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November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
The Joker always said it only took one, bad day to turn someone into a villain. Looking back at the day he'd had, Tim could totally see it. He liked to think he was above that, but...
@definitelynottimdrake
November 21, 2026 | 10:29 AM
it wasnt me
@SeizeTheSeas
November 21, 2026 | 10:30 AM
@definitelynottimdrake yes it was@definitelynottimdrake
November 21, 2026 | 10:32 AM
@SeizeTheSeas oh crud wrong chat@BruceWayneOfficial
November 21, 2026 | 10:37 AM
@definitelynottimdrake Timothy.@BruceWayneOfficial
November 21, 2026 | 10:38 AM
@BruceWayneOfficial What did you do?
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
Tim sighed as he stared down at the coffee that had just been knocked out of his hand by a freak flower pot that had fallen from one of the apartments above him. Maybe the pot was meant for his head. He didn't know and he didn't care. They'd taken something far more valuable from him.
It was gonna be one of those days, wasn't it?
November 15th, somewhere in Gotham...
First, it had been Alfred cutting him off that morning. Then, the incident with the kid in the coffee shop. And, now this.
What was Tim supposed to do with all the money in his bank if his attempts at coffee kept getting thwarted like some two-bit villain in a kids' show. The jar of sprinkles now in The palm of his hand were looking more and more like a weapon.
Should he be worried his mind could now functionally come up with several ways in which sprinkles could be used as a viable weapon?
...Nah. It was probably fine.
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
Tim was gonna cry.
This made seventeen coffees he'd lost in the last week and five in the last few hours.
What had he done to deserve this? Did he not sacrifice enough fighting for the city every night to warrant just a little cup of coffee? This was cruelty. He lived in a cruel and unforgiving world and -
Ooh! Meteor Bucks!
October 28th, Wayne Manor...
Stupid.
****ing.
Chicken.
Mask.
On.
Tim's.
Bed.
AGAIN.
November 22nd, some diner in Gotham...
"You alright, Tim?" Dick asked, concerned. "You've hardly touched your monkeyato."
Tim scowled down at the drink his eldest brother had bought for him after hearing about all his troubles with keeping hold of his coffee. It was a macchiato with a monkey face drawn in the cream.
It was demeaning.
It was insulting.
And, Tim was actually desperate enough to just go along with it, if it weren't for the fact he just knew that the second he picked up the cup, something was going to happen to it.
But, if he didn't at least give it a try, they'd just be sitting here for who knew how long waiting for whatever "it" was this time and Tim was feeling impatient.
He picked up the cup, and a large waitress working at the table across from them turned a little too quickly and knocked it out of his hand. The monkey face remained in-tact, staring up at him mockingly from the tabletop.
Dick whistled. "Wow, you really weren't kidding, were you?"
"I don't joke about coffee, Dick."
"...You sound way too much like Bruce when you do that."
November 23rd, somewhere in Metropolis...
Clark watched the press meeting through the TV screen in the office with clenched fists and gritted teeth, silently fuming at the sheer stupidity of the situation.
Luthor was running for president.
"How can people not figure out that Luthor is evil," he wondered aloud, wishing he was there to get between the bald man and Lois, who had been picked to cover the conference, because Clark, - Thanks to an incident with a volcano and an inter-dimensional portal the week before, - had too much paperwork to catch up on.
"Probably the same reason nobody figures out you're Superman," Lance said casually, popping up out of nowhere and causing Clark to jump.
Surely this was proof that the irritating man was secretly a super-villain and it was okay to laser-vision him, right?
"Oh, come on," Lance continued, seemingly reading Clark's thoughts while also completely ignoring his feelings. Rude. "You both just appeared in Metropolis in 1938, and you both look 35 years old, even today. - And, honestly, how does nobody ever even mention that? You've been a journalist with your name in the paper almost the entire time! Do they think you're Clark Junior, or something? - Also, every time one of you appears, the other disappears. And, vice versa. You're not slick. Even the Box Ghost could figure it out."
Clark blinked. Because, yeah, this was a problem, but... "The... Box... What?"
"It's like how little Danny Fenton has been fourteen for a few years now," Lance prattled on. "I mean, clearly, he's not a ghost. I don't think he even glows in the dark that much compared to most Amity Parkers, and I don't think even Jack and Maddie - God rest their lunatic souls, - were that oblivious. But, they clearly exposed him to too many chemicals or alternate-dimensional stuff and he got frozen in time."
...What?
