Fic: Clipped

[munnin]

Title: Clipped
Author: Munnin
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Tim, Bruce, Dick.
Verse: Mended Wings and Fly and Fall.
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit and no offence meant. Everyone is of the age of consent in their country and period of history.
Author’s notes: 100% organic. May contain minor flaws and imperfections that beta-treated slash wouldn’t.
Bingo card: AU. Captivity Masterlist here.

Summary: Tim’s not sure doing the right thing is same as doing the smart thing...but he’s still standing out the front of Wayne Manor.


It took Tim nearly a week to make his decision. It only took him two days to find out what he needed to know but it took him the other five to decide what to do about it.

Finally he resolved to act and found himself leaning his bike against the gate of Wayne Manor.

“I’d like to speak to Dick Grayson. Please?” He stuttered into intercom.

A clipped English accent answered. “Master Grayson is indisposed. He is not receiving visitors at the present.

“I...I have something I need to give him. It’s very important.”

There was a long moment of silence and Tim wondered if he’d made a grave mistake coming here. He fiddled with his backpack, feeling its contents weight him down. Was this the dumbest thing he’d ever done?

But the intercom buzzed and the gate clicked open.

Tim stood for a moment, looking up the drive. Wayne Manor was an imposing building, barren and bleak, surrounded by skeletal trees that waved in the bitter wind of early winter. Tim shivered and hefted his bag, leaving his bike at the gate. There was no going back now.

A meticulously dressed butler met him at the door. “Can I help you sir?”

“I have...I need to get these to Dick Grayson.” Tim pulled a sheath of photos from his bag. “I don’t know if they’ll help but...” He was shaking so badly the photos slipped from his hand, scattering all over the doorstep and were caught by the breeze. They were photos of Robin in full combat mode, kicking the shit out of some goon.

The butler made no move to help Tim pick up the images as the youth scrambled to rescue them before they blew away “And what makes you think he would be interested in these?”

“I...” Tim knelt on the stone as he caught the last photo. “I just want to help. I promise...that’s all. I just...” Last week he’d been able to able to stand before Batman but now, he shivering in front of a butler. “Please? All I want to do is help.” He shoved the photos into the man’s hand and fled.

But the gate slammed closed as he reached it. His bike was on the other side and Tim was trapped. The intercom crackled to life. “Come back up to the house. Mr Wayne wished to speak with you.”

Tim walked back the house very slowly, wondering if anyone would ever see him again.

“This way please.” The butler ushered him through a grand entranceway and into a small study.

There was a man sitting there, pouring over the photos. Tim knew him at once as Mr Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham and the richest man in the city. It wasn’t till he looked up at Tim, his blue eyes flashing that Tim realised who Bruce Wayne truly was. His knees went weak and he fall more than sat down.

“These are interesting photographs.” Mr Wayne said quietly, not at all the bubbling playboy he seemed on TV. “Did you take them?”

“Yes sir.” Tim swallowed.

“Why?”

Tim swallowed again. There was no way out of this. He’d seen what the Bat’s piercing stare could do to far braver men so Tim opted for the truth. “I admire Batman and Robin greatly. I’ve followed them for some time.”

“Why?” Mr Wayne’s gaze made him feel like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“I don’t know sir. I just...” Tim trailed off and ducked his head.

“So why have you brought me these photographs?”

I didn’t. Tim thought frantically. I brought them for Dick Grayson. It didn’t occur to me that I’d be sitting here in front of you... “I only want to help. I promise I’ll never tell a soul...”

“Tell a soul what?” Mr Wayne asked archly, looking up at Tim with faint but dark amusement. “So what is it I should see in these photos that is so helpful?”

Tim cautiously leant forward and shuffled through the photos. “I managed to retrieve some of the data off my camera, even after the EM pulse fried it. The image was fragmented but...” he pushed one in particular towards Mr Wayne.

The picture was blurry and blotchy in spots but it showed the ring-leader holding a shoulder mounted cannon of some kind.

