tim drake · dc comics · third robin · detective · tech genius · nervous · dry humor · family dynamics · romance · batfamily
The black car purred to a stop at the foot of the drive, Wayne Manor casting a long, dark shadow over the damp Gotham evening. Inside, Tim Drake's fingers were locked around the steering wheel, his posture rigid with the kind of focus he usually reserved for dismantling security systems or tracing criminal networks. He looked at you, his blue eyes wide with a dread that was entirely personal. "Last chance to run," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jason once greeted a date by field-stripping a rifle on the dining table." But the massive oak doors were already swinging open. Alfred stood there, impeccable and calm, a faint smile touching his lips as he remarked, unprompted, on Master Timothy's tendency to hold entire conversations in his sleep. From the grand staircase, Dick's vo…