Wait, wasn't Magpie's birth name Fenton?
"Lance, could you repeat literally any of that in English?"
"Wouldn't you prefer Kryptonian?"
Laser vision was looking more and more like a viable option.
"Calm down," Lance chided, like Clark was some kind of over-emotional kindergartener and Lance hadn't just spouted every single one of his secrets and possibly some of Magpie's in a single breath. Out in the open. "I don't want this to turn into another Wes Weston situation."
"Who?"
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
If Tim lost another coffee to some freak accident, he decided, he was gonna scream.
A kid on a bike raced past him, attempting to knock his cup out of his hand. He missed, because Tim had been expecting it. The little brat also called him a loser, but it didn't matter. His coffee was safe.
Then a crocodile jumped out of a nearby manhole, stealing his cup, before disappearing back into the sewers.
It returned a moment later to place an envelope in Tim's still-outstretched hand.
Tim screamed.
@definitelynottimdrake
December 10, 2026 | 9:47 AM
@BlakeonBlake i didnt do it
@rando38592
December 10, 2026 | 9:52 AM
@definitelynottimdrake i don't believe you.@definitelynottimdrake
December 10, 2026 | 9:59 AM
@rando38592 wow. trust on the internet has really gone down since i insinuated the batsuit was sentient.
November 22nd, the Batcave...
"What do you mean, we've been invited to Killer Croc's wedding?"
"He's marrying a crocodile named Pollyanna."
Frankly, Tim wanted nothing to do with it, if only because his coffee had been so viciously stolen.
...But, on the other hand, he could use this opportunity to get his revenge on the croc who had stolen it.
...Brilliant...
Where was his cork board and red string? He had PLANNING to do.
September 15th, somewhere in Gotham...
"I mean, we could," Tim began, thinking over the possibilities. It'd be hard to manage without getting caught by Alfred, especially with paintball guns involved, but...
"I sense a 'but' coming," Dick noted.
"But." Tim confirmed.
"I knew it. My 'but' sense is never wrong."
"Please, don't call it that."
November 22nd, Jay's Fancy, New House in Bristol (he doesn't wanna talk about it)...
"I adore my daughter," Jason began, placing his hands on the countertop of the new house on the outskirts of Bristol he was refusing to admit he'd willingly bought. "Truly. But if I have to hear Where Is Thumbkin? one more time, I'm gonna jump down the talking sewer grate."
At this, Tim, relieved to see someone else struggling as much as he was today, cackled.
Then, Jason threw out a dramatic arm to point at him and ruined it. "Laugh all you want, I named you godfather!"
Tim choked on air and fell out of his chair. Like a novice. "I didn't agree to that!"
His (demonic) brother's grin was manic, his eyes glowing a feral green. "Doesn't matter, I made it happen and Gotham okayed it. You try to ditch her, the whole city comes after you. And, you know how persistent Gotham can be."
Tim glanced away from the third-most-dangerous creature in the room - Tim refused to believe he was third, - over to the unarguably most-dangerous, - Whether anyone believed him about it or not, - who was, at that moment, spinning around in circles with a stuffed banana on her head, singing along with the TV about monkeys.
And, he was her godfather.
How was this happening to him?
December 17th, somewhere in Gotham...
"Oh, come on," Steph wheedled. "Our universe isn't that weird."
Danny leveled her with a very unimpressed look. "I have seen the People of Gotham website. It's very similar to one we have in my home universe called People of Woolmart."
"Oh, yeah," Jason replied thoughtfully. "I forgot about that site. I think it's Timmy's pet-project."
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
Tim didn't know how it had come to this: Him, on patrol, on what was quite possibly the worst day of his life, babysitting his new niece/goddaughter.
His new niece/goddaughter who he was pretty sure was destined to either take over the world or, depending on how hungry she got, eat it.
Ah, well. Might as well score some Favorite Uncle points while he was here by doing some cool flips and stuff for the little gremlin. He was proud to say he could do so without spilling the coffee he'd finally managed to get a sip of.
As if she didn't comprehend the complexities of this, nor the effort it had taken for him to get hold of his precious fuel today, his brother's little, chaos gnome waited for him to land, then tugged on his cape with an innocence Tim did not believe for a second.
"Uncle Timmy, how come you drink so much coffee?"
Well, maybe the kid wasn't all bad. Maybe, the Chaos Gnome™ could still be taught the ways of the Coffee Gremlin™. And, so, not to let his new niece/goddaughter down, he delved into a deep and passionate speech about his favorite subject, waxing poetic about the intricacies of flavor and temperature and coarseness-of-grounds in a way he felt even Jason would appreciate. (The nerd.)
