The Annual Batfamily Easter Egg Battle Royale Begins
Please enjoy this chaos that's been sitting in my drafts for about four years now. Feel free to add on! If you do, please @ me so I see it 😊
"Alright. So. The current records are: 167, most eggs found in a single hunt, Cass. 2,753, most eggs found total, Dick, which I still say is unfair. The abandoned nest of a bird a quarter mile into the back woods to the southwest, most ridiculous hiding spot, me. And last but not least, most stolen eggs, 912, Jason."
Tim glared at his older brother, who grinned evilly.
"You didn't have to give me your eggs, technically."
"I move," Tim said through gritted teeth, "to abolish blackmail from the list of approved theft methods."
"There's a list of approved theft methods?" Duke whispered.
"Hell, yeah."
"The runner ups!" Steph cried, physically jumping in the middle of the burgeoning chaos. "124, most eggs in a single hunt, Barbara, since Cass's other high scores can't count. 2,171, most eggs total, Jason. I will give you as many of my eggs as necessary this year to help you topple Dick's score."
"Hey!"
"That's my girl!"
Steph and Jason fist-bumped.
"Second most ridiculous hiding spot goes to Cass again, with behind the loose brick in the garden wall on the west property line. And second most stolen eggs is won by Damian, with 483. Please be aware that death threats with or without weaponry are officially off the list of approved theft methods."
"Tt."
Cullen raised a hand. "What about Nerf weaponry? Or paintball guns?"
Everyone looked at Dick, who pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling, considering.
"Paintball guns, no, Nerf weapons I'll allow on probation," he decided. He glared specifically at Damian, Jason, and Harper. "Use them responsibly."
"Tt. Of course."
"Sure thing, Dickie."
"Yeah, absolutely."
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered in Romani, "I am making a mistake."
"You think?"
"Moving on," Barbara interrupted. "As always, Bruce and Alfred have color-coded the eggs in equal amounts, because neither of them understand the concept of siblings or competition. The colors are thus: Dick, blue; me, light green; Jason, red; Tim, orange; Cass, pink; Steph, purple; Damian, dark green, and there's a picture, so don't you dare pretend to be 'confused;' Duke, yellow; Harper, mismatched blue and purple; Cullen, mismatched orange and light green. There are thirty for each of us, theoretically."
"We changed up the rules just a little," Dick continued. "Instead of two points for stolen and one for rightful, we now switched it to two points for rightful and one for stolen–"
This was met by a loud round of boos, so he quickly and loudly added, "At Alfred’s request!" to make them subside.
"As always, the grand prize is bragging rights, which are taken away if you decide to be an asshole about it."
Dick sent a stink-eye towards Jason, who folded his arms across his chest and defended, "I was twelve."
"Uh huh. Anyway, any minute now, B is going to come in here and set us loose, and we have until dinner at 6pm sharp to find all three hundred eggs, return, and clean up. You may work in teams or individually, and no betrayals. We're going to go about this like civilized people, am I right?"
There were a few quiet agreements. Dick cleared his throat and repeated, "Am I right?"
"Yes," came the chorus.
"Alright. Good luck. And remember, any undiscovered eggs go to Bruce. Last year, that total numbered fifty-four. Are we going to let it happen again?"
"No!" came a far more enthusiastic chorus.
"Eggs-cellent."
"I have not yet killed a man with a Nerf gun, Grayson," Jason said, "but I swear to God, today, I will try."
"I am requesting a partner," Duke said, raising one hand. "I want to trust somebody."
"I got you, bro," Tim said, stepping closer to Duke while eyeing Damian, Jason, and Steph. "I've been targeted too many times."
"On second thought."
"Nooo!" Tim wailed, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around Duke's legs. "I beg of you, my brother, do not abandon me to my fate! Mercy! Pity!"
"Oh, come on," Jason scoffed.
"We're not that mean," Steph agreed.
"There, there," Duke chuckled, patting Tim's head. "I was just teasing. I'll protect you."
"Thank God."
Meanwhile, Harper turned to Cullen and warned him, "You, specifically, are going down."
"Not if you go down first."
"If I go down," Babs said, "I can and will take all of you with me."
There was a knock on the door. The kids all turned to each other, half gleeful, half looking terrified more than anything. Bruce Wayne entered, Alfred at his side. They both eyed the children suspiciously.
"We're all set," Bruce said, gaze lingering on Jason, Steph, and Damian, who were now the pictures of innocence. "You know what to do. Remember that no eggs are hidden in the cave or the bedrooms. If any of you come back bleeding, you are all grounded until next Easter. Understood?"
Tim raised his hand. "What if we were innocent victims in vicious attacks?"
"You're my children," Bruce said flatly. "None of you are innocent."
Some days, Tim was really fucking glad to have Batman for a next-door neighbor.
He couldn't exactly remember a time when he was quite this glad or relieved, though. He'd never been on the verge of being kidnapped before.
But that was ok. He wasn't going to be kidnapped.
He had a plan.
Call the police would probably have been more rational, but the power was all still dead from the snowstorm, and Tim figured the roads to Bristol were blocked up, too. At the very least, his driveway was, and it was long enough to be considered its own short road.
Stupid fucking snowstorm. It was its fault that Tim's parents couldn't get back in town, and that he was alone and trying not to end up kidnapped on Christmas.
But it was ok. Because he wouldn't. Because he had a plan. And about two hours to set it into motion. And if it failed, the kidnappers were probably just going to be so pissed they'd kill Tim, so technically his goal of don't get kidnapped would still be met.
Technicalities were usually much more fun.
Tim ran around the house in a frenzy, darting glances out the window every few minutes to make sure the creepy men hadn't gotten any closer. But no, they were still huddled around their fires out in the yard, waiting for him to surrender.
