"I learned from the best."

Matchak’s markets were moderately busy in the evenings; just past five, when the sun was still halfway in the sky but not high enough to light the alleys anymore. It was a perfect time for browsing.

Which was not, in fact, the reason Tim came out here in the first place. Tim’s reasoning for leaving the relative safety of the Mousehole was actually kind of silly, when he thought about it - he just needed space. Room to think. If he happened upon a neat gadget to take home at the market, then so be it, but as it was he was far too lost in his own head to take much stock of the items around him.

He managed to avoid looking too much like a tourist with a bland grey hoodie that looked just like everyone else’s bland grey everything. Which would surely turn into a lifesaver as he entered the seedier section of the markets, where the locals’ eyes turned a little darker, their faces a little less open.

Nothing could ever compare to the back alleys of Gotham, but something about the age of this place seemed... familiar. Tim shoved his hands into his pockets and kept on walking, deeper into the bowels of the city markets.

… “Don’t smile!” Despite her words, Cassie felt a smile of her own growing and she bit at the corner of her lips to try to force it away. She reached out, aiming a (light) punch towards his shoulder as she took a step closer to him. “I’m trying to be mad at you!” But it was hard, considering it had been so long since she’d seen him. Worrying about her friends had been a near-constant facet of the past several years, especially those she couldn’t get ahold of. The world was more dangerous for the hero-sort than it ever had been before and it was hard to shake the anxiety of not being able to get in touch with someone, especially for years. The anger was back (never took long for her, really, and it was so damn easy to lean into), the slight smile that had broken through fading. “You didn’t want to get a new one? So, you know, those of us worrying about you wouldn’t think that you were the one that fell into a lake or worse instead of your phone?”  His apology earned a nod from her and Cassie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Damn right you’re sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head once. “Either way, I’m glad to see you. Even more glad to see you in one piece.” Bold words from the girl who was dominating news headlines after damn near blowing herself sky high.

-

“Ow.”

Tim scratched at an imaginary itch. “No. Wasn’t safe to have one for a while. It was disposable, anyway.” He scowled. “I figured I’d work on tracking you guys down another way. I’m good at that, you know. You really think I’d fall into a lake?”

Which was silly, because Tim Drake didn’t drown. He had contingencies for that. Still, her anger wasn’t exactly misplaced. Tim had waited it out with his reasoning being safety first, but in all his trek-induced exhaustion and the stress of getting here in the first place, he hadn’t stopped to think about what the toll the rest of them were paying.

Tim didn’t feel all that bad. He was just glad they were alright, far away from all he’d left behind.

“I am,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. He let the smile drop in favor of a more genuine expression - one of exhaustion, a hint of annoyance, and relief. “I am. A lot’s happened, I... I haven’t been...”

Right in the head? Focused? Seeing everything right enough to make good calls?

“A lot has happened,” he said again, somehow even more lame than the first time. “But I’m alright, and you- you’re alright.” A weak smile. “In one piece, just like you said.”

It really was like stepping back in time for a moment: Tim, so light on his feet that he was practically bouncing, his face lit up and young again. (He was still so young, but—) The shadow of exhaustion gone for a moment, and that bright smile coming through. Like he could’ve just dropped in from Helena’s skylight, hanging upside-down on his grappling hook. 

Helena tried not to linger too much on the past, knew she could be maudlin, but. This was a good remembering. This was good. 

Enough that it had her grinning back just as bright as she spun out of the way, just barely swiveling out of the way of Tim’s jab. “Ohoho, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh, you rotten kid? Rude.” She clicked her tongue, trying and failing to smother her smirk. “You sure you don’t want a nap, Tim?”

-

“You know me, rotten to the core.”

Keeping his tongue in his mouth instead of sticking it out like a petulant toddler was an enormous undertaking for Tim. He was so very tempted. In the end though he wrangled that childish urge and let his arms hang loose at his sides, breath puffing out in short bursts. 

“... Do I really look that tired? Be honest. I thought I looked fine.”

He wasn’t feeling all that tired anymore, to be honest. Now that his blood was pumping and his muscles had had a stretch, he felt pretty good. Alive. Unless the mirror from this morning was lying - because he thought he’d looked pretty darn good there.

