Chapter Text
March 2022, Age 15 16
The lady was babbling, a rushing stream of every thought, almost too fast for Tim to hear her. She rambled on about her husband, how he left hair in the bathroom sink and it was really, seriously going to be the last straw before she slept with her coworker.
The room was small, probably had been someone’s office two years ago. The furniture was all nice, though worn, with a layer of dust. Tim sneezed.
Her coworker who, of course, was another woman, and this lady had never in her whole life come out to anyone except her best friend in sophomore year of high school and it had been thirty years since then—no, thirty-three years.
Tim listened, because there was no immediate danger. Somewhere outside the abandoned house Batman was waiting for the police to arrive with a handcuffed Riddler, and somewhere else Nightwing and Batwoman were securing the other hostages.
This lady had been alone though, strangely enough across the house from Riddler. No visible injuries, just the—
“And I loved her. She was perfect for me but she had to go to Massachusetts to see her grandma and we lost contact, I think she did it on purpose. Harry won’t understand, and he farts when he sleeps, I just can’t take it anymore Robin. Sometimes I watch lesbian porn and—”
Just the unknown substance, evidenced by the syringe on the coffee table, and the room of hostages Batwoman was dealing with that were talking in a similar manner.
“Hey, so this is definitely the house from the family annihilator last year.” Nightwing spoke over the comms.
“You had that case closed.” Batman grit out.
“I didn’t say I think it was related.”
“Hn.”
“Just saying that the city didn’t bother to—”
The lady continued spilling her heart out to Tim. “I know it’s wrong, Father would disown me if he knew. But Carol is so strong and driven.”
“Wait, so being gay is wrong but cheating isn’t?” Tim asked.
“Harry hasn’t made love to me in months! He didn’t even know about the bachelorette party and I only married him because he was cute but he’s going bald now! I can’t be expected to love him. I don’t love him.” She gasped. “I don’t love him. Carol wouldn’t make me this sad. She invited me to get a drink after work but I was too scared, she still never insulted my voice or my baking or anything!”
“Right.”
“I just need to pray over this. Will you pray with me Robin? Please. Oh—who am I kidding? I haven’t been to church in years. Harry goes, I just said I wasn’t feeling well till he stopped asking. But how can you expect me to sit there when the kids are asking me—”
“Wait, you have kids?”
“Emma never grew into her nose, she got it from Harry. And Corbin—”
“Robin, report.”
“Apparent truth serum, no injuries, no signs of a struggle.” Tim said. He had untied the woman the second he got there, but she hadn’t moved from the office chair. Head in her hands, she kept confessing.
“Hn.”
“—never cleans his room, sometimes I wish I had just aborted him. I’m bad, I’m going to Hell. There is something inside of me and it’s so wrong.” She brought herself to tears. “But I can’t let it go.”
“GCPD is here.”
“Ma’am, forgive me—”
“I won’t, I never can.”
“That’s okay. We can go now though. The ambulance will be here soon, they’ll take you to Gotham Memorial Hospital.”
“Harry will yell at me for the bill. We have the money but he doesn’t care. He’s too frugal. That’s why Emma’s depressed, why Corbin’s a hoarder.”
“Ma’am—”
“I was never meant to be this, you have to understand. I was going to be someone. I really was. If not for Harry moving us to this God-forsaken city.”
“You really think that?” Tim hauled her to her feet.
“No.” She sobbed.
“It’s never too late.”
“It is. For me.”
“Do you really think that?”
“…No.”
Nightwing stood at the bottom of the stairs, guiding people out to the ambulance.
“Status?”
Tim shrugged, passing the woman off to a young police officer. “Think I could be a priest.”
“Hah.”
“Come to the Batmobile, we’re done here.” Batman said over the comms. Tim and Nightwing went out together, Batwoman was already taking off on her motorcycle. Paramedics and cops were everywhere, a familiar scene for every situation like this.
No one held the same panic like they did in other cities, it was too common for Gotham. Most of the first responders had probably dealt with something like this within the past week, if not earlier that night. There was probably another house full of hostages across the city that they wouldn’t know about until it was too late.
“Injuries?” Batman asked, checking over Tim and Nightwing already.
“None.”
“None.”
He ushered them into the warm car. Batman had grown softer in the past few years. He let Nightwing put on music and shot a look back at Tim, wouldn't start the Batmobile until Tim grabbed a water bottle.
