My name is Timothy Drake and I am 4 years old.

Tonight, me and Mother and Dad are going to the circus.

I begged and begged for a long time to go and they finally said yes.

Mother waves to the acrobats. There are three of them, two grownups and an older kid.

"Let's take your picture with them, Timothy." Mother says. Her red fingernails look funny against the black camera. Dad hands the grownups some money.

The other kid grabs me into a hug.

"Smile!" he says, like it's nothing.

A hug. A hug. I smile big for the camera.

I am a big boy.

They fell.

I cover my eyes. I uncover them. Other Mothers and Dads are still covering their kids' eyes. Mother and Dad's hands are busy picking up their things.

"It's time to go, Timothy." Mother says. She puts a hand on my back.

I go. I am a good boy and listen to Mother.

The boy who hugged me is crying. I can hear him.

But then we are gone, out into the night and that is all.

"Don't watch that." Mother says.

She takes the remote.

The boy, the boy who hugged me, his name is Richard Grayson. His Mother and Dad were Mary and John. They are dead.

Dead means gone away for forever. Not coming back.

Sometimes I think my Mother and Dad are dead, but then they come back.

Mother leaves and I use the other remote to turn the TV back on. It won't change channels, but I don't need it to.

Richard is crying. A big man tells the news-lady to leave him alone.

I like the big man.

The big man is Bruce Wayne. He 'takes in' Richard.

Richard likes to be called Dick. Mother says that isn't a good name and I'm not to say it.

Mother and Father leave. I ask Ms. Mac to help me record the news when it is about Dick.

Recording things isn't hard. I can do it on my own now. I save the tapes in a shoe box under my bed.

Sometimes Dad throws away his newspaper right after breakfast. I take it and sometimes it has things about Bruce Wayne and Dick. I cut them out and put them in the box with my tapes.

Mother and Dad come home. Dad wants to record something and there is only one tape left.

"Where did all the tapes go?"

I am frozen. I can't move. Ms. Mac will tell and I will be in trouble.

"I believe you used them last time you were home, Mr. Drake. You recorded a program about East Asia in preparation for your trip." Ms. Mac says. She doesn't look at me.

I can move again. I reach hands up to Mother. She sighs, but lifts me into her lap. Bronze fingernails brush my hair.

"You've been a good boy, haven't you, Timothy?"

"Yes ma'am." I am a good boy, a very good boy. Everyone tells me so.

I think of Dick living on my tapes upstairs and want a hug.

Anyone will do, but hugs aren't free.

But Mother and Dad are gone and Ms. Mac isn't allowed. Sometimes she does anyways.

She says "This will be our secret, Timothy."

Me and Ms. Mac have five secrets. I want to hide them in my shoebox and look at them when I am sad, but you can't keep hugs in a box.

I guess that's why they are so special.

Dick hasn't been on TV for a long time. I guess everyone forgot.

I didn't forget.

If hugs aren't free, then why did he give his away like that?

I think about it some more.

Maybe he shouldn't have. Maybe it's bad. Maybe his Mother and Dad are gone forever because he gave a hug away for free and had to be punished.

I don't like to think these things. I think them at night when the house is quiet and still. Other kids tell me they run to their Mother and Dad's room on nights like this.

I wouldn't run there even if they were home.

I tried once, when I was really little, almost a whole year ago.

Mother said. "Timothy, go back to bed. We do not have time for this foolishness."

They left in the morning and were gone for three months. That is the longest they've ever been away all at once.

I will never, ever go into Mother and Dad's room again.

I want them to come home. I want them to come home.

I want Dad to say things that don't make sense and laugh real loud.

I want Mother to sigh, to run her (red, blue, gold, silver, bronze, white, red, red, red) fingernails through my hair and say. "Ms. Mac, Timothy's hair is getting long, schedule a hair appointment for him."

I want it. I'm not allowed, but I want it.

I'll be good and stay in my own bed.

Good boy, Timothy, such a big boy.

Bruce Wayne is always in the news. I do not record him, recording is saved for Dick, since Dad will notice the missing tapes. I cut out his newspaper ones, though. Sometimes he mentions Dick.

"Oh, Dick?" he says. "He's doing fine, just fine. Real great kid, real great."

He laughs, big and loud. He was different before, when he told the news-lady to go away. Big and sad and serious. I liked him better like that. Why did he change? Maybe when he's sad, he's different. I am different when I am sad. But only on the inside.