@redrobinrising​

Running into Tim Drake in Sokovia was only half unexpected. The Nomads were collecting heroes from every which way, from assorted and cracked teams from all over the globe, so seeing familiar face was welcome and expected. But relief had swelled within her when she spotted her friend in the Square of the Eagles, and it took everything Cassie had not to literally fly over to him.  “Years! It has been years! I know that you said you had some things to take care of, but I have not heard from you in years and I was pretty convinced I was never going to hear from you again!” Lectures were usually Diana’s style, but Cassie had certainly heard enough of them to know how to give a good one. “ – I was wondering if you died.” That had been a real fear, really. Cassie had tried not to think about it, but that was hard when someone important to you disappeared off the face of the Earth. “Did you forget how to use a phone? Because you’re a literal genius so I’m not buying that for a second.”

-

No amount of gnawing on his own lip could stop Tim from cracking a dorky smile. 

But his chest ached a little deeper the wider the smile got. His fingers curled a little tighter into the sleeves of his jacket. The smile turned pained for a moment before he regained his composure - a bubbly warmth settled deep into his bones with the confirmation that Cassie was alright.

As long as they were safe.

The act of reminding himself of that fact was getting tedious. Tim’s breath came out in an unsteady huff.

“No, I dropped my phone in a lake. Did you know lakes can be hundreds of meters deep? Yeah, I was surprised too.”

His favorite burner. Red. Tim hadn’t bothered to get a real one since.

... Stupid. He was going on tangents. Organizing his thoughts into coherent words took physical effort, so he stood there dumbly with that stupid half-smile on his face, brows all furrowed and uncertain and maybe a tad bit worried.

“Don’t look so hard-pressed,” he chided gently. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have Captain America in front of you with something to say about ‘teamwork’.” It was his favorite word, after all. “Stark was… difficult for me. But he is assisting in the creation of a new batcave below the fortress. I’ve had opportunity to see that he’s almost as good as Blue Beetle when it comes to straight tech.” He needed to be corralled much of the time, but the work was good. “And he’s already perfected taking materials like metal and making them light enough to manipulate.” Perhaps the suggestion was an unwanted one, but it was simply foolish not to use resources available to you if it would streamline a process. “Of course, I’m confident we can figure it out on our own, if you’re disinclined.”

Watching the other work for a moment, Bruce blew out a breath. “As much as I don’t want to interrupt your work, I have a few things for you and Barbara as well. I’ve been working to separate our backlog of files, combing through them so that I can establish a more public database for the rest of the team to access. Since you’re both as discerning as I am regarding what is need to know, I’m sure Barbara would appreciate the help.”

Tim had always been better than he was at the tech side of things. Bruce was no slouch, but the boy had hacked the Pentagon at age 13 without assistance. He was a force. 

“Aside from that, I’m working on a more delicate project I could use your input on. Have you met Agent Carter yet? Or heard of her?”

-

“Right...”

The lecture ought to be saved for those who needed them. Especially about teamwork. Which Tim managed just fine, thank you.

“No, no, we can ask. We need a fresh pair of eyes anyway. Like I said, he’s got history.” He made sure the smile was a little warmer. “We’ll ask when we’re done here, alright?”

Something for him and Barbara? Tim perked up at that. Always more work to do. 

“That’s a lot of files... Sure, Bruce. Only the good stuff, the need-to-know stuff... Sure, I got it.”

Only what was necessary. Neither of them were an exception to the family’s rules of secrecy, which meant he had an intense night of work ahead if he was going to get it right. Fantastic. His sleepless schedule would remain intact and he could keep on heading in his favorite direction!

He scrubbed at hsi eyes furtively and directed his attention back to the schematics before him.

“That name is familiar, yeah,” he said, rather vaguely. “Why? What’s up?

It was gratifying, watching the excitement light up Tim’s eyes and the ease smooth out his limbs. It made him look more like the boy Helena remembered, hopping between Gotham rooftops and letting himself into her apartment to raid her kitchen. And while she knew that the exhaustion would creep back in once the adrenaline wore off and his sparkle would dull a bit, it still made her happy to see. 

And it was fun, sparring with him. After so many years of almost-exclusively Dinah, who, God bless her soul, wasn’t always great at respecting the line between sparring and all-out brawling. (Not that Helena was one to complain, but. She preferred to get her bruised ribs and shiners from patrols.) 

“Tug her down by the cape?” Helena guessed as she parried a blow, matching her footing to Tim’s before pushing back a bit. Not much, still just getting a feel, but moving faster. “See if she bakes you brownies after you trip her up on a patrol—but hey, pigtail-pulling is a tried and true strategy,” she joked slyly, going for a couple light jabs. 

-

“Ouch. You think I’d go that far?” He chuckled mid-swing. “Oh, playground roughhousing. I get it. I don’t think she’d appreciate it, that’s the problem. She wouldn’t share any brownies with me. I’m not sure I’m ready to risk that. Would you?”

