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Chapter Text

Tim looked at the street in front of him in total despair. How had it come to this? Where had he gone wrong? What should he have done to avoid this?

The Batman had just critically injured eleven men, one of them would never walk again, many of them had suffered enough brain damage to never be the same people again. How was this a man with a no-kill policy? The fates of these men were worse than death in Gotham, courtesy of the man sent to protect them. One thing was clear in Tim's mind as he looked upon the blood spattered alley walls; 'Batman needs a Robin'.

It was his fault, he was sure of it. There was no possible way that things would have come to this if it weren't for him. If he had just... he didn't know what, but there must have been something.

Tim's breathing became ragged; what will he do? Where does he go from here? Tim began to pace the alley, bouncing anxiously with every step. He interlocked his fingers and pressed his palms together until he was sure his wrists would break. "Start from the beginning," he thought; four months and three days ago, Tim uncovered the secret identitys of Batman, Nightwing, and Robin. He'd spent the three months and three weeks afterwards collecting evidence and confirming to himself that he was correct.

A month before, Tim had been watching Robin on a regular patrol night, Batman a few alleys over, when he made the mistake of shifting his weight. The slight noise was enough to alert the young vigilante to an unknown presence. "Who are you?" Robin said to the alley; Tim wasn't sure what to do, on some level he had been hoping for this, to finally speak to the people he spent the most time with. On the other hand, what would he say? How could he explain what he was doing in a random alley, late at night, with a camera for godsakes?

Curiosity, and the fear of a birderang to the face, spurred him onwards. "I'm not here to hurt anyone," Tim said quietly, reminding him of how young he truly was, "I just wanted to see you." Tim knew that the boy across was only a few years older than him, but the knowledge that he was somewhere he should not be, made the gap stretch into centuries.

Robin's posture immediately changed, defenses lowering, and a smile encroaching on his face. He immediately tried to hide his obvious excitement at being treated like a celebrity. Tim was put more at ease by this reaction, reminding himself that they were both just kids doing their best. "oh," the vigilante said, "well, you can't see me very well from over there", Tim took the hint to approach, and stepped in to the dim alley light. "Hi," he said timidly, "I'm Tim." The boy he knew was Jason smiled back, "Hey," he said with a half wave, "I'm Robin, but I think you already know that".

Tim didn't know how to respond, he didn't just know this was Robin, he knew that this was Jason Todd, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, also the vigilante Batman. He knew that Jason was exactly five foot six, fifteen years old, and had a particular love of peanut butter protein bars. His mind ran so fast Tim was frozen in silence. Moments later, the vigilante's communicator beeped, Robin turned to Tim, gave a half wave and a hesitant "Bye," and then sped off into the night.

Two weeks later, one of the largest Arkham breakouts in the past ten years occurred, every single Bat and bat- associate was in Gotham, desperately trying to control the chaotic city. The incredible violence lasted for days, countless lives were lost and every hospital and emergency room in the greater Gotham area was overwhelmed. Tim could only assume that was when Robin fell through the cracks.

Somehow, Tim wasn't quite sure, and it infuriated him more than anything that he didn't, Robin disappeared. The Bats frantically searched the city, Tim could feel the panic in every step they took. Finally, after a full three day search, the team stopped searching. That was what he had feared the most, because not only did the search stop, but so did the appearance of Robin. A news article broke that Jason Todd, beloved child of Gotham's elite, had perished in the breakout.

When Tim saw the article, he wanted to be unable to believe, he desperately reached for the ability to deny, but he knew. He could feel it the moment Batman realized his protégé was missing. Every moment that passed since then had cemented it into his mind, that Robin, his Robin, was gone.

Batman had hit the streets that night with more vengeance and fury than anyone thought him capable. Men were left bleeding in alleys, with shattered bones and eyes swollen shut. Tim didn't think it was possible, the man who he had seen smile softly at his partner was now beating people half to death, the people of his city, the people he swore to protect.

