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Tim didn’t get nostalgic often. He was too busy to spend any of his precious time reminiscing. It wasn’t productive and thus not important to focus on. However, every so often the urge hit him, and he dug out an old battered photo album to flip through. Somehow that album had ended up in his stack of work for the day and just the sight of it gave him the itch to look through it.
He cast a glance over at Damian. His kid brother seemed engrossed in the case work he’d brought with him and posed no immediate threat. So Tim flipped open the book and allowed himself to smile at the pictures inside.
The first few pages were filled with blurry half photos of what could have been Batman and Robin if one squinted very hard. Gradually the glossy pages gained clarity and focus until Tim reached the clear image of a man and boy swinging across two buildings, cape’s flashing behind them.
To say he’d been obsessed had been an understatement. He’d made figuring them out his life, and once he had he’d gained a secret few possessed. Then through some miracle or accident of fate he’d ended up here, in the house he’d fantasized about, being raised by the man he’d idolized.
Overnight he’d found himself folded into Bruce’s eclectic family. Sometimes the strangeness of it all hit him. Who was he that Bruce Wayne would have listened to him, let alone chose to adopt him into his family? He was one of a million kids to look up to the Batman, and yet here he was.
“Whatcha looking at there, Timmy?” Tim’s hands automatically gripped the album harder as it was tugged upward. Then the smooth pages and worn leather slipped from his grasp, and he shot up from where he’d been leaning on the arm rest.
“Give it back, Dick,” he said reaching over the side of the couch for the book.
His oldest brother held the album high above his head, a wicked grin on his face. Dick Grayson, all sunshine and smiles was the first Robin. The one to start it all, and the reason Tim had cracked the mystery of Batman and Robin’s identities.
He’d seen him once, before he’d been adopted by Bruce, in the Flying Grayson’s acrobatic show. He’d been just as in awe of Dick’s skills then as he was to this day, not that he’d admit it anymore. The older boy had made an impression on Tim, one that stuck so well it proved to be the key to the secret.
“Nope, I want to see what had you so distracted.” Dick never tried to hide who he was. In costume or out he was Dick Grayson, flying Grayson, and vigilante.
His brother opened the book, “Ohhhhh Tim! Why didn’t you tell me you had this?” he hopped over the side of the couch, plopping down inches from Tim’s feet, “Look at this, I was such a baby!”
“I didn’t tell you because of this exact reaction,” Tim grumbled and reached over to snatch the book back, but Dick was faster than him and held it back again.
His eyes went wide when the book disappeared from his own hand, and both Dick and Tim looked up to see Jason, book open in his palm, the other hand over his mouth to suppress obvious laughter.
“Jay, I asked you to wait while I got Tim.”
Jason managed to swallow the laughs and aimed a halfhearted glare at Dick, “You were taking too long, now I see why.”
He flipped a few more pages and regarded Tim, “You got any of me in here? I’ve almost forgotten the look of those scaly underpants we had to wear.”
Jason Todd, the second Robin. Tim hadn’t had a lot of time to get to know him before he’d died, but it was because of him that Tim had the opportunity to become Robin himself. Bruce had been broken after Jason’s death, and Tim couldn’t stand that. Couldn’t stand to see the man he’d looked up to for so long falling into dangerous practices, well more dangerous than usual. He’d needed a Robin, so Tim stepped in.
“Scaly underpants are almost the entire content, yours are closer to the back,” Dick said as he pushed Tim’s feet back towards him. Tim let him, folding them up towards him so Dick could move over.
Jason took Dick’s place and flipped through the book, “Here they are. Who thought these were a good idea? I’m surprised we didn’t get sick more often.”
He turned the book to show them, pointing at a much younger version of himself, grinning brightly at the camera.
Tim had added that picture later, after he was Robin. After Jason had died. He’d found an old stash of Alfred’s photos and had taken a few of them for the scrapbook. He’d wanted to see Jason happy, and know that being Robin could be a good thing.
He’d considered taking it out at one time, and not just it, but all of Jason’s photos. After his brother had come back into their lives as an angry, vengeful force.
Pretender. The word still stung, even after Jason had stopped using it. A lot of things still stung, but time was helping, time and getting to know him.
“Did you ever hide under B’s cape? I would wrap up in that thing on the really cold nights,” Dick grinned.
Jason nodded, “It was the best,” he turned to Tim, “You had it a lot better, Timmy. Pants. Never take those for granted.”
