Chapter Text
Tim places each piece of evidence into a binder. Every photo, every note, every page delicately placed into a protective cover. At the end, when there is no more evidence to store, he slips in a handwritten letter. It's not his usual scrawly handwriting that may be harder to decipher than Russian cursive. No, he painstakingly took his time to ensure each letter, each word is eligible. A three page letter of apologies, gratitude and love. A ‘Dear Dad’ written at the top and a ‘Love your son, Tim’ at the very end.
The binder is a sturdy thing that Bruce liked to use to keep important case notes on paper. It has a latch that closes and is meant to be air tight. No moisture or water damage will reach inside. A fire may melt the plastic a bit, but unless it's burning for hours, it should hold long enough to be rescued. His penthouse in East Side is not a target for arson, so it should be fine. Unlike most of his case notes, this one gets placed on a shelf in his living room with a white tape on the front and ‘Dad’ written in sharpie.
Tim returned to Gotham to save Wayne Enterprises. He succeeded.
Tim traveled to Europe and into League bases to save Bruce Wayne. He failed.
Tim's evidence would have been enough to get someone on the Watchtower to listen to him. Indisputable evidence. It's a shame that the human body cannot withstand being stretched by time to such an extent.
Booster Gold confirmed that Tim's hypothesis was correct. He also confirmed that Tim had been days late.
Batman, blasted by Darkseid's omega beam, was punted into the time stream like a football. His trajectory would prove to be fatal for the timeline. However, time and nature both have a way of correcting the things that should not be.
Tim was surprised he took the news so well. Probably because Booster was just as eager to get to work on recovering a core member of the Justice League and Tim's dad. The man had been on hands and knees, exhausted and near weeping as he apologized to Tim. There was no jumping back to save him, no rewriting history.
Bruce was gone. He spent his last moments alone, probably afraid even if he would never show it.
Tim suspects that Booster must have been in a similar predicament before to be so sure that there is no course correction. Despite Booster's reputation among the League and other heroes, Tim doesn't believe the man is lazy or incompetent. His motives may be lacking, but he admired Batman.
Together, they sat on the cold floor of the Watchtower. A stunned silence hung over them, until Tim squeezed Booster's shoulder and thanked him. Tim left back to Gotham, intending to stay permanently. He heard Booster take copies of his evidence to the Justice League to prove Tim right and tell what really happened to Batman. Attempts to contact Tim personally have been far and few in-between. He has refused to reach out.
Tim is fairly confident that someone contacted Dick after the fact. There was a phone call or two, no voicemail. No text either.
Since his return, Tim has been quiet on the vigilante front. He's been reading cases from his remote access to the Cave's servers. His gear from his Red Robin days need to be updated. The suit has been put away. He doesn't think he can wear it again. Wayne Enterprises needed leadership and Lucius Fox was not eager to retake CEO, so Tim remained.
There's a blanket of cold indifference that has wrapped itself around Tim's shoulders. A narrowed focus on the tasks at hand. Maintain Wayne Enterprises and the Foundation as Bruce would have done. Protect Gotham as Batman would have done. These tasks are fundamental to Tim. Neither has an end date and that is something that Tim likes about it. The constant work and reward of the system.
However, if he is to succeed in such a goal, Tim recognizes that he must be better than before. He knows exactly what needs to be done to ensure he is working at peak efficiency. He knows that he cannot rush his preparation. Bruce would not approve of rushing. Quality matters.
Tim starts by settling into the CEO position more firmly. It begins with at least a year in a co-position with Lucius while Tim learns the ropes. He's gotten his GED and is testing out of a lot of basic curriculum at Gotham University. His goal is to achieve a Bachelor's in Business Administration focusing on Analytics and Operation and Supply Chain Management in under two years. Thankfully, the classes are mostly virtual, allowing him to join if he's in the office or in the afternoon when he's done with work. Lucius suggested an in-person morning and remote afternoon schedule until Tim graduates. After that, Tim will be in the office working the dreadful nine to five and pursuing a Master's.
One thing Tim remembers is Bruce spent a lot of time taking courses at Gotham University, across Europe, and into Asia. He never graduated with a single degree but the classes were educational while he trained with his various teachers for combat. Tim can't replicate that but he can pull from almost any university so long as they offer a virtual or remote course. He's already got the combat part down.