The worst part was, it was his fault, he knew it was, it had to be. If he hadn't stepped out of the shadows, it wouldn't have ended like this. If he hadn't watched them all these years, they would have been alright. If he hadn't been born, the world would be a better place. That was what he knew to be true, the Tim that lived in his head reminded him constantly, endlessly, about how he made everything worse. He had tried to disprove that other Tim so many times, but now it was proven to be true.

Tim's chest ached and threatened to burst, tears fell unbidden from his eyes, and no matter how much he wished the world to stop, it only spun faster. The alley swam in his vision; Tim shut his eyes tight and tried to go back in time, but the past remained firmly out of his reach. 

Maybe, if his eyes were open. Maybe if he'd picked a different alley. A thousand different Maybes, but none of them stopped the footsteps coming into the alley

Chapter Text

Whenever Tim looked back at this moment he saw it differently every time, but at the end, it always ended up a necessary evil.

It was a group of about four or five, large, even for the average Gotham thugs. They wore no masks, had no apparent affiliation with any rogues, and there was no reason for them to be there, or do what they did. 

One thing always stayed the same during the flashbacks, the two largest men had baseball bats. He could still hear the scrape along the ground, the dark chuckle of someone further behind. After that, it all depended; sometimes Jack Drake was the one who broke the first rib, sometimes The Batman held him down while all the other heros punished him for his crimes against the city. 

The worst was when he saw the man in the back, watching. Bernard would stare as he got what he deserved, his mercy finally running out, his grace being proven wrong. Some nights, Robin, Jason, stood there, trying to help, but unable to do anything. Unable to help, because he was dead. Unable to save, because Tim had killed him.

He eventually looked up and saw the arms and legs, not of his father, not of his hero, but men causing senseless violence. The sky was not clear, the stars were not out, and Tim knew he would die in the Gotham grey. He told himself it was better this way, he'd rather die than wake up another morning knowing what he had done.

Unfortunately for Tim, the universe had other plans. A familiar blur swept into the alley, and in less than a minute all of his assailants were gone. He opened his eyes and saw Nightwing standing over him. "Hey there," he said gently, "I'm Nightwing, I'm going to take you somewhere safe". Tim wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn't deserve anything, that he should be left here to rot, but all that came out was a strangled, "I'm sorry" as Tim's eyes closed and refused to open again.

The next time Tim opened his eyes, he was in a clinic of some kind. The bed was soft and large, but the lights were blindingly white. "Good morning," a voice said to him, "well, more good afternoon, but that's not exactly the point." Tim saw a young woman with red hair and her arm in a sling standing just a few feet away, "I'm going to go get Dr. Tompkins." 

Tim could tell immediately he was on an ungodly amount of painkillers; he moved to sit up and was met with sharp pain basically everywhere. Abandoning the idea of movement, he sat and waited for "Dr. Tompkins", the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it in his head. 

Another woman, with dark hair streaked grey, walked in after a few minutes had passed. "Hello," she told him, "I'm Dr. Tompkins, but you may call me Leslie".

 That's where Tim had heard the name before, Dr. Leslie Tompkins, the go-to physician for all of the injuried Bats with the highest amount of pro-bono operations in the country.

Dr. Tompkins sat in a chair next to his bed, "Nightwing brought you to me two days ago, you've suffered some pretty severe injuries at the hands of some thugs. You have a few fractures we had to surgically repair, and we need to monitor you for at least a week or two, because you have a broken rib that puts you at risk for a punctured lung." 

Tim took in this information slowly, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "The woman who just saw you was a good friend of mine, Barbra Gordon, she'll be around to help you for the majority of your recovery." 

"Where am I?" Tim finally stuttered out. "You're at my personal clinic, and we assumed, due to your location in the narrows, that you don't have any family to contact." Leslie spoke gently, Tim could tell that she was used to helping street kids.

 "No," he said, "I'm not an orphan, I have parents. They said they'd come back to get me once they saw the breakout on the news" Leslie tilted her head slightly, 

"Your parents left you alone?"

