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Tim is intelligently stupid, as Tamara Fox likes to keep reminding him. Tim takes her at her word because he poached her from Wayne Enterprises for a reason, and he’s not disrespecting her by disbelieving what she says.
Still, maybe this takes the cake. Maybe Tim should turn around and just refuse to board the plane. Maybe he should stop using his parents as an excuse to keep coming back to the middle east to find the clues he remembers from the Red Robin comics.
Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to fuck up the League of Assassins along the way.
Still, Tim tries to reassure himself on his way to the last piece of evidence he needs. Damian has been in Gotham for less than a year, and any child, no matter how violent, deserves a decent enough parent. Especially if the kid came from a place like the League of fucking Assassins.
Nobody needs to know that one of Tim's contingencies included letting the Council of Spiders wipe out the League. It’s not like anyone has to know now that half of Ra’s ninjas were blown up and the other half are now mercenaries. After all, mercenary groups are better than an immortal tyrant if you word it just right, and revolution is surprisingly easy to plant into the minds of a shadow group of indoctrinated assassins.
There is one reason Tim is facing down Ra’s al Ghul right now, though the man is less intimidating standing on Drake Industries’ high rise tower, clothes half-burnt and hair shorter than Tim remembers from the comics a lifetime ago.
Unfortunately, Tim brought this onto himself. He understands that he did this all by himself, when he didn’t need to bother the League of Assassins at all in his own search for Bruce. If anything, Tim just had to find evidence of Bruce’s time shenanigans, pass off the information to Oracle or Black Bat, and then live his life again.
But then Tim remembers what the League of Assassins will do and has done. One Robin has already suffered at their hands, and Tim once saw said Robin struggling with his own indoctrination. Tim wants to avenge the childhood of this Robin that he never met, a calmer and somehow more settled version of the boy he once only knew through comics and fanfiction.
So Tim is here, facing a less-than put-together Ra’s al Ghul. The immortal is not visibly angry, and his body-language doesn’t reflect his outside appearance at all. One would think that Ra’s was a king coming out of battle instead of a villain caught off guard by a random teenager.
“How wonderful it is to finally meet you, Timothy,” Ra’s says, deliberately using Tim’s full first name to unsettle him. Tim hates to admit it, but he is, though not because of anything Ra’s has done.
It’s sobering to realize that you might be in over your head when the immortal you pissed off locked down your office and confronted you in it. Ra’s has proven the reason why he’s the Demon’s Head, and Tim is being forced to rely on contingencies that he never wanted to use.
“Apologies,” Tim says, trying to keep his composure while trying to fool Ra’s. It won’t work, but it’s one of his contingencies for a reason. Tim goes, “I’m not sure I know who you are.”
Ra’s doesn’t react in a way Tim can see, which unsettles him even more. He’s already pushed the personal Bat-beacon all businesses are mandated to have.
(Another of Tim’s meddling, when Penguin decided to fuck up Drake Industries and he took the opportunity to add to his contingencies by having a Bat-beacon button installed in most buildings. He’s glad for it now.)
But it’s too late into the night for any of the bats to be less than thirty minutes away, and less than thirty minutes is enough time for Ra’s to do a great many things that Tim is not ready for, no matter how dark his own plans can get.
Tim, having focused on Ra’s the entire time, sees the immortal’s eyes crinkle. In amusement or anger, he can’t tell.
“Why, Timothy,” Ra’s practically purrs, and Tim shivers at the way his name rolls off the old man’s tongue. “You can’t have believed you could get away with attacking the League of Assassins, could you?”
Tim didn’t, to be fair, but he also wanted to have been at home when this happened, so at least he’d have been close to the Bat’s homebase. Internally, Tim wants to sigh at his misfortune. At least he made contingencies for this exact scenario, though an alarming amount of them hinged on at least one of the Bats getting here quickly.
Every other contingency that includes the Bats’ slow arrival ends with Tim very dead or very injured, and he may be depressed, but he’s not suicidal. At least, not actively enough.
Contingency 2.3 and its subsections mostly focus on trying to stall, but a concerning amount of those need Ra’s to have more patience and for Tim to lean into the teenaged businessman persona. Contingencies 2.4 is various versions of Tim entertaining Ra’s by being the smartass Tim Drake he was so obsessed with in another universe. 2.5 is Tim trying to physically fight Ra’s, but that’s the one part of the list where Tim is always either dead or injured after the plan.
