Chapter Text
Morning broke with the twins still napping on top of Tim. Pale, dirty light shone directly into his eyes through the window. He needed to get curtains. Still, despite the light, neither of the twins woke up, which meant that Tim wasn’t going anywhere.
He dropped his head back into the pillow with a groan.There was a soft clatter of pots from the kitchen, suggesting that Jason was already up and cooking. It had to be him, because Cat couldn’t cook unsupervised.
Tim fought the urge to wriggle free. He had tried to shuffle the kids off of him, but Deuce had sleepily grabbed hold of his hoodie, and Tim felt his heart melt. For a pair of kids who raised so much hell, they sure were cute. He was well and truly stuck.
Five more minutes, then he really did have to get up.
They took three. Deuce was the first to wake, blinking sleepily and staring directly into Tim’s eyes like a horrifying little demon. The kid was lucky that Tim had been awake for a few hours, because waking up to someone a scant few inches from his face would activate every ounce of fight or flight instinct in his body. Instinct that tended towards the fight.
“Good morning.”
No response, until Deuce yawned. His eyes widened, then widened further, until Tim could see a full ring of white around his iris. Then he blinked again.
“Good morning. When is breakfast?”
“If you can wake your brother up, I can go find out.”
Deuce seemed to consider this for a second, examining Tim before turning to stare at his brother, still pressed into Tim’s side.
“I guess.” He slid off Tim’s chest and poked his brother in the ribs. “Hey loser, wake up.”
Ace groaned. “W’assit?”
“Up. Food. Coffee.” Each word was punctuated with a poke. “Awake, now.”
“Mno. Comfy.” Ace clung to Tim’s sweatshirt more tightly, like a tiny, surprisingly vicious koala. “M sleep. Good night.”
“Good morning.” Tim corrected. “It’s time for breakfast.” If he didn’t get up soon, Jason would be doing all the work. While he was perfectly capable, Tim objected to letting a kid do all of the work when Tim himself was able to take on his share.
When Ace didn’t move, Tim slithered out of his hoodie and left him there. Ruffling both twins’ hair, he said, “Be up in ten.”
He’d get them in fifteen. In the meantime, Jason was struggling to get one of the larger bowls down from the top shelves. Tim reached over him and got it down, ruffling his hair, too. He then helped Jason mix batter for pancakes, while the twins slowly shuffled out of bed and off to their rooms to change. They returned shortly, dressed for the day, with Cat tailing behind them and still gripping the edge of their blanket. It was collecting a trail of dust, and Tim made a mental note to vacuum.
“So…” Tim started. “Is there anything I can do to make you guys more comfortable about the fact that I’m going to be out late at night?” He had turned it over and over in his head, but was unable to come up with any solutions, short of letting them play Agent A, which was… not realistic. The more they knew, the more danger they would be in. That, and he didn’t want them listening to him blackmail and attack people.
The kids exchanged glances, but no one said a word.
“That’s okay, we’ll come back to it.” Tim was secretly relieved. There was only so much emotional vulnerability he could take before he combusted, and he was already running on overtime, here. “In the meantime, I’m going to get Jason to school. I’ll see the rest of you around lunchtime, okay?”
He waited for Jason to grab his backpack, then accompanied him out the door.
~*~
The weather was nice, for winter in Gotham. The sky was a clear, cold blue, and the sun shone pale in the sky. The chill air had chased off all of the clouds and pollution for a short while. Tim decided to take the long way back, stopping to check the dropbox to see if Penguin (or Selina, if she was feeling dramatic) had left anything for him.
The park was near-empty, with a few couples ranging from young to elderly, a handful of joggers, and one or two dog-walkers. Even in Gotham, the city life persisted.
Birds chirped in the trees, and Tim whistled cheerfully as he strolled down the path towards the chess tables.
