Oracle, Come In
Tim thought he was being reasonable.
“Just a quick lone patrol! Please B! You won’t even notice I’m gone!” He begs, offering up his best puppy dog eyes, courtesy of Dick’s teachings.
But Batman’s lips remain a thin, impenetrable line. “No.” The word isn’t spoken so much as it is barked, a simple order. A command.
Tim scowls, mask crinkling with annoyance. “But-!” He tries, maybe going for the logical approach, after all, this is Batman he’s talking to, but Bruce cuts him off with a quick flick of his wrist, like he’s dismissing Tim or something. “
No, Robin! And that is final. It’s too dangerous alone.” He turns, tugging out his grapple line.
‘End of discussion.’ Tim mocks in his head, but doesn't dare say aloud. What’s the point? It’s not like Bruce is going to change his mind. He’s stupidly strict over stuff like this.
It doesn't matter that Tim has been Robin for over a year, now. Doesn't matter that they’ve already basically finished patrol and are going to head home now anyway, so most crime has been dealt with. Doesn't matter that Dick is also home and patrolling, so things are doubly safe.
No. None of that matters. Bruce still doesn't trust him to go off on his own. To try to spread his wings a little without the lurking bat.
“Robin?” Bruce’s voice is sharp. Commanding. Tim cringes, looking up from where he’d been scowling at the rooftop. Batman’s white lenses narrow at him, displeasure practically emanating from the man. “Yes, Batman?” Tim returns sulkily, uncaring that he sounds childish. If Bruce is going to treat him like a child, then he is damn sure gonna act the part, that’s for certain.
“Home. Now.” Batman growls, and his tone offers no room for argument.
Tim scowls harder. “Right.” He agrees, smiling maliciously. “Of course, Your Darkness. I’ll make sure to head home straight away. Wouldn’t want the Estate to gather dust with my absence, would we?” He drops off the roof before he can see Bruce flinch back, before he can witness the effect of his words. Fine. If Bruce wants him to go home so desperately, he will.
He’ll go to the Drake Estate and he’ll stay there, until Bruce either ferrets him out or apologizes. It’ll likely be the former, but Tim doesn't much care. He’s too angry, now. The anger might die by the time Bruce’ll come for him, but it’s not dead now. It feels better than it should, the fact that he knows Bruce is guaranteed to come for him, even if he’s not going to apologize.
“Wow.” A comm line crackles to life in his ear, and Dick’s ringing laughter rings out, clear and true, as Tim finally fires off his grapple gun, as close to the ground as he dares- because he knows Bruce won't leave until he hears it, and wants the man to feel as much panic as possible before alleviating it- moving towards the Drake Estate. “You’re ballsy, little brother.” Dick cackles, utterly delighted by Tim’s moves towards Bruce.
Despite himself, Tim finds his lips twitching upwards too. “Is he following me?” He mutters, not daring a glance behind him.
“Nah.” Dick returns, still chortling. “He won’t. B is many things, but he’s not a total asshole. He’ll give you your space. You’ve drawn a line and he’ll respect it… for now.” It shouldn't feel so good to have Dick confirm that Bruce will follow him. That he will come for him.
“Yeah.” Tim agrees, smiling lightly. “Great.” A wonderful, terrible idea overtakes him. “Okay, N. I’ll catch you tomorrow or something.” He tries to dismiss his brother quickly, glancing around. “See ya.”
He can practically feel Dick’s grin. “Gotcha, Robin! See you tomorrow. Sleep in late or something, y’know? Really make him feel your absence.”
Tim laughs, feet tripping over themselves a little as he lands on the nearest roof, catching his breath. “I gotchu. Bye.” He murmurs cheerfully, and switches off his comms.
~
Up in the Clocktower, Barbara Gordon leaned over her computer, squinting at the screen.
“Okay, Oracle. I’m heading back to the Manor.” Bruce informs her stiffly, and she can practically hear him tense, anticipating a lecture. But Barbara’s in no mood to argue about his parenting styles. Not tonight.
“I'll see you in the morrow, B. Try to get some sleep, yeah? Oh, and actually apologize, this time. Don’t just order him to work with you again.” Okay, so maybe she is in the mood. Just a little.