Big fat nope to that one. Tim didn't know who they were working for, or why that guy wanted an eleven-year-old kid, but he knew it was most definitely for something very bad, and he wasn't interested in the particulars.
He paused, shuddering at the thought that entered his head, then scattered a few more Lego pieces on the floor.
The thing was, Tim could neither call for help nor run away while the power was out and the bad guys were surrounding the house. But if he got them inside the house, and made sure they couldn't follow, then he could race across the half-mile stretch to the property line. Crossing that would trigger Batman's security, and he'd come and investigate and bring Tim somewhere safe and beat up the bad guys, and maybe even be impressed at how clever and resourceful Tim had been.
Of course, even getting outside hinged on how many bad guys actually did come inside, and how many got caught in Tim's traps long enough to give him a head start. The traps had never been tested, after all, and Tim only had time for so many math calculations to determine their effectiveness. Drake Manor was also so large that he couldn't sufficiently cover it. He'd have to guide the bad guys where he wanted them to go.
Which meant he was using himself as live bait.
... It was gonna be fine.
The clock began striking nine as Tim finished his second-floor traps and double-checked the wiring. His heartbeat was going crazy in his chest, and he took deep, slow breaths in time with the chimes to steady himself. If he hyperventilated and passed out, he was worse than dead.
"TIMOTHY DRAKE," boomed the voice that had called out before, somehow magnified so that each word was perfectly clear, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL USE ALL FORCE TO APPREHEND YOU."
Tim threw open the nearest window and stuck his head out, squinting against the snow to see the nearest fire. He didn't know if the man was at that one or not, but it didn't matter. He was sure his cry of "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! EAT SHIT!" was heard by all.
He slammed the window shut as the voice yelled furiously and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over the wires and traps. He wasn't sure how many were going to enter in each direction, but the first landing was the best place to bring them all closer.
Tim had to wait there for several minutes, anxiety building, before he heard the first cry of pain. It sounded like it came from the front door, and Tim smirked, thinking of the heavy vase that had just gotten shattered over the bad guy's head.
Strangled swearing erupted from the kitchen where superglue had stolen shoes to bare feet to a sea of Legos. A howl rose from the living room where a hot plate had been set under the window.
"DRAKE!"
"Last chance to surrender!" Tim hollered mockingly, wiping sweaty hands on his pants.
Screams and a terribly loud bang meant that his flashbomb had successfully blinded someone, and the most creative swear Tim had ever heard in his life confirmed that sticking his mother's sewing needles into the grey carpet had been a stroke of genius.
"You will pay for this, you insolent whelp!"
"You want it in cash or credit?" Tim needed them closer. Besides, it was just a little bit fun to tease.
"In blood!"
The first man appeared at the foot of the stairs. He held his right hand close to his chest, but otherwise looked unharmed. He must have avoided the lighter in the hall, though by the sound of it, one of his buddies hadn't.
Tim gulped. All he could see above the black ninja mask was the man's eyes, and he looked furious.
"Um, how about traveler's checks?"
The man started up the stairs with a roar and immediately toppled backwards, slipping on the generous coating of oil over the hardwood.
"Oh, yeah, I just polished that."
One man staggered into the foyer from the front hall. He still had dust and broken pottery on his head and shoulders, and his eyes looked unfocused. Another limped in from the kitchen, barefoot and glaring. He drew a knife, and Tim scrambled backwards.
"No!" The first man grabbed the other's wrist. He didn't look happy about it, but he said, "Lord Ra's wants the boy alive."
"He can live without his arrogant little tongue!"
Tim tried to think up something clever to say, to get them to come up the stairs, but he really did not want them any closer than they were. Out in the yard, they couldn't hurt him, but here they could. They could hurt Tim very, very bad.
Two more ninjas stumbled in, one blinking and squinting, pant leg still smoldering. The other, who looked like a woman, was walking on the sides of her feet. She left a thin trail of blood behind her, and Tim both felt sorry and wished it were worse all at once.
"He's lost his tongue even without your blade, Hans," laughed the first man. "Not so brave now, are you, boy?"
Brave, Tim. Brave like Robin.
Jason wouldn't be scared of these goons, and neither would Dick. Dick would make fun of them, and Jason would cuss them out, so Tim did both.
"Like hell I'm scared of you shit-faces! The wax dummies at the history museum would make better ninjas than you!"
Hans yelled and ran at the stairs. He didn't hear the first man yell, "Fool, it's oiled!" until he was already flat on his back. Tim listened very hard, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house. He taunted, "Where's the rest of you? Maybe you could use the power of friendship to figure it out," to make sure.
"Thank whatever god guards you there are none others," the woman snarled. "Or you would choke on your blood even as you laugh."
"Dramatic," Tim quipped weakly, voice a bit too high.
"How did we fail him that Lord Ra's would punish us this way," moaned Pottery Man. "Being tormented and mocked by an infant."
"Hey!" Tim cried, indignant. "I'm eleven and five twelfths!"
"Enough of this!" Number One shouted. "Hans, the servant's stair, Edda, the back stair. Jethro, the dumbwaiter." They scattered, and One began stalking up the oiled stairs, clinging to the rail and motioning the blinded man to stay behind. "You think we do not know every hall and stair in this house, boy? Every entrance and exit? What do you think will be your salvation if you stall us?"
Tim swallowed, edging into the hall and carefully pushing open the first door. He may have to adjust his escape plan.
"Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981!" Tim hollered. He dove out of the way as his father's massive, prized floor globe, the one twice the size and weight of Tim, rolled down the improvised ramp and onto the stairwell, gathering speed every second.