The Chaos Gnome™ looked up at him for a long moment, blinking, and he thought maybe he'd been speaking too quickly in his passion and she needed a minute to process.
Then, she said, "...I dunno what that means. I'm only two."
She even held up two of her little fingers. Like she was mentally two, and not just chronologically two.
...Wait.
Was she mentally two?
He needed to call Jason. Where was he, anyways?
November 21st, Babs' Clock Tower...
Babs, Tim, and Steph cackled together, as they watched Jason and Jon's awkwardness and Killer Croc's cringy proposal over Oracle's video feeds. Boy, this Pollyanna girl really knew how to pick 'em.
After a moment, Steph wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "Okay, so, as much as I'm loving this, should we, like, do something?"
"How long is my bo-staff?" Tim asked, in place of an answer.
She blinked. "I dunno. Maybe six feet?"
Tim nodded, taking another bite of popcorn and settling back into his chair. "If I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole, why would I touch it with a six-foot one?"
November 22nd, the Watchtower...
Everyone's heads swiveled around at the sound of a door slamming open, despite the fact all the doors on the Watchtower were the pneumatic, slidey kind. They continued to stare in shock as the Red Hood stormed into the middle of the main room, armed-to-the-teeth and looking furious.
Of course, they all knew the fierce vigilante's reputation. The younger heroes knew him as the vicious, drug lord who'd taken over Gotham's entire drug trade in a matter of hours but at the cost of a dump truck's worth of blood and several decapitations.
The older heroes (and five, particular, younger ones,) knew him as the most-dramatic (and third-most-dangerous) of Bruce's brats.
What a day for Batman to be off-world again.
"Hello, Jason!"
Then, the whole situation got weirder, when Wonder Woman cheerfully greeted the crime lord who'd just infiltrated their base.
"Hey, Aunt Di." Then, he greeted her back, equally as friendly. "Where's Flash?"
"Flash One or Flash Two?" Superman asked, pausing his work on some kind of space-thing he'd found on his last mission to join the casual conversation that probably shouldn't have been so casual. Casually.
"Either one works."
"Think Wally's on the observation deck, Bud."
"'Kay. Thanks."
And, then, the fearsome Red Hood walked calmly to the elevator and disappeared from sight.
"Should we..." Booster began, but was wise enough to shut up when Plastic Man placed a hand on his shoulder and Wonder Woman shot him an absolutely vicious look.
"My nephew would not hurt one of us on our own ship." She folded her arms haughtily. "He would only do so if we invaded his territory."
As if that was valid reasoning.
Which... For a Bat, the Leaguers decided it might actually be.
November 22nd, a rooftop in the Bowery...
Shaking thoughts of his brother's whereabouts off, Tim turned to the possible-toddler he'd brought on patrol with him, speaking slowly and carefully. (Blood-related or not, this child was Jason's and he'd do well to keep that in mind.)
"...Are you two years old on the inside, or is that just how long it's been since you were cloned from the Sidecult?"
The kid scrunched up her nose in a way that would've been adorable, had Tim not seen her unhinge her jaw and eat an entire meatball sub in one bite like an anaconda just a few hours before.
"Who?"
"Maggie Constantine."
"Oh. Never heard him called that before. When I was cloned, he was going by Danny Phantom."
"That's a stupid name," Tim replied, without thinking.
"You're named after a restaurant, Uncle Timmy."
"...Touché."
"Pappy says he thinks I'm mentally eleven and emotionally two. On account o' I can do fifth-grade math, but I still like Benny the Stegosaurus. Daddy doesn't like Benny much, does he?"
"No. No, he does not."
If Tim could curse right now without getting ratted out to Alfred by his demonic, oversized, baby niece/goddaughter, he would be creating brand, new swear words specifically for this nightmare of a situation he'd found himself in.
Then, he'd create even more for the wild robin that chose that moment to appear out of nowhere and knock his ****ing coffee out of his hand!!! The robin thing was supposed to be Dick's curse!!!
Taking a deep, steadying breath, and pointedly unclenching his fists, he turned back to the Demon Gnome™ he was currently responsible for.