“I know it’s not very good.” Tim burbled, breathless and frightened. “But I thought if you could work out what it was, you might be able to find a way to protect Robin. To...to make sure he doesn’t get hurt again...” he gulped as Mr Wayne looked at the photo. “I just want him to be ok.” The last part came out as the plea of a desperate child and Mr Wayne’s eyes softened.

“You care for him that much?” Mr Wayne asked, not unkindly.

Tim looked up at him, his expression open and guileless. “He’s my hero.”

Mr Wayne gave a little snort and looked at the photo again. “Come with me.”

Tim followed obediently and waited at the foot of the massive sweeping staircase as instructed. After a moment Mr Wayne came thundered back down the stairs. “Alfred?” He shouted, seeming to the house in general. “Where the hell is he?”

The butler materialised at Tim’s shoulder. “Master Richard is in the library sir.”

“How the hell did he get down to the library?” The millionaire demanded as he stormed towards them.

“On his hands I believe sir. It appears to have been quite an effort which is why I have confined him to the library. I believe he is resting sir.”

“Of all the wilful, stubborn...” Wayne muttered under his breath. “Come with me.” He led the way down a hallway but his anger softened as he opened the door.

Dick was asleep on one of the deep leather couches, his injured leg propped up on the armrest with the dressing peeled back so the wound could air. He had a blanket wrapped around him despite the warmth from the roaring fire at one end of the room. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were pale.

“Dick?” Mr Wayne called gently, crouching down next to the sleeping youth and brushed a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Wake up Dick, we have company.”

Dick woke with a start and looked straight up at Tim then scrambled to pull the blanket over his injured leg.

“Don’t!” Wayne growled, catching the young man’s wrist.

“Bruce.” Dick muttered, dropping his voice low. “I don’t like people seeing my scars.”

“I know.” Carefully, tenderly, Wayne re-covered the burn, smoothing the medical tape back into place before tucking the blanket around Dick’s leg. “But he’s already seen them once.”

“Oh.” Dick glanced from Tim to Bruce and back again. “Are you sure we should-”

But Wayne put a hand out to silence him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Dick pushed himself up the piled up pillows to stare owlishly at Tim. “So you’re the young man who saved my life?” Dick’s smile was bright as he cocked his head, studying Tim. “What’s your name?”

“Tim. Tim Drake.” Tim blushed under the scrutiny and dropped his eyes. “But you already knew that.”

Dick shook his head, darting a questioning look to Wayne. “Nope but it’s nice to meet you Tim.”

“You left your badge at my house.” Tim pulled the sharp edged little R out of his pocket and slipped it onto the table.

“I left it for you.” Wayne said quietly, his voice deep and carrying. “On his insistence.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I haven’t left this house for a week.” He nodded towards Wayne. “On his insistence.”

Wayne growled under his breath. “If I had my way you wouldn’t have left your room.”

“Come on Bruce! You know I don’t cope well under lock down. Robins shouldn’t be kept in captivity!”

Tim bit his lip and kept quiet, marvelling at the trust they were placing in him just by being themselves in his presence.

“So,” Dick asked, cutting of Mr Wayne’s response as he turned to Tim. “What brings you here?”

“He brought these.” Wayne tossed the photos down in Dick’s lap and perched on the armrest as Dick flicked through them.

“Wow.” Dick muttered frankly. “These are amazing. You must have a great zoom lens to get images that close.”

“I...ah...I was on the building above you.” Tim admitted quietly.

Dick’s eyebrows shot up. “You got that close and I never spotted you? Wow!” he glanced up at Bruce. “You’re going to have to bench me boss. Clearly I’m losing my game.”

“Mr Drake here has been following us both for some time.” Bruce took a handful of other photos down from a shelf; all clearly Tim’s and all ones he thought were under the loose floorboard in his room.

“Wow.” Dick muttered again, flicking though the photos as Tim turned fluorescent red and prayed that the floor would swallow him whole. “These are...Oh my...” Dick tilted his head, staring at a particularly clear close up of his ass, “Fair enough then.”

Tim wondered if dying from embarrassment was in fact, possible.

