Disclaimer: Any characters I use belong to their respective creators.

Author's note: This will be the first fic I publish on this site. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Fair warning, some characters may be out of character; I am pulling from multiple sources. Thanks for taking the time to read and enjoy! :)

The room was shrouded by darkness. At the foot of his bed, yellow, slitted eyes stared down at him. The moonlight illuminated the kanima's green scales.

Stiles sunk is head lower into his pillow as if the simple action alone would put some distance between them. Fear paralyzed his body.

"You're not real. You're not real." Stiles muttered repeatedly.

The kanima hissed. Its reptilian claws dug into the mattress.

He backed up slowly into the headboard. The kanima looked absolutely feral.

'It can't hurt me', Stiles reassured himself.

The kanima crept closer until he could feel its breath across his neck.

"Oh, it can't hurt you?" A familiar voice sarcastically remarked.

Stiles' head whipped towards the figure leaning against the doorframe.

"Gerard." He exhaled.

"Surprised to see me?" Gerard picked up his lacrosse ball and examined it. "Gothamites aren't real big fans of lacrosse, are they?"

From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see the kanima retreat towards the edge of his bed.

"No, they're not," Stiles responded, "and considering what happened at my last game, neither am I."

Gerard tsked, and he clasped his hands together. "Now that was just a simple misunderstanding."

Righteous indignation bubbled under his skin despite how terrified he felt. "You call beating me to a bloody pulp a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding is when you leave the toilet seat up and your dad falls in!"

Gerard's face quickly morphed from indifference to anger. Without any warning, Gerard's hands were around his throat. "Trust me! If I had really wanted to hurt you, then you would know!"

Stiles pried at his fingers to no avail. It was times like these that he wished he was a werewolf.

"All you've ever been is a nuisance. Always getting in the way. Scott didn't even blink when you left." Gerard lifted Stiles off the bed. "He's better off without you."

Black spots began to fill his vision. "Dad!" He gasped. "Dad!"

"He can't save you!" Gerard wore a maniacal grin. "Not your dad. Not Scott. Not anyone."

Stiles limbs began to feel numb. Gerard's image faded.

"Dad." He called.

His body lurched forward with a start. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest.

"I'm here, son."

His dad pulled him into his chest and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"You're safe."

Stiles' eyes swept the room. It was empty. He buried his head into his dad's shoulder.

"It felt so real." He croaked. His throat felt raw and sore.

"The bad ones always seem real." An amused smile suddenly crossed his face. "But I think there's someone here who's willing to chase them away."

Stiles heard a tiny boof come from the side of his bed. He leaned over and saw a small dachshund attempting to jump on his bed.

His dad, taking pity, gave the puppy a small push. "There you go, Ajax."

Ajax proceeded to lick him relentlessly.

"Alright. Alright, boy. I'm up." The last shreds of his dream dissipated as he gave Ajax a tight hug.

"Let's get you some breakfast." Ajax barked in agreement.

His dad jokingly rubbed his stomach. "Do I get breakfast, too?"

Stiles laughed. "I think that's up to Ajax."

Once his dad and Ajax were gone, Stiles rummaged through his closet for his uniform which consisted of a dull, buttoned-up, white shirt and black slacks. He missed the days he could just throw on his ACDC shirt and a pair of jeans.

Stiles checked himself out in the mirror. At least Lydia was thousands of miles away.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way to the kitchen to serve Ajax his breakfast as promised. He even sneaked the little guy a couple of treats.

"I think we're out of cereal, dad." Stiles said after a thorough search of the cupboards. He peered into the sink and saw a bowl with dried milk on the edges.

"You ate the last of the cereal!"

His father feigned innocence and straightened out his newspaper. "Did you hear about the charity ball Bruce Wayne is throwing?"

"Dad." Stiles whined. It was his favorite.

His dad sighed and set down his mug. "I'm sorry. I ate the last of it when I came in last night. I thought you wouldn't notice."

"Well, you forgot the first rule in the criminal rule book." Stiles smugly grinned and lifted the bowl out of the sink. "Get rid of the evidence."

His dad rolled his eyes. "I guess I didn't get the memo."

"Well I did 'cause you still don't know who ate the last of the chocolate chip cookies." Stiles deftly sidestepped his dad's swatting newspaper and reached for the pop tart box. "It's bad for your cholesterol anyways."

His dad gave him an incredulous look. "And that pop tart is good for yours?"

