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Tim discovered Batman’s identity from the six o’clock news.
He would have never seen the program if his parents hadn’t been home, but his dad liked to watch the news in the evening before retreating back into his office to do his evening emails. Tim watched the TV from the other sofa beside him, peaking glances at his dad to check his facial expressions before saying anything.
He liked this, hanging out with his dad. His dad would scoff whenever some poor person came on with a sob story, and all Tim would have to do was agree with him and he’d get complimented about how smart he was and what a good son he was. It was easy. If Tim was especially good at agreeing with his dad, sometimes his dad would put his hand on his head and scruff his hair.
The TV cut to commercials, some ad for a medication Tim couldn’t pronounce. He mouthed the words, trying to learn it.
“Jack,” his mother called from the kitchen, “what do you want in your drink?”
“Bourbon. The good stuff,” he called back.
“Which good stuff?” she called back.
“The one we got last Christmas from the Duponts,” his dad said.
“You drank that already.”
“No, that was the other one. The bourbon.”
“I’m opening the Jack Daniels.”
“Wait,” his dad protested, getting up. “You know I don’t like the American stuff.”
His dad left for the kitchen just as the news anchor came back on.
“Early this morning, police arrested notorious mob leader Oswald Cobblepot, known as the Penguin, with the help of Batman and the boy wonder Robin.”
Tim gasped out loud and sat forward on the sofa. Batman AND Robin?! The news switched from the anchor to showing an apartment building, then to the Penguin being led to a police cruiser.
“Police were called to a residence on Geralt street between the hours of four and five this morning—"
And there they were! Batman and Robin! The news crew must have shown up in time to catch them on camera. That hardly ever happened. The light wasn’t very good, but in the footage the sky was starting to lighten. Tim could clearly see the outline of the Batman, and the smaller Robin figure beside him. His heart lit up at the sight of them.
Tim couldn’t even tear his eyes away from the screen to call his dad. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear his parent’s voices in the kitchen. He forgot about them as soon as the camera cut and there was Robin. He waved at the camera from a roof across the road. The footage was blurry, but Tim watched as Robin jumped off the building and spun in the air. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times—
A quadruple somersault!
--and then fired his grapple before swinging off after Batman.
“Residents of Geralt street say that gunshots and loud noises have become common place on the once peaceful street—"
The whole clip was probably less than a few seconds. The camera quickly cut to a resident leaning against a doorframe as the news crew questioned her. Tim sat on the sofa with his mouth gapping.
He’d seen that quadruple somersault once before, but that was one time more than most people. He still remembered the announcer at the circus. Only three people in the world can perform this next trick, and none quite so young as our own Dick Grayson!
Dick Grayson was Robin! He had to be. No one else could do a quadruple somersault. He was the right age too. Tim had seen him at a few galas and he’d always been nice to Tim.
Which meant…
Tim gasped out loud and jumped off the couch.
Bruce Wayne had to be Batman!
A dozen little things clicked in his mind at once, how he’d seen Mr. Wayne limping at one of his charity galas recently, the way he would drink and act silly but his eyes would sometimes still be sharp, how he seemed to disappear for weeks on end and then reappear in high society. He’d been talking to the Fischers a few nights before their names were in the paper for connections to drug trafficking! He must have been fishing for information!
And that’s how Batman managed to afford the Batmobile and replace it every few months when it got wrecked. His dad may have gotten mad and yelled the one time he scratched the side of his Lamborghini trying to parallel park, but Mr. Wayne was rich enough he could wreck as many vehicles as he wanted!
He couldn’t wait to tell his parents.
Tim ran into his kitchen. “Dad! Dad! Dad!”
His dad didn’t look at him. He was standing on a chair riffling through the upper cabinets where they kept all the good bottles of alcohol.
“Jack, I already checked there,” his mother said, not looking at him either.
“Where else would it be, Janet?”
“Mom! Dad!”
“In a minute, Tim,” his mother waved a hand at him. “Just pick another bottle.”
“I don’t want another bottle—"
“I know who Batman is!” Tim yelled.
His mother turned towards him, finally, and fixed him a deeply unimpressed look. “Indoor voice,” she said in a way that made Tim shiver.
Tim blinked at her, confused. She was worried about things like his indoor voice at a time like this?? “But—” he said, then stopped. He was still yelling. He pushed down some of his excitement. “I know who Batman is!” Tim said, quieter.
Rather than lighting up in joy, his mother seemed to lose interest in his words. She turned back to his dad. “Jack, get off the chair and have some whiskey.”
“The bourbon is here,” his dad said. “I know it.”
“Jack…”
“But, Dad, on TV just now, you just missed it—"
“In a minute, Tim,” his mother said.
“I know that it is back here. Did that woman drink it? What’s her face?”
“The nanny?”
“Yes, her!”
