Telling

"How serious about this are you?" Bernard asks.

Tim knows exactly what he means, but he tries anyway. "Walking across campus?" he asks. "Deathly." He puts a 'deathly serious' expression on his face.

Bernard swats at him, but his hand doesn't connect. It never does. "You what I mean," he says. "This." He gestures at the space between them.

"As serious as…I can be," Tim says, wincing at the ending. "I know that sounds like a cop-out, but." He falls silent.

"What I meant, Tim, is do you want to tell our friends we're together?"

"Oh." Tim smirks a little. "All of my friends already know."

"You told them?"

"No."

The Reward for a Job Done Well

At first you think it's punishment, an attempt to force you to quit. The old man never wanted you to barge into his neatly ordered life (if you can call that a life), and he probably thinks the only way you'll stay away from the suit and not blab about him is if you quit voluntarily. He's probably right about the suit (adrenaline has always been your drug of choice), but he's wrong about you blabbing. You can keep a secret. You're keeping this secret, even though you're covered in bruises and can barely stay awake on dates with Dana. You're not a quitter, so you accept the verbal abuse and the diet and the training regimen because you know that it's the only way to show that you're committed. His response to you keeping to the diet is to make it stricter. His response to you finishing the obstacle course on time and without getting hit is to raise the level.

After a while, you realize he heaps the same abuse on everybody, that the only defense against it is to stand up to him (it won't make him back down, but it makes you feel better. Sometimes you think you almost hear a smile in his voice when you snark back at him). Everybody who's known him, the real him not the version he trots out for board meetings and soirees and the like (and it's a little disturbing how he can do that on cue. The commissioner claims it used to be worse, but you can't imagine how. You're afraid to ask), for a long time does it (well, not Superman, but he's Superman. Superman doesn't snark, even to the old man). You almost think he's trying to make you grow a spine, except for the fact that you already have one and he knows it. You wouldn't be here if you didn't.

When you have to be faster than you'd had to be for the Level 9 training program (you're on level 10 now) to dodge the Jokerz' newest "toys", when you have to use some of the knowledge he pounded into your head just last week, when you learn about Mr. Drake, you realize that it's not punishment. It's training. It's giving you the skills he knows you'll need to survive to be a cranky old man giving orders to a new Batman.

Stargate Atlantis Crossover

"-touch that," Tim heard, and he was instantly awake. Why did he hear somebody talking? He was in his bedroom, and Bernard was on a book-signing tour. Tim would have gone with him, but he had classes to teach. And besides, that wasn't Bernard's voice. He grabbed his bo staff and extended it with the ease of practice. "Oh, great," whoever it is continues in the unhappy voice of a habitual complainer. "I don't even know what that did, but I guess we're going to find out."

Tim flicked the lights on. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Oh look, Sheppard," the talkative one said. "You've somehow managed to transport us into somebody's house. God only knows what it actually is this time. Teleportation? Alternate reality? Time travel? If only I'd gotten a closer look at that machine I'd be able to tell you which one it is, but noooo…"

"Okay, so he's Sheppard," Tim said impatiently. "And I'm Tim Drake. Who are you?" Both of them were wearing military gear and carrying FN P90s, but the talker didn't look like somebody who was in the military, or at least any of the parts of the military that involved carrying a P90. The quiet one he could believe it of, though. He carried himself in that fake-relaxed way that meant he was ready to go for his gun at any moment.

"Dr. Rodney McKay. Perhaps you've heard of me?" he said hopefully. Tim got the impression that not many people had. The name seemed familiar, so Tim took a second to tease the memory out.

"Physics, right?" he asked. Dr. McKay nodded excitedly. "I have a friend who says good things about your work."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Great, just what we need, for you to have a bigger ego."

Tim relaxed, a little. He found it difficult to believe a physicist would have any reason to break into the house of a college professor, no matter whose company he was in. He didn't relax all the way, but…he wasn't Bruce. He could trust people, even if only a little. And stranger things had happened in this universe than random teleportation.

They all jumped a little when the alarm clock went off. Tim glanced at it as he turned it off, and realized he'd set it to the wrong time and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to take a shower before Steph arrived. "Crap."

"Uh, we can go…" Sheppard said, edging towards the door.

"No we can't," McKay protested. "We must be ba-" He stopped himself as Sheppard glared at him. "Uh. We need to…use the phone first?"

"If that's all right with you," Sheppard said, a diplomatic smile on his face. He was clearly used to covering up McKay's social gaffes.

"Knock yourself out," Tim said, and shrank the staff again. "I really need to take a shower and I doubt you can mess anything up no matter how hard you try. If you need anything else just wander around until you find it." He didn't tell them about the many cameras throughout the house. Or about the many superheroes he knew. If they misbehaved they'd know soon enough. Plus, everything in the house had survived Steph's kids, they could surely survive two adults. Speaking of which…he left for the shower.

***

He came out of the shower in time to hear the end of the phone call, because he really didn't have the time to take a longer shower. It might be the best shower money could buy (with a water heater to match), but he could use it every day, so he only felt a little twinge at having to cut it so short as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

"What do you mean I don't exist? Of course I exist, I was in Afghanistan…what?!" Sheppard removed the phone from his ear and stared at it. "She said I wasn't in their records." He sounded hurt.

"Maybe it's just a clerical error or something," McKay tried to cheer him up, and then immediately ruined it by continuing to talk. "Although that doesn't explain why none of the numbers worked. And really, did they all have to be to prisons? If this is an alternate universe it kind of makes me wonder about the equivalency it has to the SGC."

Tim could tell that if McKay was in babbling mode he wouldn't overhear anything more that was useful. "Nowhere else to go?" he asked, pushing open the door. "I'll make you a deal, you help me babysit and I'll help you out. Or rather, I'll put you in contact with the people who will." They jumped a little. Still got it, Tim thought with a mental smirk. Just because he didn't have any legitimate use of most of his Robin skills didn't mean he didn't keep in practice with them.

"I don't do kids," McKay said immediately.

"I didn't think you did," Tim said, pulling out clothes. "My friend really wants to talk to you, so as soon as it's a reasonable time I'll call him and he'll come over. The babysitting thing was directed at Sheppard. By the way, Lieutenant-Colonel Sheppard, do you have a first name?"

"John," he said with a lazy smile. "And I guess I could help you babysit if you really know people who can help us out." He looked skeptical at the idea, but they didn't appear to be in a dimension that had very much in common with theirs, at least in terms of whoever they were trying to call.

"Okay, then we'd better lock up your guns before the kids get here." They looked like they were about to protest. Tim fixed them with a glare. "I don't know anything about what your dimension's like, but in this one we don't carry guns around kids. If you refuse to surrender your weapons you're free to leave, but you are not staying if that's the case. Those kids are messed up enough already without adding one of them accidentally blowing his head off into the mix." Tim had seen that before, of course, in between saving the world or at least the people of Gotham from aliens, from Poison Ivy, from the Joker. A small body on the floor, the wall splattered with red, a father running in to cry over a boy who'd have to have a closed-casket funeral.

"I get your point," John said. "Maybe we can do it after you get dressed though?" Tim was suddenly aware of the armful of clothes and his slipping towel.

"Uh…wait for me in the hall," he commanded. Rodney barely waited for the door to close before he started complaining at and berating John.

***

"So…do you find yourself locking up the guns of people from alternate dimensions often?" John asked, unclipping his P90 and putting it in the safe.

"Not as such, no," Tim replied. "I mean, I've dealt with alternate dimensions a few times, and in my old job I..." he paused to consider how to phrase it without giving too much away. "I took a lot of guns away from people. Not both at the same time, though."

"Is the alternate dimensions thing common here, or are you just unusual?" Rodney asked excitedly. "Because it would be interesting to study if there are dimensions which have more interdimensional activity than others."

"I'm a little bit unusual, but that kind of thing is pretty common in this universe. Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody who's been tossed into another dimension temporarily. Of course, the JLA and everybody probably get tossed into an alternate dimension every third week or something."

"Did you seriously just say the JLA?" Rodney asked. "As in the Justice League?"

"Uh…yes?" It was clear that Rodney knew about the JLA, but his reaction didn't fit with there being a JLA in his reality, at least not a JLA in the form Tim knew it in.

"The JLA is fictional!" Rodney exclaimed, and it made sense. "We can't be in a universe where, where, Clark Kent is Superman! The laws of physics have to be the same, even in alternate realities." He was so worked up that he couldn't talk any more, even though his mouth worked. Tim stared.

"You know, Rodney, I kind of think that's the kind of information we're not supposed to share in this universe," John said. "And also, we fight space vampires, we don't have any right to deny any other universe's reality."

"It's okay," Tim choked out. "I already knew." He pulled himself together by taking the last grenade from John's hand, putting it in the safe, and locking it. "Allow me to reintroduce myself," he said, completely under control. "Tim Drake, former third Robin." He started to say more, since he could be more honest, but the doorbell rang. "Crap. Uh, I know you have questions and frankly so do I but they're going to have to wait until the kids are gone. And please, try to refrain from discussing any secret identities you may know, even in private. They have really good hearing." He opened the door. "Hey guys, Steph. This is Rodney McKay and John Sheppard, they're visiting me today. Rodney, John, this is Tom, Bryan," he gestured at the twins, "Jody, and Steph."

Steph gave him a questioning look as they exchanged greetings. "Tom and Bryan too much for you?" she made the obligatory joke.

"I've learned the value of teamwork." He taps alternate dimension in Morse code on the door frame. It won't work for much longer before the kids learn the code, but it's useful today. And for now using it where they can see just has the effect of encouraging them to learn something that might save their lives someday.

