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The alarm clock rang. The phone was on the bedside table, the window was half open, and the room was chaotic.
Tim's parents would be furious if they could see it. They'd say it wasn't decent, and they expected better from him.
Bullshit. It wasn't their problem, they were never there. And those few times they were there, they certainly didn't go to see Tim's room.
The boy blinked a couple of times. He looked around the room. He looked at the alarm clock. He looked at the mess. It was exactly as he hadn't left it before sleeping.
He put his hands to his face, moaning, “Ono, no! It's still Monday!"
Damn time loops.
For someone who lived in Gotham, a time loop wasn't so normal. Sure, they had killer plants, killer clowns, killer condiments, and even the weather could kill you, but time loops were a surprise.
The strangest thing was that Tim was the only one, as far as he knew, who realized that he was living the same day over and over again. From the moment he figured it out, Tim had decided to take matters into his own hands and investigate.
The loop must have started from something, like mad scientist experiments or the Flash messing with the timeline.
He hadn't found any experiments, and both Flash and Kid Flash were on a mission somewhere in space, therefore untraceable to ascertain their responsibility.
Now, by the tenth loop, Tim was out of ideas, annoyed that he didn't get out of the problem, and frustrated. Living the same day ten times sucked.
It was necessary to resort to extreme measures. He had to ask Batman for help.
In the worst-case scenario, everything would go back to the moment his alarm went off and his bedroom was reduced to a dump. At best, that eternal Monday will end, at the price of becoming Batman's prisoner or losing his memory.
Both prices Tim was willing to pay.
The doorbell rang. For a long, painful moment, Alfred let himself hope.
He hoped young master Jason was on the other side of the door, embarrassed by his escape, frightened by a scolding. Afraid of his family (and wasn't it terrible that in those years they hadn't been able to convince him that they loved him? He wanted to believe it was Master Bruce's fault, but he felt that part of the responsibility for him was also his).
He hoped to hug Jason and call him silly boy, but without real anger, relieved that he was safe at home.
Alfred recovered from that illusion. If there was one thing age had taught him, it was that reality was infinitely crueler.
He pulled himself together, artfully masking his heartbreak, and went to open it.
The old man gave a slight start when he saw that it was a child who had knocked, dressed in a sweatshirt that was too big for him, a backpack, and a camera.
“Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth. I'm Timothy Drake, but I prefer to be called Tim,” the boy introduced himself, looking like a perfect little businessman.
Still dumbfounded, Alfred kept control of the situation, “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young master Timothy. Are you a friend of Master Jason?”
“Um…not exactly.”
He arched an eyebrow, and the boy fidgeted, "Maybe I'd better come in. I have to talk to you about something very important and I need help.”
“Are your parents in trouble?” he asked. Why else would a child come knocking on his neighbors?
The boy shook his head, “They're fine, last week they were excited to have found the tomb of a Ptolemaic queen…uhm, never mind. It's not important. I need Batman's help."
"Dear boy, I'm afraid this is not the right place for that."
The boy didn't lose his determination, “Mr. Pennyworth, I know what Mr. Wayne does at night. I have photos to prove it. Now, either he lets me in and I show them to you, or I call Commissioner Gordon. What do you prefer?"
Alfred was dumbfounded. He had always feared that one of the Rouges would one day discover Batman's identity, and use that secret against the man.
He had never expected the threat to come from such a young boy.
“What do you need Batman for?” he asked, deciding to stall. He had been trained in the army to deal with all kinds of situations. If he was faced with a mere blackmailer, no matter the age, Alfred would deal with him.
Even if he wasn't happy about it.
"You won't believe me."
“You came to blackmail me. Don't I deserve an explanation?"
The boy looked uncomfortable, muttering, “Yes, you're right. It was very bad to do that, but I need help, and I'm afraid I won't be believed."
“My dear boy, I think we both know that I am very flexible in my beliefs,” Alfred told him, sarcastically.
“We are in Gotham."
"Oh...it's true..."
He paused, searching for the right words to say. Before Alfred could speak, Master Tim said, "I'm stuck in a time loop and I don't know how to get out of it. Maybe Mr. Wayne could help me."
For a long moment, the butler didn't speak. He stared dumbfounded at the kid.