“Mom, Dad, Batman is Bru-"
“We know, Tim!” his dad snapped.
Tim flinched back. They knew? They already knew? But Bruce Wayne… Batman… “But, Dad--Penguin and Batman--“
His dad snarled. “Tim, whatever you have to say, everybody knows. You don’t have to tell us.” He reached the back of the cabinet and swore. Tim shrank back as his father jumped off the chair and reached over the counter. He snatched a whole bottle of something and stormed out of the room. Tim heard him stomp upstairs and slam a door, all the while muttering about stupid children.
Before Tim could say anything, his mother was kneeling next to him. She took his face in her hands. It should have been comforting, maybe, the type of thing that the moms on TV do. Her eyes were stern, though. He leaned into it anyway. “Tim, your father and I love you very much, but you need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”
Tim opened his mouth to argue—But!—then snapped it shut.
“We already know. You can argue and complain and tell us about your day, but most of the time we already know. Keeping your mouth shut around important people will keep you safe.”
Safe? Tim blinked at her. But he’d just learned the most exciting thing ever! How could they…?
Oh.
“You already know?” He managed. He didn’t have to struggle to keep his voice quiet anymore. “Everything?”
She nodded. “We know your grades. We know whatever you learned in school that day. We know what’s on the news because we already read it. You don’t have to repeat it. Understood?”
“But what if I know something you don’t?” Tim asked.
His mother smiled at him but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sweetie,” she said. “You’re seven. You’re not that smart yet.”
Oh.
His mother let go of his face with a pat, back to looking tired, and rummaged through the cupboard for a wine glass. She poured herself a full glass as Tim stood behind her and watched, feeling more and more disappointed.
He thought, he really thought for a moment, that he was the only one to know who Batman was. How silly.
*
The interview was running looooong.
Tim tried not to let his smile break as another reporter asked another question about him being the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company. They’d been asking him that for a whole year and he was sick of it. That wasn’t even what this press conference was about. Drake Industries was partnering with Wayne Enterprises to help develop new excavation vehicles for both above ground and underwater use. Of course, most of the reporters didn’t actually care about that.
The whole press conference was bigger than it should be. Drake Enterprises wasn’t a company most people knew the name of until his parents died two years ago and its future was left up in the air. It took a whole year and a highly publicised legal battle for Tim to gain control as CEO last year. Since then, Tim had become the most photographed celebrity in Gotham aside from Bruce Wayne, who was sitting two seats down from him next to Lucius Fox.
Another camera flashed. Tim winced and reached for his coffee. He really should have tried harder to sleep last night.
“Question for Bruce Wayne,” another reporter called, only to ramble something about Bruce Wayne’s latest alleged love affair. Tim subtly glanced at his watch. Kinda rude for the reporters to be keeping Bruce here when they knew how sleep deprived Bruce was. (No one could know how sleep deprived Tim was. That was a secret.) Even if Batman was still dealing with the fallout of last week’s Arkham breakout, the news cycle had already moved on.
Bruce—in full Brucie persona—said something witty. The crowd laughed and Tim knew most of them had already forgotten the question.
The moderator motioned for the next reporter once Bruce finished.
“Mr. Drake,” the next reporter said, “I’d like to ask about an interview response that you gave last year—"
Not this again. Tim kept the annoyance off his face. He knew exactly what interview they were going to ask about.
When he first took control of Drake Industries, some reporter asked him incredibly specific questions about a harassment case at one of their dig sites in Brazil. Now, having just lost his parents and spending a year in legal battles to become CEO, Tim had not been informed of it at the time. Thus, when asked, he’d said, “Aren’t Brazilians supposed to be hot?”
He was never going to live it down.
Thankfully, their PR team came up with a great explanation. The Board Members were simply trying to protect Tim from the cruel realities of the world!
(And if some of those Board Members got sent to an early retirement, well, that was Tim demonstrating that he understood the cruel realities of the world.)
Tim repeated the lie now. “I don’t really think they meant to keep it from me. I think, at the time, they thought it wasn’t age appropriate for me to know about that specific incident, so my team glossed over it and let local management handle it inhouse instead of calling us.”
“So you don’t think that your management team was trying to undermine you?”
Tim forced his smile wider to avoid just how annoyed he was. They didn’t even grill Brucie this hard.
“I think it was like one of those lies that people tell children. Like, of course Santa Clause is real, or I don’t have a favourite child, or I don’t know who Batman is. That sort of thing.”
The reporter’s face went from nodding along to still. Tim took the chance to sip his coffee. He was so tired of all this.
Vicki Vale’s hand shot up with a question and the moderator motioned at her.
“Sorry,” Vicki said, staring right at him. Weird, a wrinkle sat between her brows. She must be overdue for her next botox appointment. “Are you implying you do know who Batman is?”