Mother says you must always keep your emotions where no one can see. Keep them tight inside, so they will be safe. Mother is very smart and I listen to her because I am a very good boy and good boys listen to Mother.

Mother and Dad are home today. They will be home a whole two weeks.

I am excited, very excited! Dad has to go to work, but Mother does not. Mother sits at home in Dad's office and does computer things.

I walk into the office. I have a book. Other kids say their Mothers read them books.

I can't go in for four whole minutes. The desk is in the way. Mother can't see me, but I can see the clock. The numbers change one, two, three, four times. I can count to 100 all on my own, but no one will listen to me count for that long. I count to ten for them and then they are happy.

I listen to Mother's fingers clicking. For a long time, I listen. Finally, I walk into the room.

"Mother?" my voice is quiet. My voice is stupid. Mother doesn't like shy people. Shy people aren't strong. I want to tell Mother I am strong, but I can't.

Mother stops typing. Her fingernails are dark green on the white keys.

"Yes, Timothy?" she says.

"Would you read this book to me, Mother?" I ask and hold it up.

Mother gives me a look. Her eye makeup matches her fingernails and her skirt. "Can you not read it yourself?"

"I-I can!" I say, quickly. I can only read some of it, but Mother doesn't need to know that, or she will not be happy. She will be unhappy. "B-but I thought, maybe, you would like it too?"

Mother smiles. It's not a big smile, but Mother smiles. "Very well, Timothy. Into the sitting room, then."

I don't run ahead, running is not good. I walk a little fast, though. I am excited.

I sit on the couch and Mother sits beside me and takes my book.

"The Complete Collection of Sherlock Holmes." She says out loud. One of her arms wraps around me, her green fingernails look nice against my skin. "A very good choice, Timothy. Such a smart boy."

I smile big as the world.

Ms. Mac says. "The gangs are riled up, Timothy. We'll have to skip the park this week."

I don't like to skip the park.

I watch the news while Ms. Mac cooks dinner. Ms. Mac lets me watch about Bruce Wayne and Dick, but she doesn't let me watch this news, where people die (and never come back) and they talk about drugs, which are bad.

The gangs are 'riled up' because of Batman, says the news-lady. She goes to a lady on a corner. They make a fuzzy thing go over her face so I can't tell what she looks like.

"Yeah, the Bat wants someone, he wants 'em real bad." She says. "Word on the street is he's looking for Tony Zucco and he's not gonna stop til he gets em. I heard from some gals that Black Mask has a bounty out on 'em. Five thousand bucks to the SOB who turns Zucco over."

"Timothy, I told you that you are not to watch this." Ms. Mac says. I jump.

I am sorry; so, so sorry. I didn't want Ms. Mac to see me being bad. I am sorry.

"It's okay, no need to get upset." Ms. Mac says. I didn't know I looked upset. I thought I was frozen, like normal, like Mother says to be. Maybe Ms. Mac just knows that it's the same thing.

"Now, go wash up for dinner, young man, and don't let me catch you watching such as this again." Ms. Mac says.

Ms. Mac is very nice.

I am glad I watched the news. I go to my room and take out my box. The news I cut out says Tony Zucco made Dick's Mother and Dad fall.

Batman is trying to catch that bad man.

Other kids at preschool love Batman. They tell me all about him.

"He's a real bat, just super huge."

"No, he's just a guy."

"He's made of shadows, that's how he's so fast."

"You're all wrong! Batman saved me once for real."

"Oh yeah? Then what's he like?"

"Real big. His voice is big too. But he's not a bat, that's his costume."

"What about his wings!? I've seen him fly!"

"That's just his cape!"

The other kids start arguing. I don't think I learned very much.

I ask teacher if I can play on the computer and she says yes. There's a video on our computers called "All About Gotham". I think Batman is in there.

"But what about Batman? Batman is just a legend, of course! The story goes that he protects Gotham from evil, that's swell! Thanks Batman!" Lady Gotham waved to Batman with the hand that wasn't holding her scales.

"Of course, our fair city doesn't need a masked protector like Batman when we have the hard working Police to keep us safe!" some police officers salute Lady Gotham and she pulls out her sword, standing in her normal pose.

I cut the video off. Is Batman real or not?

I ask Ms. Mac.

"Of course he is, Timothy. Don't you remember the time we went to get ice cream and something exploded downtown?"