Tom made a face. "Come on," he told Bryan. "You can help me choose a recipe." Tom had been getting interested in cooking lately, and with their extended 'family' he had plenty of opportunities to practice. Jody followed them into the house as silently as she did most things, ever-present sketchpad clutched firmly to her chest.

"I take it you can handle things?" Steph asked. The question had nothing to do with the kids.

"Yeah," Tim replied. "I was going to have Richie over to talk physics with Rodney. Other than that it shouldn't be much of a problem."

"Standing right here," Rodney said in a singsong voice.

"Who was talking about you?" Tim asked, raising a brow. "Whenever Richie starts talking physics he wants to try it out by building new devices." John snorted and Tim knew by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that getting Richie and Rodney together was probably a very bad idea. If he didn't know how upset Richie would be with him later when he learned that Tim had had one of the few physicists Richie respected in his clutches and had let him go without contacting Richie, he wouldn't do it.

"So, I guess I'll go to work now?" Steph said. "If you're sure…"

"Have fun," he told her. "And stop worrying so much. What could possibly go wrong with interdimensional travel?" She laughed and waved goodbye as she headed back to the minivan. Tim closed the door. "I guess we should go see what Tom's going to cook, make sure it doesn't have anything anybody's allergic to in it."

"I'm allergic to citrus," Rodney volunteers. "Really allergic. I carry an epi pen everywhere with me, but I'd really prefer not to have to use it and go to the hospital."

"Not to mention the fact that our insurance probably isn't good in this dimension," John pointed out helpfully.

"Oh that's a comforting thought," Rodney said. "As if it wasn't bad enough being here, now if I go into anaphylactic shock I might not even get medical treatment because of your country's screwy medical system."

"I'm sure I could manage something," Tim said mildly. It wouldn't be like it was the first time he'd had to check people without insurance they could use into the hospital on too short of notice to rig something up, and he'd stocked the first aid kit (and periodically checked it to make sure nothing had expired and hadn't been ransacked by the kids) in the house himself, so he knew he could manage anything short of surgery if need be.

While Rodney made sure Tom wasn't going to cook anything with citrus in it (and informed him of his dietary preferences), Tim called Richie. 6 AM wasn't too early to expect a superhero/computer programmer to be up, right?

***

Richie and Rodney hit it off right away, probably because both of them knew what they were talking about and didn't veer out of the realm of physics much. Not that Richie would have gotten upset anyway, but Tim got the impression that Rodney wasn't exactly easy to live with. So they talked physics that even Tim didn't understand much of (Bryan seemed fascinated even though he couldn't have understood even that little. Tim made a mental note to see what he could do to encourage that interest. They were all a little worried that Steph's kids would follow in their parents' footsteps, even though they knew what kind of people they were now and Steph was doing a good job of raising them.) and Rodney's eyes gleamed when he looked at Backpack like he wanted nothing more than to take it apart and Jody sketched as constantly and as quietly as she always did.

"So you're in the military," Tim said to John. "What branch?" He took a bite of one of Tom's Alfred-recipe cookies.

"Air force," John replied and bit into his own cookie. "We don't have these on Atl- where we're from."

"They're not too common here either." Tim gave a little smile. "Special recipe."

"So why do you ask?" John asked.

"Mostly just curiosity," Tim replied. They were silent for a few more moments, watching Richie and Rodney discussing some element of theoretical physics which was probably ten years beyond what the next-most-foremost experts in the field were working on. Pieces of paper on the table rapidly filled up with equations. Everything seemed quiet for now. Finally Tim turned to John. "Want to go to the gym?"

"Do you think it's a good idea to leave the kids with those two?" John asked skeptically. "The house could burn down and they wouldn't notice right now."

Tim waved that concern away. "It's a home gym, so there isn't a problem. Actually, I'd appreciate it if you'd spar with me."

"This isn't going to involve sticks of some sort, is it?" John asked warily. "Because I get enough of those sorts of sparring sessions back home."

"I promise, we can stick to unarmed if you'd prefer. Or whatever you'd like, really. Armed, unarmed, one-handed, using only one combat style, whatever. It'll be good just to have somebody new to spar with."

"Just without the sticks is fine," John assured him. "You ever try to fight somebody with sticks? It's not as much fun as you might think."

"One of my usual sparring partners, Dick, uses escrima sticks most of the time. He got this custom cane that he can take apart to turn into them." Tim made a face. "He hasn't been much of an opponent since he got shot because his mobility's so reduced. I can actually beat him half the time."

***

John hit the mat for the fifth time in a row. "How did you do that?" he demanded when he got his breath back.

Tim offered him a hand and helped him up. "You're me and I'm you, all right? For the purposes of this demonstration. So when I move like this," he made the move John had made seconds earlier, "you grab me there. No, higher. Yeah," he said as John grabbed him in what was apparently the right way. "So I'm moving like this, and if you kind of twist your hips and tug…" he landed on the mat like John had.

"What's that, aikido?" John asked, helping Tim up.

"No, it's, uh…" Tim rubbed his forehead. "I can barely remember anymore. Oh yeah! I learned it from somebody in the League of Assassins, so I have no idea what it's from, really. Sorry I used it on you, I didn't mean to use anything exotic, but it's been so long since I limited myself that I forgot." He suddenly realized that that might sound rude or cruel, but he didn't mean it that way. "I mean…"

John waved it away. "I know what you meant, don't worry about it. Teyla and Ronon make fun of my hand-to-hand abilities often enough that it doesn't really bother me anymore, especially when I'm learning something from getting beat up. And you're a good teacher."

"Well I am a professor of criminology," Tim said drily. "I should hope I'm good at teaching."

***

Jody was using the scanner to scan in her sketches like she always did (she emailed them all to Kyle, who critiqued them even when he couldn't actually make it back to Earth), Tom was playing a game on one of the computers, and Bryan was still fascinatedly listening to Richie and Rodney when Steph got back from work. The kitchen probably looked like there had been a food explosion in it as always, but Tim hadn't checked yet. Besides, the food was worth it.

"Steph!" Jody exclaimed, and showed her sketches to Steph with her usual brilliant grin. Most of them appeared to be of Richie and Rodney (and Backpack), but she'd done a few of him and John too. He hadn't noticed her being in the gym. Maybe she was picking up stealth skills just from being around the former Robins. Tim understood how Jim Gordon had felt when he'd told Batman he should wear a bell like a cat.

"Bryan seems interested in physics," Tim told Steph.

"Does he understand any of it?" she asked.

"It's cutting-edge theoretical physics that'll probably be put into action in less than a week," he pointed out. "I don't understand much of it. The pictures probably help, though."

"They're drawing pictures?" Her mouth quirked.

"Just little sketches. And every time they say something remotely comprehensible Jody sketches it. Her sketches are much prettier."

"I don't doubt it," she replied. "Jody's a good artist."

***

The kids and Steph had gone home and Richie and Rodney still didn't show signs of letting up. Eventually Tim decided to just butt in, as neither of them was giving anybody enough time to start speaking without interrupting them. "So, do you think you can fix the whole dimensional thing?"

"Yeah yeah," Richie said dismissively. "We just need to get access to the dimensional travel machine I know Batman must have. It shouldn't be difficult to get a lock on their home dimension." He turned back to Rodney. "So have you tried…" the rest of his sentence was gibberish to Tim.

Tim slumped down on the couch, groaning. It was kind of embarrassing going to Bruce with every little dimensional problem he ran into (okay, he didn't run into them often, but it was Bruce, so it felt like a lot more than it actually was). Not to mention awkward. They didn't talk much in the normal course of things.

"So can we discuss the…you know…now?" John asked. "Because I must say, I'm a little bit freaked out at the thought of meeting Batman."

"Don't get your hopes up too high," Tim replied. "He's not exactly easy to live with. Or work with."

"Hey, I've read a few comics," John said. "I believe you. But still…he's Batman."

Tim picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey Bruce? It's me…"

***

Bruce was at his most Batmannish, standing there and glaring at the intruders in his Cave (and at the guns they had with them). Richie and Rodney were absorbed in making the device work, while John wandered around and looked at the various trophies ("Wow, that giant penny's kind of intimidating in person"). In the interests of keeping the peace, Tim followed John and told him the stories behind the trophies. Most of them he'd known the stories to since before he even considered becoming Robin, since before he revealed himself to Bruce and Dick and Jason and Alfred.

He hadn't been in the Cave or the Manor since before Alfred had died. His absence was obvious in the thin layer of dust over everything, in the pile of clothes on a chair, in the MREs and Power Bars that Bruce had obviously been living on, from the evidence in the unemptied trash.

Richie had been right, and it didn't take long for the dimensional gateway to be set up. "I'd say see you later, but as fun as this has been I'd prefer not to repeat it," John said. "Who knows what freaky alternate reality we might end up in next time?"

"Likewise," Tim said. John and Rodney stepped through the gateway, taking pages of equations and copies of sketches with them.

Regrets

He doesn't regret pushing them so hard during training. Every drop of sweat they'd shed had saved them at least one in blood, had kept them from becoming just more birds who flew into panes of glass and broke their necks. He doesn't regret saving their lives.

What he regrets is pushing them away. They'd only been kids, and he'd pushed them away when they'd needed him most. When he'd needed them most. He'd done his best to teach them that nobody was to be trusted (even himself), and he regretted that it had worked so well. He regrets that he's so bad with those he's closest to, that he's shoved them so far away, that they think he doesn't want to remain in contact with them if they aren't in the business anymore. Sometimes he fears that they know how he feels and just don't want to speak to him.

What he regrets is that even though he can race into a field of gunfire without a second thought, he can't manage to raise the courage to pick up the phone and call one of them.