Tim settles into his routine for a few weeks. Morning in the office. Afternoon at class. Evenings are for catching up on the happenings of Gotham and preparing for his return. He has a secret room for his gear, decontamination unit, lab, and workbench. It was originally part of the walk-in closet but he closed off half of it, leaving the entrance behind a shoe cubby. It was child play to update the blueprint for the place and excuse the empty space for plumping.
Barbara graciously allows him to use the base of her clocktower for garage work. It's where he keeps his bike stored. When he returned, he went to ensure it was still there and found Jason tuning it. The bike is fit more for Tim's leaner frame and lighter weight, so he knows Jason isn't likely to be driving it. Tim could have left it there but Jason hadn't noticed him and Tim was never one to leave an opportunity untaken. He nearly got a wrench to the skull but it was worth it.
Jason sighed all dramatic like and in a way that painfully reminded Tim of Bruce. He pulled Tim into a crushing side hug then walked away as if nothing occurred. Tim was going to leave but Jason, leaned over the workbench, stopped him.
“I'm sorry you were right.”
The only recognition that Tim was probably ever going to receive.
“Me too.”
They hadn't spoken since.
With Red Robin retired, Tim begins on a new suit. The suit itself is dyed a soft black to properly blend into the concrete Gotham architecture adores. A full length cloak with a reinforced hood. It can be reversed so he can have either a matching black to his suit or a forest green so dark it's hard to distinguish from black. The suit and cloak are lined much like Batman's to withstand bullets and fire. It won't save him from the transfer of energy but nothing, short of armor piercing, should be able to penetrate it. There is extra padding on his shoulders, elbows, and knees. It's like a second layer of skin. The gloves match his suit with green accents and all but suction themselves to his skin. Best to keep anything and everything from being able to reach him. His boots are of a similar fashion with wraps to ensure nothing gets in his boots.
Two black belts hang from his hips in an ‘x’ fashion with pouches for gadgets on the top. He keeps a grapple gun on each thigh as one can never be too careful. His wrist gauntlet, a burnt red, is already wired to receive and send data even in the sewers. That required placing signal boosters all over the city but the others should appreciate the work. He forgoes his previous birdarangs and replicates Bruce's batarangs. They are lined in yellow to distinguish themselves as his and a small tribute to his Robin days.
He needs a new name, a new symbol. There's only one thing he wants. It's something created from his grief, but he needs this. If he's going back out there, he needs this.
It's not hard to find the measurements and replicate it by cutting through a hardplate. It will sit on top of his chest, just slightly to the left and angled just right. It will be the only piece of his suit that's a bright red.
Part of Tim wants to incorporate a bat somewhere on his suit but he forgoes the idea. Dick is Batman now with Damian as his Robin. Jason remains Red Hood with a bat across his chest and Cassandra, should she ever return, keeps a bat highlighted in yellow. No one's done a green bat but green has always been more of a Robin color anyway. He'll be fine without it.
Tim will need to update his bike with a new color scheme and symbol. That can wait. Since he lives almost in the heart of Gotham, there isn't anywhere he can't reach via grapple. His cloak helps his drift but he won't be flying across Gotham that way.
Luke Fox already agreed to help Tim with an idea for a glider. Something that replicates the Batjet on a smaller scale.
Tim darkens his penthouse and steps out on his balcony. The suit will need a test run and calibration. An easy patrol around the middle of Gotham will do.
There's not much to see on the streets on a Wednesday night. Even less so when it becomes Thursday morning. It allows him to run across rooftops and fly once more. The suit is perfect. It's molded to him, responsive to his flexibility. The extra padding along his knees and elbows help absorb the shock of his landings, graceful or not. His gauntlet is running diagnostics, keeping up the trial's demands. A small mugging around midnight is easily stopped with a well played throw of a batarang. The robber and victim run in different directions but Tim is happy to note that the batarang's sharp edges can deter simple robbers.
Towards the end of the night, as Tim is returning, he spots two shadows trailing him. He stops two blocks from his penthouse and waits for them to catch up. It doesn't take a genius to know who's following him.
Batman lands with an exaggerated thud. Robin is quiet, hardly making a sound as he comes to a stop.
Tim makes no move to remove his hood. His domino mask does well to obscure his features but he also has a gaiter around his neck for cooler nights. He hasn't pulled it up or brought out his rebreather so he expects Dick to recognize him almost instantly.