No sharing the sweets meant Tim had to go scrounging for his own, unless Alfred, bless him, listened to his pleas and whipped something up. Still... anything Steph made had a certain warmth to it, different from Alfred. 

Even if they were a tad heavy on one ingredient or another.

He kicked it into high gear; he felt springy, light footed. Confident. But mostly springy, like he was sixteen again and nothing but gangly limbs and attitude. He couldn’t go back to canon balling through open windows and stealing food anymore. What he could do was lean back on his back foot and rush forward for a jab at her shoulder. It was something he’d have done in a game of rooftop tag. 

Then he hopped back with a goofy, lopsided smile on his face.

“Those old knees of yours don’t look too good - you sure you don’t want a break?”

At least they were on the same damn page about this. Even if Bruce wasn’t, sometimes. Needed reminding, now and then; Tim would’ve been that, wouldn’t he? After the last sidekick got put in the family plot. Coming to understand it, that way, with all those years between him and home, Jason had wound up… grateful, maybe. A lot of other shit, too, but. Tim had been there. Looking out for Bruce, which, in a way, meant looking out for Alfred, and Dick, and everyone else. They’d known - knew - Bruce in their own ways, years and horrors apart. But there were things a Robin just figured out, sooner or later. Still, it was weird, somehow. To think of the two of them that way. Robins. The kids who stepped up, because Batman couldn’t take the impossible task he’d set for himself. For all of them. 

(Wonder how Gotham was doing, now that the cave was gutted, the manor burnt to the ground. Like always, probably. Badly, that is. Fuck, would that place ever change? Really change?)

And there it went. Over. Page, turned. Jason’s eyes narrowed, sharply. What we was that, seriously? They’d never actually been anything but an issue for each other. To say the least. Had Bruce put him up to this, in the first place? Could’ve. A different approach. Send in a fellow Robin. The one he thrashed to shit for nothing, his greatest goddamn regret. Opening the door hadn’t worked - and even that’d been conditional, like always, and given the conditions, might as well have left the security chain on - so. Perhaps it’d seemed time to turn the screw of guilt a little tighter, work that angle. Whatever it took, so the big, bad bat got his way. Was the old man that conniving? Absolutely, but… was Drake? Maybe. He didn’t fucking know this kid.

Or did he? In some kind of way, at least. Who could be Robin, stick it out? Maybe Jason had never done the job justice, but. He knew the requirements. What it demanded of you, day after day, night after night. What it did to you. For better and worse. “Not that I asked what you think, or anything.” The sneer wasn’t as sharp as it could’ve been. He’d taken that helmet back off its perch, left it hanging from his hand, for the moment. “Listen, you really wanna do us all a favour? Now that everything else has well and truly gone to shit?” The kid was delusional if he figured keeping the Red Hood closer would help with that. No. Jason had a better, simpler plan. “Just don’t fucking die.” Moment over. The hood snapped back on, a layer of armour between him and how that point of Drake’s had hit home. That - yeah. Home.

-

Somehow, some way, looking out for the family had become a part of Tim. Keeping Bruce on the right track was in his blood. Making sure Alfred was alright was practically a part of his very DNA. Dick... Dick was the brother he’d never had before, and as such Tim was obligated to look out for him, too, regardless of how much younger he was. Becoming Robin meant gaining a new family, and a new family meant keeping that family safe. Keeping them happy.

Jason might not believe himself to be a part of them, but deep down, Tim knew otherwise. Felt otherwise. The man who’d traumatized him was traumatized himself. And together, they were a duo of emotionally traumatized people in a long lineage of emotionally traumatized people. It wasn’t worthwhile to seek revenge. It wasn’t worth the effort to make things even. 

And though the anger of that day still simmered and sat slick like sickness on his tongue, Tim was still Robin. He’d learned to be, learned what it meant over the years. Tim needed help. He could get it. He had his family. But Jason? Where did the black sheep go?

“I’ll try.”

Some ground had been gained. More than Tim expected. A crack in that expressionless red helmet if Tim deigned to squint and look a little closer. Still not enough, though, and Tim watched wearily as Jason shut the conversation down and locked him out.

Tim was left unsatisfied and yet... relieved. Relieved that he could breathe again. 

“Take care, Jason.” Don’t die. Again. 

Bruce wouldn’t survive it. Whatever bad blood sat stagnant between them would be forever a rotten, putrid mess of mistakes and misunderstandings. Tim refused to leave it like that.

He had a job to do. Looking out for family was what Robin did. Helping was what Robin did.

So that’s what he’d do.

