Chapter Text
"Kid," Dick says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, looking at the boy from Gotham City grinning at him from his perch on the circus podium he has Pedro trapped under, "You and I have got to talk." After Dick cleans up this mess, that is. He can feel the headache start forming behind his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose as the kid gets off the podium so that the maintenance crew can get Pedro. The kid puts his hands in his pockets, looking suddenly nervous. Nervous now, after everything else he's done so far? Rummaging through garbage, accusing Harry of murder like it was nothing, claiming he needed Dick's help—who even is this kid?
"The police are on the way," Harry says, coming up beside him and clasping a hand on Dock's shoulder, "Dick, thank you for believing in me. I don't know how you figured it out, but you really saved me. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't..."
"Harry, of course. You're family, you know? Besides, you couldn't have done it. There's no way you could've had the flask when I threw it out before Wilhelm was murdered. And Pedro was the one who saw me do that. When I looked into him, I found he used to work for the corporation that's trying to buy the circus-"
"Bah," Pedro spits, "We would have succeeded if you hadn't been here."
Dick frowns. "Not with how sloppy you were," he snaps, "As if the police wouldn't have figured you out immediately." The kid looks impressed despite the nervous expressing still adorning his face. Like Dick actually did something special here—like he did something. As if. The evidence, the motive—that was all there. Anyone could have put it together. Even if Dick hadn't come today, the real culprit would have been caught.
"Dick," Mr. Haly calls out from his trailer, "Can I talk to you for a minute real quick?" Okay, yea. Dick does need to talk to Mr. Haly after all this. He also needs to talk to this kid. But—after. Mr. Haly is more important right now. The kid is biting his lip, like he's internally debating something. Debating what exactly, Dick doesn't know, but this kid better not be thinking of leaving or anything stupid like that. He pins the kid with his best Wait there and don't even think about moving look as he heads toward Mr. Haly's trailer. The kid must have understood, because he stops chewing on his lip and flashes Dick a guilty grin. Dick can feel his headache intensify.
Mr. Haly is profusely thankful. It almost makes Dick feel uncomfortable.
"-Just don't know what we're going to do though," Mr. Haly finishes, "Even with the real culprits of all these incidents found, we're in a terrible position, Dick. I do feel bad after everything you've done to help us so far, but I just don't see how we can keep our doors open." Of course. No matter what Dick does, no matter how hard he tries, nothing ever works out, does it? Why would it? Mr. Haly sighs. "If only we had an investor or something, someone who could buy us time until we got back on our feet, huh?"
Dick perks up. An investor... "How much?" he asks, before he can convince himself this is actually a terrible idea and stop himself. He winces at the thought of his bank account. But he would give up every penny for even the chance to save this circus—his childhood home. Thank god for years of training—he's able to keep a straight face while internally balking when Mr. Haly tells him the number. It's going to be tight—but he can probably move around some of his vigilante funds and just manage it. He might have to coupon for the next few months.
But he has to. He can't not. And the look on Mr. Haly's face when he tells him that he wants to buy into the circus makes the months ahead filled with generic pasta sauce and peanut butter seem much more manageable.
"Dickie," Mr. Haly says as they shake hands, "I don't know—you've saved us again. I don't know how we'll ever repay you." Dick shakes his head.
"You're family," he says emphatically. Maybe his only family right now. And isn't that his own fault? He's the one who's pushing everyone else away right now, can't even bear to be around them. Not when they're so worried and keep trying to get him to talk about Bruce and how he feels about everything with Bruce. He just can't, not after Bruce—not after his confrontation with Bruce in the Batcave. And everything Bruce said. And everything Bruce didn't say. And everything Bruce refused to say. A sharp pang rises in his chest as he forcefully pushes any stray thoughts of Bruce out of his mind. "I can't just sit and watch you guys fall apart when I know I can help," he finishes. Back to the matter on hand. That's a much easier topic to deal with right now.
"Well, I'll have the papers drawn up and sent over to your lawyers."
As if Dick can afford a lawyer right now, not after promising the vast majority of his funds to the circus. Not that he can tell Mr. Haly that. "Don't be silly," he says instead, forcing out a laugh, "I'll take care of it myself."
The kid is, thankfully, still out there by his bike when Dick leaves the trailer. He's looking down at the ground and digging his toe into the dirt, clearly bored with waiting. He looks up and his face brightens when he sees Dick is out of the trailer, though it falls a little when Dick doesn't smile back.
"Okay," Dick says gruffly, before the kid has a chance to say anything, "I think we need to clear a few things up. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Why are you bothering me, specifically? How do you even know me?
The kid's mouth opens before he snaps it shut. There's something calculating in his eyes, something a little desperate. It puts Dick a little on edge.
"Um, I, um," he stammers out. For a kid who had so much to say earlier, he suddenly can't seem to put a sentence together. Dick can feel his irritation rise. It must show on his face, because the kid gulps, "This was probably a dumb idea. I shouldn't have come. Especially if you're going to join the circus again. Which is totally cool, if you are! It's just, um. I just—I didn't know what else to do, there's just something weird going on with my parents' company and I thought maybe you could help-"
His parents' company? What on earth does Dick have to do anything with this nonsense? For god's sake, what is going on? Maybe he should have asked Mr. Haly if he had any Tylenol before he came outside. "Kid," he says, frustration bleeding through, "I don't know who you think I am, but I can promise you, I don't know anything about any companies. You might want to call the police about this, instead."
