#satire_please needed loves

[iphoenixrising]

Window Seat

My soulmate @satire-please deserves all the love, so a bit more little Timmy with the Bats from here.

 **

The house is always quiet. Even when his mom and dad were home or Mrs. Mac was in the kitchen when he got home from school, the upstairs is always silent, like the museums where his parents donate what they find on digs. He thinks it’s always been like that.

No one ever goes to the upstairs attic, though. The dust is thick and settled, its’ own niche in Drake Manor. There’s one window to look out the back yard and off into the sea (and if you looked really, really hard, you could almost see Wayne Manor up on the bluffs, a dark silhouette in the dawn). The nights he didn’t go out into Gotham with his camera, he usually wound up here, squeezed into the non-existent seat to watch for the headlights of the large, black car that was unmistakable even in full dark.

And tonight, a few days after Robin saved him from a bad fall, and the extraordinary turn of events that put him in their direct path rather than an outsider that just knew their secret, he’s still waiting. At the time, he grudgingly turned over the box of photographs when Robin (Jason) and Nightwing (Dick) brought him home. They were working a hard case and would be gone for a few days, so he did what he was probably expected to do: promised to go to school and stay out of trouble.

He hasn’t gone out into Gotham, and hasn’t heard or bothered them since.  Which…is okay. It’s not a problem for him. He’s used to these kinds of things. Promises from grownups that never come to fruition. Coming home for his birthday. Taking him with them during Christmas break. Being there for the Science Fair.

Sometimes expectations fail. Sometimes you need another plan. Sometimes other things have to take precedent. All the real world truths.

So, it’s really okay. He gets it.

The vigilantes didn’t expect a kid to figure them out, not when they’ve got the whole world fooled. It makes sense they would want to give him something to look forward to, a “reward” for keeping quiet about their secret identities. (And it isn’t like he doesn’t realize how dangerous it is to know, how many of Batman’s enemies would come looking for him just to get the secret, how dangerous he is to them now just because he was too smart for his own good. He’s…he’s a liability.)

By the second night with no word, he’s convinced himself the whole thing is going to amount to checking in on him quarterly to make sure he keeps out of trouble, doesn’t call any attention to himself or them. It’s the adult thing to do. So, he’s going to give it a few weeks, wait until they’ve all but forgotten, and go back to his old haunts. He’ll have to be more careful they don’t catch him so he can’t slip up and accidentally almost kill himself again.

It’ll be fine. He’s got darker clothes to stay closer to the shadows and has been tinkering around with a shooting grapple gun like Robin used. He thinks he might have figured it out, but testing is really going to be the problem.

And…and it is fine (it’s disappointing but inevitable). They didn’t need some kid hanging around when they had criminals to stop and a city to save.

He’s sleepily convinced himself it was all for the best, he already had the one chance to live the life and shouldn’t be too greedy because the reality is nothing but trouble could come from stepping into their world. He could get hurt or die, he could get them hurt if he got caught and they had to come save him. Or they would finally get tired of dealing with him, his endless questions and terrible hand/eye coordination, his fanboy awe and clumsy stumbles, the odd moments when he can fit in the most awkward spaces to hide (like right now).

Eventually…it be the same as with his mom and dad. They’d just start leaving.

Tim sighs and forces himself to be reasonable because of course it’s better this way. Nothing would change (it’s okay, it could be worse). Besides, it was better than never coming back.

Right?

When the rumbling goes by the house, goes further, deeper into the woods, toward the only other home, he can let his eyes slide closed, glad they made it back from another night, and let himself drift off a little. No school tomorrow, no Mrs. Mac, no reason to get up early and make an appearance.

He’d probably read more on the coding manual he’d picked up from the library, ride his bike into the city for pizza and to hang out with Ives, then come back home before his curfew. He would wait it out a few weeks and then jump back to old habits, keeping out of their way, and staying in the shadows. Life would just—

Go on.

The world gets fuzzy and soft and dark, and even with the minor ache in his neck and back from the odd angle, even in the quiet upstairs, even though he knows it’s too cold to be sleeping up here, the dream starts out anyway…

“—glad we found him, Big Wing.” That’s…that’s Jason, isn’t it? (Jason, here? Nah)

“I wonder how long he’s been up here all alone?”

(It has to be a dream because they came looking for him…)

“Musta been a while. He’s freezin’.” The dream hand is warm on his forehead, so nice, not enough to make him want to come to reality, so he just snuffles against his arm and hums, not trying to swim to the surface of awake, not yet.

