You may be awesome, but you'll never be Robin with a katana riding a dinosaur attacking Bane awesome!
(Art sampled from "Batman and Robin" Vol. 3 #12 by Joshua Williamson, Juan Ferreyra, Steve Wands, and Ben Abernathy. Edits: Dialogue.)
Back then, the subjects of his photographs seemed like myths. To others, they were a man and a boy dressed in costumes so frightening that criminals cowered in fear at their arrival. To Tim, they were his idols —people who had a purpose in the world and protected the people of Gotham. Unlike little Tim, who couldn't even keep his parents home long enough to celebrate his birthday.
or ... little Tim, big Tim, and the escapades of photos in a box. (It's really just him moving out and people finding his photos and him getting clowned on. FLUFF!)
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
“Hey, Tim? I think this might be something you want to keep a hold of,” Tamara Fox (Tam, as she liked to be called...Tim didn’t really want to be yelled at by his secretary), said, holding up an old and battered shoebox towards the young CEO. Tim blinked, staring at the box for a moment before he reached forward to accept the parcel from her. Tam offered him a smile and turned back to pack up whatever she had left to shove in the box she’d been working on.
Today marked his so-called "Moving Day" that he’d been anticipating for a week. Well, sort of. Tim had scored a better apartment across the street from WE, with a much better view, a short distance to work, and a much better security system. He’d spent all morning and afternoon the day before, cleaning up his old apartment, removing anything that was too ‘bat-grade’ to be left there before his secretary showed up to help. Apparently, her father, Lucius Fox (the man who actually runs WE), had told her that the young CEO was moving across the city. Not that it was an issue, really; ever since Iraq became a thing, Tam had known who he was and who he really worked for.
Anything and everything ‘bat’-related.
It’s more than his entire apartment, even before the whole cleaning fiasco looked like Hurricane Katrina had swept through it, except whoever was governing the land was way too broke to actually clean it up.
Or was too busy.
Whatever.
Turning his attention back to the box that was now in his hands, Tim set down the remote he’d been fiddling with for the past five minutes to take a look at what was in the box. The old orange box was riddled with stains, scratches, and rips. Sitting down on the floor, Tim flipped the box's cover open and froze.
Inside, there were piles upon piles of memories taken in instant flashes. Frozen moments to be remembered. Colorful pictures, black and white captures, all piled into the old shoebox. This was the first shoebox he'd ever filled with images taken on lonely nights with a Nikon D3X and an Old Navy sweatshirt he'd bought for these escapades.
A camera was easier to hide than a hand-embroidered sweater that cost a fortune.
Gotham was never kind to her children.
Back then, the subjects of his photographs seemed like myths. To others, they were a man and a boy dressed in costumes so frightening that criminals cowered in fear at their arrival. To Tim, they were his idols —people who had a purpose in the world and protected the people of Gotham. Unlike little Tim, who couldn't even keep his parents home long enough to celebrate his birthday.
"Hey, Batman!" Robin exclaimed excitedly as he swung up to the ledge where his mentor perched. "Did you see that? How I took them down?" Robin punched the air dramatically as he recounted the fight.
To an untrained eye, Batman's face remained emotionless, but the picture captured by a little boy hidden behind an air conditioner unit in a building away told a different story. It told of a Dark Knight who was unbelievably proud of his Robin. Jason, Tim remembered. It was his first night out, taking up the mantle after Dick Grayson stormed out to Blüdhaven to start his own life.
Tim snorted softly to himself, setting down the pile of Batman and Robin images and digging deeper into the box. Pictures of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson in the family room of the Manor, along with pictures of Stephanie and his friends, both young and old. Years of carefully snapshotted memories. Tim gently flipped through the images before the only photograph left in the box was a slightly old and carefully laminated image. It was of a three-year-old Tim, sitting on the leg of a smiling nine-year-old Dick Grayson. His parents stood to one side, while the Graysons took up to the other. Tim had met Dick Grayson for the first time that day. It was one of the only genuine pictures of him with his parents. Jack's true laugh was captured with Mr. Grayson's grin. His elegant mother's smile was soft and inviting, nothing like the Janet Drake he'd known before she passed.
Tim ached for parents who never chose their son over their archaeological adventures.
"Aww, you, Dick, and your parents, I assume." Tim tilted his head up to see Tam peering over his head at the photograph in his hand. He grinned.