At the Batcave they debriefed then showered, Dick annoyed Tim into having Alfred’s new tea blend before leaving for the night.
“How’s school going, Jax?” Dick asked.
And that was the thing.
Tim smiled big. “Good! I finally brought up my grade in English, we’re just starting to read The Great Gatsby.”
“Aye, I knew you could do it.”
“How’s Blud?”
Dick sighed, he never liked when Tim asked questions, but would always humor him. “Same old, good. But I like seeing you and B, Blud gets lonely.”
Dick had a tell. In the beginning Tim couldn’t put his finger on it, in the beginning he also had blind trust with his idol, the last bit of hope that if anyone else, Dick Grayson wouldn’t be a liar.
But everyone lies. Dick had a preference for lying by omitting the truth, twisting his words so no one could really call him out, unless of course, he was fighting with Bruce.
“And Bludhaven doesn’t have Alfred’s tea.” Tim teased. “I can’t imagine trying to find authentic British tea in Blud.”
“Jaxon, focus on writing your report.” Bruce passed by the two.
“Relax Bruce—”
“You too, Dick. We don’t know—”
“Not this lecture again, please God, not this lecture again.” Dick covered his eyes, slumping in his chair.
—
The lab results came in the next night, a sample taken from every hostage. Tim went over the report from the comfort of his bedroom, away from prying eyes, in an apartment Bruce didn’t know he lived in.
Some of Ivy’s spores were found, along with a bunch of chemicals Tim couldn’t bother to pronounce.
It wasn’t going to be an issue. Gotham cycled through issues like nothing, truth serum yesterday would be a weapons deal tomorrow and Tim wouldn’t have to worry at all.
Tim curled up with a bag of chips and some headphones to watch Riddler’s interrogation. The cameras in Arkham’s interview rooms were always the worst, but the audio was manageable.
“Mr. Nygma, you know—”
Tim fastforwarded, there was no point in watching a power hungry cop try to intimidate.
“—nothing to do with it! I was just premiering my new crossword!”
“Explain how the civilians got injected.”
“I’m telling you, it was my business partner. They offered to help me get an honest review.”
Tim fastforwarded.
“—moniker?”
“No! No! No moniker! This isn’t a riddle.”
“Everything's a riddle with you!” The cop’s blurry figure was fed up only twenty minutes in, slamming their files down and storming out of the room.
Riddler waved to the camera. “I’ve got a great new crossword.”
Tim moved onto witness reports. Most of them had barely-legible, but honest, writing. Likely the hostages were told to give a statement before being treated. It was unusable, personal confessions. The rest were from the few hostages that weren’t dosed at all, who only knew about Riddler’s crossword and the threat that if they weren’t honest in their feedback, they’d be sent to a different room.
It wasn’t going to be an issue. Hopefully there would be a horrible tragedy tomorrow that would get this case put on the back burner. No, he didn’t hope there would be a horrible tragedy. It was just a…bad subject.
Now, let it be known that Timothy Jackson Drake had moved to France after his parents’ tragedy. The estranged Drake brother, Edward, had taken him in quickly, and currently supervises Drake Industries from across the Atlantic for until Timothy turns eighteen, upon which Timothy will return to Gotham to honor his parents legacy.
The truth was carefully maintained. Helped by Janet’s refusal to ever let the media get a photo of Timothy.
A truth serum in Gotham, involved in a case with a rogue that knew nothing of the sort, was not good news. It was the kind of mystery Bruce would love to obsess over, the kind of thing where all loose ends needed tying.
Tim did a little more digging, going through the crime scene photos from Kate and the police, to find Riddler’s new crossword. It was relatively easy, probably since it was for the public rather than Bruce, and not themed around the truth at all.
So the “business partner” was only involved in adding stakes, and possibly convincing Riddler that he needed to get critique on his riddles. Hopefully, this would be the only incident involving the truth-seeking business partner. But knowing Gotham, it wouldn’t be. And knowing Bruce, they would have to look into it either way.
Notes:
Ok i can’t figure out if this end note is applied to just the chapter or the whole fic, cest la vie. Anyways!!!!!! This is my first time trying to do multichapter so wish me luck!! I think this first chapter is a bit stilted but cest la vie!!!!! Will update tags as I write more
Chapter Text
December 2014, Age 8
Snow fell gently right outside the giant window. Tim was a little distracted by the airplanes maneuvering to gates, one taking off a ways away.