Ivy had been gone for a while, so the hedges and winter flowers were non-native, trimmed back into something resembling order. Long, draping boughs from willows scraped the ground, swaying back and forth in the slight breeze. The fresh air was nice, given all the time he had spent on smog-covered rooftops and in filthy alleys. The smell was still there, but he could no longer feel the heavy weight of polluted air in his lungs.
By the time he reached the dropbox, Tim was in a good mood.
To his surprise, there was something laying on the nearby chess table. It was a rose, bright red against the checkered black and white. Tim picked it up, examining it. It had most likely been left by a couple of lovers playing chess, judging by the location and the unfinished game. He lifted it to his nose, inhaling the delicate scent.
Fingering the soft petals, he felt drops of dew still coating the leaves. It was a fresh-cut flower. He looked around, but there didn’t seem to be anyone who could have left it. Perhaps the couple had left already.
Shrugging, he put the flower down and checked the dropbox.
He had two letters, one from Penguin, one from his mother. He tucked Penguin’s letter away, and sat down to read the letter from his mother.
It read:
To my dearest Timothy,
I am glad to hear the board isn’t giving you too much trouble. You have a softer touch than would perhaps be wise, but I leave it up to your discretion, so long as they fall in line.
Your interview with Ms. Vale was quite enlightening. I see my cousin has brought you up well, and I regret the years I have missed in the interim. As a belated gift, I wish to bequeath upon you the following:
She had listed sixteen adresses, some of which appeared to be safe deposit boxes, some PO boxes, and some regular addresses.
A gift for the years I have missed. Make good use of them.
With love,
Janet
Tim set down the letter with a sigh. Some things never changed, and his mother was one of them. He would be left to his own devices, so long as Janet felt he was doing an adequate job. Still, she (or someone else) was keeping the court quiet, so it was one less thing for him to handle, at least until something happened. He had bigger problems right now, like trying to convince the rest of his children to attend school.
He folded the letter, sliding it back into the envelope and tucking it into his jacket, next to his heart. Then he took out the letter from Penguin, which was much more straightforward. He had heard about the fire that Tim had sent, and wanted more information.
Apparently, the hideout had been a part of a more extensive trail than Tim had thought. It had to be, or Penguin wouldn’t be asking about it, and Tim had just set Batman on their trail.
Granted, Penguin mostly cared about the weapons trade, and smuggling expensive goods without paying taxes or tariffs, but one smuggler getting busted did not indicate good things for everybody else. Of course Penguin would be concerned.
The question now was who the hideout had belonged to, and Tim would have to make up a story about how they got caught. In order to do that, he’d need to do some research. Tim loved when it was time for research, because research time doubled as unlimited-coffee-for-Tim time.
He was already decently close to Paradox, so making a quick stop wouldn’t hurt. Nygma would probably still be sleeping, so Tim wouldn’t get sidetracked. Tim could leave him a tip about some of Joker’s goons starting to move into his turf (The Joker was still in Arkham, so it was worrying, but not an immediate concern), and be on his way without a hassle.
He ducked into the shop, waving cheerfully at Daryl, who immediately asked if he’d slept at all.
“Who, me? Of course!” Tim smiled blithely, and for once it wasn’t actually a lie. He got almost five whole hours, which was more than enough for him. Daryl gave him a very suspicious look, and Tim laughed. “Seriously though, I slept. Scout’s honor.” He had never been a scout.
“Sure. Same as usual?”
“Yeah, plus four large coffees with three shots of espresso each, please.”
Daryl looked like he wanted to refuse. Tim slid a fifty over the counter, mostly as a tip, but partially as a bribe. “If you could maybe not tell Nygma I’m here, I’d appreciate it. I have some intel for him as a thank you,” he began rifling around in his jacket until he found the memory stick. “–but I really do have to run, and I’m sure he’s still tired.”
Then something occurred to him. “By the way, how come you aren’t tired? You’re here all the time.”
Daryl froze for a second, but said, “Lotsa coffee.”