So, Tim goes with 2.3.8, where one word will push him into 2.4. Tim can’t lie to Ra’s effectively yet, but he’s confident in his ability to be entertaining enough.
So Tim shakes his head, trying to pull in the disappointment he feels in failing to hide, and says, “That was my most ambitious plan. Every other contingency I have included you finding me, but a teen can dream.”
Ra’s crosses a leg over his other, and Tim has a sudden epiphany for why he’s so intimidated. Ra’s showed up from the shadows, but the whole time Tim had seen him, he was sitting down on the couch in Tim’s office.
The very presence the immortal exudes has overridden Tim’s observational skills, and for all of his intelligence, Tim didn’t plan to be this scared.
Maybe Tim should invest in some personal time to think about his hubris and vindictiveness in the name of a family who doesn’t even know who he is. This might be the second time he’ll be severely injured for this, and the other time was the plan that got him here in the first place.
(The Joker is alive and suffering, yes, but a man doesn’t need eyesight to terrorize an entire city. And the Joker has weaponized his blindness in a way that Tim will always regret. Barbara doesn’t deserve what the Joker did, and the Gothamites should never have had to fear silence the way the Joker has made them fear it.)
Ra’s ignores Tim for a few minutes, surveying the room and the teenager. Tim puts on his best business mask, hiding that his nerves are on the verge of frying itself to death. All of Tim's plans include letting Ra’s lead the conversation, or, at least, those are the plans that don’t end with Tim in excruciating amounts of physical pain.
So they spend exactly ten minutes silently, Ra’s standing up at some point and circling the room. Tim stays where he is, back to the floor to ceiling windows where he knows the Bats are likely to arrive from. By ten minutes on the dot, Ra’s starts walking to Tim’s desk.
The old man stops before the desk, looming over Tim, who has to look up. He was already relatively short due to what he wants to be a late growth spurt, but Ra’s is unfairly tall and probably perfected the art of looming in the years he was alive. Tim won’t even try to even out their height difference. He’s prideful and ambitious, but he’s not stupid.
“Smart boy,” Ra’s praises, his tone sending a shiver down Tim’s spine. His expression is now visibly interested, though interested in what Tim doesn’t know. Ra’s rakes his eyes across what he can see of Tim’s body, and suddenly his mind is running between wondering if Ra’s actually is a pedophile or the old man is trying to figure out the most enjoyable way to torture and kill Tim.
Ra’s places a hand on Tim’s desk, sliding it across and checking for dust. There isn’t, but Tim's not gonna tell him that. The action makes Ra’s seem impossibly closer. He hums, “How has someone as intelligent as you,” he looks at Tim, making intense eye contact, “Stay so hidden from the powers of this world?”
Fear grips Tim’s heart with a renewed vigor, and somehow he never considered Ra’s would like to kidnap or recruit him. A lapse in judgment that Tim needs to rectify, but that also means he has to reevaluate his own self-worth.
Let it be known that Tim Drake dislikes introspection. It comes with the territory of dying, rebirth, and getting attached to a family that will never acknowledge him. But if he has to, for the sake of never being caught off-guard again, then he will.
Ra’s watches Tim patiently, eyes a vivid green. Lazarus green. Tim wonders if he has to reply now, but what can one say in the face of the interest of the assassin version of a boogieman?
For one second, Tim’s brain opens his mouth and somehow speaks for him. “Well, would you look at the overworked teenaged civilian junior VP of Operations if you were searching for the mastermind of a supposed terrorist attack?” All his plans to not provoke Ra’s al fucking Ghul, thrown out the window because Tim’s panic response is provocation.
Tim has spent hours planning for so many eventualities, creating what is practically a thesis and a powerpoint about Batman’s survival, making sure his network is self-sufficient, and even keeping a secret will so his parents don’t get a damn thing from him. Yet here he is, stupidly opening his mouth and snarking the boogieman of the underworld.
He swears he doesn’t actually have a death wish.
