Chapter Text
Tim knew he shouldn’t have mentioned his upcoming birthday to Dick. And he definitely shouldn’t have admitted to not having a birthday party planned. And he never should have further admitted to never having had a birthday party before. He’s not sure why his “older brother” is making such a big deal out of it though. You’d think it was a federal crime or something.
Besides, he’d totally been under the influence and coerced into those confessions. By which he meant that he was tired, Dick had gotten him some food and that wasn’t helping him stay awake, and he’d been bribed…or maybe that was blackmailed, with coffee, if he “answered honestly.” Which was why he was now sitting on the edge of a roof, trying to figure out why they were having the conversation at all.
“You seriously mean that you’ve never had a party? Ever?” Dick asks incredulously.
Tim frowns down at his coffee. “You know that this is really crappy coffee and totally not worth my cooperation, right?”
“Tim!” Dick nudges him. “You said you’d answer if I gave you the coffee. You never said it had to be good. So answer!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Tim mutters grumpily. “And, for the last time, no. I have never had a birthday party. I still don’t get what your problem is with this.”
Dick looks horrified, as though Tim had just admitted to torturing small animals or something.
“Um, because it’s your birthday? And that only comes once a year? Dude,” Dick says, turning to face him, “It’s not like your parents don’t have the money for it. So…why didn’t they ever celebrate the birth of their only child?”
Tim blinks slowly, sorting through the loaded questions.
“Um…” he says after thinking it through. “They’re really busy. And it’s not like a little kid needs a birthday party. They didn’t want to waste money, it’s silly. I mean, little kids don’t even remember their birthdays from year to year.”
He’s four-years-old, and he’s blinking up at his mother, who had woken him up and made him come downstairs. It’s really early, and he’s tired and confused. She’s gesturing at a small pile of boxes stacked neatly on the dining room table.
“See?” she says happily. “This is so much more efficient! You have a present for your birthday next week, and one for Christmas, and then another for next year’s birthday. That way we won’t have to interrupt our trip!”
He stares at the boxes and wonders if all parents do this for their children. His nanny always seems sort of mad when he asks about his parents, so he’s scared to ask her. His mother is still smiling expectantly, clearly pleased with herself, but he’s not happy, and that smile is fading fast.
“I-it’s good, Mother.” He says, trying to stop the smile from fading. “V-very efficient.”
It doesn’t work, and the stuttering infuriates her, as usual. He stands and stares down at his bare feet as she gives him a lecture on proper speech and enunciation, then follows with “What did I do to have such an ungrateful child?!?”
He stands silently as she storms out, as he hears her and his father dragging their luggage to the door, as they shut it without a word, as they drive away. He doesn’t move, even when they’re gone and too far away to see if he does.
They don’t come back for his next birthday, and they miss Christmas too—delayed by the weather, they say when asked. His mother doesn’t put out presents for him before they leave again. In fact, they don’t mention it again. He doesn’t know if other parents do that, but he thinks they remember to leave presents for their children.
Tim shakes his head to wake up. He’s almost wondering if Dick put something in his coffee—he’s really tired and his head keeps getting muddled with so many thoughts and words. He yawns, notices Dick’s smirk, and punches him in the arm.
“Did you drug me?”
“Um…no. Thought about it, but no.” He protests, holding his hands up innocently, “You’re so suspicious. And that didn’t answer my question, Timmy. I mean, yeah, they’re busy, and yeah, little kids might not remember their birthdays. But that doesn’t matter. Parents do it anyway, because it makes the kids happy. They’re not that busy!”
Tim looks back at his cup and feels the prick of tears forming. He breathes slowly, regulating his emotions. Once he’s in control, he answers.
“They’re really busy and I’m old enough to understand that. I mean, I’ll be fourteen this year. I don’t need a party. It’s cool.”
He’s in first grade, and one of his classmates is having a party. Tim even got an invitation, but he’s not sure how he’ll get to their house—the buses don’t run there, and he can’t afford a taxi right now. He’s probably not going to make it, but he still listens with interest as the others chatter.