Tim blinked at her. Didn’t she date Bruce at one point? She’s a journalist. She was supposed to be smart. Maybe Tim had given her too much credit. “Yeah?” Tim shrugged. “Most people know who Batman is. I figured it out when I was, like, seven. I mean, it’s pretty obvious.”
The room went quieter than it had been all afternoon. Everybody stared at him.
The crowd started murmuring.
Clark Kent stood up. “Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Could you explain why you think that everyone knows who Batman is?”
Tim blinked at him. “Because…they do?”
Don’t they? A little voice in Tim’s head whispered.
Tim’s brain quickly whipped itself into gear to answer. Everyone talked about Batman at school, before Tim dropped out, but people rarely mentioned him and Bruce Wayne in the same breath. A few had made jokes about Bruce Wayne and Batman dating. An elaborate cover up and a funny joke, Tim had thought at the time. He even laughed along. He knew some people in his class must not have known, being young and stupid teenagers, but surely some did. It was a joke that was funny whether you knew the truth or not.
And yet he couldn’t think of a single time when anyone said anything that proved beyond a doubt that they knew Bruce Wayne was Batman.
He’d thought the police were just acting like they didn’t know and were instead turning the other cheek. But what if they actually didn’t know? Then they would have… behaved exactly the same. He’d seen them bumbling when out bat hunting.
But his parents knew. They’d told him they knew! He’d told them Bruce Wayne was Batman and they didn’t seem surprised. Everybody knows, his dad had snapped.
Except he didn’t, he realised now, ten years later. He didn’t think about his parents much since they died, but he heard his mother’s tone in his mind. She’d been talking down to him, he realised. And then she told him to keep his mouth shut. Not keep it a secret. But literally keep quiet because he’d been loud.
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Tim turned to look over at Lucius Fox and Bruce Wayne. Both stared at him with dumbfound expressions. “Everyone knows who Batman is, right?”
Tim watched Bruce’s pupils widen. Oh no, that was panic, wasn’t it? “I… don’t think so?” he managed.
So… Batman’s identity was a secret? Or, Bruce Wayne thought it was?
“But—” Tim started. The jets! “How—” –did no one notice? He couldn’t have been the only person to figure it out. He stopped and looked at the wide eyes of reporters. “You know, right?” he cried at the mob. He locked eyes with a reporter in the front row. “Do you know?”
The reporter shook his head. Tim turned to the next reporter. “Do you?” The man laughed and shook his head.
Tim turned back to Clark Kent in the third row with a wonderstruck look on his face. Did Superman not know? Batman was known for secrecy, but Tim had always assumed the Justice League knew each other’s secret identities. No, there was no way. But when had Superman ever visited Gotham? Only as Clark Kent. But he’d interacted with Bruce Wayne before…
Tim and Clark made eye contact in confusion. “You have to know,” Tim begged.
Clark gapped at him like a fish.
Tim gapped back at him. “How do you not know??”
Maybe no one knew, Tim realised. Maybe Batman kept his identity from everyone. Which was… Tim would have thought it impossible. There was Batman-themed graffiti on that Wayne Enterprises billboard at the edge of Crime Alley. No one questioned why Jason Todd’s disappearance and death happened right when the second robin disappeared. Wasn’t that why they didn’t legally revive Jason? Because the Redhood needed actual secrecy to be an undercover crime lord? Where did people think Batman got his funding? Was it some sort of mystery?
Tim leaned back in his chair and covered his mouth with his hand.
Catwoman knew. He was sure she knew. He’d seen them slinking back to her apartment with his telephoto lens. And Damian Wayne was proof that Talia Al Ghul knew.
Right?
The reporters started shouting questions while Tim rethought everything he thought he knew. Tim buried his face in his hands to avoid looking at Mr. Wayne.
Lucius Fox leaned forward to the microphone and ended the press conference. The reporters got louder than they’d been all day calling out questions.
*
Someone posted the conference on Twitter.
It went viral within the hour.
A photo of Tim asking “Everyone knows who Batman is, right?” to Bruce Wayne’s deeply confused expression became a meme. In the picture, it’s clear that Bruce Wayne was leaning away from him. That stung. Tim didn’t have time to process that, though, since his phone would not stop vibrating, overflowing with texts and calls and notifications.
The headlines weren’t good.
Drake heir claims to know Batman’s secret identity - “It’s pretty obvious.”
WATCH: Tim Drake becomes visibly upset when he finds out not everyone knows who Batman is
News: Drake Industry stocks rise 8% in three hours since CEO Tim Drake claimed to know Batman’s secret identity
Tim hated it. Twitter loved it. ‘Tim Drake,’ ‘Batman,’ ‘Gotham,’ and ‘Bruce Wayne’ all jumped onto the trending list.
Lol Tim is the smartest dumbass i have ever seen
He thought people just decided to keep it secret? Wooooow
I think he actually knows, or believes he does. Did you see him panic?? No way that was fake.
