylon looked taken aback. It was the same expression he had worn (would wear?) when Tim had once swung a sack of wet garbage and hit him in the face. “But I mean, if you think about it, it’s kind of a compliment! I mean, you have to take out the biggest threats first in a fight.”
“It’s… fine.” Waylon’s face said it very much wasn’t fine. “I was fired, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Great!” Tim had some concerns. “Well, if you have trouble, here’s my business card!” He started to hand over one of the Red Raptor cards. “Oops, not that one. Here, this one has my number.” He had to rifle through his pockets for a second, before finding the right version. “Hope to hear from ya soon!”
Tim was admittedly playing up the ‘casual and slightly insane’ vibes, but first, he was mildly delirious, and second, Waylon had enough people fearing him. This version of him didn’t seem to enjoy, or rather need it as much as his future self might. Hopefully Tim could cut that off at the head.
~*~
Tim’s first order of business when he got home was a shower. Tim’s second order of business was to regret placing all of the children in the main area because it meant he had to be really quiet when pulling glass out of open wounds.
He’d have to visit Leslie’s clinic in the morning. Or….
Tim shelved that thought and curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor next to the futon, where the boys had piled on top of each other, snoring away. Cat was on the couch with the sniffles.
I’ll get around to it later.
No sooner had Tim closed his eyes than he heard the scream of one very loud mama hen.
Goddamnit Jason. Snitch.
“GUYS WAKE UP. TIM’S INJURED.”
“Jason please. I already took care of it. Disinfected and everything. Nobody has to be up for another hour at least so for the love of god, let me go back to sleep.”
Deuce grabbed Tim’s uninjured forearm. “I’m an atheist, now get up, we’re going to Leslie’s.” He tried to drag Tim off of the floor, but failed. “Ace, grab his other side. Cat, if he doesn’t get up, guilt trip him.”
“Oh you cannot– Come on!” When he made no move to get up, Cat crouched in front of him with their sad, blue eyes, looking at him pleadingly. “No. No, I’ve been awake all night. I deserve another two hours of sleep.”
Deuce’s eyes narrowed. “Jason.”
Jason nodded, jaw clenched. Then he began to pout, and there were now two pairs of eyes staring mournfully at Tim.
“...Okay, fine. We’ll go to Leslie’s.” Tim peeled himself out of the sleeping bag. “How did you know I was injured?”
“Cat smelled it.” The twins pointed at Cat, who blinked innocently. “And we saw the pool of blood on the floor.”
Damn. Knew I forgot something.
Tim groaned. After finagaling himself upright, he threw on one of his not-crime hoodies, which was only marginally less stained. “Let’s go.”
Four children and one semi-delirious pseudo-homeless man wasn’t the weirdest thing the alleyways of Gotham had seen, not even remotely. His kids weren’t so much dragging him as they were… very firmly leading him down the cold, grey streets in very obvious formation. Tim’s breath came out in short puffs of vapor, and he was forced to admit that, okay, maybe he had injured himself more severely than he had initially thought.
The clinic was a burst of warmth against the near-winter air, and Tim let out a sigh of relief. It was early, around six in the morning, with surprisingly few people in the waiting room. The receptionist greeted Tim with a polite nod.
“Urgent?” He shook his head. “Great. Take a seat, and I’ll let Dr. Thompkins know you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Tim sat down in a corner, with Cat crawling in his lap, and a twin on each side. Jason situated himself at Tim’s feet, cross-legged. “This is kind of overkill for a banged up hand.”
Four pairs of eyes cut towards him and Tim fought the urge to flinch. He would not be intimidated by a bunch of elementary schoolers. He wouldn’t. He had faced down far worse. Unfortunately for Tim, these particular elementary schoolers were very intimidating, and a shiver traveled down his spine.
“I’ve made it to twenty against worse odds than this, I think you’re overreacting just a tad.”
They continued to stare. Ace opened his mouth, and Tim braced himself for whatever was about to come out.
“Remember that time you forgot to eat for three days?”
“Or that time you got a really bad fever and passed out in the coffee shop?”
“Or that time you tried to catch me on the aerial bars, missed your landing, and sprained your ankle?”