Tim startles when Ra’s… chuckles? He can’t tell if it’s because he amused the Demon’s Head or if the assassin will now murder him. A chuckle is not always a good indication of amusement when it comes to psychopaths, after all. Or is Ra’s a sociopath? Tim should research the differences after this. If he survives with his freedom and bodily autonomy intact, at least.
Maybe he should start thinking about contingencies for if he ever needs another identity. With the increasing risk to his life, Tim might even actually use said plan.
Ra’s eyes shift to the window behind Tim, and then he nods. “It seems that you may have guests, Timothy.” He walks backwards, melting into the shadows as he says his goodbyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
When the windows behind him blow out and Nightwing lands inside his office, Tim’s head is on his desk, letting the panic attack take him into unconsciousness.
Not even the Joker on the path of revenge is as terrifying as Ra’s al Ghul’s keen interest.
A week after Ra’s visited Tim in his office, Tim leaves Tam in charge and calls in sick. He ignores Tam’s concerned questions and bundles up in a ratty sweatshirt and old jeans. He shoves non-essential tech in his equally ratty backpack, messes up his hair and makes sure the eyebags under his eyes are as obvious as it can be.
Then, Tim sets out for the docks to meet with a contact. The Penguin was planning to bring fear toxin to Metropolis for Luthor as a way to synthesize it for Superman, but the toxin strain that will arrive will be neutralized thanks to Tim’s obsessive need to keep ahead of Gotham’s poisons.
That’s not why Tim is here, though.
Peter is casually smoking against a crate, earbuds in and eyes on his phone. Tim employs his favorite Black Bat-stolen skill of hiding in shadows and pulls on the domino he borrowed from her, too. Well, for a certain use of the word, when Black Bat left it on his desk while he was busy dealing with some unchecked drug dealer group.
(Saying Tim “dealt with it” is a bit of an exaggeration and a disgrace to the results of the “dealing with” he did. Suffice to say that new criminals are unreasonably scared of any moving shadows, and the older ones are too disillusioned to refuse help even from kids. Tim just reaps the benefits of this.)
Tim stays quiet, making sure the shadows hide him. Tim doesn’t talk, when he’s like this. He only deals in Gotham’s particular sign language—an amalgam of criminal, military, and standard American Sign Language. Plus some extra signs that are specific to different areas of Gotham, a sort of callsign or accent but in sign language. Tim makes sure his sign is a mish mash of it all, so no one can pinpoint his base of operations.
Peter doesn’t notice Tim until thirty minutes into his standing in the shadows, wherein Tim got tired of waiting and shifted, making sure his clothes rustled just enough to be faintly heard. Peter drops his smoke, and Tim covers his mouth to stifle his laugh.
“Fuck,” Peter says, boot coming down on the cigarette on the ground. “Warn a guy next time, would you?”
Tim moves his hand so his white gloves are stark against the shadows around him, and starts signing, “Been here thirty minutes.”
“Seriously?” Peter asks, an eyebrow raised. He gathered his composure faster than one would expect, but that’s why he’s Tim’s favorite contact. Peter likes to jump around the bad guys’ goon groups, and he’s well-known enough that it wasn’t hard to start establishing a way to protect more vulnerable goons.
Just last week, Tim checked on one of his first ever contacts, a woman Peter introduced to him as Blue. She’s pretty notorious in the life of crime and goons as well, but she recently had a baby and Peter’s system is helping keep her and her baby safe. Tim just likes to check on them from time to time because he’s lonely.
“Hey, kid.” Peter finally sighs out. “Anything special today?” He asks, taking the small package and new box of cigarettes from Tim’s gloved hands.
Tim takes his first two fingers and taps it with his thumb, signing “no” instead of shaking his head. Peter already knows that all he has to do is smoke around the boxes. The toxins aren’t airtight—lack of moving air also neutralizes them—so it should be easy for the airborne counteractor Tim made to do its job. It’s worth the messy chemlab he’s hiding from his parents, if Tim can synthesize neutralizers from the antidotes Black Bat gives him.
From there, Peter should deliver the package to Lois Lane, as a gift from her supposed mob contact in the bid to control Gotham drugs coming into Metropolis. Peter will text him the affirmative after the delivery, and then all of Tim’s gathered information auto-sends to Oracle’s systems, making sure that more people can catch anything Tim might miss.
Peter nods, saying, “Alright kid, stay safe while I’m gone.”
