Chapter Text
Staying in Wayne Manor was very different from what Tim was used to. After his brush with pneumonia, Tim had been moved fully into the Wayne household. The plan was for Tim to stay until his parents returned, whenever that might be. If someone had told the Tim of six months ago that he would be living with Bruce Wayne, and being referred to as ‘little brother’ by Dick Grayson, he would have assumed that person was drugged by some Rogue’s newest concoction.
That was before Dick became suddenly determined to insert himself into Tim’s life. Tim wasn’t sure who had resisted the idea more; himself or Bruce. But Dick was stubborn, and more of a people person than either of them. He had been chipping away at Tim’s defenses for the past several months, to the point of Tim reaching out to him for help when he became sick.
After Dick and Bruce came to his rescue, which was a bit mortifying, they confronted him about his parents’ travels. Tim still felt they were overreacting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to put up much of a fight when Bruce said he would be taking Tim into his care.
Tim had been a bit worried that Bruce would be strict, but both he and Alfred seemed content to let Tim make his own choices so long as he ate, slept, and took his medicine. Living with the Waynes was strange. For some reason, both men kept seeking him out. Tim's energy had slowly been improving day by day, and as he spent more and more time awake, Bruce and Alfred kept finding new ways to fill that time.
Alfred would invite Tim to sit in the kitchen with him while he cooked, supplying him with a steady stream of tea and conversation. He had even taken the time to show Tim how to crochet when he noticed the boy watching him one night.
Bruce was gone more often, having duties as a CEO, Batman, and a Justice League member. But when he was home, he sat down with Tim for movies, or invited Tim to sit with him in his study while he got some work done. It was a bit overwhelming compared to what Tim was used to, but he found he didn’t mind so much. As a child sneaking around Gotham, he had often dreamed of what it would be like to live in a full house, with people who wanted to spend time with him. Bruce had featured in more than one of those dreams. It had only been dreams, though. He never thought it would actually come true. He couldn’t deny his happiness now that it had.
The last week of break was spent recovering and regaining his strength. Alfred had him doing an assortment of exercises, including a strange and surprisingly exhausting one where Tim had to breathe into a tube and try to get the little balls inside the contraption to float in the air. As bizarre as it was, it seemed to be helping as by the time he was supposed to return to school he felt mostly back to normal.
Their approach to Tim’s education was another thing that was strange about the Wayne household. Both Bruce and Alfred had been appalled when they learned Tim took Gotham public transit to and from school everyday. Alfred insisted that he would be driving Tim from now on, even once his parents returned. Tim tried to explain that he had been taking the bus on his own since he was eight, and Alfred really didn’t need to go to all that trouble. The comment seemed to backfire, however, leaving Alfred more determined than ever.
In addition to getting regular rides to and from school (and Tim had to admit, getting to sleep in later because of it was pretty nice), Bruce kept asking questions about Tim’s education. Every night at dinner he would ask Tim how school had gone, if he had any homework, and if he needed any help. Tim was sure it was an empty offer, considering how busy Bruce already was, but the man kept asking anyway. Bruce had even called the school to get him an extension on his work when Tim mentioned being behind due to the pneumonia.
His teachers were understanding, of course. Tim was a good student, outside of his spotty attendance, and generally well liked by teachers and peers alike. Having Bruce Wayne, major financial donor to the school, personally vouch for him certainly helped. So all of his teachers had given him an extension. All of them, that is, except for Mr. Anderson.
Tim wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had done to make Mr. Anderson hate him, but the man seemed to have it out for him since day one. When Tim started at Gotham Academy two years ago, the man had singled him out on the first day of seventh grade English. He called on Tim for every question, even when other students raised their hands, and always picked apart Tim’s answers. Tim never scored above a B- on his assignments, not even when he hired a tutor to help. It had been a major point of contention with Tim’s parents and led to him being grounded multiple times.
Tim expected to be granted a reprieve when he transferred from middle school to high school at the beginning of the year, but lo and behold Mr. Anderson had decided that his true passion lay in AP Literature, which meant teaching standard high school English as well. Like it or not, they were stuck with each other for the next four years.