“Tim. Tim? Timothy.”
Tim turned, just a little ashamed that he’d left fog on the glass. Jack sighed back at him.
“We’re boarding in a minute, where is your mother’s carry-on?”
“Oh, uhm, it’s—uhm…”
“Tim.”
“It’s in the car.” Tim wrung his hands. He had one job, one simple task.
Janet hated flying without all of her things. And now she was flying in from Metropolis to meet them, after her normal carry-on bag was stolen. She was already sad, now they’d be flying for hours for vacation and she wouldn’t even have the substitute bag Jack put together for her.
Jack checked his watch as if there were any possibility they’d have time to call the driver or run through the airport to retrieve the bag.
“I’m sorry! I was trying not to slip on the ice in the parking lot wh—while grabbing my backpack and then the driver was asking me about school and I didn’t mean to forget. I’m so sorry.” Tim stammered, fidgeting with his backpack straps.
Jack pursed his lips for a moment. “Don’t throw a fit Timothy, we’re better than that. It’s not a big deal.”
“Mom is gonna be so mad.” Tim almost whined, but he didn’t whine, as that would be unbecoming.
Jack pinched his nose, he always tended to be dramatic. “She won’t find out, Tim. We just need to…to fudge the truth a little bit.”
“What?”
“Nothing’s in writing, son.”
“But Dad—”
“Janet, over here!” Jack turned and waved.
Janet walked over, without any purse or backpack, she looked tired. She looked just like everyone else in the airport, and Janet was never meant to look just like everyone else.
“Mom, I fo—”
“Hun, how was the flight?” Jack kissed her cheek.
Janet huffed, leaning in but frowning. “Do you have my Dramamine?”
“No, I’m so sorry your bag got stolen. I think if you just avoid the snacks on this flight then it won’t be too bad.”
“I asked you and Tim to grab me essentials.”
“Hm? Tim and I were already here when you called, Jan.”
They weren’t, they hadn’t even started driving to the airport when Janet had called.
“You said Tim was going to—”
“Tim wanted to, remember? But it was too late already. Right, Tim?” Jack looked down.
Tim nodded in reflex. “Yeah.”
“But I remember…”
“You’re more out of it than I thought. Maybe we can find some Dramamine before the plane boards. I can’t believe this happened, you’d think with all the security there wouldn’t be pick-pockets in these places. First the robbery then the nausea from the flight, darling, I’m sorry.”
“…It’s okay. Let’s just…we don’t have time. It’s fine.”
“I bet one of these shops has some.”
“Jack, there’s not time.”
He sighed, again. “Okay, I’m so sorry Jan. Maybe someone on the flight will let us borrow some.”
Later, as they boarded, Jack shot a wink at Tim. And Tim didn’t get in trouble at all, their vacation wasn’t ruined.
-
The truth is that the Drakes were on the lower end of net worth in their social group in Tim’s early childhood. They didn’t have a private jet or full-time chef, they could only get first-class tickets and go out to restaurants every night. As you can tell, they were very poor.
So come January, when Tim was dropped off at his boarding school, everyone was talking about their luxurious holidays. Tim’s roommate had gone to his family’s private island, with an entire full-time staff, a private water park, and had gotten everything on his wishlist.
Tim wasn’t jealous.
The girl he sat next to in science class had gotten stables built on her property, along with six thoroughbred horses. She just started liking horses in November.
Tim wasn’t embarrassed about his new TV, which was sent to their penthouse in Gotham, but one of his classmates got a new 3D printer.
He knew he should be grateful, tons of kids didn’t get anything, not even a nice vacation. But also, he didn’t want to be the odd one out.
“Tim, oh my god, you’ll never believe what my grandma got me!” Natalie from math class hit his arm repeatedly, bouncing in excitement. “You have to come to my dorm at lunch, it’s so cool.”
“What is it?”
“You have to come see, silly.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Awesome! Hey Chris! You’ll never believe what my grandma got me for Christmas!” She darted across the room.
So two hours later, Tim found himself as a meaningless part of a small group in Natalie and Nayloni’s dorm room, as everyone waited for a turn on Natalie’s custom Just-Dance dance pad.
“And my mommy got me tickets for Disney World for spring break.” Natalie explained after showing off her new dance moves. “And my papa got me a castle-playground for our backyard. The school tried to say I couldn’t bring this but I was always gonna share.”