Tim signs “always,” and then waits for Peter to leave before he slinks back out of the docks.
For the rest of the night, Tim visits multiple people in the system. He finds Jorge’s teenaged kid buying late night groceries and stalks them until they get home safely, and then follows up on how Bard is after starting med school. He finds Daisy on her roof with a bottle of whiskey, and talks to her until she’s relaxed enough to go back inside. He loops to Gotham U to watch the night school students and talks to Jana about how she can help him start the new company when she graduates so that the system can have legitimate day jobs.
On the way home, Tim contemplates sharing his identity to the system while he’s taking a rare photo of Nightwing doing a quadruple somersault. He doesn’t notice the short figure on the fireplace above him.
Tim Drake attends the annual Wayne Spring Gala in a very fashionable suit that she chose because Janet Drake has been pressing a more mature public persona now that Tim is 16, so Tim decided to wear a dark corset vest and a black cravat over her black dress shirt. Her dark red suit jacket has a long tail that reminds her a bit of a dress. Her dress pants are pressed for the gods, and her burgundy shoes are shined to perfection and clicked every time she walks, reminiscent of Janet Drake’s own heels.
It would have been more fun to attend the gala in a dress, Janet would probably have enjoyed making Tim into a mini-her, but Tim doesn’t have a good enough support system to come out to her parents yet. Who knows whether or not her parents are homophobic, after all. She can’t risk it right now when she’s just building contingencies. For now, Tim needs to follow Jack and Janet Drake if she wants to survive until they leave her alone.
So Gotham High Society’s dearest little Timmy Drake walks into the most recent gala looking like she was poured into her suit, catching the eye of everyone. Her outfit has always been in the blacks and whites, but Tim knows replacing her white with red—a reminder of what she could have been—makes her look more mature. She’s showing that she’s developing her own identity, which Janet would prefer is closer to her sharp smiles and cold anger than the genius and innocent child persona Tim’s been using.
Today, Tim is to prowl around, making sure people see this gala as the start of Timmy Drake’s change to the Drake MO, aka an iron grip on Gotham Elites. There’s a reason why Drake Industries is only second to Wayne Enterprises in Gotham, and it wasn’t just because Wayne Enterprises is more of a tech and med-tech company as a whole.
(Drake Industries is the umbrella company of many smaller businesses, including science and tech businesses, especially focused on supplying and supporting archeologists. With Tim at the helm, there has been an archeology boom across the world. It makes her want to branch out; how many people can she help even as a normal person? Can she really find her own worth without joining the Bats?)
Jack Drake is not in attendance, but Janet Drake is here to judge her son’s actions tonight. Tim normally wouldn’t care, but Damian Wayne is in attendance, and Tim has always made a point to be at galas he attends to control any and all malicious gossip from reaching the kid’s ears. Damian may have been raised by assassins, but no kid deserves to hear that they should die because of the color of their skin.
Speaking of…
“I don’t understand why Brucie has to bring that terrorist tonight.” Tim hears from behind her. She turns to find two people by the refreshments, a man probably around Jason’s age, so eighteen to Tim’s sixteen, and a woman that looks like she’s older than her partner. It was the woman who was talking, but the man obviously noticed Tim’s interest if his glances are anything.
Tim, meanwhile, puts down the champagne she literally just picked up and starts walking towards the pair. She does not hide her path, making eye contact with the man. The woman’s back is toward Tim, and she’s started talking again. Tim puts her inner Janet Drake into her steps, her shoes tapping loudly amongst the noise of the gala. The woman does not stop.
“I mean,” The woman in eye-searing pink starts saying, the shade of her dress uncomplimentary to her bleached blonde hair and orange tanned skin. She looks like a Trump-wannabe, so she’s probably not a Gotham native. “How could he not see the terrorism in that child’s eyes? He glared at me, Christopher! On our wedding! How dare that insignificant little-”
Gotham natives know not to talk shit about the Waynes where Tim Drake can hear.
“-terrorist!” The woman huffs out, ignoring her partner’s inattention. Tim stops behind the woman, directing a sharp smile to Christopher Bourbon, the newlywed youngest son of an actually decent shareholder of WE.