"Well of course." He grabbed the pop tart as it shot up from the toaster. "I'm a growing boy. Need the carbohydrates and all that other stuff."

''Plus, it's the best thing in the world." He said as he stuffed the pop tart into his mouth.

"Of course. Of course." His dad's face twisted into disgust at his open mouth.

"Sorry." Stiles wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He pulled up a chair and set his glass of milk on the table.

"So," his dad started. Stiles internally groaned. He knew that look. It was the 'I'm very worried about you' look. "How's school? Are you adjusting okay?"

"Good. Peachy." He lied.

"You sure?" His dad asked again. He didn't sound entirely convinced.

Stiles gave him a noncommittal nod. While the schoolwork wasn't that hard, his social life was seriously lacking.

"Okay." His dad let the matter go, but his eyes said that the conversation was not over. "I talked to Melissa yesterday. She says Scott's made captain of the lacrosse team. Have you talked to him lately?"

"Yeah. He's been really busy with lacrosse and Allison." His pack is left unsaid. Stiles flipped his phone over.

NO NEW MESSAGES.

He tried to not let the hurt show on his face. "So, how's work?" Stiles asked.

"You know I can't give you any details, Stiles."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "It's just innocent curiosity."

"The last time you said that, you and Scott went looking for a dead body in the woods."

Stiles huffed. "It was only one time." It really was and it's not like he hadn't learned his lesson. Mostly learned anyways.

"Fine. Nothing too glamorous. Just a couple of break-ins in the Upper East Side."

Stiles noticed a pile of books neatly stacked on the table. "Are you gonna take the detective's exam?" He asked excitedly.

His dad rubbed his temples. "I've been thinking about it. I was going to tell you when the time was right."

"I think you should go for it, dad." He was a shoe-in. Maybe then his dad would get the respect he deserved.

"I think that's exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks, kiddo."

"Detective Stilinski has a nice ring to it."

His dad reached over the table and ruffled his hair. "Yes, it does."

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard-"

"Stiles Stilinski!" His dad hissed as he answered the phone. "Stilinski speaking. Yes. Yes. Okay. I'll be there in 15."

He hung up the phone and rubbed his face. "When I get home, we are having a serious conversation about boundaries."

Stiles grimaced. "I figured I had that coming."

His dad grabbed his coat. "Please don't be late. I don't want another phone call from your teacher that you missed first period."

Even though Beacon Hills High had lacrosse and Lydia frickin' Martin, it couldn't hold a candle to Gotham Academy. Gotham Academy was home to the city's elite. Upper-class doctors, lawyers, and bankers would send their children to the academy to be groomed into the next generation of influential people in Gotham. With the small exception of Stiles, of course.

As a cop at the GCPD, his dad didn't make much money, and whatever money he did earn went to pay the mortgage of their house. Knowing that Stiles was more likely to get in with the wrong crowd at one of Gotham's notorious public schools, his dad urged him to apply for the Wayne scholarship that was offered at the academy. Stiles got a full ride and assuaged his dad's fears.

"Move it, Stilinski!" But that didn't make him welcome. Stiles winced as his head connected with his locker.

"Haha. Nice one, Brock. Very funny." Stiles said as he rubbed the forming bruise.

"Freak." Brock spat. The football player turned on his heel and ran after his friends.

Asshole. It was just what he needed. Another Jackson. Maybe he should get Derek to bite him, too.

"Ouch."

Stiles spun around and saw a boy with black hair leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Say what?" The boy asked. He seemed amused at the whole thing.

"Ah, nevermind." He closed his locker. He really should stop sticking his foot in his mouth.

The boy rested a hand on his chin. "I can't seem to figure you out." His eyes observed Stiles with a thoughtful expression.

"What do you mean?" The staring was starting to make him uncomfortable.

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and approached Stiles at a leisurely pace. "I don't understand why you let someone like Brock walk all over you? You pretend to be less intelligent than you are in class. And, you skip first period to go play lacrosse in the field even though you know you'll get in trouble for it." He furrowed his eyebrows. "But I haven't even scratched the surface."

Stiles backed away slowly, unsure. "One. That's super creepy. Like stalkerish creepy. And two. How do you even know who I am? We've never met before."

"Let's just say I make a hobby of observing people. I'm Tim Drake by the way." Tim extended his hand out towards Stiles.

"Stiles Stilinski," he awkwardly shook Tim's hand, "but you knew that already."

Tim shrugged and folded his arms behind his head.