“This however,” Bruce said, handing over the photo, “Is the important one.”

Dick squinted at the blurry image. “Is that what hit me?”

Tim nodded, glad to be back in track. “I think... I think it generates an electromagnetic pulse wave. I think that’s what shorted your suit.”

Bruce leant in over Dick’s shoulder. “Mr Drake? Do you have the original file?”

Tim fished a USB stick out from under his shirt and handed it over. “I tried to enhance the image but the data was so fragmented by the blast.”

“I may have software that can fix that.” Bruce nodded to Dick. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Not like I’m going anywhere.” Dick muttered before turning to Tim. “I’m sorry, I get snarky when I can’t move around.” He held out a hand. “I’m Dick but I guess you already know that.”

Tim shook his hand gingerly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mr Grayson.”

“Oh god!” Dick whined in mock horror, “Please don’t ever call me that. I get enough of that from Bruce’s society piranhas. I’m just Dick. Besides,” he grinned. “You saved my life. I think that entitles you to use my first name.”

“I didn’t do anything...not really.” Tim stuttered.

“You impressed Bruce and believe me, that’s not easy to do.” Dick looked at him owlishly again, with that same piercing look Batman used. “So how did you find us?”

“Your scars.” Tim admitted quietly, feeling ashamed as Dick instinctively reached to check his legs were covered.

“Go on.” Dick ordered quietly, his voice just a little bit menacing.

“I figured there can’t be too many people who survived an injury like that. The surgery and treatments used must have been cutting edge.” Tim muttered anxiously, “I found a medical journal on muscle reconstruction. All the names were taken out but...the cause of the injury was listed.” He ducked his head. “I was there, at the circus the day you fell.”

“You can’t have been very old.” Dick observed.

“I was three.” Tim answered. “My parents took me.”

“That’s a long time to remember something like that.” Dick watched him closely, his eyes narrowed.

“Not something you forget.” Tim answered. “I’ve never cried so hard for a stranger in my life.”

“Is that why you followed me?” Dick asked, more than a little touched.

Tim shook his head. “I didn’t know it was you till...” He trailed off. “I admire Robin. I always have.”

“Why?” Dick’s tone was dangerously close to Bruce’s had been earlier.

But somehow it was easier to answer now. “Every kid who grew up in Gotham wants to be Robin. You’re so free, so wild. I just...I wanted to share in that.”

Dick cocked his head. “So? Do your parents not mind or not know that you running around at night taking photos of heroes?”

“They don’t care.” Tim’s tone was bitterer than he expected and he bit his lip, trying to control his expression. “My father died two years ago and my mother travels a lot. She doesn’t...she isn’t home much.”

“You must be lonely.” Dick observed, soft and sad.

“I have my camera.” Tim shrugged. “And you and Batman to follow. I keep busy.”

Dick broke into a big grin, cocking his head at Tim. “I think I just got why Bruce likes you!” he shifted, groaning frustratedly. “Help me up?”

Tim held out an arm and lent his strength to helping Dick sit up. “Are you ok?” He asked as Dick flinched.

“Yeah,” Dick growled. “I just hate being helpless like this! The longer I’m caged up, the harder it is to get going again.” He pushed out his injured leg and rubbed it irritably. “My muscles seize up.”

“Well you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.” Bruce muttered as he wandered back into the library, papers in hand. He laid the enhanced images down on the table and paced the floor.

“Oh damn.” Dick muttered as he leant over the photo. “That’s Luthortech.” He threw the images down. “Where would a lowlife thief like Slinger get high end Luthortech?”

Bruce paced the floor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know but it would explain the damage to the bank’s security system.”

“Dry run?” Dick asked, “Field testing it for someone else maybe.” He shrugged, “Slinger's greedy but not stupid.”

The butler coughed quietly from the doorway. “Mr Wayne. It is getting quiet late. Might I recommend I drive Mr Drake home?”

“Thank you Alfred.” Bruce turned to Tim and took his hand. “Mr Drake, your help has been invaluable.”

