Chapter Text
None of this would’ve started if Jason Todd hadn't gone MIA.
Tim’s freshly twelve and a quarter, in his third year of trailing Batman and Robin all around Gotham, feeling pretty awesome about the fact that he’s never been caught in person, and doing pretty okay in eighth grade. His parents are in Pompeii on a dig-slash-business venture in Italy to develop Drake Industries’ international arm and have sent Tim exactly one email and five texts (it’s fine, they’re busy), and after the fourth day Jason’s out of school, everyone at Gotham Academy starts whispering about it.
“Maybe he got replaced by a pod person or something,” one of the kids in his math class whispers between algebra equations. “But then maybe the pod person got bored and—”
“God,” the girl next to Tim mutters, working furiously at the quadratic function worksheet handed out in the beginning of class—what’s her name?—”what the hell are you even saying, Mitch?”
“We live in Gotham,” Mitch says, all ominous, and well, Tim can’t argue with that.
It’s the best guess anyone has, anyway Jason isn’t back that week, or next week, or the week after that. Consequently, Robin’s not around either. Hell, Batman’s not in Gotham for long enough that the Gotham subreddit starts flooding with posts, a) worrying about him, b) saying that Batman got what was coming to him, or c) wondering what Gotham rogue killed him. The few times Robin’s mentioned, people don’t really seem to get rattled. There was already a gap of time where Robin didn’t show up for a while, some poster says, and Tim thinks Dick Grayson before his brain can shut up. Tim’s even got a few pictures from the tail end of Dick’s tenure; they’re mostly crappy looking, because he was nine, way out of his depth, and didn’t know things about exposure and shutter and what lenses to get, but they still exist. Tim doesn’t think he’s sentimental, not really, but he’d never trade those photos for anything.
But Jason’s gone, Robin’s gone, and Batman’s gone, replaced by a rotating cast; Tim counts Black Canary, Green Arrow, and Arsenal in stealth gear (with Arsenal mostly making fun of Green Arrow, who alternates between sniping back and looking burnt out as hell), Huntress once, Wonder Woman three times. Weirdly, no Nightwing, but Tim can’t rule out something with the Teen Titans; maybe something off-world, since there aren't really any reports of a mission involving them anywhere online. Batgirl patrols Gotham during a two-week stretch in December that’s probably because of winter break reasons (Probably? There’s only so many theories Tim can come up with for why she currently only patrols regularly during the summer months and January). She ends up beating the shit out of the Joker when he pops back up in Gotham, which lands Joker in Gotham General (with absolutely no sympathy from anyone) and then Arkham, and spooks his henchpeople enough that they start to split off and flock to Gotham’s other rogues.
Tim figured out Batman, Robin, and Nightwing a long time ago, but Batgirl’s still a giant question mark in his head—mainly because she’s technically a younger solo hero that’s associated with Batman, but was never Robin, so the connections are harder to figure out. But she kicks ass, and anyway, the whole thing with the quad somersault and all of it clicking was lucky, and luck doesn’t strike twice - even if the hard knot of worry that’s been working its way into Tim’s chest since this whole thing started is hoping against hope that maybe it did.
***
One night, Tim sees Batman again.
He’s crouched on a fire escape on an abandoned apartment duplex opposite the main GCPD precinct in East End, flipping through his photos from last weekend on his Nikon—Wonder Woman and Black Canary teaming up this time, dealing with the Riddler and some assorted goons that look like Joker-rejects, and shots of Bane hanging around shipping containers marked with one of the Penguin’s shell company logos in Gotham Bay, which he’d sent to the commissioner—when he hears Gordon himself snap, “Where have you been?” clear as day.