Yes, I do. That was a scary day. We had to get out of the car and go hide in the basement of a store. It felt like the whole world was coming apart over our heads.

When we came out, there were burn marks everywhere. Police ran in between the cars.

"Everyone, remain calm and reroute!" one shouted, waving his arms.

"That was Batman?" I ask.

"No, that was a bad guy called Firefly. Batman beat him so we could go home." Ms. Mac said.

I think about this for three days. Then I start to add information about Batman to my box.

Anyone who was trying to help Dick was good enough for me.

Batman is a big man. I don't know of many people who are that big.

There are no good pictures of him.

Maybe he is a giant bat?

I am Timothy Drake and I am five years old.

It is my birthday, but Mother and Dad are not here. It should make me sadder, but I didn't think they would be here.

For my birthday, I asked for a DVD player for my room. Mother wants to know why.

I only tell half a lie. I say I want to record my TV shows so I can focus on my homework and watch the shows on the weekend.

It is only half a lie because I will watch them on the weekend, but my homework is easy.

What I want to watch comes on after my bed time. The 11 o'clock news. The only news that always talks about drugs, gangs, murder, and Batman.

Ms. Mac says I'm not allowed. But I want to learn more about Batman. The kids at school don't know enough.

I hide the thin little DVDs in my box.

I think I need a bigger box.

Batman has a new partner. A 'sidekick'. His name is Robin.

I see them one day.

He isn't dark like the night, or scary, or anything. He wears red, yellow, and green. Then he changes to red, yellow, and black. That's probably better because now he's not wearing his underwear to fight crime. Batman still wears his underwear on the outside, but that's okay. He's Batman, he can do what he wants.

I like Robin. I like his smile.

He's never in the news or on TV without Batman but, if he was, I would cut him out and record him too.

I am Timothy Drake and I am six years old.

My new (bigger) box is bothering me.

The tapes are stacked on one side. I watched them and the news-lady always says the date. I wrote the date on some tape and stuck it to the outside of each one. The DVDS are in sleeves next to them. They have dates too.

The newspaper clips are in a stack. But each one is a different size and shape. It looks messy. I don't like it.

I tell Ms. Mac I am going to the park after school with Bobby and his Mother.

I don't go to the park. I walk to the arts and crafts store.

"Ma'am? I have a bunch of pieces of paper and I want to put them in something safe so they won't get messed up." I say to the saleslady.

I buy a big book with clear pages that you can put stuff inside. It is called a scrapbook and it will do.

That night I put all of the newspaper clippings into the book. The book I bought is too big, but that's okay. It just means I have more room. It fits inside the box. I close it and go to sleep.

Mother and Dad fire Ms. Mac. They say she is 'too attached' to me.

Next week is my birthday. Ms. Mac gives me a present before she leaves.

"Take care, Timothy." Ms. Mac says. She gives me a hug right in front of my parents. I guess it's not a secret this time.

Me and Ms. Mac have exactly ten secrets.

I write that on a sheet of paper. I want to put it in the box, but this is different. This is me.

I make a new box for 'me' things.

The piece of paper is alone in the box for a pretty long time.

"You can never trust people." Mother says.

Mother says I am too big to sit in laps anymore, but she says it's okay this time. I sit in her lap and her hands are on my hip and my shoulder.

Her pale pink fingernails look nice against my jeans and my green shirt.

Mother has touched me a lot since Ms. Mac went away.

"My son." She says. She's said it before, but she says it more now. "My son Timothy."

Not ever Dad's son. Mother tells me I am her son, all hers. That is okay. I will be Mother's if I can sit in her lap.

"Then who can I trust, Mother?" I look up and she looks down. Our eyes are the same color. I like that.

"No one, Timothy. People will hurt you." Mother says.

I frown. "But Mother, I trust you." I say, because I do. Mother would do bad things to me, but only just before she would do bad things to herself. Mother says there are lots of people before me that she would hurt first. Mother is too smart to let it get all the way to me or her. Mother or Timothy.

I am Mother's son. Mother's. Mother doesn't let anything happen to things that are hers. As long as I am Mother's son, I will be safe as safe can be.

"No, Timothy." Mother says. "No one, do you understand? You must always ask 'why', even if you love them. You must always be ready for them to lie to you."

"But Mother, how will I know?" I ask. I turn and press my face against Mother's ribcage. She puts one of her hands on the back of my neck.