So, Tim was more resigned than anything when Mr. Anderson asked him to stay late on his second day back from break. Ives had hesitated by the door, but Tim shooed him along with a promise to catch up at lunch. He approached Mr. Anderson’s desk, where the man was typing away at his computer.
“You asked to see me, sir?” Tim maintained an even, respectful tone as he addressed the ornery man. Mr. Anderson held up a finger, indicating that Tim should wait. Tim glanced at the clock. He was hungry and wanted to go eat the delicious lunch Alfred had packed.
Mr. Anderson left him standing there for several minutes as he worked on his computer. Just as Tim opened his mouth to repeat himself, the man turned his gaze to him. Mr. Anderson’s eyes always freaked him out. The teacher was around his father’s age, with dark salt and pepper hair and slightly weathered skin. He always wore a smile that crinkled his eyes, but his irises were so dark they were nearly black, and they seemed to absorb all light. It reminded Tim of the time he had seen a shark at the Gotham Aquarium, before the Riddler had blown the place up.
“You asked to see me, sir?” Tim repeated his earlier question, the tiniest bit of frustration creeping into his tone. Mr. Anderson’s lips twitched up.
“Yes. You didn’t complete your essay on “A Child Called It.” I’m afraid I will have to fail you. And, seeing as that essay was worth a significant portion of your grade, you now have an F in this class.” The man’s smile widened as he spoke. Tim should have seen this coming.
“I had pneumonia, sir. Mr. Wayne requested an extension for me. I can have the essay finished by the end of the week.” Tim would have had it done already, but the book was super depressing and he hated reading it. He didn’t understand why it was an assigned reading for children.
“Yes, but Mr. Wayne is not your guardian, Mr. Drake. I am unsure of why the school accepted this flimsy excuse from him. You seem perfectly healthy to me.” The man turned his attention back to his computer. “Seeing as you have done so consistently poorly in my classes, I have decided it is time to contact your parents.”
Tim held in a groan of frustration. They had done this song and dance before. Mr. Anderson would send home a letter detailing Tim’s many failings as a student, Tim would sign it himself and bring it back the next day. His mother had taught him how to perfect her signature when he was ten so that she wouldn’t have to sign a bunch of school forms whenever she came home from trips.
Tim forced a pleasant expression and nodded. “I understand. I’ll have the form back to you by tomorrow.”
“That won’t suffice this time.” Tim’s heart dropped at his teacher’s words. “Your parents will need to come in for a meeting with me, in person.”
“Sir, that won’t be possible.” Tim tried to keep the panic out of his tone. “My parents travel for work, they’re very busy.”
“Ah, yes, the famous Jack and Janet Drake. Surely they aren’t too busy to see to their son’s education? I imagine they would be eager to hear how you are doing in my class.”
“They’re leaving for a trip tonight.” Tim tried again. “They won’t be back for a while.”
“Then I’m sorry to say you will have to serve detention. Every day, until they can meet with me.” Mr. Anderson seemed pleased at the prospect. Tim was anything but. He felt his hands start to sweat. How the hell was he going to keep this from Bruce?
“I have an after school job.” He blurted out. “Well, an internship, really. I can’t miss it.”
“You will have to, Mr. Drake.” The slightest hint of scorn entered the man’s tone. “It isn’t like you need the money. Now, hurry along. I will see you back here at four o’clock. Do not be late.”
Knowing that arguing was pointless, Tim gathered his things and left. His heart was pounding in his chest. If Bruce found out, he was toast. Or even worse, if Mr. Anderson somehow managed to get ahold of his parents. His ears were already ringing from the shouting that would ensue.
Looking at the clock, Tim saw that he didn’t have time to eat lunch before his next class. He fished out his phone, sending a text to Alfred.
Me: I had something come up after school, so I don’t need a ride today. I’ll see you at dinner.
The response was immediate.
Doctor Who: I will see you at 4pm outside of the school, Master Tim. I do not mind waiting.