"No, that's just it," the kid says, "I can't trust the police. I think they're in on it. I think I might get arrested soon. I need—I think I need Nightwing's help."
Well. That complicates things.
Dick goes into damage-control mode immediately. Loosens his shoulders, gets a wide smile on his face, shakes his head in apparent confusion, “Kid, I don’t know what you’re talking about—Nightwing? Who’s that supposed to be? I think you have me mixed up with-”
“No. I know you’re Nightwing.” All trace of nervousness is gone. There’s an assured look in the kid’s eyes, suddenly. “Just like I know Jason Todd is Robin and Bruce Wayne is Bat-”
Dick’s hand shoots out and grabs the kid’s upper arm. He yelps, eyes widening. Dick tightens his grip—not enough to bruise, but enough to show the kid that he needs to be very, very careful from here on out. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing,” he growls out, “But I won’t be part of it.” A warning.
“I’m not playing any games,” the kid whimpers.
What a joke. Does this kid think Dick is stupid? That he’ll fall for such an easy trick? “Who are you? Who sent you?” Dick looks him straight in the eye, unblinking. The kid’s cheeks turn a little splotchy.
“No—no one sent me,” the kid pleads, a panicked look in his eyes. “I swear. I came here on my own. I didn’t want to have to, I mean it. But I just—I just really need help right now and I didn’t know where else to go. That’s it. I’m sorry.” The kid is breathing heavily now.
And—shit. The look in the kid’s eyes, the real fear there, sticking to his story despite any attempt at intimidation by Dick—he’s not acting. Dick would be able to tell if he was. There’s no tells, nothing to indicate this kid is being anything but genuine.
Which means that this kid somehow genuinely knows. Greatest kept secret in the world, and Dick has an eleven year old spitting it in his face.
“Who told you?” Dick asks.
“Um, no one. I just, um, know. Nobody else does, don’t worry!”
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and furrows his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says, disbelief clear in his voice. How would a kid ‘just know’? “How do you know then?”
“Um. I, uh. That’s not really important, is it?” The kid averts his gaze, trying to look at anything but Dick’s face.
That’s not really impor—is this kid serious? Dick grits his teeth in frustration. He opens his mouth to tell the kid to knock it off and answer his question when-
“You’re still here, Dick? Thought you left already.” Dick whips his head around to see Elizabeth walking towards him carrying a bushel of hay. He smiles brightly and clasps a hand on the kid’s shoulder to keep him in place. Can’t have him running off the moment Dick’s attention is turned.
“Just finishing up a few things here,” he tells her. How stupid of him—letting this kid get him caught up in a conversation of this nature in public where anyone could hear. He should know better—do better. He needs to get this kid somewhere more private. Where to, though? Not the Titans Tower. This doesn’t concern them. It does concern—but no, not there. Dick won’t. He can’t. “Just about to head home, actually.” Not that Dick really wants to bring this kid to his apartment. But he can’t just let this kid go now. And there’s nowhere else. He can hear the kid gulp next to him.
Elizabeth smiles widely back, “Well, Dick, it’s always a pleasure to see you here. Don’t wait so long before the next visit, okay?”
“Sure thing, Liz.” The woman heads past them and Dick looks down at the kid. “Let’s go. Now.”
“Go where?”
“With me. Home. Where you can finally explain to me exactly what’s going on.” Dick’s tone brooks no argument.
“Um. Okay. Yea. Sure.” The kid thankfully doesn’t try to fight him on this and grabs his bike, allowing Dick to steer him towards his car. He pops the trunk and looks at the kid expectantly. The kid has a deer in the headlights look on his face.
“Uh. Um.” the kid stammers out. He looks a bit nervous. “Am I-? Did you want me to get in the trunk?” Dick places his head in his hands and lets out a deep sigh. This day could not possibly get any worse. This kid. This kid.
“Your bike,” he says slowly, “Unless you wanted to leave it behind here.”
The kid’s mouth drops open in a soft ‘o’ as his eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, that makes way more sense.” The relief in his voice is clear. Dick’s almost a little offended. Did this kid really think Dick was going to put him in the trunk? It’s not like Dick is kidnapping him or anything.
He’s not. He’s really not. The kid agreed to come. And the kid supposedly came to him for help with—well, whatever he’s here for. Anyways, it’s not like Dick is planning on keeping him trapped forever or anything, he just needs him long to find out what on earth is going on. It’s completely different from kidnapping.
The kid wrestles his bike into the trunk and tries to close the door. The bike is sticking out a little, so the trunk doesn’t want to close all the way. He twists his lips and wiggles it a bit, trying to get it to fit in. Dick watches him struggle over it. It’s a bit amusing. But as satisfying as it is to watch, they don’t have time for this. Dick pushes the kid out of the way, twisting the front wheel and pushing the bike all the way in and slamming the trunk door shut. The kid gives him a blinding smile.
“Thanks!” he chirps. Like Dick hadn’t just watch him struggle for five minutes just for fun. The kid bounces over to the passenger seat. Wasn’t he just scared? This way this kid keeps switching from fearful to excited throws Dick a little off balance.
“Hey,” Dick says, getting his bearings back and frowning. “Twelve and under have to sit in the back.”