"You are a smart boy, Timothy. Watch people. You will know." She says. Her hand is on the back of my neck, because that is a soft place. People have lots of soft places, some that are real and some that are soft brain places, like 'do my friends really like me' or 'I'm not pretty enough'. Mother says the brain places are more important.

Mother says anyone can hurt, but, if you are smart, you will not bruise your knuckles hurting them.

That is a smart thing to say.

Mother knows many smart things.

I am seven. Ms. Mac is gone. So are my parents.

Seven is old enough to stay home alone.

For my birthday I ask for a camera. Mother wants to know why.

I want to take pictures so that, when they come home, I can show them things from my life.

Maybe they could take pictures and I could see what they were doing too.

Dad thinks it's a great idea. Mother doesn't smile, but she doesn't frown.

She says "Very well, Timothy."

"I'll take a bunch of pictures for you to see, Timbo!" Dad says.

Dad is trying too hard again. Mother gives me a look and I give her one back. It's something we share sometimes.

Timbo is new though. I kind of like it. I like Tim.

School will start soon. It will be a new school because my old one 'wasn't challenging enough'. I think I will tell them my name is Tim.

I do take pictures of things in my life. I put those pictures in the 'me' box.

When Mother and Dad come home, I try to share with them. Dad has a single picture of him and Mother next to the pyramids. That is all.

Mother looks at three of my pictures. One is Gotham on a rare sunny day. One is a business lady in an ice cream shop; she has bright orange nails and they match her orange sherbet. One is two girls, the big one dressed up as Batman and the little one is Robin. The little one has a blonde ponytail, which is as far from Robin as can be.

Mother puts them down. "We will have to do this later, Timothy. Your father has an important meeting to attend to at Drake Industries today. This house is a mess as well. Where is the housekeeper?"

The house is not a mess. There is a single cup in the sink and a dishrag is hung on the back of a chair (where I can reach it) instead of on the peg.

"The housekeeper only comes on weekends, Mother. It's Wednesday." The last part is a helpful reminder. It's hard to remember sometimes, when you travel so much.

"I'm aware." Mother says. She doesn't always like it when I am helpful.

I duck my head. Maybe Mother regrets being harsh, because her hand lands on my head. Her nails are metallic grey-blue. They comb through my hair.

"You need a haircut, Timothy." Mother says. I hesitate.

"Mother…" I start. "I would like to wear my hair a little longer, please. Like all the other boys."

Mother doesn't look shocked. Mother is never shocked by anything.

"But, Tim, you always wear your hair the same way." Dad says.

I smile. "Ms. Mac had them cut it that way. I want to try something new." I do not cry. I am a big boy and old enough to be on my own.

"Very well, Timothy. But you will get it cut into a proper style. I will go with you this afternoon." Mother says.

Mother is going to go with me to get my hair cut. Has she ever done that before? I am so excited, but I have to be calm. Children must behave themselves.

"Thank you, Mother." I say.

I want a hug, but that would be too much. Hugs aren't free, Tim. You have to earn them.

While I wait to get my haircut, Poison Ivy attacks.

Batman and Robin land on the corner across the street before running at her.

My camera is around my neck and, without thinking, I lift it and snap a shot of them.

The flash was on and bounces of the window. When I get it developed, I can barely see them.

But I can see them. Batman and Robin. A special picture that only I can see, because it is only mine.

I put it in the 'me' box when I get home.

Mother and Dad leave me money for school supplies and other things I might need, like clothes, new shoes, books, or other such things. Money in case I drop my toothbrush and need a new one or spill Zesti cola on my comforter. It is a fair amount of money that they leave in a little bank account for Timothy Jackson Drake. Mother tells me what the money is for.

I do not need it for food, because the grocery store delivers. All I do is make a list and they bring what I need every week and take the money straight from my parents' account.

The delivery boy's name is Michael and he doesn't ask where my parents are anymore, which is nice. Sometimes he stays an extra ten minutes to watch the end of the Flaming C with me and tells me it'll be our secret.

Michael and I share exactly seven secrets.

I save up the money Mother sends me. I only buy what I need. Ninety-nine cent notebooks work just as well as five dollar ones, after all.

First, I buy the things to develop my own film. We have a basement, but nobody ever goes down there, not even the housekeeper. I check out all the books at the library about developing film.

I can read three of them, but there are two more that are too hard. I pay Michael twenty dollars to read them and explain it to me.