“—it’s gonna be big, because I’ll be seven! We’re having cake and my Mommy says that there’s going to be a special ‘uprise guest, if I’m real good.”
Tim wonders if he’s hearing right—Billy’s parents are going to be at the party? He’s always thought that parents just sent a card or arranged it with the staff. His parents certainly never show up for his birthday.
He listens as they discuss presents, and wonders why they get more than one. He’s never gotten more than one present. Maybe it’s because he’s so ungrateful and hard to please?
When he sees his mother and father again (six months later), he asks them if he can have cake for his next birthday. Well, technically, he asks for a party—he wants to ask his classmates over, he wants to have a cake and listen to them sing “happy birthday” (“like they did for Jenny in class last month, Mother.”) and he wants his mother and father to be there. He knows he should have stopped at cake, because he could already see the expressions changing on their faces.
“Timothy,” his mother says coolly. “You know that we’re scheduled to leave for the Peru expedition tomorrow evening. There’s no way we can possibly—“
“Maybe Mrs. Walters could arrange it!” he interrupts, suddenly desperate.
“Mrs. Walters is busy with her paid duties.” His mother says, and he hears the disappointment and annoyance in her voice. “Besides, you’re far too old for such silly things. Be. Reasonable.”
He apologizes and stares at the floor while she talks about manners and how immature that was. She goes on until Father reminds her that they’re due at a dinner, so she has to cut it short, leaving him with “I expect more from you, Timothy. Don’t be such a child.”
Tim jerks awake again, and he knows there’s no way he’s going to finish the patrol. He can barely keep his eyes open now. He hears Dick vaguely—something about calling it a night, and he tries to protest, but it’s futile. As he fades out again, he hears Dick’s voice near his ear.
“You’re a kid, Tim. Your parents should be here. Birthdays are important, and they should want to be there to witness them.” He pauses, then whispers “I’m sorry, buddy.”
But Tim could be dreaming about that part. He’s dreamed stuff like that before. He knows it’s probably just that again.
Tim spends the next week avoiding Dick. He knows how the man works, and there’s no way he’ll drop the subject. He’s like a dog with a new toy—he has to mess with it, and Tim would really rather not think about it.
Dick just doesn’t get that Tim’s really not upset that his parents are gone (really), and he definitely doesn’t get that Tim is really not important enough to warrant a party like that. Besides, he’s practically grown up and he doesn’t need any attention, not even on his birthday.
He wants to complain, but he’s not sure who he’d talk to. Nobody ever seems to get why he doesn’t have birthday parties. But at least they drop it, unlike Dick.
He makes it almost a full week, before he’s ambushed outside his parents’ downtown residence. Dick’s sitting on the front stoop, legs stretched out like he’s been there for a while. Tim almost debates going back inside, but there’s nothing to eat there, and he’s not about to let Dick keep him from going grocery shopping.
“You know that you look like a creep, right?” he says, kicking his brother’s legs out of the way. “I should call the cops.”
“I am the cops.” Dick replies cheekily. “So…that’d be self-defeating. Where’re you going?”
“Shopping. You can’t come.”
“Aw, c’mon, Timmy!” Dick practically whines. “Don’t be that way. Besides, you don’t wanna walk all the way there. I’ll give you a lift.”
It’s a convincing offer, and Tim relents. Thankfully, Dick brought his bike, so conversation is pointless until they arrive. Tim hasn’t relaxed though, because he knows what’s coming. It literally takes less than two minutes after they’ve gotten to the store before Dick starts again.
“So, Tim,” he says, pseudo-casually. “Your parents gonna be home next week?”
Tim grits his teeth. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Huh. Got plans for the big day?”
“No.”
“Did you mention your birthday to Alfie?” Dick asks curiously. “Because he’d definitely make sure that you got something.”
“No, I didn’t. It’s cool. I’m not bugging Alfred about something stupid.” Tim’s slowly becoming angrier and angrier. “Would you just. Drop. It?”