The kid has the audacity to look offended at that. “I’m thirteen,” he says shortly. Is he pouting? The kid opens the door and gets in, closing it roughly behind him with a huff.
Fantastic. This is going to be a fantastic car ride. Half of Dick wants to force the kid in the back anyways, just so he doesn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being up front together.
But it’s probably not worth the fight or the wasted time. Dick knows very well how important choosing your battles is.
He slides into the driver’s seat himself, starting the car and pulling away from the circus. He glances at the kid out of the corner of his eye. The kid is staring resolutely out of the window. Which is good. He can keep looking out there, and Dick can ignore him. It’s only about a half hour to his apartment. That’s not too long to sit in silence. And once they’re there Dick can finally get to the bottom of this.
Well. It should have been a half hour to his apartment. Dick neglected to remember that he was driving back to New York City during rush hour. It’s taken them twenty minutes to move five miles in bumper to bumper traffic. The kid is tapping his fingers on the door. Dick can feel the artery in his temple pulse in time with the tapping.
“Can you stop?” he snaps. He can see the kid jump a little out of the corner of his eye, clearly startled by Dick breaking the silence in the car.
“Oh. Um. Sorry,” the kid replies weakly, placing his hands in his lap. He immediately starts twisting his hands together. Is this kid incapable of sitting still? Dick’s head throbs. “Um, Dick?” Oh good. The kid seems to think that since Dick broke the silence of the car, he can talk now. Just when Dick thought this car ride couldn’t get any worse. Between the kid and this traffic, he feels like he’s about to have a stroke. He takes a deep breath in and out. He just needs to focus on something that’s not either of those things. The sunset. It’s a very nice sunset. He can feel his heart rate slowing down. He should probably answer the kid now.
“Yes?”
“Not that you can help traffic, but, um. How much longer is this going to be?”
What. Does the kid have a hot date he needs to get to or something? “Why? You have someplace you need to be?”
“Oh. No. It’s just. Um. Nothing. It’s not that important. I’m fine.”
The kid is clearly not fine. “Whatever it is just spit it-” Dick gets cut off by a loud grumble. He looks over at the kid. The kid looks extremely embarrassed. Was that his—is the kid hungry? Dick just blinks at the kid. Really? Really? “Was that your stomach?” Dick asks.
“No,” the kid says quickly. His stomach gives another loud growl. Dick scoffs in disbelief. The kid is hungry. This kid has the audacity to be hungry at him after everything, after he followed him around the circus and ruined his day and threw Dick’s biggest secret in his face. Of course. Why shouldn’t this be the case? Now Dick has to deal with a hungry little twelve—sorry, thirteen—year old on top of everything else that’s going on. “I’m fine, really,” the kid insists, “I mean. I am a little hungry. I haven’t eaten since lunch. But it’s fine. I can totally manage. It’ll just be a little bit longer, right? We’re almost there, right?”
It won’t just be a little bit longer, not in this traffic. If Dick has to listen to this kid’s stomach growling the rest of the way, he’s really going to lose it. He flicks his eyes over to the side of the road. There’s a shitty little roadside diner there. It looks like it has the type of food that will keep you on the toilet for two days. Dick looks at the slow-moving traffic in front of them, back to the diner. He heaves a sigh and swerves off to the right. The kid makes a confused noise next to him. Dick ignores that and pulls into the parking lot.
“Um,” the kid says, “What are we—um. I’m really fine. It’s totally-”
“Listen, Kevin,” Dick cuts the kid off, “My patience is next to zero and I’m not going to spend another hour in the car with you listening to your stomach growl pathetically. Out.”
The kid frowns as he gets out of the car. “My name’s not Kevin,” he grumbles.
Dick rolls his eyes. Of course it isn’t. Dick, however, doesn’t actually know the kid’s name. Seeing as how the kid hasn’t told him yet. Hadn’t Dick asked him? He did. The kid never actually answered him. How sneaky. “Okay,” he says slowly, “What is your name then?”
“Uh, is that impor-”
“Yes, that’s important,” Dick snaps, “Unless you want me to keep calling you ‘the kid’ or just making up names for you.”
“I—no. Um. My name’s Tim—Tim Drake,” the kid says. He has a cautious look on his face as he finally gives Dick his name. Is he expecting Dick to know it? It’s not ringing any bells.
“Okay, Tim,” he says, “Let’s get in, eat, and get out. No talking about anything in public. Got it?”
“Uh, yea—got it.”
The waitress sitting at the counter looks up at them with a grin when they enter the diner. She looks in her forties, hair big and lips red. “Two?” she asks, pulling out a couple of menus, “You can take a seat right over here. I’ll be back in a minute to get your orders, okay?”
The boy props up the menu in front of him as if he can hide his face after he takes the seat across from Dick. Doesn’t stop him from casting furtive glances above the menu at Dick. Really, how irritating. As if he’s not being totally and completely obvious. Dick drums his fingers on the table. The waitress can’t get back here soon enough.
“Sorry about that,” she chirps as she comes up to their table, “Y’all ready to order?”
The kid—Tim—looks at Dick curiously, like he wants to know what Dick is going to order. What, is he planning on copying Dick or something? Not a chance. “You first,” he tells Tim with a bland smile. The kid’s face falls a little in disappointment. Dick probably hit the nail on its head there.
