iesika | Fic: Five Tims That Weren't (My Tiny Timfinity)

Title: Five Tims That Weren't
Rating/Warnings: character death, otherwise nothing explicit
Summary: This is a collection of five AUs which divert from Tim's canon history when he's about nine or ten. Some are happier than others.

HAPPY GRADUATION, JUSTINE!

1. THAT BOY NEEDS THERAPY

Janet has finally had enough. She doesn't want to hear about Batman, about circuses, about any of it anymore. She'd told Jack the boy was too young, that something would scare him, and boy had she ever been right. Years later, and her son still has nightmares about that day.

She'd found ...things, in his drawers, and later under the mattress, sick little mementos, articles clipped from old newspapers, the ticket stubs, and God knows how he'd gotten his little hands on them, but she'd decided to bide her time and hope he'd grow out of it. She'd hoped and hoped, right up until the night she'd caught him sneaking out his bedroom window with a bus pass and Jack's best camera tucked into his backpack.

Her own therapist had recommended someone for them, a doctor who'd just opened a practice right across the river in Gotham. He hadn't been in practice long - he'd mostly been an academic, before moving into town, but apparently he was an expert on obsessive behavior stemming from early childhood trauma. Janet had met with him last week to discuss the problems she wanted addressed, and he had told her he would be glad to take Tim on, starting immediately.

Unfortunately, Tim is a little more hostile to the idea.

"I'm fine, he protests, as she has to all but drag him down the hall. "I'm not crazy, Mom. I don't need a doctor."

She sighs and crouches, cupping his shoulders in her hands to keep him from making a scene. "No one thinks you're crazy, Timmy. It's just like going to the regular doctor for a check-up - this is just an evaluation."

"Whatever," he says, with all the considerable mutiny in his contrary little nine-year-old body.

Janet is losing her patience. "Listen to me, Timothy. We are going to go into that office. You are going to talk to your new doctor - and you are going to be polite. Do you understand?"

Tim drops his chin. "Fine," he mutters, and pushes past her to enter the waiting room under his own power.

They don't have to wait very long, which improves Janet's mood, somewhat. She's always preferred doctors who treat their parents with a degree of respect. Tim thumbs idly through a few old business mags. He stops frowning after a while, but when she tries to start a conversation, she realizes he's reading an article about Wayne Enterprises' investment in clean power. She tries to take it away, but Tim refuses to relax his grip. Several people turn to watch them struggle, and she flushes and lets him have the damned thing. It's not like he'll be allowed to keep it, at least.

When they are called to the back, Tim marches in front of her with the air of one going bravely to the gallows. Janet rolls her eyes to the nurse escorting them, who smiles as she opens the door to a warmly lit office and ushers them inside.

"Tim," Janet says as they approach the desk, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Hugo Strange."

"That's a funny name," Tim says, with such an uncharacteristic lack of tact that she suddenly realizes he's punishing her for forcing him to be here by making the worst impression he can.

"Timothy," she hisses, mortified.

Hugo just smiles and leans across the desk, extending one hand to her son. His glasses flash in the glare of the overhead a light. "That's quite alright," he says as they shake hands. "After all, Tim, there can't be friendship without honesty, and I hope that you and I are going to be very good friends."

2. PARTNERS IN CRIME

He gets the heads up from Gordon, which is embarrassing enough. Someone's been robbing the bangers and dealers blind, and it wouldn't be a problem if it weren't happening concurrent with their arrests. There's a pattern developing, and IA is starting to lean on Gordon's people hard.

It goes like this: Batman takes down an enforcer or a mid-level supplier - never someone too high or low up the chain, always someone with lots of cash on hand - and some time between the initial collar and the obtaining of a search warrant, someone breaks into the skel's home and clears out his cash reserves. They never take the drugs, or the stolen property, even when it's something easy to fence. They're smart - they only hit homes when Batman is occupied across town. They're not relying on the police band - they know where he's working better than the police ever do. They're fast, because when Batman is first alerted to the situation, he doubles back immediately after several busts, but never catches them in the act.

He knows that Rosco Bennetti is going to be in Tricorner for a pickup at midnight, so Batman rigs his flat in Old Gotham with every trap he can manage in the time available, He makes a show out of bringing Bennetti down, flashy and public, and eight minutes after he leaves the man tied to a light pole the alarm on his belt is ringing.

He's not expecting to find a kid. When he cuts him out of the tangler that's pinning him to the windowsill, he gets an even bigger shock. He knows this kid - he's the boy who tried to lift the tires off the car a little more than a year ago, the one he let off with a warning. He's unconscious from the gas - he's a solid kid, but the dose was calibrated for an adult - and there's no telling how long it will be before he wakes, so Batman slings him over one shoulder and carries him down to the car as sirens approach from the distance.

When the boy does wake, he's tied to a chair, with Batman looming over him.

"Jason Todd," he growls.

"Oh shit," the kid says, groggily.

"You'd do best to watch your language. Now tell me who you work for."