Well, shit. There goes that plan. Tim would have to invent a club or something, seeing as he was doomed to have detention for the rest of the school year. There was no way he was actually bothering his parents about this. Not only would he get the punishment of a lifetime; he doubted they would actually come home for a meeting in the first place. No, it would be best if he handled this on his own.
The bell rang, signaling that Tim needed to hurry if he was going to make it to AP Chem. He put his phone away and rushed to class.
Tim spent the rest of the day trying to come up with an excuse to give to Bruce about why he was going to be late. Maybe he could say he was tutoring another student? Surely, Ives would cover for him if asked.
Tim ran the idea by Ives during their last class of the day, which was PE. Ives agreed, no questions asked. This was why he was Tim’s best friend; he never questioned Tim’s skittishness when talking about his parents, and was happy to cover for him as needed.
The final bell rang and Tim rushed to the locker room. He changed in record time, calling a goodbye to Ives before hurrying back to Mr. Anderson’s classroom on the other side of campus. By the time he got there he was wheezy and lightheaded, still regaining his stamina from being ill.
“You’re late.” Mr. Anderson said, that stupid creepy smile still in place.
“I’m sorry.” Tim coughed a couple of times, trying to clear his throat. “I had gym class, sir.”
“That is no excuse.” The man turned his attention back to his computer. “You will stay an extra half an hour due to your tardiness.”
Tim almost protested, before catching himself. It would be pointless. He sat down at a desk in the middle of class and pulled out his assigned reading.
Mr. Anderson looked up from his own work. “No leisure activities, Mr. Drake.”
Tim raised the book up for Mr. Anderson to see. “It’s homework, sir.”
“This isn’t a study hall. You will sit in silence and contemplate your actions until the hour and a half is up.”
With a huff of frustration, Tim put his book away. Silence filled the room. Every time he fidgeted or coughed, Mr. Anderson would give him a pointed look or reprimand before returning to his own work. Little did he know Tim was used to long silences. Sure, he usually had his laptop or phone or even a book to keep him occupied, but he could work with this. With nothing else to do, Tim tried to think through his current open cases.
He had gotten intel that an arms deal was occurring in the Bowery this weekend, and rumor had it that Black Mask would be making an appearance. Tim was hoping that Bruce would allow him back on patrol in time to intervene, or else he would need to pass the case on to Batman or Nightwing.
Tim had been planning to start some light training in the cave tonight in order to show Bruce and Alfred that he was recovered enough to patrol, but now he might not have time. He worried about what would happen if he couldn’t return as Robin soon.
“You’re my Robin. You always have a place here.” Bruce’s words echoed in his mind. He had a place with the Waynes, so long as he was Robin. But what if he failed to be Robin? What happened then? Bruce had been patient so far as he recovered, but he wouldn’t be forever. Why would he be? Their relationship had been a fair, if unnecessary, exchange up to this point. Tim acted as the light to Batman’s darkness, helped the man stay on a straight path, and in exchange he didn’t have to spend his nights alone. He got to be a hero. He got to be magic. He got to be Robin. But without that, Tim was basically a freeloader in Bruce's home.
Tim had told Dick a few weeks back that he wanted to be Robin forever. The man had seemed surprised, sharing that he couldn’t wait to become his own hero at Tim’s age. The difference was, Dick dreamed of being a hero, while Tim dreamed of being Robin. He wanted to help Batman, to be his partner. But beyond that he didn’t have a plan. In fact, he actively tried not to think about what came next.
The truth was, Tim knew he couldn’t be Robin forever. He would get hurt or even die in the field, or Bruce would find a new, better Robin to replace Tim with. Someone who didn’t have to work so hard to be good. When that time came, Tim would have to return to Drake Manor and his lonely life.
“You may go, Mr. Drake.” Tim jolted as Mr. Anderson’s words cut through the ninety minutes of silence. Tim wordlessly gathered his things and headed for the door.
“I expect to see you again tomorrow at 4PM, either with your parents in tow or prepared for another detention. Do not be late.” There was that stupid smile again.