Two months and I can develop my own film. I take pictures of the house to test it with. They are perfect, except for the last one that comes out all wrong. I put all of them, even the messed up one, in the 'me' box.

A month after that, I have enough for a tri-pod. The book at the library said that you need one for taking photos at night.

The month after that is a telescopic lens, to take pictures of things far away.

Finally, a shutter-release remote.

It is Saturday, which is the best day of the week to see Batman and Robin. Robin is hardly ever on TV during the week. He probably has school. Do superheroes have school?

Of course they do. They have secret identities and secret identities have school. Why am I so stupid?

I sleep all day and wake up at eight. Waking up in the dark is strange.

It's nine o'clock now.

Time to go.

I am Tim Drake and I am nine years old.

It has been a long time since Dick was in the news and Bruce Wayne isn't very interesting on his own.

I still cut out his news articles, but I just watch him on TV now. I don't ever really need to record him.

I save the DVDs for the eleven o'clock news.

I'm never home for eleven o'clock anymore. That is prime picture time.

I take very good pictures and keep them in my scrapbook. I have a new box for my Batman and Robin things now, separate from my Dick and Bruce Wayne things. The Batman box has a lock and I keep the key somewhere secret.

They are good pictures. My favorite is the one I took in East End. I was on a fire escape and about to pack up my things. But then I saw shapes on the roof of the building a block away. I used my camera to zoom in. Batman and Robin were fighting the Joker. I have a second-by-second set of Robin kicking the Joker in the face. That set has its own special page in my scrapbook.

This book is almost full. I'm going to buy a new one tomorrow.

My school is offering beginner's karate classes. I pay the fee and go twice a week.

I am watching the recordings of the eleven o'clock news.

For once, they have clear footage of a fight.

Batman is dealing with the Penguin while Robin takes out goons. He jumps off a building and flips one, two, three, four times.

I cut off the TV and go to bed.

The next day I check out a video tape on acrobats.

It is boring. It is nothing like I remember. Maybe that's because it's not them.

And then…..

"The only acrobats known to successfully complete a quadruple flip are the Flying Graysons…."

Just like I thought.

And there's only one Flying Grayson left.

The more I research it, the more I know it has to be true.

Dick Grayson is Robin. And that means Bruce Wayne is Batman.

All the pieces fit.

I move my Dick and Bruce Wayne things into the Batman and Robin box and buy an extra lock for it.

I go out to take pictures every other night now, instead of only on weekends. I have three scrapbooks full and I'm working on a fourth.

It doesn't affect my grades. My parents don't even know.

I'm nine years old. I did the math. Dick was my age when he became Robin.

I decide that means I can allow myself to stay out until two in the morning on weekends instead of going home at twelve.

If Dick can fight crime at nine then I can watch crime. And take pictures.

Mother and Dad came back this weekend. They are staying until Tuesday.

Dad thinks I like baseball, for some reason. He thinks that is my hobby.

I want to say "No, Dad, I take pictures, remember? I don't like baseball."

But, instead, when Dad asks if I want to go to the game with him, I say yes.

Dad isn't Mother, but I love Dad lots and it would make him sad to have forgotten what I like.

Dad buys me a baseball hat and I stand on the seat and cheer when we get a home run.

Dad smiles big and I smile back.

I don't like baseball.

But I had fun.

Robin joins a team of sidekicks. This isn't public knowledge, though it should be. I have his speech from when I the grownups disappeared recorded.

Having no grownups didn't bother me, not even a little. Michael didn't deliver groceries, but I had enough to last until Robin fixed things. And he would. Robin could fix anything. I had five scrapbooks full by then.

It was easy to figure out who was on the team, it only took a little research. I think I might've done something wrong, though. I couldn't get the information I wanted off of one site. I paid Jeff from the high school to teach me how to hack. He was pretty good at it, good enough to change his grades and not get caught.

He taught me how. I'm pretty good at it, I think. Better than Jeff, anyways. I don't do it a lot and I can't hack a lot of things. But I can do a little. That's how I get pictures of the Team. Miss Martian. Superboy. Kid Flash. Aqualad. Artemis.

None of them are very good at protecting their secret identities. Not like Batman and Robin. Superboy and Miss Martian are the easiest, but only because of where I started. I just look at the Happy Harbor High's website and see both of them right away. Miss Martian just changed her skin color. She's a pretty teenager. Superboy is in the bleachers right behind her. He looks…bored. And kind of angry. All he did was wear a black shirt. I hack the school system.