Todd laughs, and then groans and drops his chin to his chest. "Oh god, what the hell did you do to me? I feel sick."

"Who do you work for?"

"Nobody, man. I'm a free agent. What the hell do you think? Who wants some kid working for him anyway?"

Batman leans over him, with one hand on either arm of the chair. “And the short-wave radio I found in your pocket?”

“A good luck charm! It was my dad’s! His old war buddy had the other one!”

Batman smiles as unpleasantly as he can, “your father was never in the military.”

“I’m telling you, man,” Todd says, a slight edge of panic creeping in under the bravado. “I work alone. No employer, no partner-“

Alfred clears his throat from the top of the stairs. He’s out of Todd’s line of sight, but Todd jerks in the chair at the noise. Batman looks up at him, and knows that’s enough of a question.

“There’s a young man here to see you sir.”

“I’m a bit busy.”

Alfred touches his bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, and Batman goes on high alert. “He’s here to see you, sir. Not,” he glances in the boy’s direction, “the owner of the property.”

“Fuck,” Todd says, struggling against his bonds. “Fuck, no, look, you want me to talk, I’ll talk, you--“ But Batman is already at the top of the stairs.

There is a boy in the foyer, a little younger than Todd, and he recognizes this one too, from missing persons. The boy’s been missing since his parent’s bankruptcy and subsequent divorce. Batman catches him by the collar and drags him down into the cave. Todd resumes cursing when he sees them, so Batman drops the boy onto the floor in front of him, and watches his reaction.

Todd makes an abortive move forward, uselessly jerking against the restraints. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes dart up and down Drake's figure as he pulls himself to his feet, his concern for the younger boy obvious.

Drake looks remarkably calm for someone in his situation, but his voice is somewhat unsteady. “I left an envelope containing details of your identity in a mailbox at a location known only to me,” he says. “You let Jason and I walk out of here, and I’ll retrieve it. If I’m unable to retrieve it, it will reach a major television news program in this area in time for the evening broadcast tomorrow.”

Todd’s eyes are huge. “You know who he is? And you didn’t tell me?”

“You would have been tempted to-“

“Damn right I would have! Do you know how much that info is worth?”

Drake looks right at Batman when he says, “Penguin is offering ten million dollars.”

“Oh my god,” Todd groans.

“Haven’t we been living comfortably for the last few months? We didn't need-"

"Oh, fuck you, we could have been gone."

Drake blinks and turns to Todd. "Why would we want to leave Gotham?"

Todd's laugh is bitter and rough from the gas, but it makes Bruce smile. "Alfred," he says as he releases Todd from his bonds, "I'm taking these boys for a ride. If you'd be so kind as to have breakfast waiting when we return? And…" he pauses, taking in the twin looks of shock, "make up two guestrooms while you're-"

"One," Todd interrupts.

3. PLANIDIUM JUST DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME RING TO IT

When Booster doesn't swing by for a couple of days, sometimes when he does he finds strange things in Ted's kitchen. Usually it's some kind of prototype gadget, or maybe a robot, and once it had been a woman cooking eggs. This is the first time it's been a kid, though.

"Good morning, Mr. Carter," the boy says, and goes back to his Crocky-O's.

"It's a long story," Ted says when he finds him in his workshop. "I did some business with his parents last year, but I hadn't seen him since then. And then two nights ago he showed up on the doorstep and asked me how fast the Bug could get to Haiti."

Booster spills his coffee, and Ted takes pity enough to tell the whole story. When he comes to the end, he frowns. "I couldn't save his mom, and his dad hasn't woken up. He doesn't have any family or anything. He needed somewhere to stay. I couldn't just throw him to the wolves." At Booster's skeptical look, he frowns harder. "He's maybe the smartest kid I've ever met. You don't leave kids like that to their own devices, Booster, or let them fall into the wrong hands. Believe me, I know.

"So, what? Gonna stick him in a pair of short pants and start calling him 'Grub'?"

"I think 'Nymph' might be a bit more appropriate, considering my age," the kid says, pulling on a pair of Ted's spare work-goggles as he enters. "But I'm not wearing the shorts. My parents left Gotham to get away from the crazies."

4. IT'S ALWAYS THE QUIET ONES

When Timothy Jackson Drake, age 9, disappeared, it was less than two months after he had lost Robin. The Drakes returned from Gambia twenty-seven hours after the nanny first reported the child missing. They hired several of the best PIs in the country and made televised statements about ransom and reward that went unanswered. Batman searched for months, but the trail just vanished in the two blocks between Timothy's bus stop and his front door.

The most recent photograph they had was taken for the school yearbook. It haunted Bruce like a ghost, like Robin, from his wall of Gotham's missing children. Nine years old. Black hair. Blue eyes.

He looked nothing like Dick.

And then one day, nearly four years later, the boy was found asleep in a bus station in Metropolis, under a corkboard where his face was surrounded by dozens of others. He didn't know how he got there, or where he'd been, and he just wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother.