Nothing is said for a moment. Dick is obviously unsure if it's really Tim.
“Come on,” Tim says and waves them to follow.
Both know where his penthouse is so it's not giving anything away to lead them there. The balcony is far too public for any discussions and Tim leads them inside. Only then does he remove his hood and domino.
“Tim,” Dick sounds relieved as he lowers his cowl. “It's good to see you again.”
“You too.” Tim is happy to see Dick again, but he can't help but feel guarded. It's not like they left on the best of terms.
Damian tsks as he looks over Tim's new suit. He can't see much with the cloak in the way. Neither of the older boys pay him any attention.
“New suit?”
“Just a test run.”
“I thought, with WE and everything, you may be hanging up the cape for good,” Dick smiles ruefully.
“Gotham does not need Drake.” Damian turns his nose up at the thought.
“I needed time to get things settled with Lucius and the board. I've been reading up on what I've missed.” Tim keeps his eyes on Dick only, hoping that no attention will bully Damian into silence.
“You better not run my company to the ground,” Damian huffs.
“My company,” Tim corrects him. “And don't worry, I fully intend to honor Bruce and keep both WE and the Foundation on the right track.” He returns his attention to Dick. “How long will you keep this up?”
Dick shifts uncomfortably at the redirection.
Tim nods, fully expecting and accepting Dick's indecisiveness.
“He will continue as Batman until I am able to take the cowl,” Damian's eyes narrow, “and the company.”
Dick says nothing and glances to the side.
“Bruce left me the company, Damian,” Tim reminds him.
“I am his blood born son-”
“I am a Wayne.” Tim doesn't let the boy interrupt as he continues, “Bruce left me the company and I will honor his wishes.” Tim turns to Dick. “Do you really think he would want you to give up everything you worked so hard for to don his cowl?”
Tim had read the will. Bruce's actual will. Dick inherited his trust at eighteen and declined to have anything to do with the company. Jason is still legally dead but Alfred was given Jason's trust fund money to give to Jason. Tim accepted becoming the majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, though he believed that Bruce would live until hundred. Alfred got the estate. Barbara, Cassandra and Stephanie were also left with a trust to ensure they would never want for anything. Damian was introduced months before Bruce disappeared and while he had publicly claimed Damian, he did not correct his will.
There were no instructions on who inherits the cowl. Tim believes this was because Bruce did not want anyone to inherit the cowl. He should have thought of that before the whole battle Gotham had to endure between the three brothers. Better late than never.
“Gotham needs Batman, Tim.”
“And Bludhaven needs Nightwing.” Tim smiles sadly. “Batman is gone, Dick. Gotham will have to learn how to live with the protectors that are left.”
“I do not know why you think you have any say, Drake.”
“Because I am Bruce's son, Damian. He loves me; he is proud of me. Bruce and Batman changed my life in ways you will never understand. I will carry that into everything I do.”
“Tim…” Dick's brow furrows. “Do you still think he's alive?”
A cold drips down Tim's spine as his thoughts sputter to a halt.
“Did Clark not tell you?”
“He did,” Dick nods, but his frown doesn't ease up. “It's just… you said…” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Present tense.”
“Yeah, present tense.” Tim knows not to expect an apology. He won't say ‘I told you so’, because he doesn't have to. So, he changes the topic back to the cowl. “Bruce was always proud of you Dick, of Nightwing. Don't let the cowl swallow you.”
There is the subtle click of a katana being unsheathed. Tim is honestly surprised it took so long. He hardly moves, only lifting a gloved hand to grab the blade that tries to strike him.
“Damian,” Dick chides, but it's tired, not firm. One hand rests lightly on the boy's shoulders.
“Send him back to Talia, Dick. No offense, but you're not a parent.”
“Tim!”
“He needs a firm hand to set him straight.”
“He's been doing very well.”
“Until I'm here. Until his world is about to shift for better or worse. Then he gets violent.” Tim shoves the katana away. “You can decide who Robin is. It's your right. But, you chose a kid that tried to kill me and-!” Tim stops Dick short of interrupting. “-you're tainting your own memory. No Robin has ever killed while wearing the suit.”
Dick grabs Damian by his hood and bodily shoves himself in front. Like Tim would attack Damian.