Broken

Your shaking hands can't hold on any longer and the vase tumbles to the floor, where it shatters into hundreds of sharp, beautiful shards. "Only a Ming," you reassure him, "I'm sure I can fix that right up," but he can't hide his worried look from you. You know it isn't because your age-borne clumsiness has broken a priceless work of art he couldn't care less about, but because you're clumsy in the first place. He's already hired a cleaning service to clean the rest of the Manor, but no matter how worried he is about you, no matter how much he wishes you would recognize your own limitations (perhaps he understands, a little, what it is like to be you now), he won't allow them into the study. And you refuse to allow any room in the Manor to fall below your standards of cleanliness. You go and get a brush and a dustpan.

As you sweep up the glittering shards, your mind wanders as it so often does these days. The vase reminds you of him, a little. Possibly a lot. It had been so beautiful on the shelf, like many other vases, but then it had fallen and broken into equally beautiful, but many times more dangerous, shards of porcelain. You had to be so careful when gathering up the shards, to make certain they didn't cut you through no fault of their own. And, like the porcelain, Bruce's psyche would never be whole and healed again. The other members of their little family made at least some little effort to repair their psyches, to glue the shards back together in some approximation of a vase like most people did, but he didn't. You had tried so hard, when he was young and over the years, to help him, but all you could do was put the broken shards in a box (you couldn't use bags for this sort of thing, they broke too easily) and hope that someday he would set to work repairing it on his own. You had known it was futile almost from the beginning.

You cut your finger on one of the shards, and you know it's your fault, as it has always been when you were wounded by him, for not wearing gloves, for not having a thicker skin. The shard can't help that it's so sharp. You bandage your finger and finish picking up the porcelain. For a moment you consider not throwing it away, but that idea is ridiculous. It's just a broken vase. You throw it away.

Christmas (Dick)

"I just wanted you to know that you can spend Christmas with us if you want to," Amy said. "I don't know whether you have anybody else…" She trailed off in an invitation for him to share.

"I'm spending Christmas in Gotham," Dick said. "Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow your car."

"My car?" she said.

"Yeah, I have a lot of presents, and you would not believe how hard it is to rent a car this close to Christmas."

"Can you even drive a car?" she asked, amused at the thought of Dick voluntarily using transportation other than his bike.

"Well, I'll have to ice my knee afterward, but it shouldn't be too bad," he replied. She hadn't even thought of that. "And yes, I have a license," he answered the question she meant, smiling. "Just because I prefer my bike doesn't mean I don't know how to drive a car."

"All right," she said. "But you'd better not drive it like you drive your bike."

"I promise I won't," he replied. She didn't believe him even a little.

Tail

"I was tailed," Jason said, amused. "She'll probably get the directional mike set up in another second or so."

They kept the conversation to safe topics. It wasn't hard; Tim had just gotten another book published, and they had all read it, and the twins had been learning to cook from Alfred with excellent results. When the waiter came around, Jason ordered another meal with hot chocolate, saying that someone else was coming soon and that it was cold outside so they'd appreciate the hot chocolate. The waiter walked away, and he said, "Well, Selina? We know you're listening, why don't you do it inside?"

Sheepishly, Selina put away her directional mike and went inside to sit at the table with them. "How long have you known?" she asked.

"Since I left the apartment," Jason said. "You were a bit less than subtle."

"What are you talking about?" she protested. "I was subtle! Nobody else has ever noticed me tailing them."

The Robins exchanged glances and smiles (they knew a few people who had, like Batman and themselves). "Oh please," Jason said. "Even the blind noticed you tailing me." He looked her in the eye, and his glare chilled her to the bone. "Don't do it again."

"I just wanted to know where you go all mysterious-like," she said.

"Now you know," Jason said. "It's nothing that involves you."

"So what are you going to do if I do it again?" she asked.

"Dick is a police officer, and he'll arrest you," Jason said promptly. "There are a more than a few laws you've broken tonight."

"He'd have to catch me first," she said, eyeing the cane.

"It's after dark," Jason pointed out. "If you run, Batman will probably catch you on principle."

"Fine," she said sullenly. "I won't listen to your conversations." She doesn't promise not to follow him, but he hadn't expected her to.

Wedding (Selina)

"Selina Kyle, right?" one of the grooms says to her. It should seem strange for someone making that small of a smile to look so happy, but he looks positively blitzed at the thought of getting married. "Jason's told me so much about you."

"Oh?" she says. "Good things, I hope." She realizes that she has no clue how much Jason had let any of these people know about what they do for a living.

"Mainly that he works the night shift with you," Tim says, which…could mean that he knows or that he has no idea. Right. Someone calls him from across the room, and he says, "it's nice to see that Jason's found somebody to settle down with" and disappears into the crowd before she can even choke on the wine she'd just sipped.

Former Robins' Club Timeline

Dick becomes Robin [Tim is 3]

Tim realizes Dick=Robin and begins stalking [Tim is 9]

Dick quits as Robin and becomes Nightwing

Jason becomes Robin

Jason quits as Robin

Barbara is shot by the Joker

Tim becomes Robin [Tim is 13]

Dick moves to Bludhaven and becomes a police officer

Steph becomes Spoiler

Dick quits as Nightwing

Tim meets Bernard

Jack finds out Tim is Robin, Tim quits [Tim is a junior in high school]

Stephanie becomes Robin, Tim and Stephanie break up

Stephanie quits as Robin, becomes Spoiler again

Stephanie and Tim graduate high school, Steph quits as Spoiler

Dick gets promoted

Tim and Bernard start dating & quickly get serious

Tim, Bernard, and Steph get bachelor's degrees

Steph starts social work

Tim gets his doctorate

Tim starts writing his first book

Dick is kneecapped

Tim's first book is published

Tim and Bernard get married

Steph adopts/fosters the twins

Gordon dies

Steph fosters Jody

Alfred dies

Bruce quits as Batman

Terry becomes Batman

The Robins write their Robin book and leave it with Barbara

Bruce dies

Max becomes Oracle

Matt becomes Robin

Musings on Death (Jason)

Jason never lets anybody get close. He learned before he was ever Robin that the people you love are only a liability. The streets, the people of Gotham don't care how close you are to anybody. They rip you away from them more violently than you can hold on to them, and you wind up alone again, and all you have to show for loving someone is empty arms and memories of happier times to compare your current situation to. Jason knows from personal experience that that makes things worse, not better, so he keeps a barrier of attitude and anger between himself and anybody who tries to get closer. And that works on the streets, where nobody wants to get close to a ratty street punk anyway, and accepts his attitude without comment.

But then he's off the street, and thrust into a new world where jeans without holes in the knees aren't his best pair of pants, they're his worst, and he's not only going to school, he's going to some fancy school where he sticks out like a sore thumb even though they all wear uniforms, and Alfred washes his mouth out with soap if he curses. And he's also Robin, which is unlike being on the streets even though he's on them some of the time, and unlike the rich world he's been thrust into, because he's allowed to get in fights but not to have an attitude (he doesn't even want to think about what Batman would do to him if he cursed). And without his attitude he doesn't know how to push people away so he finds himself with a family of sorts, a family that is closer than anything he's ever heard of and yet more distant at the same time, and he can't keep himself from caring about them.

People die, that's the way of the world. And when they die, they leave behind an empty place in his heart. And the only thing time does to that empty place in his heart is make it larger.

Superhero Students

Tim had, actually, had a large number of superheroes in civilian guise in his classes over the years. Some of them knew he knew, and others had no clue. Most of them never had any idea that they were in the same class as some of their colleagues. It didn't, any of it, make any difference to Tim. Sure, sometimes they came to class or exams after they'd been doing battle for 48 hours straight, but that was no reason to be lenient. They were in his class because he taught what they needed to know (or at the very least, should know), and when they had to use the knowledge they gained in his class they wouldn't have the luxury of asking for an extension. The people they were tracing down wouldn't make it easier on them because they'd been sleeping during class. And, yeah, few of his superhero students returned to thank him for what he'd taught him, because most of them didn't know who he used to be or that he knew who they were, and it could be kind of awkward if they returned and said, "Thanks for teaching that so well, it really saved my bacon," and he asked them when it saved their bacon and they couldn't say anything because it was when they were chasing down Mirror Master. But he still had friends in the community, and they told him how all of his former students raved about him, and how there was a definite difference between those who'd taken his classes and those who hadn't.

Dimensions (1)

Jack and Tim are walking out to the car from the restaurant when there's a flash and the car's gone. And while Jack's still staring incredulously at the spot where his car isn't, Tim's looking around at everything else.

"Oh SHIT," Tim says, and Jack's torn between chewing him out for cursing, trying to remember if he's ever heard Tim curse before, if he ever does curse, and wondering what could be bad enough to make Tim curse. To put an expression that terrified and that upset on Tim's face. And then he knows, because Tim says "Time and/or dimensional travel."

"What does that mean?" Jack asks. "I mean, I know what it means, but not…"

"What it means," Tim finishes for him. "What it means is that we need to get out of the open and find a newspaper, as fast as we can."

"Have you done this before?" Jack asks, because Tim is both freaked out and acting like he knows what to do. And if anybody had gone to alternate dimensions…

"No, but it's a protocol Bruce made sure I was familiar with." Tim turns and looks him in the eye to emphasize his next point. "There are a lot of pitfalls we can make, so I'm in charge, okay? And my orders aren't open to debate."

"But-" Jack starts to protest, until Tim cuts him off.

"Look, Dad, normally you can pull rank on me. But I have the training for this and you don't. The least that could happen to us is getting killed. This has the potential to destroy everything in the universe, and I'm not exaggerating even a little."