Christopher’s family isn’t actually bad, and he himself is a good person, if a little naive. Rumor has it he got into a whirlwind marriage with a woman from Metropolis that he met three months ago. Love at first sight, his little sister claimed when Tim talked to her last. Said sister, Crystal, is also one of Tim's main sources of Gotham High Society gossip, namely that Marianne Bourbon was once Marianne Meyer, an old HR employee from LexCorp.
Tim thinks Christopher has terrible taste in women as she clicks her shoes to get the attention of Marianne. Said woman turns around in a flurry, and Tim has to hold back a cringe at her eyeshadow. Marianne looks like she has double black eyes. What Cristopher saw in her, Tim will never know.
“Christopher!” Tim greets, making sure his smile is Janet Drake’s through and through. Then, she eyes Marianne. “And you must be the bride he was talking to me about. Marianne, yes? I wish I had been there for your wedding, truly.” She’s not, because it was a night that Tim spent following Nightwing-as-Batman while Bruce Wayne attended the wedding. He’s been stalking them less in the past few years, and Tim took the opportunity to refresh his collection of the Bats.
Perhaps Tim should have taken it as a warning when Bruce got back from said wedding in a Mood. Alas, it’s too late and Tim had to learn the bigotry of Christopher’s wife at the woman’s first Wayne Gala.
Poor Christopher. If things don’t go well, Tim is very willing to ruin his wife’s life for her words. Tam keeps calling her obsession with the Waynes creepy, but Tim personally thinks she’s just overprotective. Murderous assassin or no, Damian deserves to be protected. Any child does.
“Excuse me,” Marianne says, a fan in front of her face. It does not hide the disgust in her eyes looking at Tim’s outfit. “And who are you? I’m sure we wouldn’t have invited such flamboyant fashion to our tasteful wedding.”
Christopher grimaces, holding his wife’s elbow and gently pulling her beside him. “Marianne, please,” Christopher says. “This is Timothy Drake, the junior VP of Operations for Drake Industries and all its subsidiaries. His family is a close friend of ours, and I invited him myself. He helped our family get back up when my grandfather almost squandered our fortune.”
Ignoring Marianne’s wide eyes and ugly flushed face, Tim makes sure to soften the Janet Drake in her smile for Christopher. His only mistake here is letting his wife run her mouth, and, well, marrying this Marianne woman in the first place. Him and his family have been some of the few genuinely kind elites, even when his grandfather was a known gambling addict. “Christopher, really, no need for such a flattering introduction.”
Tim, to her delight, notices as Marianne turns green when she realizes Tim is right. Christopher did praise Tim quite thoroughly, though unbeknownst to Marianne, he is as straight as a ruler. Also, he won’t go for a 16-year-old. Tim knows that Christopher is literally just too nice for his own good. If Marianne can’t see that Christopher only has eyes for her, then she probably doesn’t deserve him. Poor guy.
Marianne pushes past Christopher, who almost stumbles. She tries to stand tall in front of Tim, but Tim puts heels in his shoes regularly to be a flat 6 '0 foot and Marianne is no more than 5' 8 in her own heels. Tim tries to not laugh at the fake smile Marianne gives her, no longer hiding behind a fan. The older woman looks like she’s trying to smile through a grimace, giving a uniquely constipated look.
“Hello,” Marianne says, holding out her hand as if expecting Tim to kiss it. She is definitely from outside Gotham because Gothamites would never let you kiss their hands. Gotham Elites particularly are germaphobes with the amount of pollution in Gotham that they try to avoid. “It’s so nice to meet you, Timmy.”
“Just Tim, really, Mrs. Bourbon.” Tim insists, knowing her smile is back to being the one Janet Drake cultivated. She does not pick up Marianne's hand. “I’m sixteen now, after all. Old enough to run a company, I’m sure.” She’s bluffing, actually. Sure, Tim was named the junior VP of Operations at 15, but Jack won’t give her full responsibility until she’s at least eighteen.
Hey, Jack and Janet may be confused about the right age of maturity and responsibility, but Tim can never accuse them of not caring for her. Maybe. Hopefully.
Marianne’s face twitches, and Tim internally grins. Marianne is older than Dick, pushing thirty according to Crystal, and Tim has a hunch that this is the type of woman who hates younger people getting better opportunities than her. And, well, Marianne wasn’t even a manager in LexCorp’s HR despite the decade she’s been there.
