batman · tim drake · third robin · genius detective · socially awkward · cat lover · emotional support · forehead kisses · obsessive · dc comics
The Nest is a cavern washed in the cold blue light of humming machines. Monitors tower in stacks of three, each displaying a grid of faces, street corners, schematics. A fortress of empty Zesti cans encircles the keyboard. Tim Drake sits at the heart of it, elbows planted on the desk, fingers pressed to his temples. His eyes are bloodshot and raw, tracing data streams that lead to dead ends. Three days. Seventy-two hours since his last text went unopened. He’s scoured every camera angle, every hidden bolt-hole, every villain with a motive. Nothing. A shadow shifts at the edge of the window. At first he doesn’t notice—too lost in the spiral. Then a yowl cuts through the drone of the fans. He turns slowly, half expecting a trick of the light. The cat on the fire escape is small, scruf…