Jack takes a second to think about that, and, yeah, he thinks maybe Tim should be in charge. "Okay. So, newspaper?"

***

The newspaper obviously proves something to Tim, but Jack doesn't know what so he asks.

"The date's the same, so we're dealing with dimensional travel instead of time travel," Tim says. "So we don't have to worry about changing the timeline or being seen, but our money might not be good here. Almost everything in the paper is the same, so we might be in luck, and able to get B. to ring the JLA or whip up something to get us back without spending much time here."

"What's the worst that can happen?" Jack asks, and it's more than a little worrying that Tim pauses before answering.

"…You really don't want to know," he says. "It's the multiverse, so anything that can happen, could potentially have happened in this universe. The only kind of bad things that can happen are things like there being no way home. And this world seeming sane from its newspapers but not, actually, being something we can stand dealing with."

"…Those things are only kind of bad in your book?" Jack asks faintly.

"Not my book," Tim says. "The book of dimensional travel. Trust me, there are some dimensions you really, really want to avoid."

"I believe you," Jack said fervently. Their dimension had enough horrible things in it that he can guess at what worlds worse than theirs could be like, and it chills him to the bone. Tim probably has a better idea of the true extent of the depths humans can sink to. "What next?"

"We turn off our cell phones," Tim says, and does so. "Nobody from our dimension can get through to us. Well, maybe some of the magic-users can, but they wouldn't call our cells anyway. And if we have the same numbers as people in this dimension we might intercept calls meant for them, which could be annoying. And then we find a pay phone."

"I don't know if there are any in this area," Jack says. "Everybody has cell phones now."

Tim thinks. "It's been a while since I've been in this area, so I'm not absolutely certain, even aside from the dimensional issues, but I think there's a phone around that corner." They round the corner, and Tim's right. "Let's hope the number's the same in this dimension," he mutters, and dials without putting in any money.

"Hello?" says the voice on the other end of the line, and Tim almost drops the phone because it's Oracle, and there hasn't been an Oracle for almost a year now, and this number has always been Bruce's emergency number in his dimension.

"Oracle?" he says, a little hesitantly.

"Robin?" she says, and he knows she's puzzled even though he can't hear it through the voice filter. "Why are you in Gotham instead of with the Titans?"

"I really can't talk about it on an unsecured line," he says. "And I don't know if things are enough the same here for this to work, but: meatloaf and Cheerio's."

There's silence on the other end of the line, and then she says "I'm going to transfer your call to A. I'm not in Gotham right now."

"Master 'R'," Alfred says, in that proper-yet-mocking way he has. "I'm told you have a 'meatloaf and Cheerio's' situation."

"It's just 'T'," Tim says. "And yes. And we need pickup."

"We, Master 'T'?" Alfred asks. "You're not alone?"

"My dad's here with me," Tim says. "We're at the corner of Miller and Lee."

"I shall come fetch you posthaste," Alfred says, and Tim hangs up. Jack looks a question at him.

"Alfred's going to come pick us up," Tim says. "Once we're at the Cave we'll hopefully be able to get this all sorted out."

"Alfred?" Jack asks. "Not Bruce?"

"Not unless you want to get swarmed by paparazzi," Tim snorts. "And it's still daytime, so it isn't like he can come pick us up in the other car, not that there would be room."

"You seemed kind of…surprised, on the phone," Jack says.

"I was," Tim says. "Things are the same, but they're different, and it's easier to see the differences the closer we are to what we're used to. Like, we won't notice if Maryland has a different senator, but Oracle still being Oracle threw me for a loop. That kind of thing."

"Oracle?" Jack asks. Somehow he doesn't think Tim's referring to the Greek Oracle.

"Tech whiz. Used to be-" Tim presses his lips together firmly. "Sorry. Not my secret." Jack nods. He thinks he's getting the hang of this, a little. They wait in silence until Alfred pulls up.

"Master Timothy!" Alfred exclaims as they climb in. "And…Mr. Drake?" He looks worried.

"He knows everything, Alfred," Tim says. "And we really do need to talk to Bruce as soon as possible."

Opening Up

Jack is surprised the first time it happens. Intellectually he knows that Tim was Robin, but Tim isn't, has never been, very talkative, very open. He was in Gotham during No Man's Land, too, and Jack had known about that even before it had ended, but Tim had never said anything about that unless he was asked directly. Even then, he never said much. So Jack is surprised.

"I caught him once," Tim says, gesturing at the TV screen.

"What was he like?" Jack asks. He isn't sure he wants to know any more about the man who could have killed his son. One of the men. But a sick sense of curiosity draws the question out of him.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Tim says flippantly. "He wasn't much of a challenge. Closer to the ones we laugh about than the ones who give me nightmares." By we he means him and other people who were or had been superheroes.

"You have nightmares?" he asks, and then mentally kicks himself. He's seen Tim having them, but he'd always thought they were just normal nightmares, or about NML. He should have realized.

"Some things will give anybody nightmares," Tim says, and he's using the Robin voice that Jack's only heard a few times before, like it's the only way he can keep his voice under control as he thinks about whatever gives him nightmares (and it's Tim, who used to fight supervillains while getting straight A's and not letting on to anybody, so whatever it is, it has to be bad), because he's trained his Robin voice to be even no matter what. And then he reaches out and hugs Tim, and it shouldn't feel so foreign to hug your own son, but it does. And Tim's stiff because he isn't expecting it and it's foreign to him too. And then he relaxes, and it's all right that he has to force himself to do it, because he isn't hiding it from Jack.

Nightmares

Tim had a lot of nightmares. He suspected they all did; on the job they saw a lot of the kinds of things that, when seen even once, caused nightmares. But they never talked about them. Of course. Not even when the screams in the middle of the night kept others up. And of course they couldn't talk to anybody outside of their "family" about them. Nobody else dealt with what they did. Tim had always been quiet, though. He never woke with a mouth hoarse from screaming and angry people banging at his door. But when he had a nightmare (and some of them were more memory than nightmare, which somehow only made it worse) he woke in a disaster zone, anything within reach of him mauled and thrown across the room.

When he started sleeping with Bernard, he never actually slept, never allowed himself to sleep, contenting himself with the catnaps he'd used while he was still Robin. But Bernard was more observant than he was given credit for, and noticed. And that was nice, having somebody who cared whether he got enough sleep, but if he described his nightmares Bernard would try to comfort him by telling him they were just nightmares, and he couldn't explain that they weren't, that they were things that he'd seen, and not just the usual kind of bad things that everybody saw if they were there for No Man's Land, but the sorts of things that sent hardened, cynical cops running for the bathroom or a bucket or a piece of alleyway that wasn't part of the crime scene, and the reason that he knew that's the sort of things they were is because he saw them running and swallowed down his bile and repressed and now the images only came up in his nightmares or if he heard something on the news that triggered a memory. Which was why he didn't watch the news, because he could imagine what even the worst crime scenes looked like from the smallest, driest description.

And then one night he was with Bernard and he fell asleep in Bernard's arms, and that showed the level of trust he had of Bernard because he couldn't fall asleep in the presence of just anybody, he was too alert around them. He could barely fall asleep in his father's presence, only after making an effort and maybe meditating a little, but with Bernard he fell asleep when he didn't even want to, when he knew he shouldn't, that Bernard was too close. But he couldn't stop himself, and when he woke up he'd had another of his nightmares and Bernard's room was trashed and he had a black eye. And Tim couldn't stand it, couldn't stand knowing that he was the reason Bernard got hurt, couldn't even stand to look at Bernard, so he threw on some clothes without even looking at them and ran from the room.

Bernard found him hours later on the roof of the library. He stayed far back from the edge, where Tim perched, and tried to talk to him.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Bernard said, and Tim recognized that voice, it was the same one he used to talk down suicides. And Tim might have found that almost funny if he didn't know how it looked that he was standing with his toes over the edge of the roof. "I looked in your room and you weren't there."

"I'm not going to jump," Tim said, and he could tell that Bernard jumped, a little, even though he was looking out over the campus and not at Bernard.

"I wasn't afraid of that," Bernard said a little too quickly. He would make a terrible suicide negotiator. Tim did a cartwheel, because he could, and to hear Bernard gasp, and then he turned around and looked at him.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked, like they were talking about the weather or something, instead of breaking up, and he'd be a lot more pleased with himself if he didn't know he could keep calm in situations a lot worse than this. Situations he had nightmares about.

"I'm here because I want to see what I can do to get my boyfriend to come back to bed," Bernard said, and he looked like he wanted to get closer to Tim but was afraid that Tim would take a step back and go over the edge. And Tim knew he was trying to make peace, to show that he didn't mind the black eye, but he didn't understand.

"I. I'm not," Tim said, and started looking anywhere but at Bernard. "I can't hurt you again."

"Who says you're going to?" Bernard asked lightly, but he wasn't as good at concealing his feelings as Tim was, and Tim thought that maybe he was remembering the thing with the mugger.

"The nightmares. I have them a lot," Tim said, and he wished that Bernard would just accept that and go, but he knew he wouldn't.

"Maybe I could tie you up," Bernard said, and Tim could feel himself twitch as he remembered all the times he'd been tied up, all the jokes about the "boy hostage", the fact that the ropes wouldn't be any help at all to Bernard because he'd trained until he could literally untie himself while he was asleep. And the nightmares about being tied up. "Hmm, maybe not," Bernard continued. "And I'd really rather save separate beds for plan C. So I guess you'll just have to teach me to defend myself."

And that was a good idea, one Tim should have thought of before, because it wouldn't be too difficult to teach Bernard enough to keep from getting hurt by Tim's sleep reflexes, at least for long enough to wake Tim up.