Yeah, you can see him turn pale.
Brucie and Lucy jus sitting ther beside him like wtf is happening rn like mood
Someone get this kid an Oscar because this is one hell of a publicity stunt.
Is this kid trying???? To get kidnapped???? Dude, you live in GOTHAM!!!
Can I get an f in the chat for Timmy Drake?
Tim watched Twitter in real time in the wake of the worst interview of his life.
But wait. It got worse. Someone connected some dots.
Years back, Tim realised he had thousands upon thousands of photographs of Batman. His collection was his entire’s life worth. If he was Davinci, this was his masterpiece. Chasing Batman and Robin across rooftops with nothing but some pepper spray and his camera made him feel alive like nothing else had. It gave him a connection to his heroes when his parents were nowhere to be found.
When his parents died, that was taken away from him. He couldn’t leave his house without being stormed by reporters, and every waking hour was spent calling lawyers or talking to lawyers or googling corporate law to figure out how to not lose his parents’ lives’ work. Suddenly, he needed a security detail to bat away adoption papers from distant relatives.
In the depths of his despair, Tim was sure that he’d never be able to chase after Batman ever again. And wasn’t it a shame that no one else would ever get to see his hero like he did, in all of his Dark Knight glory, defending the city he swore to protect?
So, Tim created a throwaway reddit account, completely untraceable, and started uploading.
He hadn’t expected the reaction to be as big as it was.
It became a mystery. Who was this mysterious photographer posting pictures of The Batman and The Robin? Some people speculated it had to be Batman himself or someone close to him. How else would this mystery photographer get so close?
No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to notice.
People noticed. The timing of his parent’s deaths, the anonymity, the photography skills…
When the first twitter thread popped up, asking if Jack Drake could have been the photographer, and concluded that Tim must have uploaded them out of grief…
Tim couldn’t stop reading.
Does anyone remember that Batman photo dump? That was right after the Drakes died, right?
Holy shit
Do you think it’s connected?
“I’ve connected the dots.” “You didn’t connect shit.”
No, really!
Dude, Batman himself couldn’t figure it out. Someone got video of him talking about it.
Tim Drake and Jack Drake are/were both photographers (See Tim’s 30 under 30 interview). If Jack Drake figured Batman’s identity out and took those photos, and then talked about it around his young son, OF COURSE Tim would just assume Batman’s identity was common knowledge.
omg
I think Jack Drake DID figure out Batman’s identity and talked about Batman so much that his son Tim just ASSUMED that it wasn’t a secret.
And then, after his parents died, Tim uploaded the pictures, his dad’s life work, to Reddit so that it could be shared anonymously. (Since by his logic even though “everyone knows who batman is,” it’s still taboo to let other people know you know.)
And obvs there’s been no updates since because a) Jack Drake is dead and b) Tim’s busy running a whole ass company.
The thread had been viewed over a million times.
Omgg I think you’ve done it
I hate how much sense that makes.
You’re telling me that this nepo baby twig might ACTUALLY know Batman’s identity?????
And finally, the most liked tweet under the original video, now viewed almost a million times: This idiot is the secret to figuring out Batman’s identity and the entire JL is doomed.
Tim shut his laptop.
*
Jim Gordon had the decency not to laugh at him. They stood in the kitchen of his apartment while other cops searched his flat for bombs or something. Tim didn’t know. Squad cars circled his apartment building and lined the street for the entire block.
“Don’t worry, son. The worst rogues are locked up in Arkham right now, and we’re here to keep away the rest.”
Tim felt the sudden urge to go die in a hole. This was so embarrassing. His face was a perpetual shade of red.
Clark Kent must have been busy with work at the Gotham headquarters of the Daily Planet. Otherwise he would have already whisked Tim away for memory modification or whatever it was the Justice League does. That left Tim with Gotham PD.
“I am so sorry about all this,” Tim told Commissioner Gordon. Tim knew for a fact that there were other cases, important cases, that Jim Gordon was supposed to be working on right now. Instead, he was sipping coffee in Tim’s kitchen because Tim couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut.
My mother was right about everything, Tim thought sadly. He wanted to bury himself in his hoodie and never come out.
Gordon put a protective hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. Protecting you is much better than fighting one of the rogues. We’re just here until this all calms down. In the meantime, stay here and wait for this all to blow over.”
“You really think that this is just going to blow over?” Tim asked.
“Don’t you?” Gordon quirked a brow at him.
“No. I’m pretty sure I just ruined my life.”
Gordon chuckled. “Sorry, it’s just when you see as much as I do in Gotham, cases like this are comfortingly normal.”
Tim blinked at him. “Isn’t Killer Croc loose right now?”