Schools don't have good security, except for Gotham Academy, which is where Dick goes. I only tried to hack them once before giving up. I would attract Batman's attention if I kept trying.

Megan Morse's guardian is John Jones. He can only be Martian Manhunter. Conner Kent's guardian is a woman named Dinah Lance. I can't place her. Maybe she's just a woman they made up. I don't know.

Next is Wally West, who isn't very good at protecting his identity. Barry Allen must be the Flash. I make an anonymous donation to the Central City Police Department as an apology for finding out the Flash's secret.

Aqualad is an Atlantean. He is has no secret. I pull up information about Atlantis and study it instead.

Artemis is easily the hardest. Her files are all protected, too much for me to hack. She doesn't go to Happy Harbor and I haven't seen anyone like her on any of the Star City school websites I went to.

I did see Roy Harper though and he looked familiar. I flip through my third scrapbook and find a picture of Robin hanging off an older boy's arm like a monkey. Red Arrow. Speedy. That would make his guardian, Oliver Queen, Green Arrow.

Three months of trying and I still knew nothing about Artemis.

Then, I saw her. I was over near Crime Alley, wedged into a tiny space that was once a maintenance hatch for the building from back when someone might actually do maintenance on a building in Crime Alley. She was wearing all black, but the crossbow and ponytail left no doubt.

I followed her home. She crawled in the window and I snuck inside the building through the back door. I got the apartment number and then checked the mailbox. Crock.

Three days later, I had a name. Artemis Crock. She went to Gotham Academy with Dick.

I print everything I found, all the pictures, the school records from everyone but Artemis, Dick, and Kaldur. Then I delete all of my history on my computer and everything else about them. Save everything from my computer that I need to an external hard drive, then wipe the computer. Move everything to flash drives and then smash the hard drive, too. Then I put the important stuff back on my computer, wipe the flash drives three times and donate them to the school's computer lab.

Batman probably caught some of that snooping around. Batman catches everything. I'm not going to make it easy to find me.

Besides, I know what I wanted to know, now. I won't snoop again, promise.

Robin's teammates seem nice, so I'll trust them until I can't. That's fair.

I am Tim Drake and I am ten years old.

I haven't seen Mother and Dad for almost four months. I wonder what I did wrong this time?

But I have seen Bruce Wayne.

I like to go to parties and take pictures of him, dressed up and doing his 'Brucie' act. Sometimes Dick comes too and the pictures of him looking uncomfortable in his suit make me laugh.

Most of the time, I hide for these pictures. No one ever looks up at these things. Or out the windows. Or in the big plants. Bruce might, if he wasn't so busy acting. Still, I don't do the big plants anymore. Almost got thrown up on one time.

Another time, I decide to go as me.

Mother and Dad are part of high society, after all. I've been to these things before. All it takes is a big smile.

"Mother told me to make an appearance for her tonight. She's very sorry she couldn't be here."

They let me right in and I wander around and take pictures with my camera.

"Why are you taking so many pictures, sweetheart?" says one of the ladies. She is the wife of a small, but profitable business owner in downtown Gotham. Mother told Dad that he should think about staging a takeover there. This woman knows who I am.

"They're for my Mother. She was sad to have missed the party." I lie. It's easy to lie, I've done it a lot lately. 'Why are you here, little boy, what are you doing?' they always ask the same question and 'stalking Batman and Robin' is never, ever the right answer.

"Aww, isn't that sweet of you? Such a good boy! Why don't we get one of you and me together?" She's trying to get on Mother's good side through me. That will never work, but I don't mind. The woman looks for someone to take the picture.

"Richard!" she calls. I freeze. She just waved over Dick. My fingers feel numb. I don't think I'm breathing.

Dick was standing by the punch bowl, looking very bored. He looks interested now, walking towards us with a big smile.

"Richard, will you take our picture, honey?" she asks. For half a second, he looks annoyed. It passes so fast I almost don't see it. If my fingers weren't so numb, I would've liked to have taken a picture.

"Sure thing!" the smile is back, full force. I wonder if it's a real smile. Of course it is. This is Dick, who gives away hugs and smiles for free. It could never be a fake smile, unlike mine. Dick is perfect. Why am I so stupid?

The woman crouches down and puts her arm around me. It's not a hug but it's nice enough. Fake, but a nice kind of fake. I don't blame her for trying to save her husband's business.