“You're talking about me taking away his stability, Tim! He needed Robin!”
“I'm in a pretty good head space right now to objectively say you were handed a list of bad choices and picked one. I get it. But, all this,” Tim waves a hand towards where Damian is hidden, “just encourages him. I would never imply that you or Jason aren't Bruce's. He loves all of us.” Tim leans to try and catch sight of Damian but Dick shifts once more. “And I'm sorry Damian will never get that.”
“I think we should leave.” Dick pushes Damian for the balcony doors.
Tim can see the boy's shoulders hunched up to his ears and the katana still in shaking hands.
“Think about it.”
“I won't.”
Tim sighs and adds before they can pass the threshold, “I will ensure Damian has a trust set up.”
The boy whirls, slipping Dick's hold to charge at Tim.
“I do not need your money!”
Tim smoothly avoids the strikes, grabbing the katana once more and yanking it from the boy's hands. His hand catches the boy's shoulder, quick as lightning, and shoves him towards Dick. Without hesitation, he hands the katana back, handle first.
“It's Bruce's money and he would want you to have a trust. No strings attached. You have to wait until you're eighteen to fully access it.” Damian snatches his weapon back, but Tim is unbothered. “Like I said, I will honor him.”
Dick opens his mouth to say something but slowly closes. There's disappointment there. Yet, Tim doesn't feel the gut punch like he once did.
“You used to be a kind kid, Tim.”
“Not a kid anymore,” comes the automatic reply. “And, Dick? This is kindness. You just don't like it.”
Tim doesn't see them again. It's months of solo case work until one night Tim finds himself crossing paths with the duo. Clipped professionalism and they're back to no contact.
Tim doesn't care if someone considers a region in Gotham theirs. He follows his cases whether north, south, east, or west. He is courteous enough to send Jason a message anytime he thinks he'll be invading the man's space. He also watches the Bat servers for any overlap.
Barbara sends her thanks for the boosters which makes it easier to relay information when someone is hunting Killer Croc.
Cassandra sends updates every once and a while. She promises to visit for the new year.
Tim never chose a new name for himself. Gotham did.
Gothson. Son of Gotham.
Wraith.
Wight.
Batson. Son of the Bat.
Rook.
Blackbird.
Raven.
Crow.
Hand Guy.
Tim lets them fight over what he should be called. No one news outlet or anchor for that matter has staked a claim to what his name should be. Reddit has been delighted to argue over naming choices.
It's been six months since Tim's permanent return to Gotham and he's on his couch watching the news. The anchors are debating which name sounds better. Then, one suggests the name ‘Rogue’ inspired by his kid's W&W game.
Tim adds that to the list.
As he heads out for the night, he stops to double check the date. October 20th. Tomorrow will be the official date of Bruce Wayne and Batman's death. The real date is April 6th, but it feels wrong to glance over this one. He'll do something tomorrow. For now, he leaps from his balcony and begins to patrol the streets.
Tim returns at his scheduled time, one in the morning, to settle in. He makes it a point to be home in time for at least five hours of sleep.
It's something he wouldn't have concerned himself with but he recognizes that sleep is required to work at peak efficiency. It also means three meals a day, packed with protein, water in between his coffee refills and energy drinks. It's chamomile tea, made the way Bruce would do when Tim would wake from a nightmare of his Jack's death, before bed. It's complete focus and determination in the office and in class. It's his meticulousness on cases. His life runs on a strict schedule. There's room for rest and collaboration with others too.
He's barely inside the penthouse when a heavy thud sounds from his balcony. He whirls around, bo staff extending.
“Knock, knock.” Red Hood sticks his head in.
“Didn’t you read the sign?” Tim points to where it hangs on the window.
Hood leans back to take a look then snorts, “if there's no vigilantes allowed, what are you doing here?”
“Breaking and entering,” Tim replies, deadpan.
Hood laughs then enters anyway. He closes the door behind him. He only takes a step inside before he stops, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and looks around. It's not the first time he's been here. Something has him nervous.
“Whatcha need, Hood?”
He says nothing, but pulls off his helmet. Then, his domino mask.
“Jason?” Tim replies in kind by lowering his hood and removing his own mask.