“I’ll take, um, a cheeseburger and fries please,” he says to the waitress.
“Sure thing. You want a drink to that? Fridays we have a special on milkshakes.” Dick sees a flash of want in Tim’s eyes, but he quickly shakes his head.
“No, I’ll just take a water.”
“Sure thing. And how about you, dear?” she turns to Dick.
“I’ll take a Monte Cristo,” he tells her.
“Fries okay with that?”
“Yea.”
“Anything to drink?” Dick sighs as he looks over at Tim. He really shouldn’t. This kid has done nothing but get under his skin so far.
“We’ll take two vanilla milkshakes,” he says. Tim’s jaw slacks open in surprise. The waitress smiles.
“Of course. We’ll have that out for you in a jiffy.” She takes the menus and leaves. Now Tim doesn’t have anything to hide behind. He chews on his lip, now staring openly at Dick. Dick feels like he’s in a zoo.
“Um,” Tim says, “You really didn’t have to-”
“Don’t read too much into it,” Dick interrupts, “This is only to make sure I don’t have to hear anymore stomach growling for the rest of the night.” It’s entirely for Dick’s benefit.
Tim bites back a grin and looks down as he traces the designs on the table with a finger. He really can’t sit still, can he? Dick looks out the window. At least traffic seems to look like it’s starting to ease up a bit outside. Hopefully the rest of the drive to his apartment won’t be as bad as it’s been.
The plates clink in front of them. Tim’s eyes light up as he thanks the waitress and stuffs a few fries into his mouth. Dick picks up his sandwich much slower. Watching Tim inhale his food—god, the kid certainly eats like a thirteen-year-old. It’s all Dick can do to not shudder. He looks away and munches at his sandwich.
And everything is fine for a few minutes, at least, until the hairs on the back of Dick’s neck raise. Someone is watching him, and there’s only one culprit. He glances back and Tim. The kid is holding a half eaten cheeseburger, mouth half open, just watching Dick eat. His eyes are flitting across Dick’s face, as if he can memorize exactly how Dick’s jaw moves as he chews his food. It makes Dick feel like he’s an animal in a zoo, being watched like this. He clears his throat. The moment Tim realizes he’s been caught is obvious. He flushes and makes a small ‘eep’ noise as he returns his attention back to his cheeseburger and takes a bite. Dick shakes his head a little bit and returns to his sandwich. What a weirdo. What has Dick gotten himself into? What did he ever do to deserve this?
Thankfully, the rest of the meal passes without any more weird staring. Tim fidgets in his seat.
“Um,” he says, “Can I go to the bathroom?”
Dick almost wants to say no. Bruce would never—Dick should know better than to let someone with the knowledge this kid possesses out of his sight. What if this kid is plotting something? But no, Dick would like to think his instincts are better than that. Whatever this kid’s deal is—he seems genuine about how he came to Dick for help. What if the kid gets spooked and runs off? But where would he run to, really. Dick has his bike locked in his car. They’re on a diner off the highway. And Dick definitely does not want the kid peeing his pants in his car. He waves the kid off with a grunt. If the kid does think he can disappear now—Dick will find him.
The waitress pops up at the table shortly after Tim heads into the restroom. “Here’s the bill,” she says, ripping off a piece of paper from her pad. Dick takes it from her and sighs at the cost. He really shouldn’t have been such a bleeding heart and sprung for the milkshakes. He opens his wallet and thumbs through the cash—at least he has enough to cover this, with tip. He hands over the bills.
“Thanks. You need change?”
“No, keep the rest.”
“Much appreciated,” the waitress writes down a few numbers and then flashes a grin at Dick, “Your little brother is a cutie, isn’t he? And so polite. My son’s about his age and I can’t remember the last time I got him to say thank you to someone.”
Dick chokes and coughs—little brother? That kid? Yea, right. He almost says as much before he stops himself. He thinks of the optics of denying the kid is his brother—then he’s just an adult man with a random kid eating out at a shady roadside diner. The last thing he needs right now is suspicion and the police called on him. He gives the waitress a weak smile. “Um, thanks,” he says as he spies the kid walking out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his pants. Dick checks to make sure the kid didn’t leave anything behind and stands up. “The food was great. Gotta be going, now.”
“Y’all have a nice night, okay?”
Dick grabs Tim by the upper arm right by the door out and guides him out. “You good? Time to go.”
Tim gives a small gulp and nods before getting a determined look on his face. Dick stifles a sigh as he internally steels himself for the car ride the rest of the way to his apartment.
Dick immediately regrets bringing the kid to his apartment as soon as he opens the door. He grits his teeth as the kid pokes his head in.
“Wow,” Tim says, “I wasn’t expecting your place to look, um. Like this.”
Like this being covered in boxes. Clothes strewn over the couch. An answering machine blinking twenty-five, the number of messages that Dick has refused to listen to. Dick grabs a couple of shirts off the table and throws them into a hall closet. “You have anything more you want to say about that?”
“Um, no. Probably not.” At least the kid seems to have a small sense of self-preservation.
“Good.” Dick pulls a chair from his little kitchen table and spins it around, taking a seat. He gives the kid an expectant look. “All right. Let’s go. Time for you to talk.” The kid pales a little bit as he transfers his weight from one foot to the next, breathing steadily through his mouth. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then snaps it shut. Dick crosses his arms across his chest in annoyance.