Genuinely, Tim thinks Christopher is very naive. Maybe Tim will do him a favor and introduce him to someone else. She’s not gonna allow Marianne to leave this gala the same way she entered, after all. No one insults the Waynes without consequences.
And Marianne just laughed her last hurrah, saying, “That’s so quaint! Drake Industries has such a bright future!” It’s all false cheer and entirely an insult, but Tim doesn’t care much for insults to herself. Insults to Damian, though, “I do hope Brucie has a better child with someone of high standing to take over Wayne Enterprises. Really, adopting a circus freak and a street rat was bad enough, but fathering a son with a terrorist? Out of wedlock, too!”
Tim’s patience is on thin ice, but what pushes her to the brink is Marianne forgetting herself and glaring at where Tim knows the Waynes are tonight. “I knew he was a playboy, but one can’t help but wonder if Wayne Enterprises will still be alive by the time Brucie marries and fathers a better child.”
“One can’t help but wonder why you were nothing more than an HR associate in your ten years at LexCorp,” Tim says, smile cold as a winter’s night and eyes trying to stare into Marianne’s soul. With the group being in the middle of the room, Tim knows people have been watching them.
Good. Tim will make Marianne Bourbon the new laughingstock of Gotham High Society by the end of tonight. She will hesitate to show her face in Gotham or so help her God.
Tim pulls her posture up, looking down her nose at Marianne. She doesn’t loom, but it’s a near thing. “How does it feel, Marianne,” Tim says the woman’s name in the same tone she used when saying terrorist, “To know that you have the same rags to riches story as the people you dislike?”
To Tim's satisfaction, Marianne sputters and tries to defend herself, “How dare you!” Marianne shrieks, snapping her fan closed. She holds it to her breast in the scandalized way rich people do in dramas. It doesn’t only happen in dramas. “I grew up better than those- those lowlifes! I am more respectable than the riff raff Gotham has to offer!”
The surrounding Gothamites are whispering and jeering, unaccepting of the insult to Gothamites. They may be High Society, but the whole of Gotham is willing to work together against an outsider insulting them all. To Gothamites, the only ones who can insult their city are themselves.
But Tim doesn’t care for Gotham pride right now. Damian Wayne is on his way towards them, and Tim needs to get rid of this woman before Damian gets here and is subjected to some sort of harassment.
“Marianne,” Tim says, putting as much condescension as she can into the name. She finally looms over Marianne who shrinks back. Tim is angry, and rebirth may have changed her hot temper into a cold anger, but oh how it still burns. “You think you’re better than us?”
Tim steps closer, starting to crowd Marianne. Her heels click on the ground, a sharp noise over the whispering of Gotham Elites. “You think you’re so special? You think you can walk into a Wayne Spring Gala to show the dark Gotham Elites how sunshine feels?” Tim’s lips curl into a smirk, her eyes still ice blue. “Gotham eats special little flowers like you live, Marianne.”
Then, Tim stops walking towards Marianne, eyes still cold to contrast with the considering look she tries to apply. She is near enough to cover Marianne with her shadow. “Oh, but you’re not so special at all, are you?” She starts circling Marianne, as if a shark scenting blood. Marianne is shaking. “You, who stayed in a single entry-level job for ten years? Who only got money after marrying the 18-year-old son of a Gotham Elite?”
“You aren’t the first to think you can fix the darkness in Gothamites, and you won’t be the last.” Tim stops in front of Marianne again, ignoring that Christopher has stepped away from them both. “You’re nothing but a sniveling outsider throwing a tantrum, exactly like everyone else before you. You’re not special at all, dear.”
Tim turns to sweep his eyes across the crowd, and they part to make way from Marianne to the door. “Now, if you still believe you’re so much better,” The Gotham Elites are looming, like a cat playing with a trembling rat, “Continue talking about Gothamites you know nothing about.”
Marianne shakes her head, and Tim is surprised that she hasn’t fled yet. It’s unacceptable.
Tim draws to her full height, grinning a decidedly non-innocent grin. It is Janet Drake’s bloodthirsty smile, the one that comes out every time she smells someone’s weakness. This is the first time Tim pulls it out, but she might as well make sure people know Timmy Drake won’t use tearful manipulation anymore.