“I couldn’t bring my new bird!” Beatrice whined. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s the point of Christmas at all if you can’t play with anything until the next break?” Natalie shrugged. “Cause I wouldn’t have time in spring cause of Disney. I’d have to wait six months.”
“Well, I did get to bring all my new clothes.” Riley said proudly, sporting a designer brand dress that she’d surely get in trouble for by the end of the day, since they had to wear uniforms during the school day. “And my new curling iron.”
“My dad is building me my own skating rink in our summer house.” Brayden crossed his arms.
“Yeah, but you have to wait for summer break, stupid.”
“I got the advanced version of the new iPhone, and an iPad, and I can keep them in my dorm.” Jordan, Tim’s roommate, said. Tim had seen them already, and he wasn’t jealous at all.
“My grammy got me jewelry but I chose not to bring it ‘cause I don’t want it to get stolen. And I got some new stocks in my portfolio.” Everyone knew Alex was the richest kid there, but Tim knew that Alex didn’t know a thing about the stock market.
“I got a hoverboard.” Tim said before he could stop himself. The attention turned to him. Suddenly, it felt a lot less cool to lie. More like a sinkhole opened beneath his feet. “But my family had to sign an NDA, because it’s really new and the public only gets delayed updates about that kind of technology.”
“What’s an NDA? Come on, you have to show us pictures.” Nayloni asked once she was done with her turn on the dance pad.
It was Riley’s turn but she made no move to get on, eyes focused on Tim.
“Non-discloure agreement.” Tim puffed out his chest like Jack did when telling the lady at the resort that the lamp was already broken, and they should have a refund for that. “Means I shouldn’t even tell you I got one. Can’t take pictures or post about it, but my family doesn’t stoop to going on social media anyway.” He shrugged.
“That’s not fair! Why can only you guys see it?”
“Maybe if your parents were investing in the tech industry you could, but I bet they wouldn’t even show you.” Jordan teased.
“Okay, but you didn’t get your own skating rink, Timothy. You just got a prototype thing.”
“I didn’t want a skating rink, Brayden.” Tim laughed. “When I wanna do something during the summers we just buy out places for the day, we travel too much. Staying at one place for the whole summer would be so boring.”
Brayden got a little red at that. “Whatever.”
-
It started there. Then the next day when the fourth graders found Tim after classes and asked all about his new hover board, of which they heard about from Beatrice, whose older brother was in the fourth grade.
And Tim went: “That thing? Yeah, it’s cool or whatever. But during our Christmas party we got a private concert from Beyon—I’m not supposed to say.” Tim smiled sheepishly, like Janet did when she broke Jack’s phone, saying a stork had smacked it out of her hand while trying to get her ice cream.
“What?! Who, Tim, who? You have to tell us.” One of the girls squealed.
“I’m sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Gotta respect privacy.”
“What else did you get?”
“My parents told me not to brag, since not everyone is as fortunate as we are.”
“Come on, don’t be lame, Timmy.”
“Well, I got a new TV.” Tim smiled, trying to regain just a little integrity.
Then their faces shifted. “Oh…that’s it?” The leader, the most popular boy of the fourth grade, scrunched his face.
“For our home theater, I mean. The last one didn’t take up the whole wall, but my new one does. We also got massage chairs put in instead of the recliners, and a popcorn machine and slushie machine. But it’s not that cool.”
“Dude! You have to invite us over for spring break! Come on, Gothams isn’t that far, right?”
“We’re barely gonna be home, sorry.”
And it continued.
-
March 2022, Age 15 16
Steph carefully braided flowers together, making a long and delicate chain. Her hair was wavy, the afternoon sun lighting up the blonde like a halo.
Tim sat next to her on the picnic table just a few blocks from her apartment, they almost always hung out in her neighborhood. It was nice, the people were good and the park was lively, more than the neighborhoods Tim grew up in, where none of the kids had been to a park since Covid.
“If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?” Steph asked, carefully picking a dandelion out from the pile of flowers she and Tim had collected.
“Bill Nye.” Tim said without hesitation, clumsily trying to copy Steph’s weaving.
“Seriously though.”
“What do you mean? I fuckin’ love Bill Nye.”
“Jaxon.”
Tim smiled. “Okay, okay, lemme think.”
“Get on it.” She bumped their shoulders together. “I don’ got all day.”
Timothy Jackson Drake, someone who was really no one, a mere tracing of a person, might choose one of his parents.