“Listen, Tim,” Dick snaps, “We can’t keep doing this. You can’t just keep going from super confident to super nervous and conveniently keep avoiding the subject. We don’t have all night. I’m sure your parents will get worried at some point,” The kid gets a funny look on his face. Whatever. “So let’s start from the top. How do you know?” He doesn’t have to elaborate on what. The kid clearly catches his meaning.
“I don’t—I really don’t want to have to tell you,” he says, voice small, “Can’t you just take my word for it?”
Dick shakes his head. “Not a chance, kid. Spill.”
“Okay,” the kid takes a deep breath and looks up towards the ceiling, “I guess I should start—I mean, it all started when—I mean,” he lets out a frustrated sigh before looking down at his feet, “I’m sorry. I really don’t want to have to bring this up. I don’t want to hurt you. Um. I guess I should say. This isn’t the first time we’ve met actually. You might not remember. But I do.”
Dick is drawing a blank. Did he save this kid at some point? Was he sloppy, did he give himself away? He doesn’t think that’s it, but…
The kid looks straight at him now, “When I was about three or so. Um. My parents took me to a circus that had come to Gotham City.” Dick stills. The kid doesn’t want to hurt him, that’s what he said…Dick is starting to get a bad feeling. “It was—I don’t remember a lot of specifics. I was pretty young. I remember a lot of colors and sounds. My mom holding me close. I think she was worried. Um. I remember—the thing I really remember is getting my picture taken. With, um. You and your parents. Your costume, it was so colorful—I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It was—amazing. And you gave me this big grin and said you’d do a quadruple somersault, just for me. It—I can remember it so clearly. I was mesmerized.” He bites his lip as he gets a faraway look on his face, before turning his attention back to Dick. “I can prove it too,” he admits, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a photo, flipping it so Dick can see. And when Dick does, he almost loses his breath.
Because he knows that photo. His head swivels to his bedroom door where he knows that same photo is sitting on his dresser. The last photo he had ever taken with his parents. He hadn't really given any thought to the other family in the photo, never bothered to look too closely at them—he only ever looked at his mother’s smile, his father’s eyes, rubbing a finger over their faces as he committed to memory every line on their faces.
But Tim isn’t done yet. Dick shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks back at the kid, eyes sharper than ever before. The kid’s got a distant look on his face, like he’s about to lose himself in the memories as well. “I can’t remember the other acts in the circus. The clowns or the animals. I was just waiting—waiting for you to go on. And you did, and you did that quadruple somersault—I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I couldn’t even blink. And you went to the ground, and your parents went up, your mother first, and then your father…” he trails off, biting his lower lip. Dick goes cold as the tears bite at the corner of his eyes, unbidden. “And then the rope snapped. I couldn’t watch. I looked away. But I heard. And then I heard you crying, and then I looked again and I saw you holding your parents and crying...” Tim slouches as he clutches at the hem of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says, misery clear in his voice, “I am. I didn’t want to have to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you by bringing this up.”
Dick takes a deep, shaky breath as he wipes roughly as his eyes with the heel of his hand. Hearing his life story from this kid...he should be more annoyed, especially after how much trouble Tim was today. But the kid seems fairly distraught, telling him this. And can Dick blame him? He feels a little distraught hearing it all. This is not how he was expecting things to go. “Just—okay. It’s fine. I’m fine. We can’t—this is all—well, just keep going. What does this have to do with anything?”
Tim gives him a serious nod and straightens up. “Alright. Um, well. So after that, I saw a dark shape fly down towards you.” Dick can see it in his mind’s eye as clear as if it happened yesterday, Bruce swooping down to save him. There’s a pang in his heart at the thought—things were so easy back then, when Bruce came into his life, dark yet comforting, his savior. And now look at them. Had it ever meant anything to Bruce the way it did Dick? “I was so scared at first—I thought he was a monster who was going to hurt you. I thought he hurt your parents. I was trying to get to you, but my mom was holding me so tight. And then I realized, he wasn’t trying to hurt you—he was trying to help you. And that’s the first time I saw Batman—he wasn’t scary, not really. He wasn’t a monster. He was a dark knight—a protector, just like the ones in the stories my mom would read to me.” His voice cracks a bit, when he mentions his mom. He clears his throat and says, “My parents—my mom, she made a copy of the photo and sent it to you. And then they never talked about the circus again. But I—I could never forget it. I had nightmares. In my head I’d see you do your quadruple somersault, and then your parents would fall and keep falling and never land, and then Batman would come to save me just when I would start crying. And then Robin too, once he came on the scene.”
Dick can feel himself rankle a bit listening to Tim talk about his nightmares—so Batman was saving him, and not Dick’s parents? But he immediately feels bad about that. If the kid really was about three or so when it happened, of course he was traumatized by it too. Dick wasn’t the only one to witness death that night. The kid is also a victim merely by being there that night. Of course he would feel like he needed to be saved from such a terrible event. He crosses his arms, “Alright. This has been—well, I’m not going to say interesting. But what exactly does this have to do with anything?”