"Yeah. It was at the Haly's circus—y'know, that night."
"Oooh. Well, you two look cute though."
Tim laughed. "I guess." He pinned Tam with a gaze. "Don't you dare show people these." And by people, he meant his family, though it seems Tam already knew that. Tam sent him a shit-eating grin and mockingly held her hand over her chest.
"I promise the great vigilante and CEO Tim Wayne that I-" she started before dissolving into a laugh when Tim gently punched her on the arm. "Okay, okay, okay. I won't," she promised, offering a hand to help Tim up from the ground.
"It's getting late. Your night job won't run itself," she said. Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Thanks for the reminder, Ms. Fox. I have the best secretary in the world."
—
Red Robin was going to murder his secretary. Tamara Fox invited Dick Grayson over to his messy apartment while he was busy running among the rooftops and fighting crime, so Dick could accidentally see his photographs. And now these photographs are literally trending in their group chats. From the family chats to the Justice League.
Seriously?!
He was going to kill his secretary.
"Didn't know you were a talented photographer, Replacement," A gruff voice laced with amusement said through the public line of the comms. Red bit his tongue to keep from lashing out.
It wasn't Hood's fault, it wasn't-
"Shut up, Hood-"
"Hey, Jay, most of these images are of you-"
Red's face burned. Ohmygod, ohmygod.
He muted his mic and sniffed indignantly to himself. At least there would be pea—
"I demand to see those images, so that I may burn any of mine."
Red groaned. How had—where was the big Bat if— oh.
Red Robin turned on his heel, sending the younger vigilante and his mentor a blank, annoyed stare before turning back around. He could feel the baby Robin drift towards him, and he was going to turn around and snap at him, when a scream shattered through the air. All three vigilantes swiveled like owls in a tree and immediately took off in that direction.
The two younger heroes leapt straight into the fray. Red snapped open his staff, twirling it experimentally before striking out at the nearest goon. Robin unsheathed his katana and made jeering comments towards his opponents. Batman stayed above, monitoring his birds—knowing both his sons could handle this just fine—and picking off the runners. Red eyed a bigger thug out of the corner of his eye, creeping up behind Robin. He turned on his heels, slamming his staff into the nearest thug, using the momentum to leap up into the air and send a vicious kick towards the man interested in sneaking up on Robin.
Landing on the floor, he watched as Robin whirled around with a scowl on his face. "I can handle myself," he snapped. Red rolled his eyes.
"You're welcome." He muttered, before leaping back into battle, working with the younger vigilante to dispatch the rest of the goons. This had to be some sort of gang war or a turf battle, and whoever screamed was caught up in it. He scanned the quickly decreasing crowd, spotting three small shadows in the corner of the long back alley. Red moved quickly to make his way towards what he assumed was a huddle of children. He approached them cautiously. Red offered a small smile and crouched down to avoid frightening them more.
"Hi. I'm Red Robin," he pointed to himself. "My partners Robin and Batman are here too." He waved a hand around slowly. "We'll get you to a safe place, okay?" The three big-eyed children blinked at him, and the one at the front—the bigger and clearly older one, who seemed to shield the two little ones behind her—nodded.
“Okay,” she agreed, turning back towards the little ones and linking hands with them.
Red smiled as he stood up. “Alrighty, let’s go,” he said, reaching up to let the team know he was escorting people out. Before he turned around, something cold and clearly metal was pressed against the back of his head. Damned gun, he cursed. Some Bat he was, he should’ve noticed this asshole walking up behind him while he was trying to calm terrified kids. He slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture and cleared his throat.
"So, picking on little kids now, are we? I'd thought by now Hood's policy would've extended all across Gotham," Red prodded. He winced when the gun was pressed harder against his skull.
"Shut up, Birdbrat. Step away from the little brats and give yourself up, you little-" and then the man was a heap on the floor. Red sighed. He turned around, picking up the gun and emptying the magazine before tossing it to the side. He glanced towards a patch of particularly dark shadows.
"Took you long enough," he said without malice, before he stepped towards the kids and held out his hand once more. "So, how about we go home?"
—
"Tim?"
"Yeah?"
"I have a room, uh, open for you."
"For... what reason?"
"Your pictures? And memes. It's in the cave. You can hang them, uh, all over."
"...Bruce,"
"Yes?"
"I will find those files where you scanned my photos."