“Yes, sir.” Tim hurried out and into the parking lot. Alfred was waiting in his Lincoln, one of the only cars left in the lot. Tim rushed over and slid into the passenger seat.
“I’m so sorry, Alfred. My friend, Ives, needed help studying for our chemistry exam and we lost track of time.” The lie came easily.
“It is no problem, Master Tim. I am happy to wait whenever you need.” Alfred’s tone was reassuring. It made guilt settle in Tim’s stomach.
“Um, about that, Ives has been struggling in a few classes and I agreed to help him study after school until he gets his grades up. I don’t know how long that will be, so I really don’t mind just taking the bus.” Tim kept his tone casual, relaxed.
“Nonsense. As we have discussed, Gotham public transit is no place for a teenage boy. I am happy to pick you up later. If I ever have a scheduling conflict, Master Bruce or Master Richard will pick you up in my stead.” Alfred pulled out of the parking lot. “Of course, you are welcome to invite your friend over to study at the manor. Master Bruce won’t mind.”
“Oh, that’s alright. Ives’s parents are kind of weird about letting him go to friends’ houses.” Tim waved off the offer. “It’s easier for us to work at school, anyways.”
“Very well. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
“I will.” Tim wouldn’t, but Alfred didn’t need to know that.
The good news was, Tim got to return as Robin two days later. The bad news was, Mr. Freeze had turned city hall into a glacier and Tim had to leave school early to help man the flamethrowers. By the time they had Mr. Freeze back in Blackgate, the window of opportunity to return in time for detention had long passed. Tim was not looking forward to Mr. Anderson’s reaction the following day.
Tim didn’t have English class on Fridays, which meant he had all day to stew in his nervousness. He arrived at Mr. Anderson’s classroom at 3:58PM, not wanting a repeat of Tuesday. He knocked before entering.
Mr. Anderson was once again seated behind his desk, hands steepled under his chin as he watched Tim enter. He was silent as Tim took his seat, just watching with that eerie smile. Tim kept his gaze on the wall, uncomfortable as the man stared. Several minutes passed before he spoke.
“Do you think you are above the rules, Mr. Drake?” Tim jolted at the quiet words. He looked up to see Mr. Anderson’s shark eyes boring into him.
“What?” Tim was thrown off balance by the question.
“Do you think you are above the rules?” Mr. Anderson stood from his seat, walking slowly around the desk. “You were told to be here, everyday after school, for either a meeting with your parents or to serve detention. Yesterday, you failed to materialize. Seeing as neither your mother nor your father is here, I know you did not miss in preparation for that meeting. So I will ask again. Do you think you are above the rules?”
Tim opened his mouth to respond, to try to explain that he had been called out for a family emergency, but Mr. Anderson plowed on. “I should have expected this behavior from a Drake. You think you’re so special, don’t you? That just because your father is rich, you don’t have to bow to the expectations of others. Well, you are in for a rude awakening. You are not special. You are simply a spoiled little brat riding on his parents’ coattails.” Mr. Anderson’s smile had taken on a cruel edge as he leaned over Tim’s desk.
Tim’s cheeks flushed hot in anger. He clenched his fists, biting his tongue to keep from retaliating. After a few moments of silence, Mr. Anderson straightened, walking back to his desk. “We are going to try something a little bit different today. You will be writing lines on the board. Let’s try… ‘I am not special.’”
Tim ground his teeth together in frustration. At least he wouldn’t be stuck with his thoughts today. “Yes, sir.” He fought hard to keep his tone even.
Mr. Anderson gestured to the board. Tim stood up stiffly, walking over and grabbing a dry erase marker. “How many times do I write it?”
“Just keep writing until detention is done.” Mr. Anderson turned his attention back to his computer.
So Tim did. At first it wasn’t bad. Writing helped pass the time, even if the message was insulting. Ten minutes in, his hand started cramping. He paused to stretch it, flexing and relaxing the muscles.