Tim took off, running down the hall to his bedroom without looking back. He heard screaming from several parts of the house, and would have jeered at them about not expecting him to know how to trap his own house, but he no longer wanted to give away his location. He'd need extra time now. Climbing down from his window was going to be a hell of a lot harder than climbing the rope he'd put in the dumbwaiter for himself.
Tim pulled out his army knife as he passed the dumbwaiter door and started sawing at the rope, grateful the set-up could double as another trap. He didn't even have to cut all the way through, the ninja's weight snapping the fibers in seconds once they frayed. He heard a yell and an awful snap.
The cry of, "I'll kill you, brat!" should not have been comforting, but Tim didn't want to have killed anybody, so it was.
He made it to his room, shut and locked the door, then shoved his dresser against it, grunting and panting. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, swiping the sweat from his forehead. He gave himself thirty seconds, but dropped it to twenty when the shouting drew nearer.
"I can do this," Tim whispered, stepping onto the windowsill and staring down. "I can totally, one hundred percent do this."
He sat down and shimmied around until he was clutching the window ledge with ungloved hands. His fingers were already freezing. His toes hung and flailed in open air for a few terrifying seconds before they found crevices in the weathered brick.
Tim took a deep breath.
Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall until his feet hit the top of the first floor window. His fingers scraped and bled against the bricks, turning white with cold and terror. Sweat ran down his face and back, making him hot and cold both at once. Once he got his hand or foot on a hold, it was hard to make himself move again.
Carefully -- oh, so, so carefully, when Tim's feet hit the top of that window, did he turn his head over his shoulder. The snow rose to the bottom of the window, making the drop only about three feet into a cushion. Tim closed his eyes and jumped.
The snow crunched loudly beneath him, and he broke through it up to his knees. He didn't dare waste time celebrating, but immediately started off, hoping the blizzard would help to cover his tracks.
Half a mile due east. Tim could make it.
Half a mile through ever-deeper snow, in wind and dark, with only a coat and boots, and furious ninjas hunting him down.
Tim had to make it.
At first he tried to run, shoving his hands in his pockets to make them warm, but it was like trying to run through a pool, and Tim soon found himself basically swimming with his arms and legs. Within minutes (though each felt like an hour) he couldn't feel his fingers at all.
The snow was high enough to slip into the tops of his boots, melting into his socks and making his feet grow numb. Tim started crying, only realizing it when the tear tracks burned down his cheeks and froze there. Every breath became a white cloud in front of his face.
The whole world had turned into the snowstorm. Tim didn't know anymore if he was going east or west, north or south, up or down. If he was still going towards Batman and safety, or if he'd got so turned around he was about to run right into the ninjas' arms. He stumbled and staggered, knowing he had to keep moving no matter where he ended up. Fall down in the snow, and he was never getting back up.
Then finally, finally, Tim saw light in the distance.
"Help!" he cried, but his voice was ripped away by the wind.
"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"
A shadow blocked the light, and Tim sobbed in relief as arms hugged him tight.
"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."
Tim screamed and started thrashing, but the ninja had his arms pinned, and the snow blocked his kicks. He tried to bite, but there was nothing in front of his face but thick cloth.
"Let go!" he wailed. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. "Let me fucking go! Hel--mmph!"
Tim was spun around and a hand covered his mouth, grip bruisingly tight, enough that Tim couldn't even move his jaw, let alone bite.
"Oh, no, boy," the ninja snarled in his ear. "You will be brought before the Demon's Head, and punished for every injury inflicted, and even the great Detective can't save you!"
"Can't he?"
Tim's heart leapt as a hulking shadow appeared out of the snow, Batman's unmistakable growl now a roar over the wind. He had done it! He'd gotten to Batman! He was saved!
And then he felt ice cold metal against his throat.
"Stay out of this, Detective. Lord Ra's cares not if he must resurrect his prize."
Tim trembled, even though he'd stopped shivering ages ago. He didn't know what that meant, but he never wanted to find out.
"He should care that Gotham and its people are under my protection. Let the boy go, or there will be retaliation."
"We do not fear your posturing, Detective," the ninja sneered. He started dragging Tim back, away from Batman and safety. "And we do not fear your allies. But continue to oppose us now, and we will strike you down--"
"Wanna bet?"
There was a loud thunk and the ninja's hold went slack. The knife dropped to the snow, its wielder crumpling, and Tim stumbled, grabbing for his throat to be sure it wasn't bleeding.
"Kid? Kid, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Robin hollered over the wind.
Tim slowly shook his head, staring at the ninja. He felt something warm and big and surprisingly soft drape over his shoulders, like a blanket, and looked up to see Batman leaning over him with his cape.
"You're freezing," he murmured, sounding much more like Mr. Wayne. "Robin, get him inside!" His voice dipped back to a growl as he said, "I'll deal with the League."
"Here, kid."
Batman was replaced by Robin, but the cloak remained wrapped around Tim. He was bundled tighter into it, then scooped right off the ground and into Robin's arms. He squeaked in surprise, but pressed closer because Robin was so warm.
"Geez, you're tiny!" Robin half-shouted, wading through the snow only a little faster than Tim had. "How old are you, kid?"
"Eleven and a half," Tim mumbled. Jason Todd was a fine one to talk about being small for one's age.
As Robin muttered something like, because the half makes all the difference, a big black shape loomed out of the snow right in front of Tim's face. It took him far too long to realize it was a Bat-Snowmobile; Robin had plopped him on top and climbed on behind him before he registered the headlights had turned on.
"Hang on tight!" Robin ordered, and the engine roared to life.
Tim yelped, grabbing Robin as the vehicle lurched and zoomed into the storm, throwing his arms around the older boy's neck and hiding his face against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Tim's waist and gently squeezed.
"Just hang in there a few more minutes, squirt. It's not far."
"What's not far?"