It was a clear lie, but Tim wasn’t going to push. “Okay then. Can I also have–”
“Six scones.”
“I was going to say three.”
“Six. You look like you weigh as much as a pane of glass.”
“Glass is surprisingly heavy, you know.” Tim tried to defend himself. “Four?”
“Six.” He started making Tim’s coffee.
“You’re as bad as my brothers were.” Tim grumbled, a flicker of warmth kindling in him. He hadn’t known that Daryl cared this much. Not about him, at least. He had always assumed their relationship had been one of fond indifference. “At least you give me coffee.”
Daryl just rolled his eyes again.
“You clearly haven’t slept enough if you’re this cheerful. Take your drinks and get out, before the boss figures out you’re here.” He handed over Tim’s coffees, following them with a brown paper bag that was slightly warm and spotted with grease.
Tim saluted him on his way out, taking his first sip from one of the plain coffees. He would leave his favorite lavender for last.
Sweet caffeine, I do beseech thee. Give me the strength to create incredible bullsh*t from nowhere. He finished the first drink on the two-minute walk to the nest, waving to some of the corner folks, who kept moving closer and closer to his home for some reason. He offered them two of the scones, which they took with only minor convincing.
When he got home he found the nest empty. The kids had left to get into trouble for the day, heading straight for Luis’ newsstand. They had Tim’s number if they needed him. He had made absolutely certain that they knew they could call him, and that he would come if they did. For now, he had some investigating to do.
…
Tim surfaced from his caffeine-induced fugue not three hours later with a semi-credible plan. The gang seemed to be a well-anchored group looking to expand into Lower Gotham, edging in on the Riddler’s territory. They had a small, indirect tie to Black Mask, but nothing that Tim thought would cause problems.
Tim didn’t want to inconvenience his chess partner too much, so had to find someone else to blame. Instead, he spun a story, and that story was this:
Batman had tailed one of the goons back after a night out at a bar near one of his frequent patrol routes. Charges had been set, likely by the henchmen themselves, to destroy any evidence. When it became clear that the Batman was going to show up, they made a rather explosive decision.
Tim had spent the past two hours building up a fake case to present to Penguin, just in case he decided to do a little independent verification, and he was finally ready to send it. He penned the letter and closed the envelope with a little giraffe sticker that Cat had given him. He’d place it on Penguin's desk later tonight. Right now, he was going to drop in on Luis to pick up Cat and the twins, then grab Jason from school.
After that, he was planning an excursion to the junkyard. A little field trip, if you will.
~*~
Luis was leaning on the stand when Tim approached, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
“Here for your kids?”
“Yeah, have they been good?”
To be perfectly honest, Tim wasn’t optimistic about the answer.
“Good? Oh, sure, they’ve been good.” He paused. “If you call terrorizing every pedestrian ‘n a fifty foot radius good.” He laughed roughly, tugging on the brim of his cap. “I’ve sold more papers today than I have in a week. They’re competitive little demons.”
“That they are.” Tim turned as Luis pointed over his shoulder.
The twins were standing next to each other, gesturing to a newspaper held by Cat, who was using their cuteness for morally ambiguous purposes, in order to convince some nicely-dressed guy to buy a newspaper. The man was clearly crumbling under the onslaught.
He caved within a minute and handed over some money to the kids. They took it with a cheerful wave, and Tim could see the devious glee in their eyes from here.
“What an idiot.” Ace bounced up to Tim, practically vibrating in place. “Everybody knows papers are supposed to be at most a dollar.”
Cat opened their hands, extending the profits to Luis, who grinned proudly. They had gotten that man to pay five dollars for a single paper.
“Nice job, kid.” He took the cash, opened the till, and handed each kid a ten. “Here’s your pay for the day. Now scram, and keep your brother outta trouble.”