If it was anyone but Mother, it might even work. But it won't.

Dick hands me my camera back.

"W-wait!" my mouth speaks without me when he turns to walk away. "U-um, c-can you take a picture with me t-too?"

I hate myself for stuttering. Dick smiles like I don't sound stupid. "Sure!"

I give my camera to the woman, who is still more than happy to help me. I have a feeling she will follow me around all night now, but that's okay. It won't bother me and it might even make Mother laugh when she comes home. Dad might feel bad. Mother won't. Mother will smile and tell me good job, because I got this woman to do something for me for free.

Mother will be proud and I'm not hurting anyone, so I guess it'll be okay. I wish she wouldn't follow me around, though. It will make me feel a little bad, even if it makes Mother laugh.

Dick throws his arms around me and grins and, for just a second, I feel like I am four years old again and at the circus. I wonder if Dick even remembers me? Probably not, I wouldn't remember me if I wasn't me.

Then the shutter clicks and the flash goes off and it's over.

I get my camera back with a quiet 'thank you' to both of them and wander towards the punch bowl. I sip at the drink and discretely take pictures of 'Brucie' laughing loudly with a bunch of women. These will make a wonderful counterpoint to the Batman pictures. If I develop extras in black and a white, I could put them on cream paper. It would be contrast, which is neat, and would give me more practice doing black and white.

A finger taps me on the shoulder and I don't jump, even though I'm surprised. I turn, expecting the woman, but it is Dick standing there, grinning.

"Hey!" he says, taking a glass of punch. I try to breathe normally. One, two, three….

"Are you good at taking pictures?" he asks and points at my camera.

"I-I'm okay, I guess?" Stop stuttering! Why am I so stupid?

"Cool! Could you take a picture of Bruce and me, please? I need it for a something, but I can never get him to take one with me!" I nod numbly. "Great, come on!"

He grabs my wrist and leads me over to Bruce. I'm standing in front of Batman and Robin. They can see me. They can see me.

"Bruce, let's take a picture together!" Dick (Robin!) says. Bruce (Batman!) smiles at him.

"Sure, chum! That's a great idea!"

They pose and I snap the picture.

Dick comes over to lean over my shoulder. "Can you email that to me?"

"This is a film camera, you have to develop the pictures." I say, without stuttering. Good boy, I am a good boy.

Dick frowns for a long moment. Suddenly, he smiles. "Here, I'll give you my phone number and you can text me when it's done and I'll come get it!"

Dick gets a piece of paper and a pen from the valet and scribbles down his number before running off.

I leave after that so I can breathe again.

Three days later I call Dick to tell him the picture is ready. I made three copies, each different, because I didn't know what he wanted and I saved the negative for him too.

He shows up on foot around seven o'clock, carrying a school bag and his Gotham Academy blazer.

"Sorry I'm so late! I had to stay after school for something." He smiles and the lie is in his eyes. He wasn't at school. He was probably with his team. But his lie shows in his eyes. I save the information, tuck it in close as I hand him the envelope.

"There's three copies and the negatives. If you take them to anywhere that develops film, they can print them bigger or smaller or in different colors." I explain.

Dick grabs me into a big hug. I squeak. I'm too shocked to hug back and I hate myself for that. A free hug and I didn't hug back. So stupid. "Thanks!"

Then he goes. He waves to me before I close the door. I lock it and watch him walk away through the living room window.

I add the piece of paper with the phone number to the Batman and Robin box and write on another piece of paper "Lies show in his eyes". I lock all three of the locks on the box. I don't think that's enough. I think I need a new box with built in locks. Maybe a safe. A fire-proof one.

I am Tim Drake and I am eleven years old

Eight scrapbooks are full when Robin disappears. And when I say disappears, I don't mean for a day or two at a time, like what he did when he joined the team. I mean gone. Maybe forever.

I start only going to take pictures on weekends again.

Batman—Bruce—is great. I love Batman. He protects the city, Gotham. Ever since I started taking pictures, I have become a part of Gotham. I am her shadows, her tiny places. She is dark and rotten, but I am Tim. I live in the hidden places.

But Batman's not Robin. He's not Dick.

Six months later, there's a new Robin and, sometimes, a man in black with a blue bird on his chest.

I hide all my things in a cubby hole and decide to get mugged. Getting mugged is easy in East End. Getting mugged by someone you can get away from is a little harder. You have to look so stupid that just anyone thinks they can take you, but enough like a trap that the real criminals won't touch you with a ten foot pole.