Not Tim's house. Please, not Tim's house. He didn't want to go back and run into the rest of the bad guys -- the League -- without Batman. Robin was awesome and warm, but Batman was powerful, and Tim didn't think the League would give up without more of a fight.
Robin hesitated before answering. "Wayne Manor is just under a quarter mile. They can look after you while I go back to help Batman."
Tim sighed in relief. Wayne Manor would be warm and safe, and until Batman and Robin came back to be Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Tim would no doubt be looked after by Alfred Pennyworth, and he was as powerful as Batman himself in Tim's book.
I did it, he thought happily, cuddling closer to Robin's warmth. I actually fucking did it.
"Eat shit, Lord Ra's."
Robin laughed.
After only a few more minutes, Wayne Manor appeared, looming out of the dark with a few cheerily lit windows. There was a glowing Christmas tree visible through one, and seeing it warmed something other than Tim's fingers.
Robin parked the Bat-Snowmobile outside the back kitchen door and swung himself off, then scooped up Tim to plop him on the ground. He kept an arm around Tim's shoulders as he went and knocked on the door. Tim could see the kitchen lights on, and it only took a minute before the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth in a robe and nightshirt.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and immediately backed up to usher them inside.
"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Tim Drake, your next-door neighbor," Robin introduced. "His home was attacked tonight by the League of Assassins, and he had to run a long way through the cold. If you would look after him and warm him up, Batman and I will be back before too long."
"I-- yes, of course," Mr. Pennyworth said, surprise changing to concern. "Thank you, Master Robin."
Robin nodded and ruffled Tim's hair. "You'll be safe here for a while, ok, squirt? Batman or I'll be back soon."
Tim nodded, and Robin grinned and left. Tim could hear the roar of the Bat-Snowmobile as it tore off outside.
Mr. Pennyworth turned to put a kettle on the stove, then told Tim, "Come, let's get you out of those wet things, Master Tim."
Tim nodded eagerly, stumbling a bit on frozen feet as he followed Mr. Pennyworth to a bathroom, still clutching Batman's cape around his shoulders.
"I'll set some of Master Jason's things outside the door for you. You're about the same size, I think. If you can find your way back to the kitchen, I'll have hot cocoa ready in moments."
"You don't have to go to any trouble," Tim said shyly.
"Nonsense, dear boy." Mr. Pennyworth smiled. "Tisn't any trouble at all, I assure you."
He left, and Tim stripped out of his sweats and socks. He hated to drop Batman's cape on the ground, but it had gotten soggy with snow just like everything else. He tried to fold it up, but it was like trying to fold his sheets, it was so huge.
A knock came at the door, and Mr. Pennyworth called that there were pajamas and a sweatshirt outside. Tim answered with a thank you and waited a moment before sticking one hand out the door to snatch the bundle.
He was startled into a laugh to see that the pajamas were themed like Batman and the hoodie like Nightwing. He wondered if Dick had gotten it for Jason. There were also a non-themed pair of slippers, and now that the feeling was coming back to Tim's toes, he could tell they were wonderfully soft.
Once dressed, he found his way back to the kitchen, where a kettle was starting to whistle before Mr. Pennyworth plucked it off the stove.
"Warming up, Master Tim?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."
The butler tutted. "Alfred is quite alright, dear boy."
"Thank you, Alfred," Tim corrected shyly. He'd never called an adult by their first name before.
A very loud yawn from behind made Tim jump, turning to look at the doorway, where...
Tim blinked.
Where stood Jason Todd.
He was dressed in Wonder Woman pajama pants and a red hoodie, rumpled like he'd been asleep, but his hair was still damp and his nose and cheeks pink from the snow and cold. His eyes looked bleary and sleepy, like he'd just woken up, but he most definitely scanned over Tim like he was looking for injuries.
"'S goin' on, Alf?" he asked, slurring his voice to sound half-awake. "Who's that?"
Tim just kept staring, dumbfounded, as Alfred said, "You recall young Timothy Drake, Master Jason? I'm afraid he ran into quite the spot of trouble tonight. Robin brought him here for us to look after until the situation is resolved."
Jason's eyes widened like he hadn't himself, as Robin, dropped Tim off ten minutes ago. "No way," he muttered. "What the hell were you doing, Timbit, that you got mixed up in superhero stuff?"
Tim hesitated.
"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"
"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."
Tim hadn't had any idea just why he was being almost-kidnapped, except maybe for ransom or something, until the ninja had said that, and Batman showed up seeming to know all about that Lord Ra's guy and his ninja-kidnappers. At the time, he'd been too terrified to analyze, but now he wondered...
Did Ra's somehow know that Tim knew who Batman was? Tim didn't think that was possible. He hadn't even told his parents. But maybe Ra's was a mind-reader. Or had some kind of special powers. But then why would he need Tim to tell him who Batman was? Especially when the ninja sounded like Ra's and his League already knew all about Batman.
"Timber?"
Tim blinked and looked back at Jason. He and Alfred were both watching Tim, sharp-eyed. That was when he realized Jason wasn't just asking as a shocked civilian, he was investigating as Robin. In order to protect Tim, he and Batman needed to know why he'd been endangered in the first place.
"I...I don't know," he admitted. Jason's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown, until Tim hesitantly added, "But I might have a guess?"
"Yeah? What do you think?"
Alfred set a cup of steaming cocoa on the table in front of Tim. It warmed his face, and he almost thought it burned his hands when he cupped them around it, but he didn't care. One sip warmed him all over inside, like he hadn't been cold or frightened at all. He wondered if Alfred was magic.
There was another clink of ceramic, and Tim realized Jason had gotten a mug of cocoa, too, and had sat down across from Tim. He held out a bowl of marshmallows, and Tim took two with a soft thanks.
Jason waited until Tim had taken two more sips before prompting, "Timmers? What's your guess?"