“Yes, sir!” Deuce made an expression that was probably supposed to be a smile, but seemed more like a grimace. He grabbed Tim’s hand and started to drag him away. “I wanna go home. They’re too loud.” He jerked his head back towards his siblings.
“Sorry, buddy.” Tim turned his hand to grab Deuce’s. “I can make sure they’re quieter, but we gotta pick up Jason. I was planning to take you guys to the junkyard and do some soldering. You up for that?”
Deuce thought about it for a second, then nodded.
That was something you could teach eleven-year olds, right? They wouldn’t be touching the iron, so it would be fine, right? Right.
Tim raised his voice. “How do you guys feel about learning to solder things?”
“Yeah!” Ace’s eyes were huge. “I wanna make a knife!”
“No!” The thought of Ace of all people running around with a knife was going to give Tim a heart attack. Not to mention, soldering a knife together was a terrible idea. A shoddy knife might snap in his grip the second he stabbed someone. Tim preferred to steal Batarangs, which would hold up as long as he didn’t try to twist them in a wound. If he did, the metal could shatter, which now that he was thinking about it, had its own uses.
“Please?” Ace stared up at Tim with huge, sparkling eyes, and he felt some of his resolve wither away.
“Finish basic knife training first, and then we’ll see.” Tim crumbled like wet paper. How had Bruce dealt with this?
Ace did a little fist-pump hop combination that made his brother laugh at him. Ace asked his brother, “So what are you gonna make?”
“I’m gonna make a taser.”
“No one’s making weapons.” Tim wanted to cry. “No weapons. You don’t have the electrical parts and I am not teaching you that. We are making sculptures.”
“Pointy sculptures?”
“I would have been willing to consider it before this entire conversation.” This felt a little bit like karma. Although, now that Bruce wasn’t looming over his shoulder, he could totally add that blade to his staff. Just a little one. “It’s like a ten minute walk, so we should get going. Anybody need hot chocolate, or something to drink first?”
Luis raised his hand, and Tim rolled his eyes. “I’ll bring you a drink next time.”
The older man tipped his news cap and laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
None of the kids wanted anything, and so they all filed off towards the junkyard.
Cat’s hand was warm in his, while Ace’s was freezing cold. Tim took off his gloves and handed them over. Ace wouldn’t take them, until Tim gave him Alfred’s Look of Disapproval. Then he accepted with mild grumbling. They dwarfed his hands in folds of leather and wool.
“Where did your mittens go?”
The twins exchanged glances.
“Lost ‘em.”
Tim hummed, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye. “Can I help you find them, or do you want a new pair?” He saw their mouths open. “For the record, ‘no gloves’ is not an option on the list.”
With a click, two mouths closed. He saw Cat’s head bob in silent glee, and the twins held one of their silent twin conversations.
“We gave our gloves to a younger kid. Cat was gonna give ‘em hers, and we didn’t want her to be cold.” Ace shoved his hands in his pockets, avoiding eye contact. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw Cat smile.
“Alright then. I’ve been meaning to work out a deal with the thrift shops for excess clothing. Maybe in a week or two you can give me a hand.” That should be when the first round of payoff from drug production would come in. “Sound good?”
“Yeah,” Deuce said quietly.
“Good.” Tim squeezed his hand, letting go of Cat for a second to ruffle Ace’s hair. “I’m glad you didn’t let your sibling get cold, but if you needed another pair of gloves, then I’d have been happy to swing by and drop some off.” His alert for the kids was now permanently set on the loudest, most annoying ringtone he had. He left it on twenty four-seven, and had no less than eight plans for if it went off in a stakeout, and nine more for during a firefight.
They reached the school just as the final bell rang, and kids began to stream out the doors. He picked out Jason’s dark hair and brilliant smile as he ran down the steps and skidded to a stop in front of Tim.
“Guess what!” He gripped the straps of his backpack in excitement. “We’ve got a field trip tomorrow!”
“That’s great! Where are you going?”