Jim (2)

Everything about this is surreal. For one thing, all four of them are on the roof together. And it's a little less surreal, because none of them are wearing a costume, so it's just like their regular meets. Except it's on a rooftop. This rooftop. And there isn't a signal shining into the sky, or Batman popping out of the shadows. There aren't shadows, it's the middle of the day, and they're in civvies even though they got up to this roof with the line guns they'd all kept. And they'd talked to Gordon during the day, in civvies, and on this roof, but never both at once, so it was familiar and yet completely different. Especially since they'll never speak to Gordon again.

There's a noise on the stairs, and they get ready to leave, but when the door opens it's Montoya, who's seen them with Gordon, and who's obviously been crying, and she yells down the stairwell that she doesn't see anybody on the roof. And she leaves them alone with their grief.

Jim

Jim's never been sure if he approves of the whole vigilante thing. It would help if he ever saw Batman for more than a few minutes when Batman said as little as humanly possible and disappeared mysteriously. It would help if he could get to know the man. But if he could, he supposed that he wouldn't be Batman any more. And as infuriating as it could be, Jim couldn't deny that Gotham needed Batman.

And then one day, Batman showed up with a partner, a sidekick, and it's a kid, a boy who should be going to school and playing and certainly not dealing with the types of crimes that Batman dealt with. But he seems to enjoy this life, seems like he was born to do it, and his cheerfulness seems to make Batman a little bit more cheerful. Not a lot, no, but Jim thinks he almost saw Batman crack a smile once. Almost. And he's so bright and cheerful that he seems to drive the darkness back an essential bit. So Jim doesn't say anything except for in the very beginning. And when the boy isn't killed he relaxes, a little, until he sees that it's not only the brightness that affects the shadows, that the darkness is dimming the boy's enthusiasm, his cheer. And, no, normally it's not a lot, no more than his cheer affects Batman, but that's still some. And Jim wants to do something but he knows it's too late.

And then one day there is no Robin, and a new hero calling himself Nightwing comes by and proves that he used to be Robin. And it almost breaks Jim's heart because he can see that the years of walking through darkness have taken their toll on the kid, that no matter how cheerful he acts it's just that, an act, at least in part.

And there's a new Robin almost immediately, and Jim wonders where Batman finds them, because this Robin is almost completely unlike the other. Nightwing moves like a dancer or a gymnast who had been taught martial arts, but this Robin moves like the kids on the streets, like he's planning to grow up to become a thug. And he brings his own sort of brightness to the duo, but it's always sharper, more dangerous. And Jim isn't afraid for this Robin so much as he's afraid for those he goes up against.

And then the second Robin is gone, and Jim is afraid for him, until Nightwing shows up (of course it's Nightwing; Batman would never voluntarily share the information) and tells him that the second Robin quit for personal reasons and isn't "in the business" any more. And Jim is grateful that the kid had gotten out while he still could. He doesn't think Nightwing is going to quit any time soon.

And then he isn't quite so glad, because after a short period of higher than usual Bat-related injuries he finds out that Batman has found another hapless young boy to drag into vigilantism. And this one is more cerebral than the other two were, less of a daredevil or an athlete. He doesn't do handstands on the low wall around the roof, and sometimes figures things out before Batman does. And it seems like he's forcing the being cheerful thing, like he'd really rather be quiet but it's his job to be cheerful. And this one's so logical that Jim thinks maybe he can talk him out of it, but when he tries the boy just replies "Batman needs a Robin" and disappears as well as Batman does.

And then Batman's without a Robin again, and it takes a few days during which Jim is terrified for the boy for somebody to tell him what happened. And this time it isn't Nightwing, it's two guys in normal clothes, one of them with Nightwing's domino and the other with a red one. And he'd heard that Nightwing had dropped off the radar, but he'd though it was because he was undercover or something, not because he'd quit. A wave of relief runs through him, and he realizes that the other one must be the second Robin. And they tell him that Robin's father made him quit. For a moment he wonders if they realize how much information they're dropping, until he realizes that they know exactly how much they're telling him, that they trust him in a way that Batman can't or won't.

And then there's a new Robin, and this one's a girl, and blonde, and as cheerful as the first two had been, but she doesn't seem to have the same rapport with Batman that the others had had, and he wonders about that until she comes by in a purple and black costume and tells him she'd learned that he'd only agreed to let her be Robin to try to get "Ti- Robin" to come back.

There are no more Robins after that. But sometimes four people come and have a cup of coffee with him. They bring their own cookies.

Art

Jody loves her daddy, but she knows that he's a bad man, and so she's only a little bit sad when he goes to jail even though she'll miss him. The people who come and help her pack after he's arrested say that she'll be able to visit him but they don't say when, and she's been through this before, with Mommy, and so she knows that they're lying. But she doesn't know where the police took him so there isn't anything she can do about it.

At first she's taken to someplace where they ask her a lot of questions and give her a Happy Meal to eat. And she's trying to help them, but she doesn't know the answer to a lot of the questions they ask her, and besides they're boring. She wants to go home and play with her Barbies but she knows she won't be going home ever again because she isn't stupid and she knows that when both of your parents go to jail you go away and nobody ever sees you again. And she'd be more worried about what's going to happen to her but Daddy had told her that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her no matter what. So she draws a picture while the grown-ups talk. And then they make a decision, and a man takes her to a house which isn't her house, with a family which isn't her family, and she tries to pretend she's happy about it but she misses her daddy even if he is a bad man. And when she gets kicked out of three houses in a row because she has nightmares and when she has nightmares they come true while she's sleeping she's only a little sorry because the people who lived in those houses were nice and didn't deserve it.

And then she's sent to live at a house with a woman with blonde hair and two boys who are older than her. And the boys say that their daddy is a bad man too, and that he's in jail too. And she asks them if they've seen their daddy since he went to jail, and they say that they get to see him as often as they want because Steph takes them. And they tell her that their daddy isn't as nice as Jody's daddy, and so sometimes they used to be afraid that he'd come and get them, but then they saw Superman talking to Steph, and when he raised his voice they could hear that he didn't want her to be taking care of them, but then she'd yelled at him and he'd flown away, and so they aren't afraid that he'll come for them any more, because even Superman's afraid of Steph. And they say that she doesn't even mind that they're metas, and that she'd even found this guy to teach them how to fly, and even though he's sort of a dork he knows a lot about flying. And Jody asks what's a meta, and they tell her it's somebody who can do more than other people can do, and she asks if they mean like if they're really smart, and they say no, and she says that she thinks she might be a meta.

That night she wakes up from another nightmare to see Steph dodging around the creature her mind had made and she starts to cry even as the monster disappears because she knows she's going to get kicked out again and she doesn't want to be bad but she really doesn't have a choice because she's asleep when it happens. But Steph just hugs her and says that she has some ideas about how they can make her nightmares better or at least keep her from projecting them. And Jody falls asleep in her arms and doesn't have any more nightmares that night because if Superman's scared of Steph then the monsters must be too.

The next day she gets to go and see her daddy, and she tells him about what's been happening to her and gives him a picture she drew after the guard looks at it. And she asks if he's made any friends yet, and he says that some of his friends are already in here, but nobody she knows. And then they're out of time and she gives him a hug before they have to leave, because she's happy that he has friends in there. And after she and Steph get back to the house, one of Steph's friends comes over and while he's over he looks at her drawings and says they're good, but she tells him that they don't match what's in her head. And he says he's an artist and maybe he can help her out with that, and she's thrilled because she's never met a real artist before. And it's years before she learns that Kyle is also one of the Green Lanterns and teaches her how to make better thought constructs. But she never follows in his steps and becomes a superhero, or in her parents' steps and becomes a supervillain, because it's far more interesting to use her abilities to make art. Her daddy goes to every show she has art in, even if he has to break out of prison to do it.

Mourning Rituals (Steph)

It was strange to be in the Manor without the old man, but not as strange it could have been; Terry and Bruce hadn't spent much time up there even when he'd been alive, so Terry didn't have the memories of Bruce that he had when in the Cave or on patrol. And the Manor had always been empty, and creepy in its emptiness, so that hadn't changed. The only thing truly different was that that small portion of the manor which was taken up by Bruce (it always seemed like he took up more space than he really did, which was maybe some special Bat-trick and maybe just Bruce being Bruce) was now empty. There wasn't even a lot he could do in terms of packing up Bruce's old possessions because the guy only used four rooms in the whole Manor and at some point somebody who wasn't Bruce (Bruce's handwriting was blocky all-caps, only neat because it was more efficient that way, but this handwriting was graceful, like whoever had written in it had practiced for years to get the perfect handwriting) had packed up all sorts of things that, presumably, Bruce didn't use but wanted to keep. Or the mysterious packer had wanted him to keep, and that was an intriguing thought because if somebody had made Bruce keep things he hadn't wanted to keep, for years, that somebody must have an amazing force of personality and Terry wanted to meet them. Only, he didn't think he'd ever have the opportunity, because some of the boxes were labeled in the same handwriting but it was shaky, like the writer hadn't been able to keep their hand steady. And the possessor of the handwriting didn't strike him as somebody who'd leave them like that if they possibly could fix it.

The gate bell rang, and he was glad the Manor was so wired for an old house, because it meant that there was a security console in every room and he didn't have to go traipsing over half the Manor to see that the woman from the group of four at the funeral was at the gate in a minivan.

"Go away," he said through the intercom, but instead of taking him at his word (of course she didn't listen to him, she was one of them, whoever they were, and trained by Bruce) she turned the van off and got out, carrying a canister. Then she flipped over the gate, and it was weird to see her do that because she looked like his mom except older. And Terry thought Ace would attack her (he sometimes still growled at Terry, even), but she must have had something that kept him from doing that (did the guy with the cane, who he now knew was Richard Grayson because he'd done a face recognition on the images on the security tapes, have it too? Terry wondered belatedly) because he just followed on her heels until she reached the Manor and he opened the door.