Tim took a deep breath, trying to calculate how mad Batman was going to be when he found out, and blurted, "I know who Batman and Robin are."
"What? No way! Who are they? How did you figure it out?" Jason gasped, face splitting into a grin, looking for all the world like someone expecting to hear the most amazing secret in the world.
But Tim saw the panic behind his eyes.
"I wouldn't tell you, if you didn't know," he promised. "But they're you. You and Mr. Wayne. I... I know because it was Dick Grayson first. He's the only person ever who can do a quadruple flip, and I saw Robin do it with my own eyes."
Jason stared.
Alfred stared.
Tim ducked his head and stared at his cocoa.
Then Jason said slowly, "You... you saw the first Robin in person? Doing a four-flip?"
"Yes?"
"How... how old were you?"
Tim frowned, calculating. "Nine?"
Alfred coughed.
"You were nine," Jason repeated. "And you were out in Gotham and saw Robin. Doing a fancy flip. And figured out one of the most dangerous and well-kept secrets in the city."
"Yes," Tim said, a bit more confidently. "Like I said, only Dick Grayson can do that flip. And if he's Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman. And you have to be the next Robin. It's... it's just logic."
It's just logic, Jason mouthed. His lips stayed parted in astonishment as he turned to look at Alfred.
"That's... quite impressive, Master Tim," he managed. "Although, might I inquire... just what were the circumstances under which you saw Robin's flip?"
Tim hastily took a sip of cocoa. Jason raised his eyebrows and copied him, not setting down his mug until Tim did. Tim immediately took another sip. Jason and Alfred exchanged a glance.
"IusedtofollowBatmanandRobinaroundatnightandtakepictures," Tim blurted.
Jason blinked rapidly several times before suggesting, "A-again... slowly, please?"
"I... I used to, to follow Batman and Robin around at night. And take pictures."
"And your parents let you?" Jason yelped.
"They didn't... exactly know?"
"How...?" Jason's voice kept sounding more and more strangled. If Tim didn't know better, he'd have thought an invisible villain was throttling him.
"Well..." Tim ducked his head, shoulders almost rising to his ears. He stared intently at the melting marshmallows in his cocoa as he said, "They're not really around much."
"What exactly do you mean by 'not much,' Master Tim?" Alfred asked, both firm and kind, but also concerned.
Tim's ears felt hot. "They're usually on digs. They come back for a weekend or so every couple months. So they never knew I went out at night. I never told them I figured out who you are. I promise that I've never told anybody, and I never would tell anybody, even that Ra's guy, no matter what he did!"
He looked back up at Jason and Alfred, hoping they could see the honesty in his face.
Their faces showed a mix of shock and horror. Jason's eyes were wide and round, but Alfred's were pinched, and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. Tim swallowed nervously.
"You're a very impressive young lad, Master Tim," Alfred said in a carefully measured voice. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I think I ought to go inform Master Bruce of... these developments. I assume your parents were not home tonight?"
"Their flight got cancelled," Tim admitted. He wondered for the first time, as Alfred nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, if Batman had a mind-wipe machine or something. He very much hoped not.
Jason made a low whistle, then murmured, "Well, damn." He took a sip of cocoa, looking at the door Alfred had left through.
"What's 'well damn'?" Tim asked, voice too high.
"Alfie's 'bout'a go off," Jason chuckled, then, seeing Tim's expression, clarified, "not on you, Timberly, on your parents. And Ra's. Definitely also on Ra's."
"Why would Alfred be mad at my parents? And what does he need to tell Batman? Are you mad at me? Because I figured it out? Or..." Tim gasped in horror. "Or because I led them here? I led them here! Oh, God, I told a villain who Batman is! I--"
"Tim! Tim, calm down, it's ok!" Jason seemed torn between laughter and concern, but he reached out and put a bracing hand on Tim's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ra's already knows who we are. Alfred just has to tell Bruce, um. Not to look for your parents. And why they're not there. And that's why he's pissed off, because nobody should leave a little kid all by himself for all but a few weekends out of the year."
Jason looked pissed himself when he said the last bit. Unfortunately, all of it just left Tim with even more questions. But even as he opened his mouth to ask them, there was a loud rattling and banging from above.
"What was that?" Tim yelped, jumping and spilling cocoa on the table.
"The storm," Jason said, completely expressionless. He grabbed some napkins from the holder on the table and dropped them on the spill, clearing it with one neat swipe. "Don't worry about it."
"You're sure it's not the ninjas?"
Jason snorted. "Don't ever let them hear you call them that. I'm sure, kid. Batman's got it covered."
Alfred came back into the kitchen muttering about reception, and took Tim's and Jason's empty mugs over to the sink to wash. There was a loud pounding from up above, first moving distant, then drawing near again. Tim realized it was running feet.
He raised his eyebrows at Jason.
"The storm, huh?"
Jason shrugged with a smile too mischievous to be innocent.
A moment later, Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and face pink, barefoot and wearing a red bathrobe that did not succeed at hiding the Batsuit underneath.
The way he blinked and squinted at the warm kitchen light appeared genuine, but he sounded far too awake as he said, "Alfred, what's going on? Who's this? Jason? I thought you went to bed."
Jason glanced at Tim, mischief peaking.
"Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running over. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened! This is Tim Drake, from next door, and he was attacked by supervillains and Batman and Robin came and saved him and brought him here!"
"Oh! My... God..." Mr. Wayne faltered, glancing from Alfred (who's back was turned to hide his smile) to Tim (who was just as confused as he seemed) to Jason (who was grinning just a bit too wide), before narrowing a bit at the last one.
Jason beamed up at him, and Mr. Wayne apparently decided not to worry about it, because he turned to Tim and asked, "Are you alright, Tim?"