Bruce huffs a sigh back at her, but she knows he’s nodding. “Noted, O. Thank you.” Barbara laughs, offering him a two finger salute even if she knows he cant see it. He can feel it, and that’s all that matters.
“Not a problem, Batman. Over and out.” His voice brims with a smile as he answers.
“Over and out, Batgirl. See you tomorrow.” She refuses to smile at the old name, but allows her lips a brief moment of exercise before moving to lock down the computer for the night.
Tonight was deliciously slow, and even though she agrees with Bruce that Tim shouldn’t be out on the streets alone, she still would have gone about it a different way. Still, it’s not her place. Not yet, anyway.
She bites back a yawn, rubbing a hand over her eyes as she stretches back in her chair, letting out a sated sigh. “Nothing better than a good nights work.” She murmurs to herself with a grin, spinning her wheelchair towards the elevator so she can head home.
She’s almost reached it when the speaker crackles, drawing her attention back to the desk. “B?” She offers, frowning, and rolls back slightly. “Nightwing?” The speaker sputters again, distorted and scratchy.
“B? This isn't funny.” She warns, but rolls back over to the desk anyway, starting up the computer to try and clear up the signal and check the boys’s trackers.
Her heart leaps into her throat as she beholds the blinking red dot that is Tim.
“Oracle, come in, can you hear me?” The speaker explodes to life and Barbara heaves a breath of relief, keys clacking as she switches tabs, finger pressing the comm button.
“O here, I read you Robin.” She murmurs back, other hand darting to alert Bruce that his bird has flown the nest. There’s no answer from Tim, and Barbara’s frown deepens for a second, before the comm line activates again.
“Oracle, anyone, can you hear me?” His voice is bordering on panicked, but still controlled.
“I hear you, Robin, loud and clear.” Barbara repeats, firm and loud, but again, there’s no answer. Panic bites her throat.
“I’m heading to his location now.” Dick reports promptly, grim, firm, and disconnects before she can say hurry. He knows. They all know.
“All comm lines active, can you hear me?” Tim says again, breathing heavy, and Barbara bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, routing coordinates to Bruce and Dick, the formers tracking device moving so quickly Barbara is almost certain he’s breaking every law ever created.
“I read you Robin. Loud and clear.” She repeats dutifully, resisting the urge to scream at Bruce, at Dick. Hurry. They all know. They won’t lose another Robin. Not today.
“Anyone,” Tim is sobbing now, breathing labored and wet, ragged as the sounds of gunshots reaches her ears through the speakers. “Come in.” he pleads, and there's nothing Barbara can do, nothing but press down that little button that lets them talk, that button that is supposed to connect them, and repeat.
“I can hear you, Robin. I’m here.”
~
“Move! Dammit!” Bruce snarls, spinning the wheel as he flies down the unpaved roads of Gotham, swerving around the few lone cars that still straggle around at this time of night.
“I’m almost to him.” Dick murmurs in his ear, his eldest son’s voice more soothing than anything.
“Hurry.” Barbara bites out, and Bruce knows the word has been pressing on her for a while. Neither Dick nor he responds, but his foot grows heavier on the gas pedal.
It's pure luck he’d reached the Batmobile when Barbara had alerted him Tim had, in fact, not chosen to go home, but was instead down by the docks, patrolling by himself.
“Dammit Tim.” Bruce grumbles, but he can’t fight the rising panic welling in him. He won’t lose another Robin. He won’t.
“I’m at the warehouse.” Dick mutters, and relief, cascading like a wave, breaks over Bruce. He sucks in a breath and his lungs devour the air greedily, hungry for absolution.
“He’s stopped asking.” Barbara’s voice is deceptively light, but Bruce can read her underlying panic as easily as he can his own.
His tires scream as he screeches to a stop, but Bruce hardly lets them cool before he’s leaping from his seat, flying up the stairs into the warehouse.
Four men await him, each with a gun in hand, but Bruce moves on autopilot, and they’re down before they even have the chance to scream. Tim must have stumbled right into a gang meet up, because it’s like that down almost every hall before Bruce finally reaches the place that Tim’s tracker beeps from.