“Okay, okay. Not leaving Timmy by himself at night anymore. Check.” Dick sighs, his breath a puff in the cold, and cranes his neck to eye the configuration the kid squeezed through to get to the wide window ledge.

“B’s gonna talk ta his folks when they make it back ta town anyhow.” And Jason shakes his head, burrowing a little deeper in his jacket with bare face (doms keep the eyes warm, you feel him?). “Kid his age shouldn’t be left alone anyhow.”

“Nope, just circus brats and street kids, right Little Wing?” Dick glances over at his replacement with a wide grin (and if B is serious about keeping Timmy now that the business with Two-Face is over, he’s going to have to come around more to help corral two younger brothers).

“Yeah, some a’ us can take care of business, Dick. This kid? He don’t need ta be in a house alone like this. Ain’t right.” The current Robin just frowns at the small silhouette, eyebrows drawing together.

“Alfred has his room ready, so at least he’ll have somewhere warm with a window. How did he even get in there?” And Dick? Is an acrobat and this configuration is making him flinch.

But Jay just smirks back, “Wiry little shit, apparently. Already fittin’ in.”

“Apparently. Let’s get him out of there, shall we Robin?”

And he huffs drowsily, swimming in and out of consciousness, the lack of sleep in the last few days making him sink further down where the voices are muffled, muted.

He might make some grunting sound when dream hands lift his heavy limbs, weightlessness like this a foreign concept, but it’s not like dreams where you step down abruptly and jar awake. It’s warm and smells like leather, Kevlar, and musk. And his brain gives him what he wants in the dream, soft cotton to fist his hands into without having to do anything more than sigh.

“Poor little guy is tuckered out. We shouldn’t have left him so long. It doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.”

The transition is down, steps, his blurry mind supplies.

“He chases us through Gotham, yeah? Sleep probably ain’t even in his vocabulary.”

“He’s so small, Little Wing. He needs to sleep.”

“He needs goddamned parents, Dickie.”

“It’s okay,” is breathed against his hair, “he has us now.”

“Sure, sure. Lotta grown ass men what dress up in tights n’ masks. Normal as they come.”

“Hey! It’s not a bad life, you know. I turned out just fine, thank-you very much.”

A grunt in reply and something warm tucked around him before the air shifts and it’s cold, making his small body tighten again, start to swim a little closer to consciousness. But he’s snuggled higher, closer to strength and warmth.

(All the good things)

“Ah. I see you two have managed to ferret out the missing Master then?”

“Shoulda seen ‘im, Alf. Alla way up in the attic window.”

“You have a similar propensity for small spaces, Master Jason. Master Dick as well if memory serves. Very high, small spaces to be precise.”

“Not my fault there’s so many in the Manor, Alfred. Those are the perfect places to explore.”

“Hm,” the car doors close as Alfred Pennyworth shuts his young charges in (three now, not including you, Master Bruce. He is not getting any younger, you understand?) and moves to the driver’s side through the chill.

Master Jason and Master Dick continue a quiet conversation while the child sleeps on and the dark forests pass them by. Alfred inputs when necessary with the usual plans on the next few nights of patrol ahead of them sans the Batman, and it does the butler’s heart good to see them finally getting along. Just as he told the worrywart that is his eldest charge, the two needed time to find their own way. Time and exposure, more appropriately.

As Alfred is well aware, the life his family leads, one of the night, one of pain and bruises and burns, one of trauma after trauma with only the strength of will and people in need to drive them, it required a certain amount of humanity to maintain. The strength of their bonds, to lean on one another in times of need, had been the hardest lesson for Master Bruce to learn as the Batman,, and one he would daresay he failed to pass it down to his sons. Fortunately, when a certain little robin that lost something so precious so young, the lesson for Master Bruce had begun and would continue for a second so in need, he would take on any fight just to survive, and would, of course, extend to the small one they are carrying up the staircase of Wayne Manor as he sleeps the sleep of the innocent.

Alfred and Master Dick take his shoes off and manage pajama bottoms, tucking the little boy in with care.

Only once did he wake up slightly, blinking fuzzily without move his heavy head from the pillow.

“This is such a nice dream, Mr. Alfred.”

A gentle hand to his head, smoothing down his too long hair, “go back to sleep, Young Sir. We shall be here when you wake in the morning.”

And Timmy hums again, smiling, snuggling down into the comfortable mattress and pillow. He’s fine sleeping until morning, to keep the dream for as long as he can (and maybe….maybe it would be okay to just not have to wake up).