“I’ll remember that,” Tim rolled his eyes and reached for the book.
Jason set it on the far edge of the couch, the corner of his mouth turned up for mischief, “Speaking of having it good, have you ever thought about how weird your situation is?”
There it was, the conversation piece Tim had specifically wanted to avoid. The reason his album spent more time in a hidden compartment under his bed than it did in the light, “Nope, never crossed my mind,” he deadpanned.
“You should be more respectful, Timmy. I mean you are living your dream,” Dick said.
Jason waved his hands in an arc, “Ah yes, the dream of living with the Batman.”
Tim scowled, “As if. No dream is enough to be nice to you two for long.”
“We could always kick you out, you know.”
Dick grinned and hooked a thumb at Tim, “Or make you scope out the secret identity of some other superhero, then and only then can you rejoin the Batfamily.”
Jason clapped his hands together, “Yes, do that. Prove you are worthy of the great detective’s attention, Timmers. Go tell me the secret identity of…” Jason paused and glanced at Dick, “Who don’t we know the secret identity of?”
“The Flash,” Dick said.
“You know exactly who he is,” Tim rolled his eyes.
“Who? No, if I did I can’t remember,” Dick said.
The album disappeared off the couch arm and snapped shut with a clap, “That’s enough, both of you,” Damian’s glare was aimed at the entire couch, and Tim felt like his youngest brother had meant to say, ‘all of you’.
“I am trying to work and you’re incessant badgering is beginning to give me a headache.”
“Sorry Little D, we were just reminiscing.”
“And dragging Tim,” Jason added.
The kid raised an eyebrow at them, “I see, and are you two enjoying yourselves?”
“Immensely,” Jason grinned.
Damian flicked the book back open, locating the page he was looking for almost instantly. He flipped it around to show his brothers, “Tell me, is this really you Grayson, with that enamored look on your face as you stare at my father? And Todd, I seem to remember one in here with you begging Father for—”
“Ok, ok! We get it. Don’t make fun of Tim for being an idealistic kid,” Jason lunged for the book but Damian stepped back and Jason had to scramble to right himself on the couch without falling off.
“How come you’re being so defensive of Tim?” Dick asked.
“Tt, I’m not,” Damian said and tossed the book to Tim who caught it on instinct, “You three are lucky to have been picked by Father, you should all appreciate it.”
Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne and current Robin. He’d tried to kill Tim once, as an attempt to claim his rightful place as Bruce’s son. It hadn’t worked, and it had taken a long time for either of them to be able to be in the same room as the other.
They’d formed a shaky alliance, that was the only thing Tim could call it. A truce between the two for the sake of the family. At least that’s what he’d thought, but as Damian stood there, defending him he was starting to wonder if they’d wandered into brotherhood.
“So says the son of Batman,” Jason grinned prompting Damian to cross his arms.
“I am the only one qualified to make fun of any of you for idolizing my father.”
“Because he’s yours?” Dick guessed.
Because he’d done it too, Tim realized. He should have been able to guess as much, but it took the look on his little brother’s face to make the pieces click together.
From what he’d learned Damian had spent every birthday he could remember fighting to find out who his father was. It wasn’t a mental battle or one with a computer, but a literal one against his own mother. Tim was sure he’d guessed, but knowing made all the difference, especially for someone like Damian.
“Of course.”
“Right. Well, excuse me if I don’t let your opinion sway me, Tater Tot,” Jason shrugged.
“What about my opinion?” Four heads turned to see Bruce himself stroll into the room.
“Hey B,” Dick waved, “What brings you here?”
“The manor was quiet, I felt the need to investigate. No one’s attempted to kill anyone yet?” he aimed the question at Damian and Tim.
Damian shrugged, “Not yet.”
“We were reminiscing,” Tim hefted the album for Bruce to see, “And discussing who exactly should feel lucky to be your son.”
Bruce nodded, and took the book from Tim. He flipped through it for a moment as the boy’s watched, silent and interested. It was gradual, but Bruce’s face softened as he flipped the pages, then a smile slipped over his lips.
“If anyone should feel lucky, it’s me,” he said after a moment, “I couldn’t be more proud to have you boys, Cass, and Steph.”
Dick glanced at his siblings. He didn’t need to say anything as they all stood together and swamped their father. It felt good, all of them squished together, and Tim decided that maybe his album could stay out in the light a little longer.