"I... think so," Tim said slowly, staring at Jason, who was mouthing at him. Mr. Wayne glanced down at his son suspiciously, but Jason shut his mouth in an instant.
"Are you hurt at all? Cold?"
"No, I'm ok now. Mr... uh, Alfred's hot chocolate warmed me right up."
Mr. Wayne smiled. "It does that quite well. Are..." He turned hesitant again, glancing at them all before asking, "Do you know if your parents are alright? If they escaped?"
"They weren't even there," Jason said, bright smile turning downright ferocious. "They leave Tim all alone in the house all year and only come in for a weekend every once in a while. And since that's criminal neglect, and Batman and Robin asked us to take care of him, I guess I got a little brother for Christmas like I asked for after all!"
Tim stared. Mr. Wayne stared. Jason beamed. Alfred coughed in a way that sounded much too much like a laugh.
"Um..." Tim started, but had no idea how to continue.
"It... I... don't think it's all quite that simple, Jay," Mr. Wayne cautioned hesitantly. Jason just stared straight up into his face, both grinning and glaring at the same time. It was mildly terrifying, and Mr. Wayne cleared his throat before turning to Tim. "But of course, you're more than welcome to stay with us until it's safe. We'll be glad to have you."
Tim stammered out a thank you, wondering if Mr. Wayne offered because he knew as Batman that it wasn't safe. He hoped not. As awesome as being Jason Todd's little brother sounded, Tim already had parents and a home, even if they were... distant. He also wondered why Jason was pretending he was an ordinary civilian, and that Tim didn't know better. And Alfred was going along with it, even though he'd been about to tell Batman everything just before.
"If you're quite warm and well, Master Tim, I think a good night's rest would do you good," Alfred said, "as it would the rest of us."
"Oh. Um, yes." Tim blinked and looked at the clock, which read 11:30 PM. "Sleep. Yeah."
"Great!" Jason chirped. He did a cartwheel over to Tim, channeling Dick Grayson, probably, and pulled him up, slinging his arm over Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Timbers, we can have a sleepover in my room."
"Uh, sure."
A sleepover with Robin? Tim was equal parts confused and ecstatic. He followed Jason past a mystified Mr. Wayne, who wished them both goodnight, and up a small back staircase to the second floor.
It wasn't until Jason had showed them into his room and they got settled in bed that Tim finally asked, "Jason? Why didn't we tell Mr. Wayne that I know who you are? Isn't it kind of important?"
"Oh, Timmy Tim Timmers. Think about it. We only get to tell him that once."
"But-- oh. Ohhh."
"Exactly." Jason sounded smug. "Just you wait, Timbit. I have a feeling you and I are gonna be the holiest terrors this city ever saw."
Bc Q keeps randomly knocking down my door and screaming EIRA every few months/aff
Part 1
Within a week the family has worked together to craft an official statement for the press
If it weren't for goddamn ras tim would be advocating the "keep all reporters and paps the fuck away from my baby" approach, but as it is he just has to try to minimize damage
They hold a small press conference in Wayne tower, where they've got absolute top security around, and Bruce is right by Tim's side expressing unwavering support and 0 judgment as Tim states that he's stepping down from his position (not CEO he was in charge if like R&D since Bruce came back)... in order to care for his infant daughter
Dead silence. Wide-eyed stares
Tim takes a deep deep breath and says
"Her name is Eira Bahar Wayne. Her mother is my best friend *he's a bit choked up, because he's never going to get them to understand exactly what steph is, more than friend, other than lover, one of the most amazing women in the world* and if you will all take a moment now to turn off any flash or recording lights... they'll come out and say hello."
It was a calculated move, introducing Eira literally in Stephs arms. Tim's the famous one, no one will forget that he's a teen parent, that he claimed this kid. He's also eiras literal biological father, she has 23 chromosomes from him and sooner or later that's going to become apparent
She also has 23 chromosomes from a woman who is not steph.
There can't ve any doubt in the publics mind that steph carried and bore Eira, tho, or ras has an in. So Eira meets the world this way, so that the very first pictures to exist of her are *with her mother*, with Steph smiling so lovingly and holding her totally correct, eiras blanket and stephs dress even subtly matching and complimenting Tim's suit.
That's why he goes to meet them, arm around stephs back, and brushes eiras little Itty bitty curls that Tim thinks are from his mom, and they step forward as a unit
He thinks it works
Camera shutters are GOING OFF (thankfully no flash, he didn't want to go red robin on them) and several reporters are awwing and sighing
They ask a few questions, to Tim and to steph. They share facts - eiras birth height and weight, how long Tim and steph have known each other - but not stories - how long wad the birth, did you decide to have a child or happy accident?
Tim kind of wants to punch the guy who asked that but he forces a laugh and says it's rude to ask a lady such things
And then it's over and the next day 3 different newspapers have it as the headline story
Eira becomes a celebrity overnight. All of Gotham is SCREECHING about how adorable she is, how adorable their family is, how Tim is now a DILF (he blocks that tag) how lucky steph is to have Tim and eira
(There's other screeching too, about teen parents and recklessness and gold digging and debauchery and-- Babs keeps all that off Tim's and stephs feeds, monitoring it herself to ensure it never gets too loud)
Tumblr has an EIRA WAYNE PROTECTION SQUAD blog with over a hundred followers, #eiratheadorable is trending on Twitter, and they've recievied probably fifty handmade baby things in the past 2 months - blankets, hats, mittens, an empty scrapbook to fill, a nursery-appropriate superheroes painting
It's a little overwhelming but it's kind of nice
Tim and steoh make sure to go out and be seen every few weeks, together or apart, with eira on their hip, in a baby sling, in a stroller. For the most part people keep a respectful distance as they beam and coo and wave, and anyone who doesn't is quickly blocked by Cass or Damian, or dick when he's in town
(Jason isn't supposed to be alive and Bruce was found to be way too over protective. Tim AGREES but daaaad stop, you can't give away your batman voice bc one idiot had his flash on)
And exactly 3 months after eiras announcement, the perfect amount of time to cement her as part of the family, cute and tiny and lovable, an ideal in Gotham imagination...