Tim let the mask of Red Robin lower once more. Jason didn’t want to talk to Tim right now. That was fine. He couldn’t find it in himself to push any harder than that.

He caught the flush but kept himself from raising a brow. They always reacted like that, it seemed. Bruce didn’t mean to set an atmosphere where they could never achieve his praise. It seemed that his high standards had won out in the end, however. 

Listening to Tim explain, his mind worked fast, already picturing the project in 3-D and fitting the components in as Tim spoke. The question about Kevlar had him nodding. “You can weave it throughout or we can modify it so it isn’t too cumbersome as its own inner layer. After what happened with the League of Assassins, I’m glad to see more defensive measures.” Reaching out, he rested a hand on Tim’s shoulder to give it a squeeze. “I’ve made some modifications to the batsuit. Here.” Moving over to the laptop he had open beside him, he keyed in the access codes he needed before transferring the schematics over to Tim. “Feel free to have a look at anything you might want or even think you could improve.” He wasn’t too proud to concede to practicality. Tim’s mind worked in miraculous ways that even Bruce didn’t supersede. 

“The crisscrossing would distribute the weight better than a belt,” he mused, about to say more when Tim produced the feather. Unable to hide his fascination, he took the piece, admiring it as he ran a careful thumb along the edge. “We can definitely have a look.” He surprised himself when he finished with: “I wonder if Stark would have an idea.” Given the material of his suit, he was willing to guess that Tony had worked with the properties of metal before. They were collaborating on the batcave. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Three heads, as it were.

-

“Let me see what I can do,” Tim said as he glanced over the schematics. He made notes here and there on subjects he could think of improvements for and how to go about said improvements. They already thought along similar lines. His actual concerns were rather limited.

Tim stopped short at the mention of Stark, turning to Bruce with raised brows.

“Stark?” He grimaced. “He... might. His armor’s impressive. He’s got a long history.”

Tim much preferred the flexiblity and maneuverability of his own suits to the metal plating of Stark’s, no matter how impressive the engineering was. No matter how fascinating those schematics must be...

Tim leaned against the desk.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask."

That brought a smirk to Tim’s face; he was interested in the man, if only on a purely intellectual level and not a personal one, but he hadn’t yet heard of the relationship between Stark and Bruce being positive enough to encourage cooperation, if anything was there at all, so it came as quite the surprise when he was brought up. In the end, Tim was fine keeping his hesitation to himself; Stark was a smart man, with the record to back him up. He was alright in Tim’s eyes.

He’d be an awful innovator if he didn’t welcome new thoughts anyway. He might have a good idea for the proofed coating Tim hadn’t thought of and Tim would really, really like to avoid another shooting. Or stabbing. Or anything inflicting bodily harm that this new armor could prevent. Anything.

It had been a long time, Helena realized, since she’d seen her favorite Robin in action. Easy to step into pace with him, to dodge and duck around his attacks, her smile matching his own. If she were Bruce, she’d probably needle him about being rusty. Make some crack about sparring being serious, not a game.

But she wasn’t Bruce, she loved a fun spar, and she’d missed Tim.

Helena stayed on the defensive for no reason other than to draw Tim out, get a feeling of what they were working with. And, of course, to tease him. “Aww, boy wonder, my nonna could move faster, God rest her soul,” Helena said as she hopped away again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“How’re you going to chase Steph along rooftops if you might trip off one with that kinda footwork?” 

"You know that’s a compliment, right?” He scoffed and threw another punch. The warm up was doing wonders for him, his movements growing more fluid as their spar continued, the positioning of his feet more like they once were. In no time, he’d be back up to speed and joining in on the street brawls of his Robin days.

Tim pivoted, feigned left, punched right. It was all very routine until he started getting bold and pushed forward.

“Hey, come on, it’s not that bad!” Another sidestep. “I’ll improvise mid fall. Steph will laugh and while she’s laughing, that’s when I get her. Great strategy, right?”

The filing cabinet cracked well before the security system—big shocker for everyone that a metal rectangle was less complex than a billion-dollar security system, right? Clint had been thumbing through files, brows furrowing increasingly as his eyes traced over legalese, contracts and affidavits and—blueprints. For…? Unclear. 

He was only snapped out of it by Tim’s voice, the first sound in the room other than their fingers working over paper and tech in a minute. And…

“The hell is that supposed to be…?” Clint muttered under his breath, walking closer to the screen. As if that would change anything—he’d already seen what it said from meters away, but it wasn’t familiar. And often, familiar wasn’t good. “Anything in there say what the Sentinel Program is supposed to be, exactly?”