The kid has the audacity to look confused, like he thinks he’s being obvious and he doesn’t understand what Dick isn’t getting. “Don’t you see?” he asks, “That image of you doing your somersault—it’s stayed with me all these years. And when I was about nine, Batman and Robin ended up on the news. I remember hearing your names on the TV—I absolutely had to listen in. They managed to get a video of you guys fighting the Penguin and then Robin came in and knocked him out with a special flip.”
It’s almost starting to make sense in a horrible sort of way, but there’s still something missing. “I still don’t understand,” he says a bit weakly, “How did that….?”
Tim gives him an incredulous look. “C’mon, Dick. That special flip? It was your quadruple somersault. The one the ringmaster said only three people could do. I knew that flip like I knew my own name. And then it all clicked. Batman came and took you away from the circus. Six months later, Robin made his debut. Since you were obviously Robin and you were Bruce Wayne’s ward...Bruce Wayne had to be Batman.” Dick’s mouth drops open. That was it? That’s how this child figured it out? With one video, he was able to crack it despite the years of extensive misdirection he and Bruce had meticulously put out over the years? “I’m not going to say the rest was easy,” the kid admits, “Because it really wasn’t. You guys covered your tracks really well. But if you go in knowing that Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson have to be Batman and Robin, well, you can find the clues to prove it. And then you moved to New York and Robin disappeared. And then Bruce Wayne adopts Jason Todd and then suddenly there’s a new Robin. And then there was news about Jason being injured in a terrorist attack in Ethiopia, and then Robin is off again.” Tim shrugs. “It all fits together.” He says it so casually, as if it isn’t a big deal that he figured it out. Like it’s absolutely nothing, Dick’s biggest secret. Dick pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Okay,” he says, exhaling, “So you figured it out, what—four years ago? And kept the secret all this time without telling anyone, supposedly? Why come to me now? What do you want, exactly?”
“I would never tell,” Tim snaps, eyes fierce, “Not anyone. Batman and Nightwing and Robin—they’re too important. They’re needed, if anyone were to find out-” he stops and takes a deep, steadying breath. Dick is slightly taken aback at the kid’s sudden ferocity. Does this really mean so much to him? “I’m sorry. I would never spill the secret. Never. But as for why I came to you…” Tim visibly deflates. “Listen, as soon as I could read I’ve read everything I could about Batman and Robin—and then Nightwing. I would clip news articles, read blogs, watch the news. Anyways, um. You guys help people. It’s what you do. And I—I really think I need help now. There’s a cop asking me questions I don’t have an answer to and is kind of accusing me of things and I figured if the police were in on it, I couldn’t go to them for help. I didn’t know where else to go. So I—I decided my best bet would be to see if you could help instead.”
That—That’s a lot to take in. So the kid apparently is a fan. A passionate fan by the sound of it. But there’s something that doesn’t quite add up with his story. Policemen going after a kid like Tim for...something? He mentioned his parents' company earlier. They're going after him for something to do with that? As corrupt as Gotham could be, Dick’s just not seeing what could possibly be going on here. This kid, who looked at Dick dressed like a clown with a look of admiration on his face? “Kid, you’re only thirteen,” Dick says, “Why on earth would the police be after you for anything? Especially for your own parent's company. Are you sure these are real policemen? And I understand that you seem to really, really like Batman and Robin, but...why would you want to come to me instead of, I don’t know, just asking your parents for help? This sounds like it has to do with them, after all. If you’re in trouble, you should be letting them know.” The kid flinches and takes a step back. Which is weird. Dick doesn’t need to be a trained detective to realize there’s something there. He knows how to get finally answers from here. “Tim, please. Just tell me already.”
Tim’s face crumples and he buries it in his hands and slumps down on the couch. He just breathes for a few minutes. Dick lets him. He’s done enough interrogations in his life to know when he’s won and he’ll finally get the truth. Tim mumbles something, but his voice is too muffled by his hands to hear clearly what he said. Dick frowns. “Tim, you need to speak up.”
“My parents are dead,” Tim’s voice rings clear as he takes his face out of his hands and looks at the wall in front of him, “That’s what started all of this. A few months ago, they died and—and now the police think I’m stealing money from their company.” He looks miserable. His cheeks are all blotchy.