"Okay. So. It turns out your dad was right about us not going out on patrol tonight." He said, as convincingly as he could. Which probably wasn't very convincing, but if Elli really was only two on an emotional level, it should still do the trick. "There's not that much crime going on and the others can handle it and it's really boring out here and I should've listened to him." He was not about to repeat any of Bruce's many mistakes by insinuating that she wasn't capable. He knew all-too-well how that would likely end. "I've learned my lesson. Let's go home and watch a movie. And, if you promise not to tell Jason about this, I'll get you a seven-scoop ice cream cone on the way home. Any combination of flavors you want."
A major-league sugar rush should teach Jay not to dump a meta-toddler on him without nearly enough warning.
"Ooh! Yay!~" The literal baby cheered, hopping in place and doing a little dance, before grabbing his hand. "Let's go!"
"You gotta promise to keep it a secret first." Alfred didn't raise no fool.
The girl turned to face him, planted her feet firmly, placed her right hand over her heart, and raised her left. "I promise not to tell Daddy about going on patrol with Uncle Timmy tonight."
"Or, about the ice cream."
"Or, about the ice cream. With God as my wingman."
And, at that, Tim completely lost it on a rooftop in the Bowery, slumping to the ground. Because, okay, maybe the Demon Gnome™ really was just a Chaos Gnome™. She might even be a little more cute than eldritch-y, if he squinted right.
He only laughed harder when she stamped her tiny, little foot, with an indignant, "Uncle Timmy!~ Stop laughing at me!~ I'm serious!"
And, that was the moment they were attacked again, but not by robins, this time.
September 29th, Wayne Manor...
"Don't listen to him, he was dropped on his head as a baby," Jason insisted, shoving Tim to the side.
"No, I wasn't!" The Robin in question argued.
"See? It rattled his brain so hard he doesn't even remember it."
"Because, I was a baby and because it didn't happen."
November 22nd, the Watchtower...
Jason stepped out of the elevator and onto the observation deck, quickly locating Wally and making a (menacing) beeline for him and pretending he didn't see the crowd of Leaguers following him. (He knew Uncle Clark and Aunt Di wouldn't let them interfere unless things got violent.) He grabbed the back of the man's chair and spun it to face him.
After a split-second of confusion, Wally's eyes lit up. "Oh, hey, Jay! Wh-"
Jason jerked him up by the collar of his suit. "HOW DO YOU AFFORD FOOD!? SHE'S EATING ME OUT OF HOUSE AND CRIMINAL EMPIRE!" Then, just to keep Dickie's friend on his toes, he visibly calmed and threw an arm around the shorter hero's shoulder. "What kinda racket you got goin'? C'mon. You can tell me. You can't possibly be doing this legally."
"I... What... Um... Who's eating you out of house and... Empire?"
"Elli the Belli."
"...Is that some new gang leader?"
"Of course not. She's my daughter. I'm not gonna let my baby go out in the field. I'm not Bruce."
At this, Diana gasped, delighted. "You have a daughter?"
Clark, however, was confused. "I thought Jarro was a boy."
"Don't gender my starfish," Jason retorted, just to be contrary, then continued, "Also, I know I've got the internet convinced that Jarro's my kid, but all of you should know he's B's, which makes him my brother. He's playing along, because he likes to mess with people too. Also, free baby shower gifts."
"Oh, yeah, I know," Clark smirks, dropping the act. And, okay, Jason would admit, that wasn't bad. "I just didn't wanna ruin your fun."
Jason grinned right back. (He was still wearing his helmet, but Clark had x-ray vision, so did it really matter?) "I see you working your way to cool-uncle status. I'll tell Tim to add points for that."
The younger Leaguers in the room looked highly confused, (which meant Jason was doing his job correctly,) when the Man of Steel fist-pumped and shouted, "Yes! How far ahead of Ollie am I now?"
Ollie, in turn, chose that moment to slide into view from where he'd been watching the chaos from the shadows, - He'd had Cass teaching him to sneak around better lately, for reasons all the Batkids were currently placing bets on. Knowing Ollie, it was probably something stupid. - "You're about be behind me, when my gift shows up, and this ones for Jarro and Elli!"
November 24th, Wayne Manor...
Bruce gazed out into the yard at the eyesore his youngest child and only grandchild were currently playing on, along with several of Damian's pets. (He was certain his second-youngest would have a fit about that, particular detail the second he got home, but, for now, he was content to let the cats, dogs, cow, and turkey spin slowly around on the large carousel Ollie had sent as a "baby-shower" gift for Jarro, as well as an "adopted-into-the-family-of-adoption-addicted-people" gift for Elli.