“The Gotham Natural History Museum.” He grinned. “The teachers ‘re gonna tell us all about space ‘n the planets an’ sh*t.”
“You’ll have to tell all of us about it when you get home.” The twins had shifted when Jason mentioned a field trip, the seeds of envy sown. Tim could use that. It was only a matter of time before he could convince them to join Jason.
“That’s his plotting face.” He heard one of the twins whisper. Tim blinked to find a middle aged woman staring at him with something resembling concern. He gave her his most charming smile.
“Sorry about that, ma’am. My brother was just so excited, I couldn’t help but be excited for him.”
She laughed. “What a charmer you are. ‘Course, I understand. Are these your siblings?”
Tim felt the kids tense, and he responded a little bit more sharply than he meant to. “Yup.”
“Aw, that’s sweet of you, to come pick them up like this.” She pinched his cheek, and Tim gritted his teeth, keeping a smile through sheer force of will. “My grandson goes here too. Maybe you could come over?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t make any promises. “In the meantime though, I’ve got to get these rascals home. Our parents will be worried. It was nice to meet you!”
He ushered the kids in front of him and hurried off as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Tim hissed under his breath, telling them to just keep walking and she can’t catch us. The kids responded with poorly muffled giggling.
When they were a block or two away, Jason finally burst out laughing, hands on his knees and doubling over in great, wheezing bursts. “She thought you were charming.”
“Jason, I’m literally a businessman, I’m supposed to be able to lie through my teeth to anyone and everyone.”
“I thought you were a spy.”
“Only by technicality,” Tim responded.
“Or a drug lord.” Ace chirped, and Tim got the sinking sensation that this conversation was spiraling out of his control. Not that it had ever really been in his control, but this was something else.
“Definitely not that.”
“No, he’s got the prostitutes working for him too.”
“They don’t work– ” Tim tried to protest, but Deuce cut him off again.
“Two or more makes him a crime lord, right?”
“No. Nope. Not going there.” He swiped his hand through the air as if trying to sever the idea from their brains. “Not a crime lord, not a drug lord.”
“Then what are you?” Jason asked. Then he added, “You’re not evil, so you’re not a villain, but you’re not good, either.”
Tim swallowed. “Good is relative. I’m…” He thought about it. “I’m a lot of things. I think the best answer though, is…” he checked the street and found it empty. He lowered his voice anyway. “I’m a vigilante.” He might not be good, but he did good, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.
“But vigilantes can’t be spies! Batman isn’t a spy.” Jason sounded confused, and a little bit upset. Then, uncertain. “...Is he?”
“He can be,” Tim admitted. “When the situation calls for it. The best vigilantes are flexible. Adaptable to any situation.”
“And are you?”
“Hm?”
“Are you the best?” Deuce kicked a rock, sending it clattering down the alley and scaring a random cat.
“Well, I’m certainly up there.” Tim smiled wryly. He might not be able to single handedly stop world-ending threats, but he was able to micromanage the sh*t out of an entire city, one with the worst crime rates in the world. Tim was good at what he did, there was no denying that. Still– “There isn’t really a ‘best’ vigilante. There’s–”
He was about to quote something that Bruce had told him. ’There were vigilantes that were good enough, and there were those that were dead, but that seemed a little macabre for the kids.
“There are vigilantes that are good at their jobs, and there are some that are just okay.” He shrugged. “We’re almost at the junkyard.” Tim still had the welding gear stored in a side alley from the last time he had worked on a project here, hidden away under a tarp and a seemingly innocuous layer of garbage. He was glad to see that his tools were still here, tucked away in a duffle bag.
He dragged the bag out of the pile and hefted it over his shoulder. “Find things that are interesting and meltable. Not plastic, though.”
The kids got to work, finding interesting bits and pieces in a wide range of colors and textures. He sat them down in a row and demonstrated how to melt the tiny pieces of metal together without f*cking up and burning your hand.