Cat’s judgemental silence was the final straw.
“...Listen. Sometimes, I am not the best at self care. But I am still an adult who can take care of myself, and if you don’t move, Jason, I’m going to trip over you.”
“You want me to move?” There was a distinct gleam in Jason’s eye that promised Bad Things. “Alright, I’ll move.” He got off the ground and climbed into Tim’s lap, elbowing Cat until they moved enough for both of them to share.
“I feel like this is counterproductive.” Both kids had gained weight between the training and Tim’s ‘all children must eat three meals a day’ rule, which meant he now had almost a hundred and ninety pounds of child in his lap. “You know, to the whole ‘getting better’ thing.”
“Alvin, what the he– heck are you doing here again.” Leslie demanded. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you in here for another month at least. Now get over here so I can fix you.”
“Sorry, Doc. You know me.” Tim smiled sheepishly. “Always in some scrape or another.” He prodded Cat and Jason out of his lap and onto the floor. “I’ll be back in a minute. Be good.” He ruffled the twins’ hair, nudging Cat and Jason with his foot.
He followed Leslie into the exam room and sat down on the bench, holding out his hand without a word.
“That’s a nasty cut you got there. What happened?”
“Cut it on some glass digging through an alley.” Tim lied.
“Uh huh.” Leslie sighed, exasperated. It was a blessedly familiar noise. “How much of that is true?”
“The glass,” Tim admitted cheerfully, completely unashamed to have been caught. “I made sure all the fragments were out, then disinfected and stitched the wound.” He presented his hand for her inspection.
She took it none too gently, folding his fingers open even further. “The stitches are neat, and the wound looks clean. Keep it clean, replace the bandages every six hours, and don’t flex your hand too much.”
There went Tim’s plans to teach the kids back handsprings this weekend.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I’ll write you a prescription for some antibiotics, which you will take, and then you will rest. Let your subordinates do all the work.” Tim tried to tell her that he didn’t have subordinates, but she just leveled him with a look. “Rest. Or I’ll sick Batman on you.” After a pause, she said, “He talks about you, you know.”
“...I’ll rest this time.” This woman was scarier than his mother. She had somehow managed to find the one threat that would actually cow him, and Tim wasn’t going to think about B talking about him behind his back, thank you.
Tim left the office feeling sufficiently chastised, and was immediately surrounded by four children. As soon as they got home, Tim was summarily piled onto the futon, with all four children stacked on top of him like legos.
Despite his best efforts (and those of his kids) Tim was unable to stop the wound from getting infected. He woke up the next morning with chills, and the skin around the wound pulsed a dull, aching red.
Jason snuffled, digging his head further into Tim’s chest, and Tim resolved himself to die there.
Slowly, Deuce blinked open one eye. He peered at Tim, taking in the flushed face, overly bright eyes, and the way he seemed to slip, slightly, in between blinks. Deuce sighed. “Jason, wake up.” He elbowed the other boy. “Tim’s sick again.”
“Don’t, he should sleep.” Tim yawned. “I just need the ibuprofen on the table.” Past Tim had the foresight to leave it somewhere highly accessible, thank goodness.
Deuce poked his brother awake. “Go get a glass of water from the kitchen
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I’m getting the medicine.” They held eye contact for about half a minute, expressions flickering rapidly. Ace grunted.
“Fine.” He got up and shuffled over to the kitchen, filling the proudly proclaimed ugliest mug, then toddling back and handing it to Deuce with a smug grin. “One Batman mug, coming up.”
Deuce stared his brother dead in the eye as he took the mug, then slowly passed it to Tim with a smug expression. Ace’s face fell.
Tim swallowed two of the pills and rolled over, curling himself around Cat and Jason. Reaching out, he made grabby motions at the twins until they hesitantly walked over and he was able to pull them down on top of him.
“Nap. Now.”
Tim closed his eyes.
…
Tim opened his eyes an indeterminate amount of time later to Rebecca’s concerned face. He glanced down and saw Art sitting by the side of the couch, with Cat lying on his chest and staring daggers at him.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Tim’s voice croaked, throat dry and rusty with disuse and disease. “How ya doin’?”