The beautifully-crafted and very tacky, Justice-League-themed carousel that was now taking up half of the back garden. (Well, more like a sixth of it, because Bruce had a very large backyard, but if he'd learned anything from Tim and Steph it was the importance of emphasis.)
"It was a... Rather thoughtful gift from Mister Queen. The children certainly seem to be enjoying it."
If by 'enjoying it' he meant climbing it like a jungle gym while it was still moving.
Still, Bruce smirked slyly, side-eyeing his, own, adoptive father. "Alfred, it's okay, he's not here, you can say it's ugly if you want to. Also, it's Ollie, so you can even say it's ugly to his face if you like."
The old man just smiled knowingly back at him. "How could I dare insult something the children so clearly adore?" As the butler turned to walk away, Bruce just barely heard - Though he knew the fact that he heard it at all meant he was intended to, - the older man mutter, "My dear boy, how can you be such a talented detective, yet fail to realize your children's chaotic natures come directly from you?"
And, well, Bruce couldn't really argue with that, could he?
But.
"And, where do I get it from."
A sniff. "That was not a question, and, I assure you, I haven't the slightest inkling."
November 22nd, a rooftop in the Bowery...
Tim looked around in a daze at the group of girls wearing a mix of Red Robin, Tim Drake, and photography fangirl t-shirts who had somehow managed to tie him up. Then, he looked over at his niece/goddaughter, who was looking just as confused as he was and seemed to be... Struggling to read their t-shirts?
Because, she was a literal baby.
****.
A baby who was reaching for the earpiece she'd apparently swiped off of him at some point.
"Uh..." She began, pushing the button on the side. "Aunt Barbie? I might'a just accidentally gave away Red Robby's identity. Also, he got kidnapped, again."
"It's okay, Sweetie," One of them began. "We already knew his identity. We're The Society of Upside-Down-Dangling-Photographer-Photographers."
Elli blinked. "The... What?"
And, yeah, Tim would like that repeated, too, please.
"We take pictures of Tim Drake trying to photograph things in weird positions," another explained, thankfully, "like hanging from gargoyles and popping up from sewage grates. Didn't take long to link the two together."
Oh.
Oh.
Bruce was gonna kill him.
But, honestly, he'd been sneaking around behind B and Jason to take pictures for so long, once he actually joined the family and had the skills to get even better shots, did they actually believe he would just stop?
He supposes he should've kept to doing it in costume, but sometimes there were opportunities he just couldn't pass up and he didn't have time to change, and he was really careful not to be seen...
Babs definitely knew about this. That would explain her current silence.
This realization made said silence feel pointedly amused.
"Plus, hes got very distinctive features," A third one cooed, "He's so dreamy.~"
Welp. Time to try and salvage this. "Ladies, could I cut in for a mo-"
"No," all of them chorused. Which. Rude.
The second one reached down to pat Tim on the head condescendingly. "Just sit there and look beautiful, Angel."
"Excuse you?"
November 24th, a random diner in Gotham...
Jay and Dick were sitting in a diner booth, discussing their latest case over lunch. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, secret-identities-wise, but they were being discreet and no one had ever bothered them before. Steph even seemed to have made it a sort of game, to see what she could get away with mentioning out-of-context without anyone noticing. Leave out the right details and throw in a couple code-words and nobody would even blink.
"What y'all talkin' about?"
Until today, apparently.
Jason and Dick turned to look at the waitress who'd meandered over to refill their cups.
"Weird dream I had last night," Dick replied, smiling winningly and not missing a beat. He must've been holding onto that one for just such an occasion, Jason figured, as the woman walked away.
"Oh, I like that. I'm gonna steal that one," Jason smirked, sipping his drink and thinking of all the **** he could get away with that would make Bruce pull his hair out.
Dick smirked back proudly, "I mean, it's not like the people of this city don't know exactly who we are."
Jason blinked. "What?"
"It's his newest head-canon on life," Tim said, choosing that moment to appear out of nowhere and slide into the booth next to Jason, fresh coffee in-hand. "Everyone already knows our secret identities, but don't say anything because either:
1) They actually think were making a difference;
2) They don't wanna be known as a snitch;
3) They think no one would believe them;
4) They're holding off to sell us out for cash later;
5) They don't live in Gotham and think it's none of their business;
6) They don't live in Gotham and just don't care;
7) They think it's funny and they're watching us like a soap opera only they can access.
or 8) Some combination of those."