Marianne falls to her knees.
“Really, Marianne.” Tim says, voice dripping with contempt. “I insist.”
Tim huffs, straightening his vest. Janet pulled him aside once Marianne ran out crying, and Tim knows his mother is proud. She’s done worse, after all. Or better, in her words.
“Good job, Timothy.” Janet says, voice relatively flat but eyes shining with pride. “While I do not approve of letting insults to your person slide, the outcome is satisfactory.”
Then, Janet shifts to a bit more reprimanding stance, hand on Tim’s shoulder. She’s taller than him in her heels, and Tim hopes to get to her height one day. “You must never allow those people to insult you. Protect who you want to protect, but you must never allow them to think they can get away with humiliating you.”
Tim nods, though this is one lesson he’s never going to learn from Janet. Self-preservation is unneeded as long as the Waynes are happy. As long as everyone in the Batfamily is happy and healthy, and most importantly, alive, Tim can deal with even Ra’s al Ghul’s interest.
Tim knows it’s an unhealthy habit, and it may never even be reciprocated, but he’s lonely. He understands that he is lonely, and that this is a coping mechanism. A very unhealthy coping mechanism, but no one will stop him. For all that he now thinks Jack and Janet care for him, he will never be a priority for the two outside of inheriting their legacies.
Janet takes his silence as obedience, and leaves Tim in the alcove she found somewhere down one of the many hallways. It’s by a window seat, and Tim sits on it, leaning his head against the window. He closes his eyes and, knowing that someone followed them into the hallway, sighs loudly.
Then, Tim hits the couch beside him as hard as he can, finally letting out the burning anger. “Fucking-” He starts, both caring and uncaring for his unseen audience. He breathes heavily, trying to stop the tears from coming. “Why is it so hard to be kind in this godforsaken world?”
Tim puts his face in his hands, just breathing through his fingers. He can never get used to using his words like a weapon. He was harsh, harsher than he was Before. Snark has always been his go-to, but now it’s a sharpened dagger, no longer harmlessly teasing any friends he has. Though, it’s not like he has many.
At least Tam seems to appreciate the excessive sarcasm. She’s his only harmless outlet, and Tim might have gone crazy if the only way he can be rude is maliciously and with the goal of making people cry.
Which brings Tim thoughts back to Marianne.
No matter how much Tim thinks he was justified and will honestly do it again when needed, he‘s drained. He feels like the scum of the earth, going into the conversation with Marianne and Christopher aiming to ruin Marianne’s night. He feels even worse for not really being guilty.
Because regretting making Marianne run away crying means regretting defending the Waynes, and in Tim’s own fucked up logic, everything is worth the Waynes’ happiness. He can never regret defending them.
The things he does for love, Tim thinks, a small smile breaking out with the quote. He puts his hands down, head still bent to the floor. He ignores the small feet that show up in his peripheral vision, not having the energy to talk to the kid that snuck up on him.
“Timothy Drake.”
Damian.
Tim breathes, and looks up at the kid. Much too serious for his age, Damian Wayne looks so much like his father that Tim’s already tired heart feels for the kid’s short life. Damian has been with Bruce for a year and a half now and, between the end of Dick’s rebellious phase and the start of Jason’s own rebellious phase, is less emotionally volatile than what Tim remembers from Before.
“Mr. Wayne,” Tim says, despairing at the instinctive politeness. He missed being allowed to be rude and mouthy, but he chose this life. “How may I help you?”
Damian sits beside Tim on the window seat, expression contemplative. Tim is glad there is no anger or, god-forbid, suspicion. No matter how far away his Before memories are, no matter how much he loves the Waynes, Tim will never forget that this is someone who would have wanted him dead for being in the way of his own goals.
“You defended me.” Damian says, getting to the heart of Tim’s earlier outburst. “Why?”
Why, indeed. Because he loves them, because Tim is selfish and stupid and obsessive, and once upon a time he was nothing more than a fan of comics and fanfiction and now he can’t get over it. Because he’s lonely. Because the only thing keeping Tim alive and anchored to this world is keeping the Wayne family together and happy.