“I did not say you could stop, Mr. Drake.” Mr. Anderson didn’t even look up from his desk.
Tim huffed, grabbing the marker back up. He continued writing. Twenty minutes in, his arm was sore from being raised so long. Thirty minutes in, his back was aching from bending and stretching to write high and low on the board. Every time he paused or tried to take a break, Mr. Anderson would tell him to continue with clear glee in his tone. Tim was much stronger than the average fourteen year old thanks to his training, but he didn’t usually use his muscles in this way or for this long.
Tim kept a close eye on the clock. The second it hit five, he dropped the marker, stepping back. The board was completely full. The first several lines were neat and even, but they slowly became messier and shakier as they continued on the board. Tim’s right arm felt like jelly, and if he never had to hold a marker again it would be too soon. He turned and started gathering his stuff.
“Did I say you could stop?” Mr. Anderson called. Tim turned to see the man raising an eyebrow.
“It’s five.” Was all Tim said in response. “I’m going home.”
“You have to make up for yesterday’s missed detention.” Mr. Anderson nodded at the board. “You may continue.”
“My ride is waiting.” Tim ground out. There was no way he could write for another hour.
“They will have to wait longer.”
Tim glared at the man for a long moment, but he didn’t budge.
“Or, I can call your parents right now and see if they can come in for that meeting immediately.” He offered.
Tim swallowed as a spike of anxiety shot through him. His parents certainly wouldn’t answer. They were too busy. They had never answered before. But, what if they did this time? He couldn’t imagine what Mr. Anderson would say, but he knew it wouldn’t be flattering. His father would be furious to be bothered over something so trivial, which was bad enough. His mother would be disappointed, which in some ways was harder to bear. She always emphasized the value of education to Tim, and didn’t allow him to miss school for any reason when she was home. He wouldn’t find an ally in either of them.
So, Tim swallowed his pride. He pulled out his phone to text Alfred that he would be later than expected. Mr. Anderson tolerated this for a moment, before telling him to put his phone away and start writing.
Tim erased his work and started again at the top of the board. His writing was shakier than ever. He took deep, even breaths, forcing himself into a semi-meditative state to maintain his sanity. The hour seemed to drag on, the only sound being the occasional squeak of the marker and the continuous clicking of Mr. Anderson’s keyboard.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Anderson told him to stop. “That will be all. I will see you again Monday at four.”
Tim dropped his marker in relief. His arm had developed that horrible pins and needles sensation that he hated. He used his left hand to gather his belongings, not even looking at his teacher as he left.
Tim walked out of the school, grimacing at the already dark sky. He was scanning the parking lot for Alfred’s car when his eyes landed on a different, but familiar, vehicle.
“Hey baby bird!” Dick grinned, leaning out the window. “Ready to head out?”
Dick had been waiting for an hour in the school parking lot. When Alfred had called, asking him to pick Tim up after school, he agreed without question. He had missed his brother this week. Dick decided to invite Tim over for the weekend, since they hadn’t hung out in Bludhaven for a while. He had called Bruce and let him know that he was going to borrow Robin for a couple of days and the man had agreed. Alfred gave Dick instructions to arrive an hour late so that Tim could tutor his friend, the blond kid Dick had seen him leave school with before.
Around ten after five, Dick was getting a little bit antsy. There were only a couple of other cars still on school grounds, and Tim was nowhere to be found. Then he received a message from Alfred that Tim would be running late. Dick passed the time playing a game on his phone. When that became boring, he put on an ABBA album, singing along loudly and drumming his hands on the steering wheel. He was belting his heart out to Dancing Queen when he saw Tim exit the school. Dick quickly paused his music and rolled down his window, leaning out.
“Hey baby bird! Ready to head out?”
“Dick? What are you doing here?” Taking in Tim’s appearance, Dick was a bit doubtful about Bruce’s assurance that the boy was feeling better. Tim’s skin was still paler than normal, and his hand was shaking slightly. Tim was usually good at hiding his feelings, but exhaustion was written into every line of his face.