Cat glared at him, digging sharp fingernails under his ribs.
“Yeah, that’s fair. Nice to see ya, Rebecca. ‘S the rent going okay? Nobody giving you trouble?”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle.” She gave him a long glance. “Heard the new pimp was having some problems with Penguin, might not be around much longer. Havta say, whoever’s responsible’s a god-damn hero.”
Tim huffed, stretching. He tucked his good hand behind his head, settling into the futon. “Good for them.” He yawned. “You need anything?”
“Yeah, for you to stay out of trouble for one week.” She glared at him. “I’m workin’ the corner and suddenly one of your kids runs up and tells me you’re dying, and I need to come quick.”
“In my defense,” Tim coughed harshly. “I was unconscious. And I’m not dying.”
“Uh huh. That’s not great either.” Rebecca sighed, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. Tim leaned into the cool touch. “You eaten anything in the past day?” He shrugged. “Cool. I’m makin ya some soup.”
“Kitchen’s–”
“I know where the kitchen is, dipsh*t. Your house is tiny.” Her heels clicked against the laminated tile of the kitchen area. Tim heard the fridge door open, then close, and the clang of a pot being placed on the stove. “Good thing you have chicken soup, yeah?”
Tim hummed. “Was for Cat. Thought they were gettin’ sick.” He cracked open one eye, not sure when they had closed. Looking down, he saw that Cat’s eyes were red around the corners, and if he looked closely, he could see the skin around their nose was chapped. “Looks like we’re sharing.”
She grumbled softly, a meaningless jumble of low noise. Tim petted her hair with his good hand, and she went silent, pressing into his hand. He yawned again. “How’s work, Art?”
“Good.” He hunched over. “The diner got taken over by a gang, but the leader’s nice.” Tim hummed inquisitively. “Her name’s Mercy, and she’s… weird. I saw her break a guy’s nose, then order blueberry pancakes.”
Tim laughed, then winced. His lungs were fine, but infections made everything ache. Speaking of which, it was about time to clean the wound again. He sighed. “Art, couldja get me the first aid kit? It’s stored under the sink.”
The kid nodded, scurrying off and returning shortly. He opened the box and pulled out a roll of bandages. Instead of handing it over, he placed it on the table and began to unwrap Tim’s hand with a stubborn expression.
“I’m perfectly capable of–”
“Shut up.” Art’s voice allowed Tim no quarter. “Auntie Rebecca is making you soup and I’m gonna fix your hand and you're gonna sit here and get better.”
“Sure thing, kid.” Tim relaxed even further into the futon. “Lemme know when to get up.”
“Never.” Art deadpanned. “Just stay down and save the rest of us the trouble.” Tim winced. He started to apologize, when Art cut him off again. “Shut the f*ck up. How did I ever think you were scary? You’re a mess. A giant mess with attachment issues.”
“How do you even know what attachment issues are? You’re like, twelve.” Thankfully for Tim’s dignity, Rebecca came back holding a mug full of soup.
“Figured this would be easiest.”
“Thanks.” Tim took a sip. “Now get out of my house.” He knew if she was away too long, her girls would be in trouble, and he didn’t want to keep her for something like this.
She flicked his nose. “Stay out of trouble, dipsh*t. Ain’t enough to go around. Call me if you need anything.”
She addressed that last bit to his kids, who looked a lot like tiny generals heading off to war. They nodded, and she left. The next day it was Luis, and by then Tim was practically clawing at the sheets trying to get out of bed. But one pitiful look from whichever child was nearby had him lying right back down.
The day after that, Tim had fully recovered, but the kids still wouldn’t let him up, and the visitor was f*cking Daryl with a bag of coffee courtesy of the goddamn Riddler. This was giving Tim whiplash. Whiplash and a crisis.
Still, while Daryl was here….
Tim handed him a letter to be sent to his mother, explaining that he was so sorry, mother but he had gotten injured, and his responsibilities in Drake Industries would have to be temporarily postponed. A tragedy for the eons.
The day after that, Tim finished his antibiotics and was finally released, mentally swearing never to be caught injured ever again.