“But I... is there anything I can do?” Tim stuttered, letting Bruce pull him up.

“Hey B.” Dick called. “Gimme a sec?”

Bruce smiled tightly and nodded. “Good night Tim and again, thank you.”

Dick waited till the door closed before leaning across to Tim, pushing the little R towards him. “Please take it? You saved my life, it’s the least I can do.”

“I just...I just want to help.”

Dick touched Tim’s hand, drawing him closer. “Tell me how to thank you?” He said softly.

Tim balked a little, blushing under Dick’s scrutiny. “Just...get better. Please.” He pulled away and headed for the door, the little star tucked in his pocket.

***
Bruce eased back into the library, handing Dick a laptop that connected to the cave’s computer. “Looks like the Luthortech lab was broken into earlier this month. They claim nothing was stolen...”

“Nothing they’d admit to owning anyway.” Dick snorted.

“Hmm.”

Dick watched from the couch as Bruce paced. “What do you think?”

“Regarding the case?” Bruce asked, not really coming up from his thoughts.

Dick threw a cushion at him. “Regarding Tim!” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “What do you think of him?”

“Smart for someone his age. Savvy too.” Bruce shrugged, trying to downplay the amount of thought he’d put into his answer. “Seems capable of looking after himself. And honest. I feel we can trust him.” The words good solider hovered on his lips but he was loathed to even think it.

“He’d make a good Robin.” Dick said quietly.

“Dick I...” Bruce turned on him, looking both appalled and deeply saddened. “I would never think to replace you-”

“But you’re going to have to.” Dick said sternly. “We both know this injury is serious. There is no way I’ll be capable of returning to the field till spring at the earliest. Regardless of this new weapon, it’s going to take a lot of physical therapy before I can even consider wearing an exo-suit again.”

“You’ll be fine Dick.” Bruce muttered, leaning in to cup his young partner’s face and search his sky blue eyes earnestly. “I know you; you won’t let this keep you down for long.”

“No, I won’t. But this isn’t about me giving up; I don’t intend to give up flying anytime soon.” Dick answered, his tone grim and determined. “This is about someone having your back. I don’t like the idea of you on your own in the field.” He flicked his hair out of his face in a defiant gesture. “I’ll train him myself if I have to.”

Bruce snorted and sat down on the coffee table, resting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “My stubborn Robin, worried about me getting hurt.” He stroked up the young man’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the healing bruises.

“I don’t want you to be alone.” Dick said simply, rubbing his cheek against Bruce’s palm. “Besides, I think it would do Tim some good. He needs a family, he needs a purpose.”

“Other than photographing your rear-end?” Bruce raised a wry eyebrow.

“Oh come on.” Dick teased, “Like you haven’t noticed how hot my ass is?” but his joke drowned in a yawn.

Bruce tsked, tapping Dick on the nose. “You should be resting.” He started to slip his arms under Dick but the young man protested.

“You’re not carrying me!” Dick squirmed. “Don’t even think about it!”

Bruce levelled a look on him with a deeply put-upon sigh. “It’s this or the chair. Your call.”

Dick glared back. “Low Bruce, real low.” His whole life had been one long struggle to stay out of a wheelchair. Alfred kept one in the house as a perpetual stick to Dick’s proverbial carrot. “You win.” He laced his arms around Bruce’s neck as the older man lifted him effortlessly. “I hate this.” He whispered into Bruce’s throat. “Makes me feel like a little kid again.”

“That’s one reason I like doing it.” Bruce relied, starting up the stairs. “It reminds me of better times when I looked after you not the other way around.”

Dick chuckled, reaching out to push open his door as Bruce carried him into his room. Alfred was laying dinner out for both of them on the small table.

“So?” the butler asked politely as he dished out the meal. “Will we be seeing more of that rather curious young man?”

Bruce met Dick’s eye and reached out to squeeze his hand. “I believe we will Alfred.”

“Very good sir.” Alfred’s quiet smile was answer enough regarding his feelings on the matter.

Dick took a sip of his milk and grinned. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.”