Title: Five Things Robin Really Didn't Want to Know about Batman - posted April 21, 2009
Author: Lacey McBain
Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd
Summary: It's always the same.
Note:  Written for

Five Things Robin Really Didn't Want to Know about Batman


The Robin costume in the Cave has never been worn by Jason Todd. It’s been put on display, an item in a private museum of pain. It’s only slightly less unhealthy for Bruce to have it here, out in the open, where they can all see it. It’s an admission of sorts—that he couldn’t save everyone.

But there’s another costume that rests in a lead-lined box behind a secret panel in the back of Bruce’s closet. It’s ribbons of fabric, the red dark and dirty with blood. It’s the one Jason died in, the one Joker laughed over while he beat him senseless. Bruce peeled it off Jason’s cold flesh and kept it—because he can never afford to forget.

Tim wonders if someday Bruce will do the same for him.


Bruce can successfully battle his way out of a bar in drag and three-inch heels. Tim wouldn’t have doubted the fact, but he really didn’t need the first-hand evidence to be a believer either.

Tim never wants to see Bruce grab a batarang from his garter belt ever again.


Tim struggles to push Batman’s bulk into the decontamination chamber in the Cave. Scarecrow’s fear gas had been lethal for most people, and only slightly less so for Batman. Tim will never admit it, but he’s terrified, and it’s got nothing at all to do with Scarecrow; he didn’t even get a whiff of the fear cocktail this time. No, it’s all Bruce, and Tim wishes he’d thought to gag him before he locked him in there because then he wouldn’t have to listen to this litany of terror. Tim doesn't want to know all the things Bruce is afraid of, and no one should have to know the things that make Batman afraid. No one.


Tim finds remnants of dental floss in the Batmobile, stained with a tinge of blood.

“Did you garotte somebody with dental floss?”

Bruce rolls his eyes and taps the GPS.

“Seriously,” Tim says, picking up the floss between two gloved fingers, “is this the newest weapon in our arsenal?”

“Good dental hygiene cannot be taken lightly, Robin.”



Batman dosed with sex pollen is only moderately less aggressive than an NFL linebacker in a championship game. Tim’s quick and nimble, but he’s no match for Bruce’s sheer brute strength and force of will.

“You don’t want to do this,” Tim says, using his staff to sweep Batman’s feet out from under him. It’s apparently a ploy, though, and Tim has to relinquish the pole or get hauled in closer like a fish on a line. He drops the staff and sprints for the exit.

He’s got a hand on the door when he feels the sharp tug at his cape, and he falls back, slamming against Bruce’s body armour. A gauntlet pets his hair, and Tim squirms but can’t get away. Bruce is too big and too strong, and there’s no way this is going to end any way but badly.

“Batman! Bruce! I know you don’t want to do this,” Tim pleads, knowing it won’t do any good at all.

Then the door slides open, and he sees a flash of vibrant blue just before Bruce screams and clutches at his face. The distinctive smell of pepper spray floats down, and Tim locks the eye-shields in place on his mask. Bruce lets him go, and there’s enough time for Nightwing to grab him and pull him out the door and to safety.

“How did you know?” Tim asks, and Dick grins back, wickedly. “Nevermind,” Tim says, hoarsely. “I don’t need to know.”


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