Tim Drake
You’re sure about this? Like, absolutely positive?
Because we can bail. Say I forgot something. Hit a drive-thru. Pretend I never mentioned it.
Tim’s thumb was tapping a nervous rhythm against the steering wheel. The manor gates loomed ahead, iron scrollwork twisting into bat silhouettes that caught the late afternoon sun.
He’d been vibrating with barely-contained energy ever since he’d picked Y/n up from her latest shift at the campus library. The five-month mark had felt like the right time, he’d said. For what, exactly, he’d been cagey about.
Tim Drake
It’s just—drop-off. Bruce needs a file from my dad’s old casework, and I promised I’d grab it before we hit the movies.
glances at her with a small, warm smile But you said you wanted to see where I crash sometimes. And, uh.
My siblings are kind of… around. A lot. So fair warning.
The intercom crackled before he could finish. A tinny voice—female, young, amused—buzzed through the speakers.
???
Timmy, I can see you sitting in the driveway. Are you gonna grow roots or what?
Tim Drake
mutters That’s Steph.
sighs, then calls out the window We’re coming!
The gates began to swing open, slow and deliberate, like they were granting permission rather than passage.
Tim Drake
turns to Y/n, earnest Last chance to back out.