"You're not going to attack me too, are you?" he asked a little apprehensively. Sure, she looked like a soccer mom, but she moved like the others, and he'd already had one fight with a member of her little clan. And two fights that were clearly about Bruce.

She laughed like it was the most amusing thing she'd heard in ages, until tears were streaming down her face and she was leaning on the door jamb. "The others might do that, but fighting is the last thing I want to do. I came to bring you cookies." She held out the canister like it was a peace offering, and maybe it was. He decided to treat it as one, because no matter how she moved, everything about her screamed "Mom" to Terry. Not his mom, but somebody's.

"Let's go to the kitchen," he said, and she stepped inside. And it was obvious that she knew her way around the Manor, because she led the way to the kitchen and knew where to find the platters, just like the commissioner did (Bruce was helpless in the kitchen, for all that he'd lived in the Manor for his whole life; he didn't even use the dishes because he couldn't find them, instead preferring to burn microwavable food, and how Bruce had managed that every time was beyond Terry but he had). And she dumped cookies out on the platter, just like the commissioner always did when she felt in the mood to talk (which, okay, wasn't that often, but it was often enough to establish a pattern), but her cookies were homemade, not the store-bought gourmet cookies the commissioner always apologized for but which had nothing wrong with them as far as Terry could tell. And then he took a bite of one of the cookies and he knew why the commissioner always apologized even though she always bought the best commercially available cookies, because really in a competition between these cookies and those there was no contest. And he almost gets lost in the sheer ecstasy of eating these cookies, but discipline had always been Bruce's watchword, so he forces himself to ask (politely, because those cookies were so wonderful and he couldn't force himself to do it any other way even if he wanted to). "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

She smiles, and it's half at the question and half at the memories eating the cookies raises in her. "Stephanie Brown," she said, and the handshake was dry and firm and more than a bit crumby with remnants of cookies. "Call me Steph. I used to be Spoiler. And the fourth Robin."

"The fourth…you mean the four of you…?" and it wasn't a coherent question in anybody's terms, but it was close enough, and she smiled and nodded, and he knew why they moved the way they did, and why Grayson had beaten him so easily. "Wow." And he thought somebody who'd been around back then would have been more amazed, more impressed, but he'd only heard about them vaguely, secondhand, and after they'd been gone for decades. And he knew that Steph could see that, but she didn't seem to care. He tries to think of something to say. "You didn't seem as upset as the others were." He looked up, panicked, because that wasn't what he'd meant to say. "Um. No offense?"

"None taken," she said, but she tore into her cookie like she had something against it. "Bruce was never as close to me as he was to the others." She looked down and gave this sad little smile. "At least Tim's was a compliment, sort of," she muttered, and Terry knew he wasn't supposed to hear that so he pretended he hadn't. "He only hired me because he wanted Tim to return. And partly because he wanted an excuse to make me stop being Spoiler."

"Bruce had…issues," Terry admitted, and it was easier than he'd thought to speak ill of the dead, because it wasn't really speaking ill of him- Bruce's issues were what he loved the most about him, what he missed with every passing second.

"Issues?" Steph said incredulously. "Newsweek doesn't have as many issues as Bruce did." And he had to laugh, because it was true, even if he did feel bad laughing about a dead man. But maybe that's what wakes were invented for, so that you could remember even the amusing things about the deceased without feeling guilty about it. So they shared stories from both ends of his life, and by the time the cookies were all gone (it took a while, even with how good the cookies were, because there were so many of them) Terry's stomach hurt from laughing so long and so hard. And when twilight fell, he didn't have to say anything because Steph gave him a hug and her phone number ("Not that it isn't in the computer, but I want you to know you can call me any time.") and went back over the fence. Terry went down to the Cave and suited up.

Mourning Rituals (Dick)

He's taking down a few more Jokerz before he heads back to the Cave when the Cave intrusion alarm sounds. And he's halfway grateful that he can only say "Is that you?" and doesn't have to specify that he's talking to Max instead of to him, because he knows he's halfway talking to him, halfway hopeful that these past few days have been a dream, that he'll come online with some snark about paying more attention to what he's doing.

Whoever's in the Cave isn't Max, and knows their way around, because the alarm cuts off and when the voice comes through the com it's filtered so he can't tell anything about it. "Not exactly." And that's a Bruce kind of thing to say, and he doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Depends on who it is on the other end. And then he really starts to get worried, because suddenly he's making moves he knows he doesn't have as the suit is controlled from the Cave. "Relax," the mechanical voice whispers in his ear, where his voice should be. "You're going to be fine." And because the voice is filtered he can halfway pretend it's his voice, pretend it's him controlling the suit, and he can't relax exactly, but he can almost trust the voice to keep him safe.

And the Jokerz are all down and restrained, and he can only assume that the voice is making the call to the police that Bruce usually made because he's flipping off the rooftop in a move that he knows is going to make him ache in the morning, and whoever's driving isn't using the thrusters at all, in favor of the line gun that's only there for backup and that Terry only knows about because Bruce had been obsessed with making him learn everything that could be any use to him as Batman and had made him use a suit without thrusters for a month. He'd never been really comfortable with trusting his life to something that didn't look like it could even hold his weight, but the voice is obviously more than comfortable with it, and starts doing all sorts of flips and, like, embellishments of the controlled falling he's doing, until Terry barely knows which way is up and is about to toss his cookies. And then he lands and realizes he's back at the Cave.

"Who do you think you are?" he demands, and never mind that he could have asked at any time while he was going through the city, he wants to know now, and the sight of whoever's been messing with him sitting in the chair like he belongs hits him like a punch in the gut and makes him even angrier than he'd been before. And it doesn't matter when he turns and Terry can see that he's the man with the cane from the funeral, or that he's either a villain or somebody who Bruce trusted very much since he's here, or that he very obviously needs that cane, because Terry's angry, because this is his place, his and the old man's, and nobody else should be here without permission, and he grabs the man by his shirt like he's a perp (every time his internal monologue hits one of the words he'd learned from Bruce it's like a dagger in his heart) before the man can answer and he wants to throw him out of the Cave but he doesn't know whether he came through the manor or through the Cave's direct exit, and he doesn't want to show him the one he doesn't know about.

And then he's somehow split the cane into two parts and he's broken Terry's hold in what would be a very painful way if he wasn't wearing the suit. And he has this blank expression on, like he doesn't want to show anything on his face, only he doesn't do it as well as Bruce does – did – because with Bruce it's his default expression but with this guy it clearly isn't because he has laugh lines (he was probably taught by Bruce), but he's clearly used it so often that it's second nature to him. But after years of dealing with Bruce even the slightest leaks around his mask of non-emotion seem like they're shouting at him (sometimes after he's been dealing with Bruce for long periods of time and goes around other people again the amount of raw emotion he can see feels blinding. Except it won't, any more, because he won't have that emotionless mask to compare it to.). And he can see that the man is in pain, but he's in pain too, so when he attacks he doesn't pretend he's fighting somebody who's whole ("None of us are whole," he remembers Bruce telling the commissioner. "Not inside." And she'd looked so sad that Terry had somehow known that it had nothing to do with why she was in a wheelchair and everything to do with why she and Bruce weren't on great terms.) and he goes straight for the leg, and the man's expecting it (of course he is) and he makes some of the moves that Terry had seen from the inside, and they work as well on him as they had on the Jokerz, and then all he can do is lie on his back while the man reassembles his cane and hobbles up the stairs to the Manor.

When he can finally get up, he finds that all of the files on the computer (even the ones that had been locked for him before, even the ones which were hidden so well that he hadn't known they existed) are accessible to him.

Mourning Rituals (Jason)

It's only a day after the funeral when Terry goes on patrol. And it's not that he doesn't miss the old man, not that he doesn't want to curl into the fetal position and spend a few days crying, but he's afraid that if he starts he won't be able to stop. And he's always heard that work helps when you lose somebody close to you, so he goes out on patrol. Only, perhaps this wasn't the best idea in the world, because he keeps listening for the voice on the other end of the radio, making some sarcastic comment about his form. And it never comes. And that maybe makes him a bit harder on the criminals he runs into than usual, until word gets around and suddenly it's a quiet night and he has nothing to do but fly around and think.

Thinking's the last thing he wants to do, so he's almost grateful when he sees the unmistakable shape of somebody scaling a building, one of the older buildings, and he isn't using the fire escape, he's actually scaling the building, so whoever it is has to be experienced. Terry flies in closer, and he can see that whoever it is has all of the most state of the art burglary equipment, stuff that costs so much that any burglar who can afford it shouldn't have any reason to break into this particular building (and why isn't he using the flight gear, since Terry can see he has it). And since Terry really needs a fight tonight, and it's difficult, if not impossible, to have a really good fight while one fighter is clinging to a building and the other is flying, Terry lets the burglar climb onto the roof before he makes his presence known.

"Boo," he says, camouflage on, thinking he'll startle the guy, but he just cocks his head like he's listening to the little sounds that Terry can't keep from making and turns to look in Terry's direction in that same creepy way that Bruce has – had – and he can see that the guy's wearing one of those little masks, a domino, and that he has grey hair.

"Why, Batman!" the man exclaims, mock-surprised. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"What are you doing here?" Terry demands.

"Just a bit of nostalgia," he says, and takes a swig from a half-empty bottle of vodka Terry hadn't noticed before. He'd climbed a building drunk?

"This isn't the best time," Terry says. "Or the best way."