"Yes, they were in eastern Europe, I think"

"What are their names? I can see if we can contact them for you"

"Janet and Jack Drake"

Tim watched Leslie's face shift slightly, "You're Tim Drake?", "Yes." he replied simply. "I'll see if we can get ahold of them for you" she rose from her chair and asked, "Is there anything we can get for you? Books, music, paper?" Tim thought for a moment, "A book would be nice, I don't particularly care what about."

Leslie smiled at him, "we can make that happen". As she turned to walk out of the room, Tim had a thought. He wasn't dead, so it was his job to use this chance at life to fix the mess he had made. "Actually," he called out, "I have one more thing." Dr. Tompkins looked at him inquisitively,

"I would love to be able to thank Nightwing in person"

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Tim met Dr. Tompkins. She told him that Nightwing would be more than happy to stop by, but that it would probably take a few days for him to be available. Tim accepted this, and spent his time either reading whatever had been brought to him, or playing chess with Barbra.

"Checkmate again," Barbraa said with a smile, "Maybe I'll swing the next one to give you a fair shot."

"As if! We're four to four and you know it" Tim replied with indignation,

"Tsk," Barbra hissed, "my injuries have made me lose my memory"

Tim rolled his eyes. "You have a broken arm, that literally doesn't effect your memory"

"Says you! Leslie never told me that it wouldn't"

"Because it doesn't need to be said"

Tim tried to keep up the facade of anger but it wouldn't stay, his smile peeked out behind his words and didn't go back. "I'd love to keep this party going, but I have to run" Tim sighed, he enjoyed his time with Barbra, it kept him from thinking about everything else there was to dwell on.

"And don't worry, we're still looking for your parents, I know they'll turn up soon."

There it was, one of the things he didn't want to think of. It wasn't so bad that the Drake's didn't spend time with him, he honestly preferred it. Once he hacked the databases of his "boarding school", Tim really just lived alone with occasional visits from unwelcome relatives.

Even still, it stung that his parents weren't here. It was true, they'd called and told him that they would come to collect him from Gotham once the news of the breakout had gone international, but that was the last Tim had heard from them. It didn't matter how often he forgot, he was a thirteen year old boy, in a hospital, without anyone.

"Thank you Barbra" he said to her as she walked out of the door. Sleep came easier when you're on as many painkillers as he was, so after reading a few chapters, he took advantage of the rest he so rarely got.

Tim woke up, what appeared to be a few hours later to the opening of his door. Leslie walked in, but behind him was a redheaded boy that he knew better than any other. "Bernard!" Tim exclaimed, he subconsciously shot himself forward, but immediate regretted it. The joy of seeing Bernard was replaced by sharp pain ringing through his body.

Bernard started at Tim's condition, not just the momentary pain, but the cast on his leg and stitches all over his face and body. "Tim," Bernard said, "I'm so glad to see you, I've been so worried that..." the end of his sentence hung in the air. "Well I'm not," Tim assured him, "I'm right here, and in the picture of health" Bernard shook his head on disbelief, "Only you could joke like that Timmy."

They smiled at each other, and Tim started to think, maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. Bernard sat with Tim until around six o'clock, when he had to go home. He promised that he would come back as often as he could. "And if your parents, you know..." he said slowly, "can't for any reason, you're always welcome at my house. My parents always want to see more of you."

Tim gave some non-committal answer and watched as Bernard turned to go. It was surprising how difficult basic things were for him right now, just a few hours with his best friend had him exhausted. Tim settled down for some much needed rest, telling himself he was simply speeding his recovery, which wasn't untrue.

Tim woke from his second nap of the day to the door opening yet again, he assumed it was Barbra or Leslie, here to see how his stitches were looking or update him on the search for his parents. However, he was not met by either woman, instead, he saw a tall male figure with black hair step into the room. He looked, frankly, awful. Hair disheveled and face gaunt even behind the mask, Tim could see the weight of grief on Nightwing.