Dick is at a loss for words. Silence hangs over the two them. That’s not—that’s not what he was expecting. He swallows hard. Dead parents. Of all things, it has to be dead parents. All the annoyances of the day seem to fade away as Dick pushes himself up from the chair and walks over to sit next to Tim. Tim doesn't say anything. Dick leans forward on his knees. He opens his mouth and shuts it, glancing at Tim out of the corner of his eye. The kid is still staring at the wall resolutely, picture still in his hands. Dick glances down at it. There's an ever familiar pang is his chest as he sees his parents in their costumes. There's his mother's smile, with the dimples he inherited from her. His father's eyes, stern but kind. And he looks—really looks—at the other family in the photo for the first time. The toddler with the grin splitting his face, eyes crinkled in delight, the same bright blue as the woman's. The woman's blonde hair, curled for the occasion. Her soft pink dress and pearl earrings. The way her hands are clasped together in front of her nervously, like she doesn't quite know what to do with them. The man has a boisterous smile on his face, arm thrown haphazardly over his wife's shoulders. "Kid-" Dick starts, voice rough. He clears his throat. "Tim, I'm sorry-"
"It's okay," Tim says dully. His fingers tighten around the photo. He's lying. Dick doesn't know what to say. He knows there's really nothing that can be said. He lifts up a hand and pauses only for a moment before he places it gently on the kid's shoulder. He can feel Tim quaking ever so slightly. "They were supposed to be in Zanzibar, you know," Tim says in a tremulous voice, "Um. I mean. They were going to travel through some medical camps in, like, Ethiopia, Kenya, and Tanzania to oversee the delivery of medical supplies from the company before going to the Caribbean for some business stuff. But after the reports of terrorist attacks in Ethiopia, they got a bit spooked and decided that they would postpone that trip for now and go island hopping first because it was safer," he lets out a broken sort of laugh, "I normally wouldn't have known that 'cause--'cause I never bothered to keep track of where they were going, since it changed so often. But since it was the last... I—I remember my mom called from the dig site in France before they got on the plane to leave and she said that they were changing their itinerary, so don't worry about them, they'd just be gone a bit longer and then they'd be home for a bit. And she wondered what I thought—she asked what I thought of maybe getting a house in Old Gotham. I said—I said that a house might be kind of a hassle for them to have to keep track of with all their traveling and she just said, 'Oh, really? Interesting thought' and then she said how much she missed me and how much she hated we were apart sometimes. She used to always make comments like that. Maybe she’d say Bristol or the Diamond District or Gotham Village and never—never—but this time she sounded, I don't know—different." Tim sniffs. "Maybe—maybe if they had kept their original plans, if they had gone and done their stuff in Africa first and not gone to Haiti for a couple more months, they wouldn't have—they wouldn't have—and-" He inhales sharply as he bring an arm up to rub at his face sharply.
"I—kid-" Dick says helplessly.
"Sorry." Tim cuts him off before he can say anything. "This isn't what I came to you for. I got sidetracked. Sorry."
Dick nods once as he removes his hand. He can tell that Tim clearly doesn't want to talk about this anymore. "Okay," he says, softly, "Then tell me more about what you did come here for. You mentioned the police think you’re stealing from your parents' company? Can you tell me more about that?”
"Like I mentioned—there's this cop," Tim starts slowly, "He first came around a little after, well—you know. He asked me what I knew about the company—I—it's not a lot, you know. My parents never really talked to me a whole lot about it. I'm only thirteen—mom always said my only job was to enjoy myself while I was young. Sometimes I'd hear them fight about it though, late at night when they were home—my mom was usually concerned that my dad was taking too many risks and my dad thought she was being too cautious. Anyways, he made it sound like they needed the information for my parent's case, so I told him what I could and thought that was that," Tim pauses and takes a deep breath. "But he, um, came back again? Said that in looking into my parent's case they found some irregularities in the company financials and he wanted to keep me in the loop while they checked things out. He came back a few more times, would ask if I was particularly suspicious of anyone who worked there, said that they think someone was taking advantage of my parents' death to steal money from the company. I was so mad—how could someone do that—but the cop told me to try not to worry too much and just focus on school for now. He promised me that they were going to catch the person and get this fixed. He would come by occasionally to let me know how, um, the case was doing. He made it sound like they were making good progress. He would, um, sometimes make comments on how nice my camera is or that he noticed I had a new bike or something. I thought was a little odd because I didn't know what that had to do with anything, but, um I figured he was probably just trying to be be friendly. He also started asking me more questions about the company—questions he had already asked before. I kept telling him I really didn’t know anything, but maybe he hoped that I’d remember something new?" Tim shrugs helplessly, "But it was starting to get a little weird, I thought. And then, um, the last time he came to see me a few days ago...he told me that he's been trying to be patient with me and he's given me several chances to fess up and he knows what I'm doing and he wants to know where the money is and I'm going to be in a lot of trouble with the law and he wants to be able to help me, but he can't unless I tell him the truth. Then it all started to make sense. He was accusing me. He had been working his way up to it for months—maybe it was planned all along with all the questions he was asking me from the start. I panicked. I was in way over my head—I don’t know how it clicked, but I suddenly realized—whatever was going on in my parent’s company had to involve this guy, the way he had been trying to get answers from me for the past few months. And I—I didn't know what to do, I was being accused by a cop, maybe even framed by a cop, so I…" Tim trails off as he looks at Dick with pleading eyes. "I'm really not the one who's—I would never. Mom and Dad loved the company. I wouldn't do anything to it. Whatever is going on, it's not me. Please believe me."
And Dick—he does believe the kid, he really does. There's no tells of lying in his demeanor, his desperation seems genuine. His description of his interactions with the cop are certainly suspicious enough—how many corrupt cops had Dick seen act exactly like that? And to top it off, the kid came to a vigilante for help in his desperation. Not the actions of a hardened criminal.
“Okay. Can you tell me the cop's name?" Dick asks.
"Um. He said his name was Officer Thomas? His first name...I think he said it was Greg? Yea, that sounds right. Greg Thomas."
Dick scans his memory. The name doesn't sound familiar at all. He can’t remember ever working with any cop by that name. It’s also not a name of anyone he remembers Bruce keeping an eye on for corruption. That doesn't really mean anything, though. The Gotham City Police Department employs about thirty thousand officers. So many can slip under the radar. He runs a hand through his hair as he considers the case. Honestly, it seems simple enough. Look into the company and look into the officer. Find out why a child is potentially being framed for stealing from his dead parents' company.