“Alright. Are we ready to make a big, messed up statue?”
The kids cheered.
“Alright. We’re doing this one at a time, and here’s how it’s going to work: the first person will be soldering the metal down under my supervision. If I am not looking at you, do not touch the iron. The second person will pick what piece we’re using, and the third one will decide where it goes. The fourth person will rate the placement. Three pieces each, then we rotate.” Hopefully that would keep all of them engaged and out of trouble. That is, if they didn’t start fights over ‘ratings.’ “Cat, you’re up first.”
They grinned widely, and Tim had the split second feeling that maybe this was a person he should not be trusting with creative capabilities. Then the feeling passed, and he let them grip the soldering iron.
When Tim had said he was teaching them to solder, what he really meant was that he’d let them move the iron while he was holding it. Cat didn’t seem to feel too cheated.
“This weird squiggly piece!” Ace held it above his head, passing it to Deuce.
“And it should go over here.” He set it near one of the edges of the scrap. The rusted edges gleamed threateningly, and Tim was glad he’d gotten everyone protective gear. They must have looked quite strange, one adult and four children in massive welding goggles, all staring with rapt attention at a mutilated hunk of metal.
“Three out of ten stars,” Jason sniffed, and Ace gasped in outrage.
“This is just because I said your triangle thing was only six stars, isn’t it.”
“No. It just sucks.”
“Boys.” Tim cut in, never looking away from where he and Cat were sealing the two pieces together. “Not the time. Fight later. Jason, it’s your turn to solder.”
They continued in that vein for a while, until the sun was beginning to dip below the ridges of the buildings alongside them. Tim made an executive decision. “Time to get home.”
Tim hid the welding gear again, but when they went to leave, they were stopped by the sight of a familiar car.
Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.
“No way. ” Jason echoed his thoughts. “Is that the Batmobile?”
Bruce. If it turns out that you’ve been stalking me, I am going to fill your shoes with mayonnaise for the next week.
But the car was empty, and Tim got an idea.
It was a terrible idea. It was a truly awful, horrible idea, but the Batmobile was right there, and the worst Rogues were still in Arkham. Also, the twins were practically drooling on the windows.
“So, who’s up for a joyride?”
As they cruised down the street with the windows down, taking corners at mildly unsafe speeds, Tim reflected on the fact that joyriding in the Batmobile with your younger siblings was practically a Bat rite of passage. Granted, he wasn’t sure exactly how much he counted any more, but future-original Dick would have given his blessing, so he figured he got a pass.
There was a tinny hiss, and the intercom turned on.
“May I presume I’m speaking to Red Raptor?” Alfred’s voice crackled over the speakers.
“You may.” Tim smiled as the kids giggled behind him. “To what do I owe the honor of hearing from the infamous Agent A?”
“I imagine stealing The Batman’s vehicle may have had something to do with it, but I may be mistaken.” Tim let out a relieved breath. That was Alfred’s ‘amused and tolerant’ voice, which meant Tim would get away scot free. “Young Master Robin has said much about you. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t come over for dinner.”
Behind him there was silence, and Tim felt the judging weight of four children staring at him.
“You didn’t–” Ace began, before being cut off with an oomf.
“Might there be someone in the car with you, young sir?” Alfred’s voice had gotten slightly sharper, but only from the extra edge of politeness.
“Somewhere along the way, I collected a horde of children. They’re currently being dropped off at Robinson Park, along with the car.” He admitted. “And, for the record, I’m a fully fledged legal adult.”
“Of course, young sir.” Tim tried not to choke. That was the voice that Alfred had used when Tim had tried to argue that peanut butter was an acceptable thing to put in coffee, and he did not need to go to sleep. He had indeed gotten to put peanut butter in his coffee, but Alfred had also drugged it when he wasn’t looking. “My mistake. I shall let Batman know of the updated location of his vehicle. Have a good night.” The speaker shut off.