The assumption - stomach -turning but all too likely, was made that he was abducted by a sexual predator, and had blocked out most of the ordeal to protect himself from trauma. Batman visited his home, once, for what information he could gather, but Timothy had half-hidden behind his mother and mutely shook his head without meeting Batman's eyes. After that, Batman only checked on him from a distance, from time to time, to assure himself that this boy, at least, was safe.

And then, one night, as he wraps up a burglary on 29th, the police band crackles to life with reports of screams from Aparo and 31st, and Batman leaves the robbers for the police, because he knows that address.

He beats the police there. Timothy is kneeling beside his parents' bed, clutching the blood-stained sheets. When he sees Batman, he cringes like a frightened animal and crawls, backward, into the corner. Bruce gathers him to his chest and holds him, despite his struggles, until the police arrive.

"A woman," the boy gasps when he finally speaks. "I heard a noise. I--"

"This was a professional hit," he tells the police when they arrive, because he only knows one woman who could - would - kill two unarmed civilians in their bed while their child slept in the next room – and do so with that particular blow. "The boy is in danger. He's coming with me."

They go to the Cave, and when Alfred sees the boy, he goes as white as his starched collar. "Sir!" He says, censure obvious in his tone.

"I couldn't leave him," Batman growls, "That woman - that monster is still in my city. I need to know he'll be safe while I track her down." He cringes under Alfred's regard. "I won't," he says, in answer to the question unasked, "Not after - you know I won't."

Alfred's eyes soften. "Very well, sir." He takes the boy upstairs, and Batman hits the street.

Batman returns when the sun is high, after hours of fruitless searching, and immediately heads for the guest room Alfred keeps aired. The boy is not there, his bed still neatly made, a cold mug of cocoa untouched on the dresser.

He finds him in Dick's room, just standing there in the morning light, staring at the circus poster and holding Dick's horrible, ragged, one-eyed teddy-bear. Bruce's feet are quiet on the thick carpet, but the boy senses him somehow. He's wearing a pair of Dick's striped pajamas, and they fit him perfectly.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am." Bruce says quietly. "About your parents, and my failure to find..."

The boy holds up a hand, and smiles just a little with just one corner of his mouth. "Don't be. They weren't very good parents anyway."

Bruce closes his eyes and feels his heart break a little for this poor damaged boy, trying so hard to be brave.

"If you're sorry," the boy continues, "it should be for the right crime. You destroyed something precious and perfect, something that never should have been a part of your world."

Bruce's eyes fly open. The boy is glaring up at him with the cold blue eyes that had haunted him from that photograph. He's so focused on the eyes that he doesn't see the boy's hands until he's on the ground, and by then it's too late.

"You killed Dick Grayson."

No, Bruce wants to protest, but he can't move or even draw breath. No, but isn't it true? He gave Dick the costume - he sent him out there, into the line of fire.

A piece of him had died, that night. Bruce has never regretted anything more.

The boy leans over him, cold eyes blazing. As his hand drives toward Bruce's face, he recognizes the Leopard Blow. But there's really nothing he can do about it.

5. THE INTENDED EFFECT

When the kid shows up at the tower and asks for Dick, the other Titans let him in - because he asked for Dick. Dick takes him into his room and shuts the door, because the first thing the kid says when he sees him is "He misses you."

He's ten years old, and kind of creepy in his earnestness and devotion. He doesn't know everything, but he knows a lot, things he's pieced together from the papers, things he's witnessed first-hand, things he's extrapolated from the available data - and that's exactly the phrase he uses. He knows about Dick's parents, and Bruce's, and about Batman and Robin. He knows about their little rituals of remembrance, every year - the roses at the fairground, and in the alley.

He knows a lot… but he's missing pieces. He doesn't know about the fighting. He knows about the shooting, but not the shouting, and that makes the conversation even more awkward, but…

But he's been watching. He's been watching Bruce, on the streets and off, and it's the most Dick has heard about him in months. He says Batman is slipping, getting himself in trouble, not watching his back as well as Robin could. Bruce needs a partner, whether he wants one or not. Batman… Batman needs Robin.

The kid knows that tonight is the anniversary of Thomas and Martha's deaths. Dick hadn't forgotten - he could never forget - but he'd been doing a good job of not thinking about it. The kid makes him remember the circus, though, and how he'd felt the night his parents died, and how Bruce had been there for him on the worst night of his life. Bruce had been there on that same night, every year after, whether Dick thought he wanted him to be or not. It had always helped.

He can't leave Bruce alone, tonight of all nights. Even if Bruce doesn't want him around anymore, even if he did his best to drive him away, did everything but throw him out of the house - well, the kid convinces him he owes Bruce one more try. Bruce will be vulnerable tonight, and lonely, and - well, he probably won't ask Dick to come home for good, but he probably won't throw him out, either.

If Dick hurries, he can be in Gotham before nightfall.

END

Note: Partners in Crime is now part of a series called Kings Among Runaways, by myself and