Jason furrowed his brow, turning back to his eldest brother and trying to ignore the fact he could actually hear the bullet-points in that list. "What the ****, Dickie?"
"It's a good theory!" The first Robin defended. "I figure the amount of people who know is around eighty-five percent."
Jason snorted. "Yeah, right."
Then, Tim hummed thoughtfully. "Probably closer to thirty percent."
Jason felt himself pale with genuine fear. "****. You believe it, too." Because, if Tim believed it, there was actually a terrifyingly-high chance it was true.
"On a much smaller scale to Dick, yeah," The shorter vigilante nodded.
"See?" Dick crowed, vindicated. "I'm not crazy!"
And, Tim-Drake-Stamp-Of-Approval or no, Jason couldn't let that statement stand. Time for some bullet-points of his own. "Okay, first off. Bruce had to reinforce the chandeliers for you. Even if you're right about this one thing, you're still crazy."
"...Fair," Dick pouted. (Jason was not going to think about the glint of pride in his eyes at that fact.)
"Second off, how did you," He pointed to Dick accusingly, "get eighty-five percent while you," he shifted his finger to Tim, "got thirty percent?"
"Because, I actually did the math and he's just being dramatic."
Dick squawked indignantly, but didn't deny it.
Jason nodded. "Yeah, that tracks."
Dick squawked even more indignantly. (He still didn't deny it.)
"Third off. Wouldn't a 'head-canon on life' just be a conspiracy theory?"
"No," Tim replied, taking on the famous, BatDad, 'Explaining-the-case' voice. (Patent pending.) "Because, 'theory' implies that I'm not certain, which I am. And, also, 'head-canon on life' sounds cooler. And, less crazy."
"Like Dick," Jay nodded.
"Like Dick," Tim nodded back.
Their brother crossed his arms and pouted. "I'm never telling you guys any of my brilliant ideas ever again."
The other two looked him dead in the eyes, thoroughly unimpressed, and chorused, "That's a blatant lie."
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
The comms were a weird place, Tim decided, as he listened to his siblings' current discussion. They'd been chasing a strange, new villain all through the city for the past hour or so and it had, apparently, led to a conversation about dolphins, bats, and other sonar-related creatures.
"That's not echolocation," Jason pointed out. "It's echo-mis-location."
"Better than echo-dislocation," Dick shot back, smirk audible.
"Here's my echo-fist-location," Steph joined, landing next to Tim for no reason other than to punch him in the arm, then grapple away.
February 21st, Jay's Fancy, New House in Bristol (he doesn't wanna talk about it)...
"Daddy~," Elli called sweetly - Too sweetly, if you asked Tim, - from the doorway she'd just appeared around.
He and Jason paused in their conversation about their latest case to look at her, one curious what his eldest kid had to say, one suspicious about what kind of chaos his Chaos Gnome of a niece/goddaughter was about to incite. (How could Jason have possibly grown up in Crime Alley and still turned out this hopeful and naive? Was he in denial? He was probably in denial. Should Tim check him for a concussion or something?)
"If revenge is sweet, but it's also best served cold, does that mean revenge is ice cream?"
"Yes, Pun'kin," Jason looked like he was simultaneously proud and also trying not to break down laughing. "Yes, it does."
The Chaos Gnome clapped her hands suddenly, rubbing them together and giggling menacingly. "Excellent."
Jamie, sitting in his baby bouncer nearby, heard and joined in.
Tim was immediately both horrified and ten times as suspicious.
His brother just smiled indulgently and went back to his case file. "Ah, youth."
"...Jason..." Tim began after a few moments of silence, in which his Chaos Gnome of a niece/goddaughter had disappeared entirely. "Be honest with me... Are you raising a baby super-villain?"
"Timmy." Jason met his eyes seriously. Desperately. Almost manically. "I have a two-year-old who looks eleven and a teething newborn with fangs like daggers. I haven't slept in eighty-three hours. I have no idea what I'm doing, but they're both breathing and neither of them is hungry or attempting to fight crime in spandex, so I'm counting it as a win."
"Daddy~," Elli's voice echoed from somewhere in the house. "I'm hungry~!"
Jason visibly deflated, voice barely a whisper, weak with an emotion Tim couldn't quite identify. "You just ate four fried chickens and a Coke."
November 22nd, somewhere in Gotham...
Tim glared down at his thirtieth lost coffee and relinquished all hope.
This was it.
This was the last straw.
They would feel his pain.
They all would.
Red Robin was officially going rogue.