But that's exactly where it gets difficult. The company and the officer—they're in Gotham and Dick—Dick isn’t. He doesn't live in Gotham anymore. And Tim—Tim would have had to have known that, right? So why come to Dick, especially if he also knows who Batman is? Wouldn't it have made more sense to...? "Listen, Tim. I'm starting to understand why you thought you had to get outside help. But you know, I work out of New York. Not Gotham."
Tim's face falls ever so slightly. "Yea. I know. I guess I thought that maybe it didn't matter? Or that you could bring it to Batman's attention, if you were too busy." He brightens up again, "I figured he'd definitely look into it, if it was coming from you, right? After all, you're Batman and Robin." He says it confidently, like it has to be true. It takes everything in Dick not to flinch. As if Bruce would ever listen just because it came from him. The kid's got an earnest look on his face, like he truly believes that's the case. It almost makes Dick a little angry. What does this kid think he knows about him and Bruce? What he thinks Bruce is like, when Bruce is the one who—how dare this kid presume-
Dick feels a sharp pain in his hands. He looks down to see his hands tightly fisted in his lap, his nails digging into the fleshy palms. His jaw is clenched, teeth gritted. He exhales and methodically unclenches everything. Don't think about Bruce. Just focus on the case at hand. The easy, simple case at hand. Really, it's such an easy case Tim probably doesn't actually need a vigilante for special help to take care of it. Dick understands exactly why the cops have the kid spooked at the moment, but there are good cops in Gotham that would want to know about this. "Tim," he says, doing his best to keep his voice even. "I get that you're concerned about the police, but did you even consider going to Commissioner Gordon or anything? He's a good guy. Tries to root out corruption in the force. He'd get this all straightened out. He'd listen."
Tim gets a sheepish look on his face as he reaches up to scratch the back of his head. It's clear the most common sense option of how to handle his situation really didn't occur to him. "It probably would have made more sense to do that, huh?" he says abashedly, "Or to try and go to Batman myself. It's just—I-" he blushes slightly as he twists his hands together, "I guess—when I realized I was in trouble and needed help—the only person I could think of was you. You were my—you were my first choice." The admission makes Dick still. The kid's blush is deeper red now and he's looking everywhere but at Dick.
Which is—Dick really doesn't know what to think of that. What to even say to that. Him, the first choice for help? It seems almost laughable. He's nothing but a giant mess. It's clear to everyone. Except this kid, apparently. He should really just give Tim Gordon's number and send him on his way after making sure he will continue to keep his mouth shut about everything he knows. Inform the necessary people about the identity breach just in case, let them deal with it, and go on with his life.
"Okay. I'll help you," is what Dick says instead. The kid widens his eyes in shock, before his face melts into an elated expression.
"You will? For real? No lie?" he yelps, "I mean—that—wow, thank you. This is amazing. This is going to be great. Oh man-"
Dick holds up a hand to quiet the kid and looks out the window. It's dark now. He looks at the clock and—shit. This took way too long. Even if the kid doesn't have parents, he probably has someone who's worried about him. Who might be calling the police. Which could turn into a problem, if they find out Dick was the last person Tim was with, even if the kid came with him willingly. This kid needs to be home, like, an hour ago. He stands up quickly. "Okay, kid. Like I said, I can look into this for you, but look at the time—given your age, you were probably expected home hours ago. It would be suspicious to keep you any longer. Tell me your address and I'll take you there." The guilty look that Tim gets is very telling. Of what, Dick's not sure yet. Dick sighs. "What is it, Tim?"
"Well, um. To be fair, I wasn't sure how long this would take," Tim starts, almost defensively. "So I got permission to spend the weekend at a friend's in case it took a bit to find you. So. Um. I don't actually have to get back yet. It might be strange if I do show up back there already. But if you want me gone, I guess I can go to Ives' place or something..." he trails off, looking deep in thought. Dick rubs his forehead. So the kid basically planned on searching for him in all weekend if he had to? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He shouldn't have let his guard down and forgotten for even a second how ridiculous the kid is. But—Dick weighs his current options. He's had about enough of the kid, himself, so it'd probably be best to send him to his friend's house while Dick looks into his case but...he doesn't know the friend—would sending Tim there while he does this be a potential security risk? The kid being a fan, he might let something slip about getting help from Nightwing due to his excitement. Which would be a problem. Choosing not to send Tim away would also give Dick more time to ascertain Tim as a person, determine exactly how safe it is that he knows. And really, it would probably be easiest if he had any questions about anything with the company while he was doing his research if Tim didn't leave. It's obvious what the right choice is. And just as his headache was starting to recede.
"You can stay," Dick allows. The kid's eyes light up. "Just until we get things figured out. You stay out of my way and try not to talk to much. I have work to do." The kid nods furiously. "You going to be able to maintain the lie that you were at a friend's house all weekend? I'm telling you right now, I'm not going to get in trouble over you."
"Well. Um. I guess you could say I kind of didn't lie, not really? If we want to get technical about it. So, um. I don't think it'll be too hard actually."
Dick blinks a couple of times as he registers what the kid said. He scoffs and shakes his head. The kid's got a cheeky grin on his face now. Spending the weekend at a friend's—ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He should change his mind right now send the kid away instead, whatever the consequences. He'd probably save himself a hell of a headache.