“Clyde Rawlins, I met him in France when B sent me. He died shortly after we met.”
“You’ve never talked about him.”
“What about you, Stephie? Anyone, dead or alive, dinner.”
“Hmm…” She paused for a moment, chewing on her lip. “My daughter, if it’s…”
“Yeah.” Tim reached out to squeeze her shoulder.
Steph looked out at the playground, where kids ran and screamed in delight as parents helped them climb and pushed them on swings. Earlier, a little kid had fallen and Steph swooped in to help, bandaids in her backpack, like she had been waiting for it.
“Maybe when she’s eighteen, she’ll get my contact information.”
“I bet she’ll be just as awesome as you.” Tim nudged her.
Steph smiled. “Just gotta wait seventeen years.”
“What’s seventeen years in the long run?”
“Seventeen years without my—”
“Okay, okay! Bad joke, I get it. I’m sorry…seriously, Steph.”
“You hate me.”
“Uh-huh.”
She finished her flower crown, dandelions, daisies, and morning glories, putting it on Tim’s head. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”
“What’s with the interrogation?”
“Jax, please.”
“We’re already kinda famous, aren’t we?”
“But like, the normal way.”
Tim tapped his chin. “I’d wanna be a pop star.”
“With your voice?”
“Steph!”
She laughed, falling back so Tim would catch her before she toppled off the picnic table.
“Okay, no, I wouldn’t want to be famous. Unless I had a better voice, then I’d totally be a pop star.” Tim’s hands slid down her arms until they were holding hands.
“Why not?”
“Privacy.”
“Ah. Well, I would want to be a famous activist, like Greta.”
“Okay, now you’re just one-upping me.”
“Sounds to me like you don’t care about the world.” Steph grinned. “You’d prefer privacy over the chance to save the environment.”
“I love you.”
“Oh, he loves me.” Steph turned to the leaf bug she’d found earlier. “But he’d give you up for privacy.”
“No, no, Mr. Leaf, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry. I’ll be famous to save you, I’ll be Greta.”
“Too late.” Steph kissed his cheek.
“I love you.” Tim repeated, it was important, it was the truth.
“But you won’t let me meet your mom?”
“Steph, I—”
“I love you too.”
“I’ll find a day when her schedule is clear. I promise.”
She kissed him on the lips then.
Let it be known that Stephanie Brown was one of the kindest and strongest people Tim had ever met.
-
February 2015, Age 8
“Timothy, I think you could have put more effort into this.” Mrs. Owens, the art teacher, said.
Tim puffed out his cheeks subconsciously, looking at the painting.
A blue dog (it didn’t look like a dog, or much of anything at all) was painted on what was meant to be a flower field, collaged using construction paper. Maybe Tim had gotten distracted with Jordan’s phone, since Jordan accidentally left it with Tim when Mr. White almost caught them playing Angry Birds.
“I really tried.”
“Most of the paper is blank. And where are the wings of the butterfly?”
“It’s…abstract. I thought a butterfly was too obvious so I made it a dog. It’s about freedom and domestication. You know?” Tim pointed at the blue splotch. He certainly didn’t know. “Everyone else has a butterfly, and it’s obviously free. But the dog is a domesticated breed, but it doesn’t have a collar. So it was bred to obey humanity, but this one is a stray. It’s…subverting stereotypes.”
Mrs. Owens blinked. Surely she could see that he was full of it.
In Tim’s defense, it was a third-grade art class, why was he expected to make a masterpiece? It wasn’t like anyone else in the class did especially well. Tim shouldn’t be called out just because he didn’t hear one instruction.
“Then what is the meaning of the blank paper, where you were meant to put more flowers?”
“The negative space symbolizes a life without butterflies, which are very important pollinators. Without them we wouldn’t have as many flowers.”
That didn’t sound like the correct response.
“I want you to redo the assignment, Timothy. Now, if you want to do another ‘abstract’ piece, I expect a written explanation for each component that you change.”
“I understand.” Tim grumbled, grabbing the canvas board, with a failed rubric paperclipped to the corner.
“By next Monday, or I’ll be calling your parents to discuss your attention issues.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tim would have to get better at lying, it was easy to lie to his peers, if he just used a better vocabulary than they knew, they’d believe him without question. But it didn’t work so well with his teachers.
Notes:
I am HORRIBLE at responding to comments but I am going to TRY!!