"Hey there," the man said with strained happiness, "Dr. Tompkins said you wanted to meet me". Tim didn't know how to start, he had run through this a million times, but every single version left his head. "I know you." Tim stuttered out after a moment. The vigilante laughed, "Most people in Gotham seem to.". Tim shook his head, "No," he said with more force, "I know you". Nightwing tilted his head with confusion. "What do you mean by that?", Tim took a deep breath in, it was finally time.

"I know you, as Nightwing. I know that you used to be Robin. I know that your real name is Richard Grayson." Dick's eyes darkened, "what," he said slowly, "makes you say that?". Tim took a shaky breath in, "You are Richard Grayson, The Batman is Bruce Wayne, and Robin is-" he choked for a moment, "-was, Jason Todd" Dick sank slowly to the ground, in shock and who knows what else. He sat there for what could have been hours before saying, "did you know him?"

How could Tim answer that? He knew Robin better than anyone did, he knew these people intimately, they were everything to him. They were his family, his life, but Jason did not know him. They had spoken a single time. How could Tim explain everything that was. Everything he did. "A little," he decided on, "we spoke, but I knew him more than he knew me."

Dick sat in silence for a moment longer, "How do you know my name?" "I figured it out four months and six days ago," he admitted, "I had theorized for years, I knew, somewhere in my head that I was correct, but the evidence was eventually irrefutable". Tim looked at the broken man in front of him, "I spoke to Jason last week, only for a moment, but I know that..." he cut off, not knowing how to articulate his guilt.

"I don't know what it was specifically, but I can promise that his death was my fault. I could have stopped it, I know I could have" The vigilante opened his mouth and choked out a sob, "No," he said, "it.. if it wasn't my fault, then it can't be yours"

Tim considered the possibility the the other man was correct, that he didn't cause Robin's demise. The idea didn't stick in his mind, there wasn't room for that possibility. "It doesn't matter," he said, "who's fault it was, all that matters is the Batman keeps protecting this city, instead of destroying it."

Tim stared directly into Nightwing's eyes, "Batman needs a Robin to keep him , and you are the only one who can do that"

Chapter Text

Nightwing stared at Tim in shock. "What are you suggesting?", the boy took a deep breath and began to explain, "Since Jason died, Batman has been more violent than he's ever been. If he keeps going, he is going to kill someone, and if that happens, then Batman is no longer a protector." 

Dick narrowed his eyes, "and so you're asking me, a grown ass man, to take on my dead brother's mantel?" 

Tim paused, he hadn't really thought of it that way, "I'm not saying you have to wear the same costume you used to, or try to replace Jason, but Batman needs someone to keep him from crossing the line." 

Dick looked at him with an unreadable expression, "it is not your job to police the mental health of Batman, and it sure as hell isn't mine."

The vigilante turned to walk away but Tim called out in desperation, "Please!", Nightwing turned around, "I just want to fix this. Please, let me fix this". 

Dick's eyes changed from anger to sadness, "you don't need to fix what you didn't break"

Tim shook his head, "You don't understand, I broke it, I messed it all up, and I don't know how, but I know that I did." He locked eyes with the older man and said with conviction, "Let me fix the city I broke"

Nightwing sighed, "I have to go patrol, but I'll be back."

Tim could have lept with excitement, "but I will never be Robin again, and Bruce will never have another one, I promise you."

With the final note, the older man left the room, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts.

Tim was dangerously close to panic, he hadn't thought about Nightwing saying no, it hadn't even crossed his mind. It made sense though, Dick Grayson was almost twenty, it was admittedly ridiculous to ask him to be Robin again. And, oh God, Jason was his brother, Tim had just asked a grieving man to take up the symbol of his dead sibling. That was maybe the most insensitive thing anyone has ever done, forget insensitive, that was cruel.

Tim tried to get ahold of his breathing, but the thoughts kept coming. Telling him how evil he was, how awful, he broke everything he had ever touched and now his parents aren't even coming back. If he was going to die alone, he might as well do it.