Tim drove in awkward silence, taking corners far more responsibly than he usually would. He got about ten seconds of silence before the kids started demanding answers.
“One at a time! Deuce first.”
“You didn’t tell us you knew them.”
“I don’t, not really.” Tim barely lied. It wasn’t really a lie, not truly. He didn’t actually know these alternate versions of his family, not on any personal level. Despite the impression that his misguided youth might have given, Tim was well aware that stalking did not an intimate relationship make.
“I’ve worked with some of them before, and Robin gets into quite a few scrapes that he can’t always get himself out of. It’s a little like how I met all of you, except he already has a semi-responsible adult looking after him. Ace?”
“When did you meet them?”
“A couple months ago, I think. A gang case, nothing major. Jason? Last question, better make it count.”
“Do you know who they are under the mask?”
Tim paused. “No.” He said, knowing full well there were microphones in the car. “Nygma might, but I haven’t asked.” He made a covert hand signal for ‘later,’ and they nodded.
They reached Robinson park, and Tim pulled to a stop in front of the fountain. “Alright, everyone out. You’ll all be home in half an hour, tops.” He winked. “Batman better hope that Ivy doesn’t break out.”
Ace looked thoughtful. Tim raised an eyebrow. He loved his kids, but there was zero possibility of an eleven year old having the ability to break a Rogue out of Arkham with three hours of warning. It just wasn’t happening.
Maybe if they had two weeks and access to Tim’s funds, they could manage it together, but as it was, no.
Tim pulled another memory stick out of his jacket and duct taped it to the driver’s seat.
“What’s that?”
“Suit schematics. I was emotionally blackmailed into letting Batman make a suit for me, so I kidnapped his car.” He admitted. “He should be glad I’m not doing worse.”
Tim’s pranks were something that were designed to be avoided at all costs. He was lazy by nature when it came to revenge, so usually he’d settle for petty embarrassment. But he’d also once changed Bruce’s ringtone to “never gonna give you up,” then created a program to automatically dial him repeatedly and override the silencing of his phone ( and turn it back on when Bruce had given up and shut it off) while he was on the Watchtower, all as a diversion to distract him from the cling-wrap Tim was in the process of putting all over the batcave.
Which was in itself a diversion for the fact that Tim had glued velcro to the bottoms of Bruce’s shoes. Say goodbye to your nice carpets.
It had worked wonders. Bruce never tried to restrict his coffee intake ever again.
The point being, Tim could be a menace if he wanted, so stealing a batmobile (again) was the least of the problems he could cause Bruce.
“Okay. Finished.” He stood back, admiring the hot pink duct tape. “Ready to go?”
“Can I write–”
“You cannot write f*ck you in hot pink duct tape.” He told Jason sternly.
“What about–”
“No writing anything rude on the Batmobile. I will have to work with the man again, and I do not want to explain that.” He could hold out against the twins, no problem, but in his hubris, Tim had forgotten someone.
A short tug on his sleeve. Tim sensed imminent doom, but it did not stop him from looking down.
Cat was staring up at him with huge, blue eyes. They extended their hands upward, and made a ‘gimme’ sign.
He gave up.
“Fine. Here. No swear words.” He gave up! He was done. Bruce was going to come back to a hot-pink batmobile, and that was very squarely a Him problem, not a Tim problem.
He would never admit it, but Tim was damn proud of his kids as they drew a bunch of stupid faces all over the expensive car in duct tape, giggling madly the whole time. Checking his watch, he gave them an ultimatum.
“Five minutes before we gotta go!” Four groans sounded. “Unless you wanna be here when he gets back…?”
They immediately scrambled up and ran back to Tim.
“Ready to go, Boss.” Jason grinned wildly. “Can we get hot chocolate?”
“Sure. We should swing by a couple of the other corners on the way home with some snacks, too.” He was already planning out a route. “You cool with that?”
Four nods.
“Great. Off we go!”