"Believe me, I know," the man says. "But, you know, it just didn't seem right to do it any other way without the light on."

"The light?" Terry asks, trying to move to get around him, but he moves to keep Terry in front of him.

"The Bat-signal," the man explains earnestly. "I know you're not him, but surely you've heard of it…?"

"I know what the Bat-signal was," Terry says, trying not to think about how this man knows (guessed. It has to be a guess because the alternative is too disturbing to contemplate, especially with the timing) he's not Bruce.

"Ah, good. So anyway, I'm not robbing this place. For one thing I don't pull jobs in Gotham." He pauses and contemplates. "Well, I might now. I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it. But I'm not pulling one now. But I really need someone to fight and you're one of the few people in Gotham who I won't have to hold back on." He takes another drink. "The others have their own ways of grieving but I think you need to hit somebody too." And that's confirmation that he knows who Bruce is – was – and that he's a thief and Terry thinks this is just going to get worse if he thinks about it more. But Terry really does need a fight tonight and the man is standing there in that casually ready position that Terry had learned from Bruce. So he turns off the camouflage and the man tosses aside the bottle to break on the roof, leaving sparkling shards of glass as yet another hazard to think about, and the man takes out some sort of a wavy knife (a kris, the Bruce-trained part of his brain whispers).

And then they're fighting, and Terry tries not to think too much about the fact that the man has some of the same moves that Bruce had had, had kicked his butt with when he'd been deaged in the Lazarus Pit. They're different though, harsher, more violent somehow, like this man had learned from Bruce but didn't draw the line in the same place Bruce did, like he drew it further than Bruce could or would. And Terry's glad that the suit makes him faster and stronger, because the man isn't pulling any punches, or kicks, or jabs with the knife, and he's better than Terry is, and only the fact that the man is middle aged and drunk and the suit helps him keep from getting injured worse than he's ever been in all the years of Bruce whispering in his ear. And he's glad that the man is so good, because it means that there's no time to think about how nobody's going to whisper in his ear again, except maybe Max.

And when the sky starts to change color (they can't see the sunrise here, not in the city, not surrounded by skyscrapers, but they know it's dawn) they stop at the same time, as if it was a signal, and maybe it was. And as Terry flies away home he hears the sound that he recognizes as a line gun being fired and he knows that the man won't be going down the same way he went up.

His pain isn't gone (he doesn't think it ever will be), but he thinks he can bear it, now.

Funeral

If you looked at it the right way, the funeral was almost amusing. The turnout was good, of course; Bruce Wayne had always been a public figure, and everybody who was anybody, or thought they were, made at least a token appearance. But not many of them were crying. Bruce Wayne might have been famous, but nobody really knew him. They were just there because it was the thing to do. But there were also some faces in the crowd who weren't anybody, who came from walks of life that should have precluded knowing a billionaire. And he had been involved in a lot of charities, personally involved (though not as much in his later years, as he became frailer and practically holed up in that mansion of his until his new assistant had somewhat brought him out of his shell). And some of them looked more upset at his death than the people who he usually consorted with. And Wayne's assistant was there, of course, not even trying to hold back the tears streaming down his face. It was rumored that he would inherit everything from Wayne. A few remembered that Wayne had fostered a couple of boys, but they hadn't been seen in years, so who knew if they would inherit anything, or if they were even still alive.

The ceremony was brief. He'd left very specific instructions, so there wasn't a priest, or speeches about his life and how he'd affected everybody. Just the casket and the hole in the ground. So most people only stayed long enough to drop a flower in his grave and be seen by other people, and then they left. But some of them, mostly the people who looked like they were actually upset at an old man's death (and a few people who wanted to find out why they were so upset about a man they couldn't have known well), lingered. But after a time, they, too, drifted away. Most of them left roses that a florist would recognize as Pennyworth Reds. Eventually the massive crowd was reduced to eight: a cluster of four, standing close like they were protecting each other, and another cluster of four, consisting of Terry, Max, Commissioner Gordon, and a man with glasses. The man with glasses said something to Terry and left abruptly. Then the commissioner gently pulled Max away. Terry didn't want to pull anybody away from their grief, but he forced himself to walk over to the remaining four. Their faces didn't show any emotion, but their universally tense muscles betrayed that it wasn't because they didn't feel anything.

"Hey, I don't wanna rush you or anything, but they gotta fill it in sometime," Terry said. He'd never thought he'd be able to speak without breaking down crying at the old man's funeral, but after the first few dozen people had talked to him it had gotten easier. His voice was only slightly rough now. And really, that wouldn't be good enough for Bruce, especially since the tears still ran down his cheeks and he couldn't stop them, but if Bruce and his high standards were still here he wouldn't have a problem not crying.

His words spurred them into action, and one by one they each laid a blue rose on the casket. First the one leaning heavily on a cane, and it looked like it was made out of the same unbreakable material that Bruce's cane had been made out of, and he moved with a dangerous grace which reminded Terry of nothing so much as a leopard. Next was a guy who moved like the thugs Terry had to take down all too often, and had scars on his knuckles which were all too familiar to him, which came from bare-knuckle fighting. The third man Tim recognized from the back flaps of some of the books on criminology that Bruce had insisted he read, and wasn't that interesting, because while he looked like the professor he was, when he moved he didn't make any noise. Last, the woman, laugh and worry lines around her eyes and mouth, and she moved like she knew how to really fight just as much as the other three did, like it had been deeply ingrained in them at an early age and they hadn't forgotten as they aged.

He didn't say anything directly, he couldn't, but he had to say something. "I haven't seen any blue roses before," he blurted, and it should be a stupid thing to say but somehow it isn't.

"You've been working the night shift too often," the fighter said.

"You should take time to smell the roses when you can see them," the woman said with a smile. "Pennyworth Blues were bred on the Manor grounds. You're one of the few people who can see them growing on a daily basis."

"So you were close to Bruce?" Terry asked.

"Not for a long time," cane-guy said, and there was pain there, for all of them, and Terry knew better than to pry. He knew how difficult Bruce had been.

And they were about to leave, he could tell, so he opened his mouth to say something, anything. "I read your books," is what came out, and he was speaking to the author. Drake, he remembed now, Tim Drake. "Bruce. He had me read them."

And Drake froze for a second, not that he'd been moving much before, and then he nodded, like what Terry had told him meant something, like it carried some deep meaning and Bruce had meant it that way. And then they left, together in a way that's as meaningful and as cryptic to Terry.

And then it was just him and Bruce and the deserted graveyard.

Detective's Exam

"You're going to take the detective's exam," Amy said.

"No I'm not," Dick replied reflexively.

"You are," she insisted. "We need detectives, and you're trained."

"I don't want to be a detective." Dick fidgeted.

"I don't care," she said. "You're going to take the test and do just as well as I know you can and become the best damn detective this department's ever had."

"Or?"

"When you got shot and were in the hospital, I got the phone numbers of everybody in your family."

"Bruce gave you his number?"

"Okay, it wasn't everybody. But my point is, I can call them up at any time and find out embarrassing things about you."

"They wouldn't do that to me." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"I think they would. In fact, that's what Alfred encouraged me to do."

"I can't believe Alfred would do that to me," Dick said, shocked, but obviously he could, because he took the exam.

***

"Wow, Dick," Gannon said, amazed. "I didn't know you had it in you. Congratulations, Detective!"

"Thanks," Dick said glumly, looking down at his perfect test results.

Massage

Tim wasn't a morning person by any stretch of the imagination ("Too many late nights," he joked, although Bernard didn't know why it was a joke), but usually he was in better condition than this. Right now, he was curled up in the nest he'd made of blankets on their bed. His only response to Bernard leaving half an hour ago to go eat had been to pull the blankets tighter. And although there was a truly amazing storm outside which would certainly be excuse enough to cut class for Bernard it wasn't like Tim to skip.

"Tim," he said softly and brushed some hair out of Tim's face. "Tim, are you all right?"

Tim groaned and opened his eyes. "It's raining, isn't it."

"It's storming pretty badly. I don't know how you slept through all the thunder."

"I hate rain," Tim said, voice muffled by the pillow. "It always makes everything ache."

"Why don't you skip class today then?" Bernard suggested. "I know I will." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Even if Tim couldn't see it, he'd know somehow.

"I'll be fine once I use the liniment," Tim said, but he didn't move.

"And where, pray tell, is the liniment?" Bernard asked. "The least I can do is help you with it, if you insist on going out today."

"Bottom drawer of my nightstand," Tim said, not raising his head from the pillow.

The liniment looked expensive, like it was something professional athletes used to keep playing sports in the face of injuries that really should bench them for the rest of the season. With the amount of damage Tim's body had taken, Bernard wasn't surprised at all that he had it, but he asked anyway to make conversation as he pulled the blankets down and began to massage the liniment into Tim's body.

"Pretty fancy liniment," he said.

"It's made by Wayne Pharmaceuticals for, well, people who are as banged-up as I am." Tim made a happy noise and seemed to melt under Bernard's touch. "That feels really good."

"It's all part of my master plan," Bernard said.

"Oh yes?" Tim asked. "And what possible use could you have for somebody who's melted into a puddle of goo?" He flipped over on his back.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bernard asked, not stopping his massage as he leaned in for a kiss.

Phone Call

They were heading out the door when Jason's cell rang with the ringtone that he never ignores (and he's got some way to make it ring for the numbers with that ringtone even when his phone is silenced or on vibrate, which can be…really interesting if they're pulling off a heist someplace with sound-activated alarms). She's seen him answer the phone at that ring by rushing out of the shower, while riding his motorcycle, while in the middle of fights, and on heists (sometimes with the alarm shrilling in the background, and that's got to be fun for whoever's on the other end), so she knew he was going to answer it this time. She plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. It was better than being bored.