-

Tim felt a swell of excitement in his gut as he dug deeper. Schematics, patents for the schematics, legal records that recorded the records. The information present was a vast and complicated web - sifting through sand for the prized speck would’ve been an easier task.

“Adaptive A.I network... threats of a higher order... enhanced-- oh.” Some rifling. “Looks to me like a global security force intended to defend against the enhanced populations. Think anti-terrorism, but far more aggressive, adaptable, and running on machine logic instead of human. Hold on, I’m making a copy.”

He made a duplicate of the most pertinent information and then some for future analysis. 

“We need to get this to safety.” He held up a fingernail sized chip between two fingers. “If we let this progress, these “sentinels” could flush us out like rats the second they caught wind.”

…

Alfred nodded, chuckling a little at the desire to find such a material. “We’ve been in search of that kind of material for quite some time. I think there are some options I can show you or we can all put our heads together and invent one.” Given the caliber of heads that would be being put together, Alfred didn’t at all doubt that it was possible. 

He’d had a feeling Tim would understand how Bruce felt and that feeling hadn’t been wrong once the young man spoke. Alfred nodded. “Precisely. It is a hopefully well guarded secret of a castle and only those who would bring us no harm supposedly know of it’s location but it’s still far too many people with that kind of knowledge for his comfort.” For Tim’s as well, from the sounds of it, but Alfred didn’t feel he needed to say that. 

Tim seemed immediately suspicious of Jason and Alfred supposed that was fair, given the history, but he still wanted to jump to Jason’s defense for a moment. He curbed the urge, at least mostly. “I spoke with him though we didn’t discuss plans.” He wasn’t even sure he should say where Jason appeared to be staying most of the time. He’d told Bruce, of course, but he didn’t know if it was information Tim strictly needed. Alfred knew there was a complicated history between the two of them. “I can say he didn’t seem intent on…getting in our way, so to speak.” He’d gotten the sense that Jason was mostly going to stay away and do his own thing, though now of course there was the matter of Bruce handing the file over to the Nomads. Quite a mess, really. If they brought Jason in…well, they’d have to cross that bridge if and when they came to it. 

Tim changed the subject, in spite of Alfred having answered it anyway, and Alfred gave him a look. “No, but starting to catch up on that sleep will help in the long run.” They were practically a family of insomniacs but Alfred had to at least try. 

-

The League didn’t offer peer review as part of its exchange program, meaning whatever Tim designed relied solely on his hopes and dreams to work. With his support network backing him up, he didn’t need an overabundance of hope to act as the backbone to any new tech he conjured up. And conjure was quite literal with how often he couldn’t find any supporting evidence of his tech’s preexistence. 

As such, the whole family could join in, if they wanted to. Tim just wanted them around again.

“Yeah. A secret shared by five is pretty good, but a secret shared by a dozen or more? That gets shaky fast.”

He blinked blearily at Alfred. He was forgetting himself - and the conversation, apparently, because he felt like he was going in loops. And loops within loops, and so on. Eternal loops over the same subject matter like nothing Alfred said was really sticking. If that wasn’t a sign that he desperately needed to stop and get some shut eye...

Feeling numb and a bit stupid, Tim closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to have horse tranquilizer here, would you? Or... a bottle of melatonin, maybe. I think that’d do it.”

Did he ask that already, too? He felt like he had. Oh well.

Taking the pages from Tim, Bruce dropped his eyes to study the schematics as Tim talked. It was strange in description, but the visuals cut an undeniable silhouette. He had become Red Robin for the mission with the League of Assassins, and it was surreal as Bruce looked over the plans. This meant that Tim was fully committing to this new persona. Batman would no longer have a Robin. For the first time since he had adopted Dick, that role would be empty. How… strange. It made Bruce’s heart twinge a little bit, but this was a part of life wasn’t it? A part of parenthood, even. Children grew up. They left the nest. Of course, Bruce’s experience with fatherhood was atypical at best. But this was all so normal. He pushed aside the bittersweet sensations before nodding. “What’s the material you’re going to use?” he prompted. He was interested already, and he wanted to know how to make it happen. Besides, if the idea proved solid, Bruce might well invest in a redesign of his own cape. It had been a while since he had updated the cowl, after all. Such a coating could be more advanced than his own work. 

Nodding, Bruce’s mind went to the same place. Tim had lost his spleen, he had explained. He was lucky it had been a relatively vestigial organ. “That’s smart,” he agreed. “My armor doesn’t have many weak spots anymore. Yours should absolutely be augmented.”