Jason fiddles with his helmet before he sets it on the ground. With unsure steps he comes forward and pulls Tim's cloak to the side. The red handprint is bright under the lights. Jason places his hand over it. He's not a match but Tim shudders at the contact.
“Bruce's.”
“Yeah…” Tim clears his throat. “He, uh, put his hand just like that. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.” It's hard not to choke up at the memory that surfaces. “Told me he was proud of me.”
Jason tugs him into a hug, both arms wrapped around Tim's shoulder and his cheek on Tim's hair. They've never been close. Bad history and all. But, Tim appreciates this. He appreciates how Jason never calls him ‘replacement’ anymore. They playfully tussle but nothing ever goes too far.
Tim's wariness of Jason faded at some point. He's not sure when but he'd like to mark it on his calendar.
“You're doing good, kid.”
“Not a kid,” is the muffled reply.
Jason laughs wetly and releases Tim. His eyes trace the handprint for a moment longer before he tugs the cloak closed.
“I was wondering why they were calling you Hand Guy.”
Tim groans at the reminder and walks off. The door is in his closet, so he heads there to strip down.
Jason follows, snickering, “if you'd settle on a name this wouldn't happen.” He waits just outside the closet for Tim to finish then follows him to the kitchen. “Listen, I know we haven't talked much outside of cases but I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure.” Tim pulls out some leftovers, always needing something before bed. He grabs two plates.
“The evidence you had…” Jason isn't sure how to finish.
“Shelf. Black binder. Says ‘Dad’.” Tim keeps his eyes on making two plates but he listens to Jason's footsteps over to the shelves. He listens for the tell tale sound of plastic against wood. The subtle click of its opening.
Tim probably shouldn't have let Jason see it. Not because he thought the man would destroy it, but because of what he left in the very back.
Jason must have found it because he says, almost tenderly, “if Bruce had a perfect son, it would have been you, Tim.”
“Yeah, well,” Tim sets the plates down at the dining table harshly, “he didn't. I was never perfect, Jason.” It's quiet for a moment, then he asks, “water?”
“What?” Jason glances over to see the table set. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He closes the binder.
Tim brings them both a glass of water and they sit together.
“Bruce never stopped loving you, Jason.”
“I know.”
Dinner is quiet. Once their plates are all but licked clean, they sit in silence, only broken by shifting in their seats and drinking their water.
“You were right,” Jason starts unexpectedly. “What you said to Dick. None of us should have the cowl.”
“Says Gun Batman,” Tim jokes.
Jason snorts, “I stuck eight heads in a duffle bag. I do not have a good track record with smart decision making.”
“And putting bombs in your helmet.”
“Nah, that was pretty clever.”
“Jason. No."
“Jason. Yes.” Tim kicks him under the table, but Jason only grins at him. He sobers as he continues, “I can give the demon brat some credit. He was raised by Talia and assassins, but Dick isn't Bruce.”
“No, he's not.” Tim sighs and leans back in his chair. It's not a mean comment, only truthful. The more Dick tries to be Bruce, the more he fails to simply be himself. It's not something Tim wishes on his big brother.
“So, Dick mentioned you want to honor Bruce.”
“Yeah, keep the company up, protect Gotham, try not to drown.”
Jason laughs under his breath.
Tim straightens up and asks, “tomorrow is… yeah, you know. Um, I planned to make one of his favorites and, uh, I don't know. Was going to save the Grey Ghost marathon for his birthday. Maybe visit.”
“He did love a good risotto.”
“Save the goulash for his birthday,” Tim nods.
“Apple blossoms?”
“Hmmm, don't think they sell that in stores.”
“He always left roses for-”
“Should do that too.”
It's silent for a moment as half spoken plans begin to form.
“Got a spare room?”
“I got four, with sheets and everything.”
“Just sheets?”
Tim stands and grabs their plates with a shake of his head. He’s smiling, though.
As he starts on the dishes, he adds, “I'm not working tomorrow. I have one class that's online but I'm otherwise here.”
“Mind if I stick around?” Jason stands, stretches, and goes to collect his helmet.
“Be my guest.”
Tim's not sure what tomorrow will bring, but he's confident he'll be okay. Jason will hopefully stick around for the risotto, maybe even visit the graves. Maybe Dick and Damian will join them. Maybe not. He's not sure it matters what the others do or don't do. All that he can count on are his own actions.