Bruce and Talia announce their marriage and the date for a public, FANCY, vow-renewal, and take the people by STORM
I'm dying of boredom in the longest damn lab/lecture of my college career thus far so HAVE THIS THING THAT I SCRIBBLED
Desperation.
It was a feeling Tim knew well. He'd lived cloaked in it for ten years, since the day he watched his mom and dad drive away without him for a six-month trip.
He'd sunk deeper and deeper into it with every week that went by without a call. And every week when the call was only to say they were prolonging their trip.
He'd plunged into it headfirst when he'd seen Batman - Bruce - drowning in his own share.
He'd floundered in it himself when Jason had come back and tried to destroy everything Tim had rebuilt.
But this.
He'd never felt desperation like this before.
The kind of desperation thar can drive a person to turn their back on everything they've ever stood for.
It was revolting. It was terrifying. It was puking over a cliff before you saw just how far you could fall.
And yet there Tim stood, telling Ra's al Ghul he would serce him in exchange for his help.
Part 2 of Dad!Tim AU (so Q doesn't murder me in my sleep /aff) tw: referenced rape, referenced attempted/intended murder
(Part 1)
As we hit the ninth month, everyone is tense and on tenterhooks, but Tim is by far the worst. He can't sleep for more than an hour without jerking awake from a nightmare: the faceless child growing up, hands around a sword, smirking on Ra's's right hand, maybe coming to Gotham, but to hurt Tim's family, not join them... other times it's the child dying in infancy or even birth, and Tim doesn't know if that part is worse, the grief, or the next part, the fear, as Ra's's sister advances on him to try again
Nine months to the day since Paris and Tim is a wreck and the whole family is buzzing out of their skin, ready to ACT, but its not until 2 weeks later that they finally get Talia's call.
And in the background, there's a baby crying
Everyone is all wtf talia we said we were gonna WAIT and she grimly tells them there would be no waiting, she needs them to come pick up the baby now. Because the baby is a girl. Because Ra's will only accept a MALE heir, and he's not going to bother raising a child he has no use for. Because Ra's's sister is furious with the disgrace of bearing the wrong sort of baby and wants nothing to do with something that was supposed to be her greatest honor. Talia can only be gone so long before they will realize she has not in fact buried the infant in the snow, so they need to come NOW
Everyone bursts into frantic motion, freaking out, livid, terrified. Its all way too much, and Tim just sits and stares blankly, because he thought he'd have just a little more time. Dick sees this, and gently asks if Tim wants to stay back, and if he wants someone to stay with him. He does. So the others go, and Dick sits and holds Tim's hand as Tim tries to process. And he realizes that if not for Talia, all of his pain, all of his terror, all the violation would be for absolutely nothing.
And then he realizes that makes him MAD.
How dare they? He thinks. How DARE ra's and his sister throw the child away just because Tim gave her the "wrong" chromosome? HOW FUCKING DARE they treat a human child like a goddamn happy meal toy, like it -- she -- is disposable because she isn't what they wanted?
He gets up ("Tim?" Dick asks softly) and goes to find Alfred. The room right across from his, Alf, the one that has a view of the gardens, thats the nursery. Tim may still not be READY for this but he'll be damned if he can't do better than fucking RA'S.
So he and Dick and Alfred spend the tense, anxious hours moving and arranging baby stuff in the room, while Barbara folds all the onesies and diapers into the drawer and calls leslie about formula bc they don't know any nursing mothers
They get the call that the family arrived, they have the baby, they're on their way home, and Talia will keep up the pretense as long as she can so they can get back to Gotham. Baby's sleeping now, they say, and swear she looks just like Tim.
"You've got a regular little Snow White on your hands," Jason laughs, and no one on the plane is ever allowed to tell Tim how close Jason came to stealing his child (HER CHUBBY LITTLE CHEEKS STEPH JUST LOOK i see them jay.) "Black hair, pale skin (you're still paler), red lips, well, whole red face when she really wants to wail."
Tim doesn't know what to make of that yet, but at least maybe it seems like he'll be able to look at the child without constantly seeing her mother. (Not that she deserves that title).
They can't paint the nursery tonight and have it be dry, but they're going to paint it, Tim decides. Something colorful and happy, not like the soulless beige he grew up with. Nothing like his soulless childhood.
The family arrives. They arrive and Tim and Alfred and Barbara and Dick go down to meet them, Tim clutching Dicks hand. The door of the plane opens and they file out, and its Cass, a complicated mess of emotions on her face, who holds out the tiny, TINY little swaddle
Tim's hands are shaking as he reaches out, but no one says so. Dick just carefully supports Tim's arms to make sure he's steady
Jason was right, he thinks. She is a little Snow White. Her skin's a little darker than his, but still paler than he'd have thought. She's got black hair, but that was a guarantee. She's got a little red mouth that yawns into a perfect O and blinks open blue eyes, but he doesn't know if they'll stay that color.
Its hard to believe he's a FATHER. He has a DAUGHTER. He's still only 17.
That's when Baby begins to cry, and Tim panics, and the others have to calm him down and promise its not his fault, she's only hungry, and they go upstairs to get a bottle. Then they all troop to the nursery, where Alfred and Bruce have to help Tim settle in Martha's old rocking chair, and show him how to hold the Baby in one arm and the bottle in the other hand, and help her eat.