"Do you always greet people that way?" He was completely dumbfounded.

"Only the people that interest me." Tim looked over at the book Stiles was carrying. "The Legend of the Batman."

"Oh, yeah. It's just something I found in the library."

'More like searched hours on end for.' Stiles thought.

"I've read it before. They say he could be a vampire. Or a demon." Tim commented. "What do you think he is?"

Stiles paused for a moment. A year ago, he would have discounted the claims as purely rumor. However, after fighting off Derek's crazy uncle and getting paralyzed by a kanima, Stiles knew how dangerous it was to ignore local legend. "I don't know. But I do know he's a hero. The people he's saved...there's no other explanation."

"Yeah."

Tim reached into his backpack pulling out a piece of paper. "If you ever want to hang out," He jotted down something quickly, "then stop by."

Stiles took the paper. Tim was different, but for some reason, he didn't feel like it was a bad thing.

Tim waved as he left down the corridor. "I'll see you around, Stiles."

Stiles turned over the note. Wayne Manor.

"Hey, wait-" Damn. He was gone.

Stiles shook his head and looked around the hallway, noticing a distinct lack of students getting ready for their first class.

"Mr. Stilinski. We're waiting." Oh, no. Stiles nearly smacked his forehead.

"Sorry, Mrs. Pierce." There was definitely no escaping now. Bye, bye lacrosse. Stiles ducked into the classroom, avoiding Mrs. Pierce's disapproving glance.

He spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate on his lectures, but he was really just going through the motions. His mind kept wandering to his conversation with Tim. Had he just made a friend?

"It's looking good, Stiles." His art teacher commented. "Any particular reason the wolf's eyes are red."

He set his paintbrush on the table. "He's an alpha."

"It really makes him look strong and powerful. I like it."

"I was going more for a sour wolf." Stiles mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He piped up. She shot him a curious glance but moved across the room to help another student. Stiles inspected his painting. He was brought back to the day he first met Derek in the woods. He remembered Derek's menacing glare as he kicked them off his property. Oh, sweet memories.

Paint splashed over his work, and he looked up to see Brock, who covered his mouth in surprise. "Oops. I should really watch where I'm going."

Stiles quickly tried to wipe off the mix of blacks and blues but his painting was already ruined. "Yeah, you should." He snapped.

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. "What are you going to do about that?" Brock asked. He poked his large, meaty finger into Stiles' chest.

Stiles saw red, and he swung his fist at Brock. Pain exploded through his arm. Brock felt like a brick.

"Motherfucker!" Brock yelled as he held his bleeding nose. "You're dead, Stilinski!"

"Oh, fuck." His dad was going to kill him. "That was totally an accident. My hand slipped." Stiles said lamely.

"You know what's going to be an accident?"

"I'm guessing that doesn't involve a light tap on the shoulder." Where the hell was the teacher?

Brock growled. While Stiles never imagined poking a sleeping bear, he felt his current predicament fit the criteria perfectly.

He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. And waited. Stiles cracked an eye open and saw Tim standing in front of a sprawled Brock. "Are you sure you're not stalking me?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm actually in this class."

"But you've never been here before!"

"I'm actually in a lot of your classes." Tim looked over to Brock, who was fuming, and his two lackeys that were standing behind him. "Can we focus on a more pressing matter?"

"Yep. Fight that we are definitely going to lose."

"That's the spirit, Stiles."

Stiles nursed a black eye outside of the headmaster's office. Tim was sitting beside him. "How did you not get hit?"

"I guess I'm a better fighter than you are. Also, I don't think throwing yourself at people is considered fighting. It's a miracle you didn't break anything."

"But did you see the other guy! Obviously, it works."

Tim shook his head and laughed. "The only reason that worked was because he tripped over the trash can."

Stiles laughed, too. That is, until Headmaster Hammer opened the door to his office, steaming.

"I hope you are both aware that I have contacted each of your parents. They will be arriving shortly." He said in a clipped tone and shut the door.

Tim's demeanor quickly became sober. "Bruce is not going to be happy."

"Is Bruce your dad?"

Tim held his face in his hands. "Adopted dad. He is going to ground me into next year."

"My dad will probably arrest me on the spot." Stiles rubbed his eye. "I think I've been punished enough though."

That seemed to peak Tim's curiosity. "Your dad's in the GCPD?"

"Yeah. He used to be the sheriff in my old town," Stiles hesitated before continuing, "but some things happened there that made him want to move to Gotham. He actually lived here with my mom before I was born."