Then, he slowly said, “Time loop… I guess there's no limit to the worst…”
“I'm sorry, I tried to fix it myself, but it's already the 10th time, and I've reached the end of my resources.”
There was so much to unravel in that sentence that Alfred didn't even know where to begin. He stepped aside to let him in, “Follow me, young master. We have a lot to talk about."
Tim was at Batman's house.
He. Was. At. Batman's. House!
It was unlikely that he would be able to fix the loop today, but if he can retain the memory of seeing Batman's home and his cave, he can say he did at least one thing right.
Mr. Pennyworth had brought him into the living room and sat him down. Tim was looking around, wondering where the entrance to Batman's secret lair might be, when the butler arrived with a tray of tea and sweets.
He stammered a thank you, then asked, "Mr.Wayne isn't here?"
"No, he had to leave."
"And Jason?"
He would have liked to meet Robin, a big fan that he was. When he asked, however, the man's expression darkened.
Tim gobbled down a cookie, "What happened to Jason?"
“Master Jason's escaped,” Mr. Pennyworth answered hesitantly, unsure whether or not to trust the strange boy who had broken into his house babbling about blackmail and time loops.
Maybe there was some truth serum in the cookies, or in the tea, to make sure Tim wasn't lying. It would be useless. Tim wasn't going to lie. Well, maybe he meant to omit something, but don't lie.
He needed help if he was to get back to his normal life.
“Why? What happened?"
“Things are complicated,” the butler replied.
“Suffice it to say that Master Bruce's main reason for going to Ethiopia is to get his son back before it's too late.”
It must have been nice to have a parent who would drop everything and follow you to another state to hoover you. Tim wondered if one of his parents would have done the same for him, and decided it wasn't worth thinking about.
They should have been home long enough first to realize Tim wasn't there, which was impossible.
Mr. Pennyworth changed the subject, “You mentioned a time loop. “
“I know it's hard to believe me, but it's already the tenth time I've experienced this day. I'm trying not to lose count, but it's hard."
The butler nodded, then said, “Tell me everything. Don't leave out any details."
Tim did as asked. It took a while because he had to be precise, but he told Mr. Pennyworth in great detail what he had done in the previous loops, the failed attempts to understand the phenomenon, and how he had concluded that there was only one person who can help him.
Tim didn't mention his nocturnal hobby or what evidence he had mentioned to get the butler to let him in.
At the moment, they weren't important. When he finished explaining, Mr. Pennyworth was absorbed, "This doesn't look like something caused by the Flash."
“You couldn't be sure. Is it true that he can travel through time?” Tim asked overexcited.
There was speculation on the internet about the hero's powers, and Tim was eager to find out how correct and how incorrect. He couldn't wait to fix CapFlash98 and shut it up once and for all.
“Time travel is different than causing a time loop. Besides, why would only you remember?”
That was a great question. Tim had wondered: other than knowing who Batman was and following him and Robin at night, there wasn't much special about him.
He was just an ordinary kid who was in big trouble.
Tim shrugged, “I have no idea, I'm sorry. Maybe it's just a joke of the universe."
"I doubt it. God doesn't play dice, Master Tim. Something made you remember. For what reason, I don't know. But there has to be a reason,” the man said, a look filled with something he didn't understand. He looked at him like he was special, and Tim wasn't used to that.
“Uh…what do we do now?” Tim asked hopefully.
A sigh, "I'm afraid I'll have to do something Master Bruce wouldn't approve of."
“What?”
"Ask for help."
Batman's cave was huge. Tim looked around as if he were in Times Square on New Year's Eve, feeling infinitely small and with a bunch of bats above him.
He didn't think there were bats, but it made sense. It fits the aesthetics.
In the meantime, Mr. Pennyworth was sitting in front of the computer (the Batcomputer! They called him that!), his expression attentive and determined.
Tim was tempted to approach the large dinosaur, but the butler, without even moving away from the screen, said, “I don't advise you to approach, young master. It eats strangers.”
“Are you serious?”
He received no response in return, but out of caution, Tim stayed away. After ten minutes of wandering around, he heard a strangled mumbling coming from Mr. Pennyworth.
It was as if he wanted to curse but he remembered Tim was here, and he held back.