“It’s so nice to get a nice, normal case,” Gordon continued, gripping his own coffee tighter. There was a manic look in his eyes. “Just a rich kid going viral on twitter. No metas. No violence. Just a normal police escort.”
Tim offered Gordon a bag of his best coffee when he left. Gordon happily took it. He needed it more than Tim did.
*
Tim decided to leave his apartment when he realised someone was watching it.
Not the handful of police officers outside. Oh no. Not even the news stations and TMZ truck parked across the road. Not those either. Tim realised he had to leave when he saw a paper airplane float through his only open window. The paper glided in the open window soundlessly. Tim would have missed it if he hadn’t set up his laptop at the kitchen island and was looking in that direction. What he couldn’t have missed was the giant question mark drawn on it in green marker.
“Shit,” Tim said. He grabbed his wallet off the table and stuffed it in one pocket and his phone charger in another. Now all he needed was--
“Shit,” Tim said again, as a smoke bomb sailed in through the open window, spewing green smoke. The same shade of green that multiple Gotham villains all used.
Tim grabbed his laptop and ran. Don’t be the joker. Don’t be the joker.
He ran for his apartment door, only for it to blow open. Another bomb. More green smoke poured inside. Tim coughed and covered his mouth.
Standing in the doorway, in a green suit, stood the Riddler.
“Oh, it’s just Eddie, thank god,” Tim said, right before Eddie pulled out a ray gun and aimed it at him. He didn’t look happy.
“You know who I am, too??” Eddie—the Riddler—demanded.
“Uh…”
“It was my riddle to solve! Mine!” Eddie screamed. The ray gun in his hand shook. “I can’t have you ruining this for me.”
Tim dived to the floor, narrowly avoiding a blast with the ray gun.
I can’t believe I thought he was cool, Tim thought through his panic.
With nothing else in reach, Tim grabbed the kitchen chair and flung it at the Riddler. His aim was terrible, but the chair was too big to miss. It hit Eddie in the knees and he toppled over. Tim took the chance to stand and run to the door, leaping over Eddie in the process. Eddie shot again and this time, it hit. Tim barely registered the hit to his shoulder.
He ran out the door into his apartment hallway. The smoke alarms went off as he fled. Thankfully, he only lived on the fifth floor. He slammed into the door to the stairs and flew down the steps.
The police were distracted by the flood of people leaving the building when he got outside. Firetruck sirens rang in the distant. Tim easily slipped through the crowd and onto the street, making his way away from his apartment.
*
It was a good thing the Red Hood had so many safe houses. Tim walked on foot, trying to blend with the crowd, before making it to Crime Alley. Thank god he made it there before the bloodstains on his shirt started leaking through his hoodie. Tim climbed the fire escape and jimmied open the window. Even though he’d never done it before, the traps were easy enough to disarm. Tim slipped inside and pulled the window shut behind him.
Safe. Finally.
Tim laid on the floor under the window. He had to get up. He had to stop bleeding on Jason’s nice carpet. Okay, it wasn’t actually that nice, but it was a decently soft welcome mat that he kept right under the window sill. Tim didn’t want to have to sneak to a laundromat to try to wash blood off of it, too.
He pushed himself up and looked around. Most people kept first aid kits in the kitchen, right? Or maybe the bathroom. He’d check both. Out of habit, he opened the fridge door. Oh good, there was a lot of food in there. Tupperware containers full. Tim’s stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Well, since he was here.
Tim hauled himself onto the kitchen island and munched on leftover rice while he wrapped the wound on his shoulder. Not the most sanitary, but god the rice was good. He alternated between moaning at how good the food was and swearing when the wrapping wasn’t tight enough. At least it was a ray gun so he didn’t have to worry about any bullet pieces.
He was three quarters of the way through the rice when the front door slammed open. Tim whipped his head around. The Red Hood stood in the doorway, two guns drawn, one pointed straight at Tim. The other scanned the room before settling back on Tim as well.
Tim swallowed his rice and raised the hand on his working arm.
“You don’t hurt kids and I don’t turn eighteen for another six months!” he cried.
The Red Hood dropped his guns so they weren’t pointing at him. He gapped at Tim. At least, Tim thought he was gapping at Tim. His helmet was in the way. He stood staring so long that Tim started eyeing the rice again.
“Timothy Drake,” the Red Hood said, voice distorted through the helmet. “Does everyone know where my safehouses are, too?”
Tim flushed. “No, you’re actually good at keeping secrets. I mean, when you aren’t leaving heads in duffle bags. But that doesn’t really count. You were trying to leave hints then.” Tim took his fork and swallowed another mouthful. “You’re good at secrets, but not subtlety.”
“Unlike you, who is bad at both.”
Tim opened his mouth to object, then stopped. “I didn’t know it was a secret. Don’t tell Batman I’m here.”
“Why not?” Hood tilted his head, the only sign of his facial expression with the helmet.