He kept reading over the pages before nodding and handing them back. “It’s good work, Tim. And it’s proof of your ingenuity. A glider cape.” He nodded. How had he not thought of such a thing?

-

Tim felt a flush creeping up the sides of his neck. “Thanks, Bruce. I try.”

This was official. He was making this official. The shredded costume in his bag was a new relic because Bruce was here to help him make one better. He was more than flushed now, giddy from head to toe as he searched through his documents for a list of materials. The boy who’d hyperventilated at the thought of working on a costume together was long gone, but Tim still felt that boy’s exhilaration. 

“There’s moisture absorbing cloth under a hydrostatic gel substrate to help regulate temperature, and the gel can pressurize to withstand heavy impacts and atmospheric pressure changes, not to mention it’s far more comfortable. Over that, kevlar weave I need your help on. Kevlar’s your specialty, anyway. 

“The cape has a piezoelectric fabric layer so the, uh... feathers can be used in combat or for gliding. Let’s see... I’m still figuring out the harness for the cape. Maybe like a belt? Or... crisscrossed...?”

His detailed, hand-drawn schematics were carefully arranged, although these were a less refined version of the ones already shown. The paper was covered in notes and questions to himself, alongside a few doodles of unused designs. 

Then, Tim pulled out a slim rectangular box. He flipped the lid to show a shiny red material in the shape of a feather.

What a ridiculous excuse. Tim sounded just like his bat-dad. And his not-quite big sister, the original obsessive bat-kid. Helena wondered if it was worth pointing out that they made her, someone crazy enough to spend a decade training herself to the bone for the sake of revenge, feel lazy in comparison. Would that put anything into perspective? Probably not.

“I know I will. Betting you’ve come a long way from your traffic light days,” Helena ribbed playfully, stretching out her neck. She hadn’t been anticipating a spar when she’d headed out of her room for the day, but it’d be a good change in pace. This was why athleisure was always the way to go. “I’ve been working on my Sokovian by reading translated classics. Worlds better than I was back in December, and yeah, it’s a surefire way to put yourself to sleep.” 

Helena flashed a grin as she pulled up out of a standing hamstring stretch, giving her shoulders a loose roll. “First move’s all yours. Let’s see if you haven’t lost your touch, yeah?”

“Classical Sokovian literature, huh?” He shook out his arms and wrists. “I’ll kill two birds with one stone, in that case. Follow in your footsteps a little - get my reading and sleeping in at the same time, if it’s that boring.”

The traffic light comparison was never going to die, was it? He’d retired that particular costume years ago but its influence never left. Tim would rather be remembered for his cooler, more stylish costume-in-progress, and felt giddy just thinking about it.

“Me first? ... Alright.”

A spar, that’s all. He positioned himself and stared down at his feet for a moment before making his move.

At least Tim seemed self-aware that he looked like a walking wreck. That might’ve been a start. But considering some of the big influences in his life—bat-eared morons, the lot of them, she thought (lovingly)—Helena doubted it. “Ha. Trust me, after Gotham? You could’ve ruled these mean Sokovian streets back when you still couldn’t crack five feet.”

Still, she eyed Tim as they walked, black eyes taking in that staticky distance in his face. Like his mind was wandering, spinning out before he could reel it back in. Exhaustion-fuzzy, maybe. Likely. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic. Particularly that armor, which you know I’m always a fan of.” Her lips quirked. “And the cape. You know I love a good cape. You’ll have to show me when it’s done.” Helena’s brows raised as they rounded a corner. “You get any sleep between work and working on the suit? Out of curiosity. I could always, ah, assign you some light reading to put you right to sleep? Dickens, maybe.” 

-

"Well... nothing hits as hard as Gotham does.”

“I try,” he said after a pause. “When I can. A good cape takes a lot of moving parts, and that means time, and if I want to get this done anytime soon I can’t spend too much time asleep--”

He cut himself off when they arrived at the gymnasium and made sure the doors were closed behind him before he continued. They were entirely alone, with scattered equipment free for the taking. If only he could find a mat that didn’t look like it might shatter his knee caps if he fell...

Not that he would but he liked to be prepared.

One question? Great. This was bound to be good. Good for everybody. Sure. As if talking would help. (It did. Sometimes. Probably not here and now, though. Words just didn’t seem like enough, like much at all.) He stayed stone-faced, jaw tight as Tim turned down the easy out. What, exactly, had they established? If Tim had figured fuck all out, in the years since the Red Hood kicked him across the Tower - well, he wouldn’t be here, would he? 