Tim looks up, up, up, and there’s Batman himself, cape flapping in the wind, standing next to the unlit Batsignal. The hard knot in Tim’s chest loosens, but then he sees that Robin’s still not with him. Did Jason quit? Jason’s only fourteen, Tim thinks, but then he thinks of how he’s a twelve-year-old barely-qualified-sort-of photojournalist/investigator running around Gotham multiple times a week, which—well. Jason’s Robin—ergo, more qualified by a lot—but the idea of him and Batman going their separate ways makes Tim feel sick. He’s seen Robin and Batman get froyo and milkshakes from BatBurger on slow nights, the small not-smile Batman gets at Robin’s Shakespeare references and quips, the way Batman rests his chin on Robin’s head whenever Robin puts his head on Batman’s shoulder while they’re sitting together or on a stake out and it’s running long. He’s seen the can you believe this looks Jason and Bruce share at galas. And sure, maybe it’ll end up okay; Nightwing and Batman get along great, if Tim’s nighttime escapades tell him anything, but still—
He tunes back into Gordon and Batman’s conversation. Gordon’s opening a manila folder now, showing Batman something inside, and he’s saying. “...I just got these photos from a trusted source of ours late last Sunday. Suspicious shipments coming in from the harbor, and look at who’s lurking around them. Recognize him?” The street that the duplex and the precinct borders is just narrow enough that Tim can still hear Gordon, even though his voice is lower than before. But then—the photos—
Crap, crap, crap, Tim thinks, they’re my photos.
It says a lot about the GCPD that Tim’s a trusted source, but everyone knows their solve rates and effectiveness are in the toilet and they don’t do shit. Tim sends the pictures to Gordon, since he knows Gordon does care on some level, that he tries to do good work, but it’s not really fixing the problem. Maybe Tim isn’t either, but he still keeps sending the photos.
Batman’s not saying anything, just looking at the photos, which is… weird.
“Should I?” he says, eventually, voice gravelly and low as it always is, and—what?
Gordon’s just as baffled as Tim is, since he says, “Should … you? What the hell do you mean, should you? You want me to spell it out for you?”
Did Batman lose his memory or something, Tim thinks, alarmed. Bruce has been MIA too, but Brucie Wayne’s many ‘accidents’ from stupid (and probably made-up) hobbies are something of legend now, so it’s not totally out of the ordinary when he lays low. But this—
“It’s Bane,” Tim mutters to himself, flipping to one of the photos the commissioner and Batman’s probably looking at. Sure, Bane’s in civvies in the picture, but there’s no way Batman wouldn’t recognize—
“It’s Bane, isn’t it,” Batman says, a second later, and Tim’s head jerks up. What?
No, it’s just a coincidence. He didn’t hear Tim mumbling that from the rooftop. Right? Right. Tim’s just overthinking it.
“Yes,” Gordon says after a moment. “And Penguin’s been linked to him before; I don’t know what they’re up to now, but…” He frowns. “Did something serious happen? I know you said you were away, but I’d like to think you would be able to – ”
“It’s classified, Commissioner,” Batman replies, and sounds … apologetic, which is weird. “I really appreciate the concern, though, and I’ll be sure to look into these photos immediately.” A longer pause. “How’s your month been?”
Gordon stares at Batman; he’s probably just as confused as Tim’s right now. Batman is making small talk? Batman?
“You’re asking me how my month’s been,” Gordon asks, sounding suspicious. “You? Are you sure something didn’t happen to you while you were away?”
“I’m just getting a general idea of how crime rates were,” Batman says, but it’s too quick. He’s lying. Right? What the hell is happening? “Never mind. I’m—I’ll see you later, Jim.”
“Jim?” Gordon repeats, voice louder. “Since when do you call me—"
But then Batman gives the folder back to Gordon, shoots a grapple off and he’s gone. Tim watches him go, and then watches Gordon mutter to himself and rub a hand over his face before exiting through the rooftop door.
What the hell happened to Batman, Tim thinks, and worries his lip. There’s a lot of possibilities. Tim spends a good ten minutes trying not to panic by thinking through some—heck, even Mitch’s pod person theory isn’t super off-base—but Tim’s got to get more evidence before he can think of any ideas. So, he resolves to make his way to the harbor, because Batman always follows up on leads from Gordon immediately, easing himself down the fire escape ladder. He gets halfway down the ladder, trying to focus on not slipping and bashing his face into metal, or worse, the pavement, when there’s a gentle thump above him.
Tim looks up. Batman’s standing on the fire escape he was just on, cloak billowing a little in the chilly night. Even through the white-out lenses of his cowl, it’s easy to tell he’s looking right at Tim. Tim’s stomach sinks all the way down.
Crap.