“Because I don’t want to get adopted! Or killed. Or get my memory erased. I don’t know what he has planned for this type of situation.”
Surprisingly, Hood laughed. Even more surprizing, he holstered his weapons and approached the island. “He wouldn’t erase your memory. You’d have to actually know something worth erasing.”
Tim cocked a brow. “Like the location of your safehouse?”
Hood shrugged. “I can ditch this one.”
“You’ll have to ditch the one on Sixth Street, too.”
“Huh, you actually know things. How much do you know about us?”
And Tim, who had been following Batman around and obsessing over Robin for years, desperately wanted to impress him.
He smirked. “I don’t know, Jason, how much do you think I know?”
The whites of Jason’s mask refocused, as if Jason’s eyes had widened underneath. Tim didn’t know that they could do that. “Holy fuck, you do know.”
Tim grinned.
“What else do you know?”
“I know a lot of things.”
“Timmy. Timbo. Timberland. I need examples.”
It’d been a while since he felt proud of an accomplishment, and here was Robin #2 himself to listen to him talk about his favourite topic.
Tim listed off a handful of examples of increasing obscurity. Weirdly, Jason nodded along. He seemed impressed, but he wasn’t fighting or arguing with Tim, or trying to see how he knew.
“Your favourite gargoyle is the one on the Park Row Library,” Tim said, trying to see if more personal information would get more of a reaction.
Jason was taking these revelations shockingly well. Tim narrowed his eyes. It was almost like…
Tim jumped up. “I’m being interrogated!” He said. He really should have caught on sooner but between the blood loss and the day he was having… “You’re stalling so Batman has time to get here!” Shit! Shit shit shit! How could he miss something so obvious?
“Whaaat? No—” Jason tried playing dumb. It didn’t matter. Tim already grabbed his backpack and headed for the window. “Tim!”
Tim vaulted the window ledge and ran down the fire escape. The metal clanged loudly under every step. There was no way he was waiting around for Batman to find him and erase his memory!
“Tim!” Hood called from the window above as Tim ran. “I’ll shoot!”
“Red Hood doesn’t hurt kids!” Tim yelled and kept running. He jumped from the ladder and landed on the hard concrete in the alley. He didn’t look back up to see if he was being followed. Behind him, he heard a string of swear words.
*
Tim ran.
The sun hadn’t set but it was hidden behind the buildings around them. He looked up and saw dark, vigilante-shaped figures on the rooftops around him.
Tim swore mentally and swerved around a businessman. They were following him! He was toast!
What could he do? Where could he go? He desperately tried to remember which alleys were dead ends. He hadn’t been in crime alley since his parents died two years ago. Was seventh street still under construction? Where could he lose the bats?
And then, like an answer to his prayers, a black SUV crossed two lanes of traffic and swerved to a stop in front of him.
“Get in,” said a voice.
Now, usually, Tim knew better than to get into a vehicle with strangers. That was how you got kidnapped. But these were extenuating circumstances. Most people didn’t have a hoard of angry vigilantes chasing after them wanting to erase their memories. Kidnapping seemed pretty good about now.
With that happy thought, Tim jumped into the stranger’s car. The stranger slammed the door behind them, and Tim tumbled to the floor as the car took off.
Tim didn’t bother checking who he was riding with until he put his seatbelt on. Then he looked up.
The SUV was the fanciest car Tim had ever been in, which was saying something. This was the type of car made for business meetings and mobsters. Leather seats, tinted windows, uhhhh cupholders? Look, Tim was a computer guy, not a car guy. But he knew what money smelled like, and this car smelled like money.
There was a bench seat behind the driver, facing backwards to allow for passengers to talk to each other. In the front of him, facing Tim, sat a man. Tim’s first thought on seeing him was eyebrows. His brows were wild and untrimmed like only old men’s did, poking out every which way. Yet his face didn’t have all that many wrinkles. He didn’t seem out of shape either, though it was hard to tell under the black trench coat and the green (presumably silk) suit.
“Detective!” said the man, looking delighted to see Tim.
Tim… had no idea who he was. Seriously, this was the second guy dressed in green after him today. He didn’t look like the Joker. What other Gotham villains wore green? “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
The strange man grinned. “We have not. My name is Ra’s al Ghul.” He held out a hand to shake. Tim took it.
He quickly ran through everything he knew about Ra’s al Ghul: Grandfather to Damian Wayne, known as the Demon’s Head, leader of League of Assassins. Some of the information Tim found on the man went back hundreds of years. Either he was immortal or their family had a tradition of naming sons after themselves. Tim wasn’t sure.
Now, he wished he knew more. By the time Damian joined the family, Tim was too caught up in gaining control of his parents’ company to research properly.
Honestly, Tim thought he would be older. If Tim wasn’t currently weighing different escape options, he’d ask Mr. Ghul what his secret was. Seriously, the man looked Bruce’s age.