“I’m stealing you for the weekend. Hop in.” Dick didn’t mention his observations, knowing it would make Tim self conscious. Tim dumped his backpack in the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat. Dick pulled out of the parking lot.
“Does Bruce know? We were supposed to deal with that Black Mask thing this weekend.” Tim’s brows were furrowed in concern.
“Bruce has it covered. I could really use a hand in Bludhaven, though.” In reality, Bruce had wanted to keep Tim away from the potential arms deal until he was a bit more recovered. “Plus I wanted to hang out with my baby brother.”
“Not a baby.” Tim mumbled. The blush on his cheeks did not help his argument. Dick grinned at the sight.
“Sure you are! Baby bird, baby brother.” He singsonged. “Accept your fate, Timmy.”
Tim groaned, rolling his eyes. “Stop.”
Dick just laughed, turning his music back on. Teasing little brothers was so much fun.
Tim was quiet on the ride to Bludhaven, which wasn’t exactly out of character but had become less common as they spent more time together. The kid was sitting strangely, with his right arm curled up against his chest. Dick decided to ask about it as he pulled into the parking garage of his apartment complex.
“You doing okay? You seem a bit tired.”
Tim dropped his arm, nodding immediately. “I’m fine, just a long day at school.”
Dick nodded in understanding. You couldn’t pay him enough to do high school again. “I get it. Do you want to skip patrol tonight? I need to make an appearance, but I get it if you want to stay in and get some rest.”
Tim shook his head. “No, I want to patrol. I’ve been dying to get back to it.”
Dick could understand that as well. Still, he made a silent promise to himself to stick to the calmer areas of the city (not that that was saying much, in Bludhaven.)
Robin and Nightwing headed out for patrol as soon as they had eaten dinner. Almost immediately, they encountered a bank robbery. It wasn’t the quiet night Bruce had requested, but Dick was confident that he and Robin could handle it.
There were five robbers, four in the vault with the teller and one guarding the hostages. Nightwing assigned Robin to the hostages while he focused on the men in the vault. Nightwing counted down from three and both he and Robin threw flash bangs, stunning the group. They descended from the skylight (which was conveniently placed for them) and immediately engaged their opponents. Nightwing turned up the stun feature on his escrima sticks and jabbed one of the men in the side, causing him to drop to the ground. A glance back showed Robin engaging the woman who was guarding the hostages. He was holding his own just fine, so Nightwing turned his attention back to the fight at hand.
It was easy to fall into the familiar rhythm of the fight after that, ducking and dodging and striking until the first two men were subdued. Robin fell in at his side, meaning the hostages must have been successfully freed. Nightwing adjusted his fighting pattern to accommodate having someone watching his back, and Robin did the same.
“Duck!” Nightwing lunged low as Robin swung his bo staff, nailing one of the men in the face and sending him crashing to the ground. The other man grabbed the staff, wrenching it from a surprised Robin’s grasp. Dick threw his escrima stick, striking the man in the nose as he fell in a heap onto his friends.
Robin and Nightwing retrieved their weapons, taking a moment to catch their breath. They left the robbers tied up for the police to find and helped calm the frightened teller and hostages. Once the sirens sounded nearby, they departed to the rooftops.
“Well done, Robin.” Nightwing clapped the boy on the back.
“Can’t believe I let him disarm me.” Robin grumbled, collapsing his staff.
That was strange, now that Robin mentioned it. Nightwing wondered if it had anything to do with Robin favoring his right arm earlier. He asked him as much.
“Oh, maybe. I’m just a bit sore.” Robin rubbed his arm.
“Tough workout?” Nightwing asked.
“No, it’s just…” Robin trailed off.
“It’s just?” NIghwing prompted him to continue. Robin gave him a long, searching look. Nightwing waited patiently as Robin seemed to come to a decision.
“You said I could ask you if I needed help.” He began.
Nightwing felt a slight jolt of panic shoot through him. He paused his walking, keeping his face carefully neutral. “And I meant it.”