The idiot that wants my money is just the kind I want. Stupid, underfed, and drunk on top of that. With my karate training, I can take him if no one comes. But the blue bird wearing man was up on the roof top when I left and should still be there.

I scream. The only people that answer screams in this part of town are the heroes. No one else, not even police.

I'm starting to think he won't come, when he lands on the drunk and takes him out. He ties them up and I lunge, crying and grabbing on to the guy.

"It's okay, I got him, you're safe." The man—no, boy, not that old—says and rubs my back. It takes me a minute to place the voice. Dick, of course. That means Robin is Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne's newest ward. Of course. I'm so stupid, that was beyond obvious.

"Go right home, now, okay?" Dick says.

"Who are you?" I ask in a quavering voice.

"I'm Nightwing." He grins and then he's gone. I collect my things and go home.

Nightwing is a new hero and he's getting a lot of trouble from the police. They don't want another hero. I wish Dick luck and start to gather more information about Nightwing.

My Batman and Robin (and Nightwing and Young Justice and the Justice League) box is a safe now. It has five locks, one is a fingerprint, one is a key, one is combination, and two are digital. If any of them are entered wrong more than twice or if someone tries to cut them off, there's a release inside that will pour acid into the safe. I won't put Dick (and everybody else) in danger. My things are safe and their secrets are safe with me.

Robin is dead. Dead. Gone forever and never, ever coming back.

Jason Todd.

Jason Todd is dead.

Bruce Wayne mourns.

Where is Dick?

Where is Dick?

Where is Dick?

Gotham is so dark now, no red, no yellow (no green). No blue. Black and grey and death.

Death.

Jason Todd is dead.

Robin

Is

Dead.

I am Tim Drake and I am twelve years old.

I go out every night to follow Batman now. I know I shouldn't. I am tired every day in school because of it, but I can't not follow him.

Batman is very wrong now and there is no Nightwing (and no Robin) to stop him.

Every night, every night, he hurts people. They are bad people, but he used to not be so violent. Now, anyone could end up with broken bones or deep, dark bruises or ugly, bloody gashes.

Batman is dangerous. He needs someone (Robin) to help him.

I can't be that person, but I have to watch Batman. I have to watch him because no one else is. If Batman killed someone, who knows what would happen. If he looks like he's going to do it, I'll stop him. Or I'll try. I have to try. For Dick. For Gotham. (For Jason).

I'm out tonight. I left most of my stuff at home. I have enough pictures of this new Batman. All I have is my camera, just in case. No tripod, no remote. Just me and my camera and I watch Batman through the zoom.

He is beating a man. A drug dealer (Jason hated drug dealers). He isn't stopping. He isn't stopping. I call 911 on my cell phone.

"There's a man here, I don't think he's breathing!" I say, panicked, like a kid should sound, even a Gotham kid. The man is still alive, still even screaming, but by the time the police get here, he probably won't be. They need to be prepared.

The sirens shock Batman out of it. He disappears into the shadows and the paramedics rush to the man's body and load him up.

This can't go on anymore.

I hope Dick's cell phone number is still the same.

Nightwing isn't helping. He's no good at this. Batman needs Robin. Batman needs Robin or Batman will fall. And he'll bring down all of Gotham with it.

I am thirteen years old.

Gotham is mine. Gotham is me. I am her shadow places, her dark tiny bits. I won't let Batman fall. I won't let him drag Gotham down into that dark pit.

I am Timothy Drake. Tim Drake.

I watch Dick Grayson, because he gives hugs for free. And Dick Grayson loves a man named Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne loves Gotham, Dick, and a boy named Jason Todd.

And Bruce Wayne mourns Jason Todd with his fists.

Batman needs a Robin. Not Nightwing. Robin.

I've been watching for too long now.

I am just Tim. Timothy Drake. And I am thirteen years old.

There is a wagon in the basement. I don't know why, I don't remember ever being pulled in a wagon. I load my Batman and Robin safe into the wagon and start the long walk to Wayne Manor.

I hit the buzzer at the gate.

"Hello?" The voice is that of a proper English gentleman. Alfred. I have exactly four pictures of Alfred. Dick is in three and Bruce is in two.

I hesitate. Mother would be ashamed.

"My name is Tim Drake." I say after a long pause. "May I speak to Batman, please?"