Like that would’ve stopped Jason, though. He’d worn the same stupid cape, after all. Should’ve known what wouldn’t be enough to make a Robin quit. (Only Bruce and death seemed to be able to pull that off, and even those results were mixed.) But, Jason hadn’t known much of anything, back then. Too angry. Fucking stupid with it. Stupid and senseless and cruel. Not the Robin he’d been. Not who he was now. Who he was trying to be, at least. 

Shit, though. This kid was testing it. Bruce misses you. Jason had sniffed, nose wrinkling, and swallowed around a wasp-sting sort of ache. Sudden, swollen. Bruce missed who, huh? That good little soldier who’d tried so damn hard to do what he was told? Who’d just kept trying, over, and over, and over, to be a better he just never seemed to be? Sure. Yeah, maybe Batman missed that. 

(But Bruce? Bruce might miss the rest. It hadn’t always been so fucked, right?) 

But the question. That one question. Jason stared it down, for a moment. Hawkish, squinting. Like he was waiting for the punchline. Nothing. So, fine.  “Yeah.” A beat, quick as his heart. “I did.” There. Like it was a shock. As if anybody would’ve been surprised when Batman found himself a newer, better sidekick, after that screw-up bit the dust. He’d believed it. Easy. Easier still, with another Robin dead. Two miserable memorials, haunting that cave. “I thought… I wasn’t doing a hell of a lot of thinking, alright, I -” Biting down, Jason took a moment, trying to, yeah, think. Trying to be something more than mad about it. Not other than mad. Not instead of mad. He could be pissed as fuck, and hurt like hell, and be more than that. 

And Tim didn’t deserve any of the worst of him. Never had. All Drake had done wrong, in the end, was make the same mistakes. Jason ground to a halt, an adrenaline-shiver all that was left of that cold-hot fury that’d started to scorch up the walls of his chest. “Yeah,” he echoed, blankly. “I did. I still do. I think he’s gonna keep doing what he does, the way he does, and so… we’re gonna keep happening. Don’t you fuckin’ try to tell me different.” Heading that right off, sharply. “I can see him, too. And -” Jason was burning out, now. Of feeling. The last of it limped out, abruptly. “And he can’t do this shit alone.” There. He’d found it. A familiar hollowness. A place he shouldn’t carry on a conversation from. Nothing good ever got said.

-

“I won’t,” Tim said. "He can’t.”

None of them could. Statistically, a one man army was nothing compared to an army of men with similar attributes. Robin’s ability to recognize necessity varied but even the most obtuse of them could see the bigger picture; Batman can’t do it alone.

Batman was the best, or so the little voice in his head claimed. An attainable standard, but still the best, so it logically followed that if Batman couldn’t do this alone, none of them could.

“I don’t think we can either.” He was beginning to draw back, further into the shadows. “Just something to think about. Everything’s going to get harder before getting better, but you already knew that. Maybe now’s... not a good time to be apart.”

Or to invite a dangerous killer any closer to his family. 

He did anyway. Tim had a habit of doing things he knew he shouldn’t thanks to that tiny, whispering voice in his head was the conscience on his shoulder and it, conveniently, had the sympathy and understanding to invite the likes of Jason Peter Todd back home...

... And because Tim, despite the traumas, despite the pain, liked acquiring what the universe had already deemed off limits for him. If that meant a potential ally, or another addition to the family... Tim couldn’t find it in himself to resist. 

Then maybe the bad blood wouldn’t be so thick. Maybe Tim could stop seeing the flickers of pain on Bruce’s face every time Jason was brought up. Maybe then they could move on.

Maybe. Tim couldn’t see the future, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to make a difference.

…

Alfred nodded, smiling slightly. “Perhaps you could call it a complete suit upgrade if you’d like to sound official about it.” Three years had passed and yet, talking with Tim, it was like very little time had passed. Their interaction seemed just that natural and they were just that open with each other. It was a relief, really. Normally, when years passed between seeing members of the family, something was inevitably different or strained but with Tim that didn’t seem to be the case, at least not yet. “Isn’t it always?” Alfred mused, though he knew well enough that many of them did their own things outside of the team. It was what Alfred strove for generally, though, a team effort. 

Another thing that hadn’t changed, unfortunately, was Tim’s clear need for a long night of full rest. The Bat family in general was very terrible about sleep but Tim especially and Alfred looked at him with a critical eye. “It looks like you could use a long rest, Master Timothy.” There was a knowing note in his tone and he gave him a look that clearly meant he expected him to do it and that it wasn’t merely a suggestion. Alfred could get away with that, sometimes, especially with the younger members of the family. 