Robin picked at a loose thread in his glove, not meeting Nightwing’s eye (or mask). “What if it’s something stupid?”
“Then I’ll help you anyway. Can’t promise I won’t tease you about it, though.” He nudged his brother with an elbow. Robin smiled a bit, but didn’t answer.
“Seriously, baby bird. What’s going on?” Nightwing turned to face him fully, anticipation and dread building inside of him.
Robin sighed. “I got detention at school.”
Nightwing felt a wave of relief flow through him. “Oh thank God.” At Robin’s startled expression, he cleared his throat. “Uh, I mean, that sucks. What happened? How can I help?”
“Well, you go undercover on cases a lot, right?”
“Right.” Nightwing tried to figure out where Robin was going with this.
Robin squared his shoulders, finally meeting Nightwing’s eyes. “Will you pretend to be my dad and meet with my teacher?”
Nightwing was silent for a long moment, processing the request. Robin maintained a straight face, but Nightwing could see a flicker of nervousness.
“I think you should start at the beginning, kiddo.” He finally said.
And so Robin did. With each word spoken, Nightwing’s relief faded, replaced instead by rage. Apparently, Tim wasn’t helping his friend study after school. Instead, he was being bullied by an asshole teacher for things completely out of his control. Being forced to keep your hand in the air for two hours sounded like something out of a Dickens novel. Dick remained silent through Tim’s explanation, holding in his anger.
“So, yeah. I need you to come pretend to be my dad, otherwise I’ll have detention for the rest of the semester.” Tim finished.
Dick took a few calming breaths. “Kiddo, of course I’ll help. That teacher sounds like an asshole. But, I think there’s an easier solution.”
“What?” Tim cocked his head to the side, reminding Dick of the little bird he really was.
“We tell Bruce and let him work his magic.” Dick wasn’t expecting Tim’s face to go absolutely white, etched with dread.
“Are you crazy?” He hissed. “Why in the world would I tell Bruce?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Dick’s confusion grew. “He can meet with your teacher and work this all out. Hell, he’d probably meet with the principal if needed.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m failing English! He’ll probably take away Robin! And what if the principal calls my parents? I’ll be grounded for the rest of my life!” Dick could see Tim working himself into a panic.
“B wouldn’t take Robin over something like this.” He soothed. “And would your parents really ground you?”
Tim gave him an exasperated look that clearly read ‘what do you think?’ Dick added it to the long list of strikes against Jack and Janet.
“Right. Well, I promise, B won’t be mad. Uh, he might be mad at the teacher, but not at you.” He clarified.
Tim did not look reassured. If anything, he looked more panicked than before. “Why wouldn’t he be mad? I’m too stupid to pass freshman English, and I’ve been lying to him all week about where I’m going.”
Dick placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Hey, listen to me. You are not stupid. You’re literally a genius. Anyone who says otherwise is lying to you, including your dumb ass teacher.”
Dick wasn’t sure if the words were sinking in. Tim’s breathing was a little fast, and he was still pale.
“What if I help you tell B? We can do it together, and then you’ll get to see him go into overprotective dad mode.”
Tim chewed on his lip, avoiding Dick’s eye. “What if he fires me?”
“Then you’ll come live with me in Bludhaven and be my partner. I’m way cooler than Batman, anyway.” This comment brought a slight smile to Tim’s face. “But I promise it won’t come to that.”
Dick waited in silence as Tim mulled over his words. He could see the conflict clear on his face. Finally, he looked up. “You’ll come with me?”
“Of course.” He promised instantly.
Tim nodded. “Okay.” Dick could have melted in relief. He really didn’t want to pretend to be Jack Drake.
“We can tell him on Sunday, when I drop you off. For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the weekend.”
“Alright.” Tim nodded again, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thanks, Wing.”
“Anytime, Robin.” Dick ruffled his hair, pulling a smile from the young boy.
Once Tim was asleep that night, Dick began researching Mr. Anderson. While he had suggested taking the straightforward route to Tim, the man had hurt his brother, and he would have to pay. It didn’t take him long to find some dirt.