Dick must read the anger there, because he stops for the rest of the trip. He talks about other things, and Tim’s grateful for the reprieve. He doesn’t really want to fight with Dick about something so dumb.
It’s not until they’re back at Tim’s house that Dick mentions the subject again.
“Hey, Tim? You know I didn’t mean anything by it, right? I’m sorry for pissing you off, man. I guess I just got carried away.”
Tim nods in acceptance. “It’s fine. Can we please stop talking about it though?”
Dick agrees half-heartedly. But he doesn’t bring it up again, and Tim’s so grateful for that. He can feel the man’s disapproval though, both for the whole birthday thing and for the fact that Tim’s staying alone. Tim doesn’t get that either.
He’s always been alone, and he’s not sure why Dick and Bruce and Alfred get so mad about it. He wonders how much madder they’d be if they knew how long and often he was left on his own, if they knew how he got around town as a kid, or if they ever realized that he wasn’t actually sure if his parents even remembered his birthday—they called and sent a card, but these events were unrelated and came months too early or late.
He wonders if they’d be mad about the way he used to pretend that he was a part of their family for years, pretending that he was there for Thanksgiving and Christmas, instead of alone at his parents’ house, watching from the window.
He’s turning twelve, and staying at the country home, the one across from Wayne manor. He loves staying here, because he can watch the comings and goings in the other house. The house downtown is pretty much isolated, surrounded by identical houses with high fences and silent, often-absent inhabitants.
Today, he’s fascinated with watching the party going on. It’s Jason’s birthday, he gathers from observations. There are many people coming—both adults and kids. They bring presents, and seem so happy to be there. Jason looks happy too, and Tim wonders if he knows how special having a birthday party is.
Tim watches the whole day, from the moment guests start arriving until the sun goes down and the only people left are the Wayne family. He watches as Dick and Jason work to clean up the wrapping paper—they’re getting along and keep making a bigger mess by throwing paper at each other.
Mr. Wayne’s watching from the door, unnoticed by the two. He seems happy to watch quietly, and Tim wonders what the difference is in his expression. It’s softer than his parents’ have ever been, and Tim wants to know how to encourage that quality in his parents—he craves having somebody look at him like that—like he’s not a disappointment, an inconvenience, a bother.
He watches the whole thing, and he wonders why everybody makes such a big deal of birthdays. Does it really matter if you note the day that you were born? He’s pretty sure that it doesn’t matter, and he knows that you probably don’t wanna celebrate births unless you wanted them to occur. That’s probably part of why his parents don’t worry about it—Tim’s not something they wanted, he’s just there and not good enough yet, so why would they celebrate that?
Patrol is rough the night before his birthday. There’s a robbery that turns nasty when Batman and Robin turn up, then there’s two muggings, an attempted rape, and a drug deal. The drug deal is the hardest part of the night—Robin’s worn out from the previous events, Nightwing’s tired and he sprained his wrist during one of the mugging attempts, and Batman took a bullet at the beginning of the night and hasn’t stopped.
They counted ten men, all armed, and then they dropped down, silent and deadly. But they hadn’t counted right, and there are more men who they’d missed. The fight quickly turns in the favor of the dealers. Batman ends up across the room, working to disarm the leaders, while Nightwing and Robin take out the rest.
Robin has just taken a man waving a Kalashnikov out, when he sees two of the men take off down a hallway. He looks around to see if the others noticed, but they’re occupied. He bites his lip, indecisive, then runs to follow them.
He sees them running down the hall, and for a second, he feels the thrill that comes with chasing down a suspect. Then he rounds the corner after them, and realizes exactly how stupid he just was. The men are not alone—there are six or seven thugs in there, all armed, and all looking towards Robin when he emerges. There’s also a truck of some sort idling behind them, doors open and waiting.
Robin has enough time to realize that he’s just ran straight into a very obvious trap, and he quickly reaches for his comm, trying to signal Nightwing or Batman. But he doesn’t quite get that far—there’s a noise to his side and he whirls to see what it is. Then there’s a blow to the back of his head, and the world goes dark.