Maybe Tim should have told him that he'd heard worse on his late-night jaunts around Gotham, but it wasn't the right time.
Tim approached him, "Is there a problem?"
"Doctor Fate is unreachable," the butler replied.
“Also Zatanna. To be honest, none of the League members are responding.”
That wasn't good at all. If no one from the Justice League was reachable, it meant that something big was about to happen, perhaps related to the time loop.
Tim found himself asking, “Why did you seek Doctor Fate first? Do you think the cause of the loop is magical?”
“I admit it, I'm moving in the dark as much as you. I had thought of contacting experts to try to understand whether the causes were of magical origin or not..."
"But if no one answers, it's useless to try any further," the boy understood, regretfully.
The butler nodded. He put his hands in front of his face, “I don't like it. The unreachable League, as well as the Titans, my master in Ethiopia to look for his son… it seems that everything is against us. “
“But why? I don't understand."
“I wish I knew too, boy. But…"
He was interrupted by a sharp signal coming from the Batcomputer. There was an active call. It was from Batman.
Mr. Pennyworth promptly replied, “Sir? Did something happen?”
The next words were the worst Tim has ever heard.
“Alfred…Jason…Jason is dead…not even this time I could…I could save him."
The old man looked like he was about to have a heart attack, and Tim had to put his hand on his arm to bring him back to reality.
In a strangled voice, the man asked, "What…what happened?"
“The Joker killed him…he blew up the warehouse and I…I was so close, I could have saved him…”
"Sir, calm down. I will contact…”
He broke off, realizing there was no one to contact. They had tried, but it was as if all the heroes were busy at the same time. It was grotesque, worthy of a Joker plan. Tim wondered, did Joker know? Had he planned everything to have Robin at his mercy and no heroes to come to his aid?
No, it seemed like a too-complex plan for the Joker, but then, who said that madman didn't have a shred of lucidity?
Unless he was working with someone, of course. Tim felt the blood freeze in his veins.
A coalition of villains seemed like just the kind of thing that would keep the planet's Mightiest Heroes busy.
“Lex Luthor must be behind it…” Tim found himself saying, addressing no one in particular.
Silence. Then Mr. Wayne's voice croaked, "Who are you?"
“Um…my name is Tim, sir. I'm the son of Jack and Janet Drake, I live next door."
Silence again. He looked to Alfred for instructions, but the butler wasn't helpful, too upset to do anything.
“You're new. You weren't there before."
Tim's eyes widened, “Mr. Wa… um, Batman, this isn't the first time you've experienced this day, is it?”
“How do you know?”
"How many times?" Tim asked instead of answering.
"This must be at least the 10th time."
So Tim wasn't the only one. Mr. Wayne was also stuck in the time loop.
But while Tim was stuck doing the same boring stuff, Mr. Wayne had to watch his son die, over and over again. It was terrible, something that would break men far weaker than Batman. But from the sound of the hero's voice, Tim began to think that he was starting to break.
There was a limit to the pain a human being could bear, and Batman had already suffered and lost so much.
“I'm experiencing the loop too,” Tim told him, his eyes stinging.
"I remember everything. I came because I knew who you were and I wanted to be helped.”
"You remember…"
“Yes, I did. But I didn't know about Robin. I thought the time loop was just my problem."
Wasn't it stupid to believe that? Who was Tim, after all? He was nobody. Tim was a coincidence. It all started with Jason's death. Mr. Wayne was stuck trying to save his son with no success, like in an endless sick joke. It was worthy of the Joker.
But last time he checked, the Joker didn't have any powers. This confirmed his theory that there was a large conspiracy of villains going on and that the Joker wasn't working alone. All of this had to take second place for the moment.
But what did Tim have to do with it? He wasn't a hero. How could he help Jason? God - or whoever - had made a bad choice.
“I'll try to do better,” he promised.
“Next time, I'll save Robin.”
“Boy, it's not your responsibility. I…"
“Doing it alone didn't go well,” Tim interrupted.
"I will help. I don't know why I'm here, but I'll do my best to save Robin."
“I'm sorry,” Mr. Wayne said. Tim wasn't sure who the sorry was for, and he didn't want to know.
There was work to be done. He had a promise to keep.
"How can I help you, Batman?"