Should he call him Ra’s? Sir al Ghul? Mr. Ghul?
“Pleasure,” Tim said, much more formally. He was beginning to understand that this was a business meeting. That was better than a kidnapping, he supposed.
Mr. Ghul grinned. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Tim dared to take his eyes off the assassin leader in front of him and check the nearby rooftops. He didn’t see any signs of the bats. That was good, right?
Mr. Ghul drew his attention back to him. “You see, I have a job opening that I need filled.”
Tim looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of job?”
“It’s in management. Not terribly different than your current role as CEO, but with a lot more, shall we say, strategy.” Mr. Ghul pulled out a folio. “My company has many rivals, and we have been having issues eliminating the competition.”
Tim knew what that was code for. “And you think I’d be able to help?”
Mr. Ghul nodded eagerly. “I think you’d be a quick study.”
Despite himself, Tim was flattered, because yes he would be a quick study. Between watching Batman break up criminal gangs and fighting the Drake Industries board of directors, Tim knew strategy. He knew when to strike someone when they were down and he knew how to look for weaknesses in strangers. He had a keen eye for violence and had long been desensitized to it. Finding enemies and exploiting their weaknesses was Tim’s life passion.
It was… tempting. Tim hated to admit how tempting.
As much as he cared about Drake Industries, as much as he sweat and bled and cried and embarrassed himself publically (twice now) for Drake Industries, he didn’t care for it. It was his parents’ company, not his. He fought tooth and nail for their legacy, not for the company itself.
He could sell it, he considered not for the first time. It wasn’t failing anymore. He could just sell the business to someone and retire. And while retired, why not kill some time while killing some assassins?
Tim shook the thought from his head.
Tim had spent the last two years fighting for his place in his company. He bled and sweat and cried and embarrassed himself publicly (twice now) to make Drake Industries the best company he could. If he took Mr. Ghul’s offer, he’d have to just hand it back to the board members he pried it away from.
Tim fought tooth and nail for control of Drake Industries and like hell was he losing it now.
Besides, Tim grew up watching Batman and Robin. He had dreamed of one day becoming Robin, before the reality of being heir to a company caught up with him. Maybe in another life, Tim would have taken the offer. But in this life, Tim had a hard time letting go of his childish ideals.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I already have obligations to Drake Enterprises, and I have no intentions of leaving Gotham.”
Mr. Ghul’s smile fell off his face. For the first time, Tim remembered he was alone. The car whipped by the Gotham streets around them.
“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Ghul, leaning forward. “You seem under the impression that you have a choice.”
The next thing Tim knew, a blade stuck its way through the roof of the car right where Mr. Ghul’s head was a second before. Tim couldn’t help it; he screamed.
The car swerved. Tim hadn’t put on his seatbelt. He flew over to the other side of the car. Tim righted himself and glanced out the window only to see Nightwing on a motorcycle being pursued by men in black uniforms. Nightwing pulled up beside the car and tried to reach the door handle as he drove.
Tim didn’t have time to process that before the driver hit the breaks. Tim was thrown forward. He tumbled onto the floor and skidded forward right into Mr. Ghul’s legs. He turned and blinked up at the ceiling just in time to see it crumple. Tim heard the sound of crushing metal. Suddenly, sky was above them. Tim didn’t have time to process why or how before he felt hands grab him and lift him up.
Tim let out a screech. He latched onto the nearest object.
“Easy! Easy!” said Superman. Tim clung to him as the ground shrunk beneath them. Tim screamed again. He felt his ears pop. “It’s okay, Tim. I’ve got you!”
That was what Tim was afraid of. He was free of Ra’s al Ghul, but now he was in the hands of the Justice League, the very people he fled.
Superman flew them away. Tim didn’t even bother trying to question where. He slumped in Clark Kent’s arms. It was over. He was caught.
Whatever his fate was now, he just had to accept it.
*
“I am happy to announce that I’ll be taking over custody of Timothy Drake,” Bruce Wayne announced happily at a small press conference from the steps of Wayne Industries.
Behind him on stage, Tim glowered and tried to hide his burning face. He was emancipated, dammit. How did Bruce manage to get custody?
Being airlifted to Wayne Manor by Superman? Sure. He understood that. Being placed under protective orders from the Justice League? Okay, not the worse outcome. Even after his interrogation and revealing how he’d gotten so many pictures, they’d decided against wiping his memory. A mercy, Tim had thought at the time.
But Bruce adopting him? Being treated like a child once again? All of his careful, legal maneuvers being outdone and undone?
It was an outrage!
Sadly, no one else seemed to think so.
They didn’t care last night, either, when Alfred unsympathetically showed him to his room and left him to get comfortable. Dick popped up immediately, just as Tim was grumbling to himself about the cruelty off it all. He just wiggled his fingers at Tim and said, “There is no escape.”