"I hope Brock hasn't ruined your experience here in Gotham. Not everyone's like him."

"I think I'm starting to get that. I'm sorry that I got you in trouble."

"You didn't ask me to. Brock and his friends had it coming." Tim nudged him. "I wasn't going to let a short stuff like you get pummeled all by yourself."

Stiles was about to say they were only a couple inches apart when a tall man dressed in a suit came into view. He had a certain air of seriousness. Tim's dad was pissed. "Alfred leave the car running, I don't think this will take long."

They sat in uncomfortable silence until his dad arrived. Stiles gave him a small wave. "Hey, daddio."

"Don't. Just don't." His dad didn't look angry. Disappointed yes. Stiles didn't know which one was worse. "You and I have a lot to talk about. Fighting! What were you thinking?"

At the arrival of their parents, the headmaster popped out of his office again. "Mister Wayne. Officer Stilinski. Please, come inside. We have much to discuss about your children's behavior."

Stiles turned to Tim with wide eyes. "Your dad is Bruce Wayne!"

Tim gave him a nod.

"Do you want to eavesdrop?"

"I thought you would never ask."

Stiles pressed his ear against the door. They both jumped at a loud bang.

"He has a black eye for Pete's sake! I don't believe for a second that Stiles acted unprovoked. Yes, he was wrong, but what are you going to do to protect him from those bullies?"

Go dad! Stiles cheered from where he was crouched.

"Well, Mr. Stilinski, Brock is an exceptional student. This is the first altercation he has been involved in. I am inclined to believe him over Stiles, who after being here two months, has missed first period nearly every day. I am worried Stiles will have a bad influence over Tim as shown by the altercation that occurred this afternoon."

Stiles could hear a throat clear. "Headmaster Hammer, Tim is a person who never acts without reason. It is obvious that he meant to protect Stiles. If you cannot see that, then I can assure you that my contributions to the academy will cease if you fail to resolve this."

"Now, now, Mr. Wayne." The headmaster forced a sweet tone. "I also want this issue to be resolved. Seeing that Tim and Stiles have not had any disciplinary issues of this magnitude before, I think a warning should suffice. But mark my words, if it happens again, I will not hesitate to expel both your sons. Gotham Academy does not tolerate violence."

"I think we're done here, Mr. Hammer." His dad said. Stiles and Tim scrambled to their chairs.

The door flew open, Mr. Wayne and his father bustling through. Anger was clearly visible on their faces. "Let's go, Tim."

"Stiles."

They followed diligently behind their dads.

"Having a dad who owns half of Gotham has its perks," Tim whispered. Stiles grinned.

As they exited the academy, Mr. Wayne turned to his dad and extended his hand similarly to how Tim did to Stiles. "It was a pleasure meeting you today, John. Even under the circumstances. Our sons seem to have bonded and seeing as Tim has few friends, I would like to formally invite you and your son over for dinner sometime."

His dad shook his hand. "My boneheaded son and I would love to come over sometime. I hear a lot about you from Gordon at the station."

"Good things I hope."

His dad chuckled. "You bet."

They stepped out and onto the steps of the school when Stiles was blinded by flashing red and blue lights. Guns were trained on all of them.

Mr. Wayne stepped protectively in front of Tim.

"FREEZE! ON THE GROUND NOW!"

His dad shoved him onto the cold cement. "Do what they say, Stiles."

Stiles folded his hands behind his head and saw officers swarm around his dad. He laid there in shock, not really sure what was happening. The clink of handcuffs rang loudly in Stiles' head. And as if someone finally pressed the play button, Stiles made a move to stop them.

"Stay down, Stiles." Mr. Wayne whispered harshly.

Stiles growled from his position on the floor. "What are you doing to my dad? He hasn't done anything wrong!" His dad was one of the good guys. He would never-

"I'll figure this out, Stiles. I promise." His dad told him as they hauled him to his feet. "I love you, son." He added quickly.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you."

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Stiles yelled at the officer. His dad was dragged towards the patrol car.

Why were they taking him away? His dad was innocent. Stiles got up and ran after his dad despite the shouts of protest from Mr. Wayne and Tim. He was so close. So very, very close.

He felt someone pull him roughly away. "Let me go, Parrish!" Stiles struggled against his grip. "Please!" He begged. "Oh, fuck no!" He watched helplessly as the car disappeared from his view. "Dad!"