Slowly the others trickle away, to sleep, to give him privacy, because jts all so surreal, and there may or may not be tears on Tim's face. Finally its just Bruce and Alfred, and they help Tim put Baby in the cradle thats been in the Wayne family for nine generations. Then they go, and Tim's still sitting on the rocking chair, staring, like this fever dream is going to disappear, and there won't be baby or nursery or this awful terrifying weight in his chest, and he's not sure if he would really want that or not
He hears a soft sound by the door and springs up, grabbing for a weapon he doesn't have, but its only Damian, looking as lost and unsure as Tim.
"I thought you went to bed"
"I could not sleep."
Tim can't really argue with that
Damian edges closer, looking at Baby's face like he's searching for something there.
"Have you named her?"
"No," Tim scoffs, because he didn't fucking want her, he thought she'd come with a name, just barely laid eyes on her or held her. Then he feels shame because what kind of father doesn't want to name his own child? His voice softens as he explains, "i have no idea where to start"
"At the end then," Damian suggests, just as soft. "With Wayne." And it might just be the kindest thing the kid has ever said to Tim.
"Ok," he says. "And in the middle?" It feels like a cop-out, asking Damian of all people to name TIM's child. But Tim can't... there's no logical process to follow here, naming is an emotional experience, it forges a CONNECTION and Tim just... all that furious resolve is much harder to draw from when he's confronting the reality it entails
Damian purses his lips, hesitating. Finally, he says, "There's Bahar. It... it means 'brilliant.'"
And at first, Tim balks, because no, that's what RA'S wanted from the child, Tim's brilliance, and what the FUCK, Damian-- and then he realizes. That... this might be, no it probably is, Damian saying "fuck ra's. The baby girl will be brilliant, and you're brilliant too."
He finds himself smiling, just a little, and repeats, "Bahar. I... I like it."
Damian smiles just a faint bit too, then.
"What... what about the beginning?" Tim tries, but Damian shakes his head and tells him that's for Tim to decide. He turns to go. Then Tim calls him back.
Slowly, hesitantly, Tim asks, "What's the word for 'snow?'"
Perfect little snow white... bury the kid in the snow... fuck ra's...
"... 'eira.'"
Damian leaves, and Tim looks down at the tiny little baby.
This is my first time writing Duke's POV and I'm hoping im gettinf it right bc i haven't read much with him but its delighting me how quickly he can get through WTFTHISFAMILYISINSANEGODSAVEME and arrive at Manipulative Little Shit Who Knows Exactly How His Siblins Work
(Tw for... idk general shitty stone-age misogyny?)
Part 1
They've had Eira for a month now, and honestly... Bruce was wondering when this would happen
He's very glad that Jason's at home with Tim tonight, because otherwise God only knows what would have happened, but there'd have been a lot more blood, Bruce is sure
Instead it's just him and Damian at the very edge of the city limits when a woman, bleeding and disheveled and bruised, nearly past recognition, sprints close, slows to a stagger, and collapses on her knees before them, one hand reaching out to fist in each of their cloaks as she gasps for breath
But Bruce could never not know those green eyes. The ones his smallest son shares with his
"MOTHER!"
"Talia! What the hell-"
But he doesn't wonder for long. And again, he really should have known it would happen by now
A group of assassins steps out of the shadows, weapons raised and still wet with Talia's blood. She drags herself up, beside Bruce, in front of Damian, and raises her own sword, but Bruce steps in the middle, finding that ice-cold place of fury that he's struggled for half a year now to keep hidden from his children because of how ugly it is
"Stay out of my city," he snarls. He reminds them of the piss-poor but completely binding treaty, that the league is forbidden to cross the city limits
"Except to redress grievances, Detective."
"You wanna talk about *grievances?*"
But the assassin just smirks. He starts pontificating about children and fathers and PROPERTY like its still the damn stone age. Then he starts pushing the idea of claiming ownership, as pointed as his weapon, and says, "The boy Lord Ra's is willing to grant you. But you are now harboring two stolen possessions of the Demon's Head, and he wants his property back."
Talia spits out a string of Arabic, all words Bruce has heard, but never in so... creative an order. Behind them both, Damian stifles something that might be either a sob or a giggle. Or a choking on air.
This is why Bruce is glad Jason is at home
What Bruce wants to say - shout - is that Talia is a WOMAN and Eira is a BABY and they are HUMAN PEOPLE not CATTLE and HOW DARE RA'S--
What he says, moving his hand behind his back to signal Damian to turn on his comm, maximum reciever volume, is that Ra's is not in fact the nearest male relative of woman or child
Talia's nearest man? Its Bruce. Yeah. Do they wanna see the marriage license? Talia smirks next to him, because they've had that thing ready for this exact situation for YEARS
He feels shitty claiming "ownership" but he knows Ra's is the shitty one and Talia knows what Bruce really means.
Damian makes another very odd noise.
Anyway, Eira? Did Ra's forget that Tim is her fucking FATHER? They've got birth records RIGHT NOW stating that she belongs to HIM, proving her legal existence and citizenship and EVERYTHING.
The assassins hesitate. Bruce knows they're searching. He prays. Talia's hand finds his and squeezes. The marriage record is there, one hundred percent legal, witnessed, valid, only kept secret because thats what had suited them for so long.
The birth certificate... all those other documents...
Its clear the assassin is suspicious, but Bruce thanks God for Barbara’s speed, because the assassin can't tell him the records aren't there. Can't even prove they were dashed together by one woman in the space of five minutes
"As you can see," Bruce says, grin downright feral, "They are both within my protection. Come one step closer to my family and it will be Ra's who violates the treaty
And I *will not hesitate* to call the entire Justice League to war."
The assassin scowls.
But they all melt away, conceding defeat.
When they're gone, Talia sways and nearly collapses again, but Bruce and Damian catch her and call for the car