(Harper and Cullen Row are new fosters, and Duke is one of Jason’s friends. Tim keeps tabs on them as much as he can, trying to bring them together the same way he laid down breadcrumbs for Stephanie. The same way Young Justice doesn’t exist because Tim Drake isn’t there to help found it, but letting Batman scream at Superman for his treatment of Conner means Conner is just a little bit more grounded than he would have been.)
Because Tim cares too much about people who don’t even know his name.
Maybe Tam was right; this is an unhealthy attachment. Tim might need more therapy than he initially thought.
Tim sighs again, straightening and looking at Damian straight in the eyes. He personally hates eye contact, but Tim needs to be just a bit selfish, and Damian has Bruce Wayne’s eyes. And, well, this is the easiest way Tim can convey his sincerity.
“No child should ever be called what she called you.” Tim says, trying to show how serious he is about this. Wayne or not, Tim does think that way. Perhaps his reaction was just exacerbated by the insults to Dick, Jason, and Damian. He’s just a little attached, but that doesn’t mean other people should be insulted the same way. “No one at all should listen to such bigotry.”
Damian nods, calm in a way Tim is a bit worried about. The kid looks at Tim, saying, “You did not need to put your reputation at risk. I could have defended myself.”
Tim sighs, straightening. No matter how mature Damian seems, he is still just a child. “And you didn’t need to.” Tim says, looking straight at Damian to convey his sincerity. “I don’t doubt you can defend yourself, and you may even have done a better job, but that does not mean you had to.”
Then, as an olive branch, Tim says with, “Besides, I had to use my mother's teachings, and little Timmy Drake is a persona unfit for a Drake in the long run.”
Damian nods in contemplative understanding, which Tim isn’t too surprised about. A more pragmatic view of the world is nothing less than what Tim expected from Damian, though that doesn’t mean he isn’t sad about it. Convincing this child that he is worth unconditional protection and care is going to take a while, whether or not that’s Tim’s job.
Maybe Tim will make it his job in the roundabout way he has found works for the Bats. Young Justice has not been formed, but the Teen Titans are close-knit after an anonymous survey targeting concerned adults and the superheroes’ treatment of their protégés. Tim didn’t even need to do much outside of pointing out how young some heroes looked, and oh ‘I want to go fight crime without my parents going after me, too.’ Batman did a lot of the convincing for Tim, after that.
Or maybe it’s just that, in this world, Batman is a little bit softer. Maybe Bruce Wayne bleeds through to Batman just long enough to be noticeable. Either way, it’s easy for Tim to be a concerned citizen and for Batman to start investigating.
Tim reckons it won’t be too hard to get Damian the protection and care he deserves. He probably doesn’t even need to work too hard on it, knowing Bruce Wayne is adamant to do right by his kids in this world.
The ache in Tim’s chest expands as Damian stands up and nods to Tim again, a goodbye before turning around to leave the small alcove the kid found him in.
Tim stays sitting there for a few seconds, trying not to think about what would happen if he just follows Damian out, when he hears, “Well, what are you waiting for, Timothy?”
Abruptly, Tim looks up to the entrance of the alcove where Damian is standing and looking over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow when he notices Tim staring.
“Do you not intend to stay true to your word?” Damian asks challengingly. Tim feels an old rebellious part of him stir, instinctual in the face of this shock. “How do you expect to defend me if you are not in my vicinity?”
But Tim could have sworn Damian accepted the latter explanation, which was something more pragmatic and rooted in Damian’s expectations of other people’s self-preservation instincts. Why is Damian asking this—holding this olive branch out to someone he should have believed cared for nothing more than reputation?
Tim must have been thinking for too long because Damian scoffs, flicking his head to the front again. “It figures that you stray from your word.” The kid says, masterful derision in his voice. “I should have expected no less from your type.”
Damian starts walking away, but he succeeds in his intentions. Tim’s hackles rise, offended at the jab at his integrity. Timothy Jackson Drake may be many things, but he does not break his word if he could help it. He is nothing like the common Gotham Elite, and for Damian to imply otherwise grates in a way Tim hasn’t experienced since being reborn.
“I’ll follow.” Tim says through gritted teeth. He stands up, determination and challenge in every line of his body. It’s a feeling he hasn’t touched in a while, living as lonely as he does. Damian doesn’t falter in his step but nods in approval when Tim catches up to walk beside him.
They go out to the gala together.