Tim didn't know how long it took to stop spiraling, but by the time he did, exhaustion had overcome him. His body and mind ached from all of the revelations he'd had today. He was faced by the familiar problem, 'what do I do now?'. It was okay, it will all be okay, he knew it. He knew he could fix it just like he set out to, he would just have to figure out another angle to come at it from.

Sleep came slowly, and when it did it was not restful. Tim tossed and turned as much as he could with his leg in a cast and an IV in his arm. The next morning did come eventually, and Tim watched the sun come up gratefully.

Dr. Tompkins walked into the room with a serious expression on her face, "Good morning Tim, I hope you slept well." Tim considered telling her the truth, but instead nodded and said nothing. "I have some news about your parents," her face looked grim, "but unfortunately it isn't good."

Tim's mind whirled, what could it be? Were they dead? Had they disowned him? A million options flew through his mind, all terrifying to him. "Your parents were attacked upon arriving at your house. Your mother is in critical condition and your father is also severely injured." 

Tim paused. It could be worse, he supposed. Maybe Jack and Janet Drake needed to know what it felt like to be helpless. The angry thought sat in his chest and refused to leave. 

"The proper officials have been informed of your whereabouts, and until one of your parents is well enough to care for you, the city has placed you under my guardianship."

That wasn't so bad, Leslie was the kindest adult he had ever had ever talked to, and Barbra was excellent company. Although, Tim couldn't wrap his head around why she would agree to this. "Really? You would do that for me?", Leslie's eyes softened, of course Tim, you're injured, you're thirteen, there isn't a sane person alive who wouldn't want to keep you safe."

He supposed that made both his father, mother, and himself fall outside of the 'Sane' category, but that wasn't all together surprising.

"Do you know about how long that will be?"

"Unfortunately no, it's unclear how long your mother will take to recover, and we won't know the full effects of your father's injuries until he wakes up"

Tim sat with this information. If anything, this was good news. He might be a horrible person for not feeling sympathy for his parents, no, he was definitely a horrible person, but at least this way he could stay close to Nightwing and maybe even Batman himself.

The next day, Barbra didn't come to visit him like normal, which was probably fine, right?

No one came into his room for several hours, until there was a small knock on the door. 

Bernard's red hair peeked into the room, and Tim felt the breath he was holding release. 

Bernard had brought a deck of cards and an omelet, Tim couldn't stop the smile that creeped over his face. This was the sweetest boy on the planet, he was sure.

The two spent hours talking, laughing, or just sitting at each other's side. Tim managed to forget, for a moment, what a mess he'd made the night before.

Unfortunately, Bernard couldn't stay forever, as much as both of them would like that. He left the cards and a promise that he would be back tomorrow.

Tim spent the rest of his day reading, it was the only thing that he could do to keep his mind somewhat occupied.

At seven PM, there was another knock on the door. Tim didn't bother to look up, he knew it was Leslie, coming to check on him like she always did in the evenings.

Once it was opened however, Tim could tell that the gait was much heavier than Leslie's ever could be. He snapped his head up, and instead of his doctor, he was faced with billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne.

The man did not look happy. He didn't look mad either, but Tim could tell every muscle in his body was taught.

"Hello," the man announced, "I've heard a lot about you, and it seems, you know a lot about me."

Tim gulped, this was bad, very bad, incredibly bad. He didn't know what to say, or do, or how to fix anything.

Tim settled on the truth, it wasn't easy, but it was as close as he'd get to a productive interaction with this man.

"I know you, I know about your night job. I've met Nightwing, and I was– I knew Jason."

The older man's eyes were empty as he stared back.

"All I want is for you to be Batman again. All I want is to fix this city"

Bruce did not say that he already was Batman. He did not say that a thirteen year old couldn't possibly fix Gotham. He simply looked at Tim with understanding and deep, deep, sadness.

"I'm aware of the situation with your parents, and while Leslie is more than happy to keep you here, isolation will not help your recovery."

Confusion crept over Tim's features. Were they going to put him in a group home? Where could this possibly be going?

"I would like to offer you a place at my Manor until your parents can take responsibility of you."