“Gut feelings, I’ve learned, are generally to be trusted.” There had been a long life of following gut feelings and he was still around to talk about it so there must be something to it. He knew Bruce put plenty of stock in them, too. “ I do indeed. I’m glad that’s how you felt about it.” It was quiet, almost regretful, but at least Tim had known to keep digging, had somehow managed to find them. Alfred had the utmost faith in every member of the family but it was always good to see that it was well founded. 

“Well enough, given the circumstance.” That was in response to the question about everyone, anyway. He took a sip of his tea before responding about Bruce in particular. “Master Bruce has…had a hard time of it. You can well imagine how being in a place full of people he neither knows nor trusts but who are all, by necessity, aware of his identity would affect him.” Alfred didn’t feel like he was betraying any confidences there. It was a struggle for Bruce and by outlining it in that particular way he was sure Tim would understand just how much. Their identities had always been a closely guarded secret, something they’d gone to elaborate lengths to maintain and yet now, so many people knew who they were, who Bruce was. It wasn’t in any way easy. There was, though, more to it than that. “There is something else.” Alfred started then paused, regarding Tim. “Jason’s in Sokovia.” He said, finally. Tim was smart enough to understand what that would mean for Bruce and for the rest of them and the complicated nature of the situation. 

-

"Either way, half is getting modified and upgraded with new specs and half is getting scrapped, which means a new under layer might be necessary. If I can make it soft and... not scratchy, that’d be great. That’s it, Alfred - it’ll be a team effort in finding material that doesn’t cause rashes.”

Team effort indeed. The team part needed to be worked on now that they were all together again with the Mousehole pushing for actual team cohesion.

“I can.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He feels exposed, or hunted, or a combination of the two. I feel the same. We’re hiding out in a castle surrounded by public figures. It’s not hard to imagine just how precarious our situation is.”

Members of global organizations like the Justice League and the Avengers all crammed together in a conspicuous castle in a nation under curious scrutiny. Exposed was far too simple a word to describe how Tim felt about the situation. 

As cool as the castle was, he’d never turn down an underground cave if given the option.

Right now, as he sat with his half emptied cup of tea, his gut was telling him to eat something, and he’d been stabbed enough times to know the differences in feelings.

Tim leaned back to look at Alfred, hazy eyes surprisingly focused. “... Yeah. Bruce told me. Has he talked to any of you, besides Bruce? I mean, I don’t think he’s here to start trouble but knowing if he’s said anything might help pinpoint exactly what his plans are.”

Tim felt he was making an ass of himself for assuming the worst of Jason, no matter how natural the action came to him. Anxiety, he supposed. That was happening a lot these days.

As if he were no longer interested in an answer, Tim shook his head and sat up straighter. “Anyway, it’s been a busy few years, Alf. I don’t know if sleep can wipe that away...” He looked once more into his cup, stirring up the dregs at the bottom. “But I’ll try.”

.

“Wow. I see you, bird boy. You are not allowed to be making any old-person cracks when you look like death warmed over,” Helena replied with a grin, though the sentiment was genuine. She’d had to swallow down the immediate temptation to check if he was sure, the way those bleary eyes peered at her. Tim wasn’t a pint-sized teenager she could wield her teacher-voice against, anymore. He was a grown man (if barely), one she didn’t know nearly as well as the boy he’d been.  

Funny, how easily this life aged people. Or maybe it was just Gotham. 

“So,” Helena said as she redirected them straight for the gym, raising a brow at Tim, “what’s got you so distracted you look like you could walk into a wall?”

-

Tim held his hands up in surrender. “Death on ice. I have a mirror, I know what it looks like.”

As if that were any more flattering, but it brought a smile to his lips nonetheless. This was Helena, with whom he felt comfortable enough to let several self deprecating jokes came to him without his permission, even though exhaustion was taking its toll. He wiggled his toes to fight the creeping numbness.

“Work. Babs is letting me help her out. I have a few ideas on how to improve security and...” His eyes unfocused momentarily. They were headed toward the gym? Oh, right. Good. “I haven’t had much exercise since I got here. Or practice. I feel like I’ll get kicked to the curb if I go out now.”

He seemed to have lost his train of thought. Getting his blood flowing would help him out a little. Tim continued in his half-focused state up until they reached the gym. Then, he continued on about his work, as if he hadn’t previously interrupted himself.

“It’s too easy to be busywork, and until my new suit’s done it’s the only way for me to help. Which I’m also working on, by the way. A new suit. Better armor, more flexibility, some nifty new tech in the gloves and mask... a nice cape.”