“Robin?” He whispers gently, pushing open the door carefully. Tim is silent, eyes wide, mouth covered by a gloved hand, pistol pressed against his temple.
“One more step and the birdie gets it.” The man threatens, and Bruce can hear the fear in his voice as plain as day.
“Robin,” Bruce repeats, ignoring the man entirely. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re okay.” Tim’s eyes are wide with fear, wet with tears, and a roaring starts in Bruce’s ears.
“Don’t you get it, man?” The goon, or whoever he is spits, pistol knocking a little harder against Tim’s head, drawing blood. “One move and-”
“I recommend you let him speak.” Dick’s voice is lethally calm, his appearance so silent that the man startles, gun moving from Tim’s temple to point at him for a moment before resuming it’s placement against the slowly oozing wound.
“What?” The goon is thoroughly confused, panic and fear making his stumbled steps backwards shaky, his grip on Tim tighter.
“Let. My. Brother. Speak.” Dick repeats, slowly, words clipped. “If he cannot reassure my father that he is safe, then you have no chance of survival, my friend.” Dick smiles, the look so eerie and chilling that the goon actually obeys, terrified, hand dropping from Tim’s mouth to wrap around his neck instead.
“I’m sorry.” Tim whispers, the moment he can open his mouth.
“Robin.” Bruce repeats, firm, as Dick hovers around the edges of his periphery, forever watchful of his back. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re okay.”
Tim’s eyes flit upwards to the man holding him, then back to Bruce’s eyes. He swallows. Dick’s hand on Bruce’s arm keeps the man from moving and ripping Goon’s hands off.
“It wasn't him.” Tim whispers. “I’m sure you got the ones that did it already.”
A low snarl rips from Bruce’s throat. “Your head is bleeding because of him.” He spits. “Your eyes are wet because of him. You are scared, because of him.”
The goon swallows hard, eyes growing wider by the second. “I didn't do shit, man.” He whimpers. “Please, you can take him. Just please let me go.”
It’s all Bruce needs. He’s across the room in a second, gun knocked from the man’s hand in two, a quick swipe to the back of his neck all it takes for him to sag to the floor, unconscious.
Tim’s knees buckle, but Bruce catches him, sweeping him into his arms with ease as he cradles him to his chest. “The warehouse is clean.” Dick reports, eyes thunderous, but stays at Bruce’s side. Does not impart more judgement than the one Bruce has already served.
“Good.” Bruce sweeps past him, and they ride to the Manor together in silence, Tim hissing at every bump and swerve. Bruce’s hands tighten on the wheel with every sound, until the very metal bends under his anger.
Alfred is waiting, already prepared due to Barbara, and Tim goes under quickly.
Bruce changes while the butler works, ordering Dick to do the same, and then they wait, anxious, at Tim’s bedside, for him to wake again.
When he finally does, he flinches back in fear, drawing together. “I'm sorry.” He whispers, miserable, and won’t meet Bruce’s eyes. “I shouldn't have- I’m sorry.” Excuses seem to be too much for him, maybe because he knows there is none.
Bruce lets out a quiet sigh, leaning forward, and takes Tim’s hand in his own. “Tim. Look at me.” The boy raises his head, shameful and afraid, but meets his eyes.
“I’m… yes, I’m angry at you for disobeying me. And getting yourself hurt. But I am not…” He sighs, uncertain of how to both be firm and yet comforting.
“What B is trying to say is that you scared the shit out of him, and don’t do it again.” Dick comes to his rescue, as he so often does.
Tim’s lips twitch with the briefest of smiles. “I’m sorry.” He repeats.
Bruce squeezes his hand. “It’s- well, it’s not alright, but I’m just glad you’re safe, Robin. I’m glad I got to you in time. Please don’t ever do it again, though, Tim. Alright?”
Tim smiles, small and subdued, but nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He agrees. “I won’t.”
@pixelsbuildmysoul @blue--orangeade @alex-blanc141
it is farrrr too late, but I did finally get around to writing my "oracle come in" fic, so here it is :) tada!! I am dissappointed in the ending, I do not like it that much, but it's finished and I figured I'd give you all something since it's been too damn long. I hope it lives up to your dreams :)