Tim was a Batman’s newest prisoner, and his jailors were a bunch of over-eager teenagers and young adults. Yes, seriously.
From the podium, Bruce continued. “I’d also like to remind everyone that Tim Drake’s claims to Batman’s identity are being investigated by the Justice League, and thus Tim is under their protection.”
Aw, said at least one reporter from the audience.
Tim crossed his arms. This was completely unfair. He was a legal adult. He hadn’t needed adult supervision since he was in the single digits. Just because he now had multiple supervillains after him didn’t change that!
From beside him, Cass bumped his arm and shot him a look that said stop pouting.
Tim frowned deeper in annoyance. (It was not a pout, thank you very much.)
Yes, it was, Cass said with an eyebrow quick.
Tim huffed and ignored her.
“In other, unrelated news, Wayne Enterprises has just acquired Drake Industries,” Bruce smiled, somewhat vapidly. “In light of this, Tim Drake will be stepping down as CEO. I will be taking over the role. In the meantime, Tim will focus on his schooling.”
Tim could have killed him.
Finally, Bruce concluded the main portion of the conference. The kids were dismissed. Bruce remained behind to answer questions alone because no one trusted Tim near a microphone.
Clearly, Bruce was only adopting him to keep him quiet.
Before Tim could run away, Cass must have seen his intention and looped her arm through his. With a sigh, Tim relented and let himself be led off stage without causing a scene.
Alfred Pennyworth appeared and herded them all towards a limo. Tim guessed it was the only vehicle big enough to fit all of them. He could see Jason and Steph leaning beside it. They waited as Bruce Wayne’s living and legal children made their way over.
Duke leaned over to Damian as Tim glared over his shoulder back at Bruce. “I think he’s more murderous than even you were,” he whispered.
“Tt,” Damian huffed but didn’t respond. Tim appreciated that.
Dick Grayson—Tim tried not to fanboy—slung an arm over Tim’s shoulder. “Sorry, bud. You’ve been outsmarted.”
“Of course he was,” Damian Wayne said. He was the only one as unhappy with this turn of events as Tim was.
Steph waved at him with her whole arm. She ran up to Tim and wrapped her arms around him. “Hello, new best friend!”
“Since when?” Tim asked, stuck in her hug. At least Cass released his arm now that Steph had him in her clutches.
“Since right now. I’ve decided.” She linked their arms. Tim stared at the part where their arms touched before giving up.
“Fine,” he said.
Steph cheered at their impending friendship.
Jason—in a baseball cap and a fake moustache since he was, you know, legally dead—leaned close to Tim. “If it makes you feel better, Babs forwarded screenshots from the Justice League group chat.”
“They have a group chat?” Tim asked, interest piqued.
Dick frowned and his eyes went wide and watery. “She didn’t send them to me.”
“Check your phone, dumbass,” Jason rolled his eyes. “They’re all roasting B. It’s hilarious. They’re using his own memes against him!”
Dick scrambled for his phone. He broke out in laughter.
“Memes about what?” Tim asked.
“You,” Duke said, also staring at his phone. “Oblivious Timmy and Scared Brucie is their new favourite meme.”
“They also like to roast B any time he picks up another stray,” Steph said. “Wanna see?”
That…kinda sounded like fun. Tim did want to see.
Alfred opened the limo door. “Time to go, children.”
They started loading into the limo.
Steph kept talking. “We’re gonna have so much fun! Dibs on Timmy for rooftop tag!”
“No fair!” Duke said.
Rooftop tag?
“I was gonna ask him!” Dick said.
“You get Damian on your team, and he’s small too,” Jason said.
They kept arguing. Tim’s mind ran a mile a minute trying to keep up. Why on earth would they let a prisoner out of their sight—on purpose!—to play tag on the roof?
“Wait,” said Tim. “I’m not a prisoner?”
The rest of the batkids swivelled to look at him. “No?”
“What?” Tim asked.
Everybody looked surprised. Jason said a few swear words, but Dick was the first to actually speak. “Tim, you’re not a prisoner. I don’t know what Bruce said to make you think you were, but you’re not in trouble. Yes, you’re staying with us for your protection, but it’s not…cold, or just a formality.” Dick smiled. “I, for one, already think of you as my brother.”
Tim stared at Dick’s dazzling smile. He sorted through his mind and rearranged everything that happened since being dropped at Wayne Manor.
“Does Bruce adopt all of his kids like this?” Tim asked.
“Well…” said Duke.
“Yeah,” Jason added. “You’ll fit right in.”
Even Damian scoffed and said, “Obviously Drake is well suited to stay with us.”
“Everybody knows,” Steph said and Cass nodded.
Alfred called back from the front. “Are we all buckled up?”
The kids groaned and reached for their seatbelts. Tim did too.
And then Alfred drove them home.