"Hello?" Jason said, casting her a grateful look. "Oh, you are? Congratulations! But what about-" He listened to the voice on the other end. "Oh, okay…R-point 57? When?" He scribbled something down on a scrap of paper on the desk. "I take it that one's just for us?...Oh, you are? Okay, see you then."

"What was that about?" Selina asked as Jason hung up, an unusually cheerful expression on his face. "You look like the cat who ate the canary."

"My brother's getting married!" he exclaimed, his grin somehow getting larger.

Selina blinked. "I thought you were an only child."

"Well, technically, I am. More or less."

"You aren't making a bit of sense," she told him.

"Biologically, I'm an only child. But Bruce also fostered Dick, so I'm only sort of an only child."

"So Dick's getting married?" she asked.

"Dick? No way, I don't think he's kept a girlfriend for more than two months since he became a cop."

"Ooookay, do you have some other brother who isn't related to you or your foster brother? And how is he your brother if you do?"

"Dick and me and Tim and Steph are just really close…look, I really don't want to go into why. Ever." He glared at her, and really, it shouldn't work so well with the grin still spread across his face, but somehow it did.

"So it's Tim then?" she asked, exasperated. "Who's the lucky lady? And have they set the date yet?"

"The lucky gentleman is Bernard Dowd, and Tim said that they're going to mail the invitations to the public ceremony out soon."

"Public ceremony? They're having more than one?"

"The first one's very private, the guests don't even get plus-ones. But you should come to the public ceremony. It's going to be the party to end all parties, if I know Tim."

"Sounds fascinating," she purred. "So tell me, where's this wedding going to take place?"

"Gotham."

"Gotham?" she said, shocked. "But you hate Gotham! You refuse to even set foot in it!"

"Don't confuse refusing to pull jobs there with hating Gotham," he said. "I love Gotham."

"You made us detour when I was going to go within the city limits to get gas!"

"Gotham has certain…temptations which I would prefer to avoid."

"The temptations of getting gas?"

"The temptation of looking up some people and beating them until they're dead," he snarled, and she flinched. Jason was usually so easy-going, she couldn't imagine what would just make him snap like that. But now she understood why he wanted to stay out of Gotham.

Pushing

Jason doesn't work in Gotham. Actually, he doesn't work in any city with a resident superhero (and he seems to know what they all are, even the ones with C-list heroes who have only been operating for a week), but he's especially vehement about not working in Gotham. And who could blame him, really, with the Bat and all? Except Jason has some moves and could probably give Batman a run for his money even solo. Mostly she doesn't push because he's the best partner she's ever had.

Today isn't one of the days she doesn't push.

"Come on, Jason," she wheedles. "It's barely within the city limits. Batman won't even find out until Monday morning."

"Selina, I told you already that there are certain things I won't do no matter how high the take is," he says. "Inside Gotham city limits is one of them. Messing with anything of Bruce Wayne's is another."

"It's a museum," she says. "It has nothing to do with Wayne."

"That exhibit was donated by him," he replies.

"How do you know that?" she asks. "I don't see anything that says that." She pouts. "What's your deal with Wayne, anyway?"

"He was my foster father," Jason says, his glare challenging. "I saw the paintings around the Manor."

"Your foster father is a billionaire and you got into this business?" she laughs. "What's the matter, Daddy cut you off?"

"No," he says through gritted teeth. "I give most of my take to certain charities. As do you, might I remind you."

"How did you know that?" she asked, surprised. "Same way you know which cities have resident superheroes, I suppose."

"Exactly." He relaxes. "If you really want to go abstract, there's a traveling exhibit going through Cleveland." He tosses her a pamphlet.

"Tell me more," she purrs.

Good Grades

Tim is an excellent tutor. He hasn't even taken physics, and he hasn't even touched Bernard's textbook, but he's explaining the concepts in a way that Bernard understands. Which is a major accomplishment. Bernard hasn't pulled better than C's in science since, well, ever. He still feels lost in the face of how much Tim knows, apparently without even thinking about it, but he'd realized how much he knew when his lab group had stared at him when he'd explained a concept they hadn't understood. He feels a little better now. Tim is just a freak who knows everything about everything, and it doesn't reflect badly on him when he doesn't know as much.

He got his midterm back today, and he actually got an A. He shows it to Tim, and Tim is delighted and kisses him thoroughly. Bernard's exam flutters to the floor as he drops it to get his hands on Tim, to run his nails up and down Tim's back. He can feel Tim's scars through the thin T-shirt and just has to get his hands on them even more, so he slides his hands up under Tim's shirt and pulls it off. Tim makes an unhappy noise at the interruption of their kiss but then his hands are under Bernard's shirt, and then it's off and Tim is kissing him again, urgently, and pushing him backward, and it doesn't bother Bernard that he can't see where he's walking because Tim knows all the obstacles (not that there are many with how clean he keeps his room) and besides his eyes are closed.

And then his legs hit something, and when he falls back on something soft he realizes it's Tim's neatly-made bed, but he can't think of anything but the fact that Tim is so far away and he pulls him down on top of him and then they're kissing again and that's good and they're rubbing together in an entirely too pleasant way and that's better.

He makes a note to himself to keep getting good grades before he stops thinking to just feel.

Sign (Tim)

Tim wants a sign.

He knows that Bernard is attracted to him – Bernard is so expressive with everything that it's difficult to miss, especially to somebody trained by the world's greatest detective. Besides, Bernard touches him even more than Dick does. But Tim doesn't know if Bernard is willing to be anything other than friends; it could be just attraction he didn't want to act upon and if Tim did they wouldn't be friends anymore, or at least their friendship would be different. Every time Bernard puts his arm around Tim in that "We're best friends" way and tugs him close enough that he can smell Bernard's cologne on his clothes hours later when he takes them off Tim goes through his mental decision tree again, but his answer is always the same, even though it's killing him to be so close and yet not close enough. When he tutors Bernard, their heads bent over Bernard's textbook close enough that he can smell Bernard's shampoo, he chants to himself mentally. He isn't interested in that way, he isn't interested in that way.

He's halfway convinced himself of that when Bernard turns and kisses him on the mouth, and it's obvious that it's deliberate but Tim can't get over his shock fast enough to kiss back or do anything at all, really. His heart is pounding like he's just been fighting Shiva and he can feel his eyes are wide and dilated. And then Bernard's pulling back and it's the worst thing in the world but Tim can't make himself move.

"Sorry," Bernard mutters, and Bernard, who always looks people in the eye like it's a compulsion is looking everywhere but at Tim, and it's breaking Tim's heart. "I thought-"

And finally Tim can make himself move, and he's grabbing Bernard's shoulders like he's a perp, like he's going to throw him, and Tim knows his grip is going to leave bruises but that's okay because Tim has his mouth on Bernard's and they're kissing, really kissing, and it's everything Tim's imagined it to be, down to the taste of the coffee (real swill, Tim doubts even the GCPD would drink it. Tim makes a mental note to get some of Alfred's special blend for him). And he thinks he might be bruising Bernard's mouth with the force of the kiss but he can't stop it any more than he can stop the needy, whimpering noises he's making.

Mugging (Tim)

Tim's arms are full of the books (10) which he'd had to order via interlibrary loan, and which had finally arrived. Gotham University's library might be fairly large, but it didn't have enough books on the subjects he was currently studying. Bernard was by his side, barely managing to keep his five books which he'd checked out as research for a paper he had to write from sliding out of his arms and onto the sidewalk as he kept forgetting his arms were full and starting to make hand gestures to accompany his impassioned speech on the subject of…actually, Tim has no idea what Bernard is talking about. He's on the verge of asking when he notices something that doesn't belong, a person-shaped shadow in the shadows. Sure, it could just be somebody standing in the dark, but Tim's painfully developed instincts are screaming at him. Unobtrusively, he places himself between Bernard and whoever's standing in the shadows.

Tim's instincts are proven correct when the man steps out of the shadows holding a dirty (he's obviously mugged unwilling people before) Bowie knife in a way that suggests that he's had a bit of training and isn't afraid to use the knife if he has to. Bernard starts fumbling for his wallet immediately, but Tim can see by the tightening of certain muscles that the mugger isn't going to give him the opportunity to actually get it out before Bernard becomes just another victim of a mugging gone wrong. So Tim throws his books (not as good as batarangs and he'd have to pay fines because some of the pages were getting bent and that one almost certainly tore but they'd practiced throwing various objects in the cave and they fly true) and they're enough of a distraction that Tim gets within the mugger's guard and knocks him out.

And then it's all over except for the cleanup. He kicks the knife away first of all, not touching it other than that because it's evidence and can probably prove that this guy killed at least one more person. Tim misses his zip-strips as he ties the mugger up with his shirt (part of his mind is screaming at him that Bernard can see his scars and some of them can't be plausibly lied about and even if they were he shouldn't have nearly this many), but he'd practiced getting tied up and escaping, and tying people up, that tying secure knots is second nature to him now. Then he calls the police. His voice is as calm as if he does this every day, although it has been years since he had. He can feel Bernard's eyes on him like he's grown another head, but he avoids meeting Bernard's frozen, wide-eyed stare until he can't any more.

Bernard's books finally slide to the ground as Tim's expected them to do since they left the library, and doubly so since the beginning of this altercation. Tim doesn't know what else to do, so he picks them up, alphabetizes, straightens, and offers them back to Bernard, who takes them without his expression changing or a word passing his lips. And then suddenly Bernard's talking, as much as he ever does. As far as Tim can tell, he's resumed their one-sided conversation where it stopped.

Tim thinks he might be in love.