Chapter Text
Dick
Dick dared glance across the table. In the past week, he’d gotten into a kind of schedule, like his social worker had told him to do, as something to keep himself focused. But this was throwing him off. Way off.
He took a hesitant bite of Alfred's amazing pancakes, unable to take his eyes off the elephant in the room. Why Bruce lied to the social worker, and worse, to Dick, he wasn’t too sure. It wasn’t like Dick minded that Bruce already had a kid, it was just, he would’ve liked a little heads up at least!
“Could you please pass the syrup?”
For someone you couldn’t be more than 4 years old, the little blue-eyed, black haired boy seated at the table with Dick was very good at enunciating his words.
“Thank you very much.”
For someone you couldn’t be more than 4 years old, the kid was an impossibly clean eater. Dick felt sloppy in comparison.
“G‘Morning, chum,” Bruce, the man of the hour, yawned, finally making his entrance.
It took a very pointed look from Dick and chugging a whole cup of coffee, before Bruce finally realized.
“Oh, right. I see you’re met. Dick,” he said, waving his hand at the little boy, “this is Tim Drake. He’s our neighbor. Tim,” the kid looked up, “hey, bud. I told you about Dick, remember? He’s my ward, he’s going to be living with me from now on.”
Tim nodded in understanding. He extended a small and, again, very clean hand (for someone eating syrupy pancakes!) across the table.
“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Dick.”
“Right.” Gingerly, Dick shook his hand. “Likewise.”
It was made official from their first meeting.
I hate him.
---
A year later, Dick’s opinion hadn’t changed much. Just as Bruce said, Tim only ever came over to the manor on weekends. Two days out of the week.
He would eat breakfast, lunch and dinner, then at the end of the day, Tim went home. He would sit silently in the library, reading books for hours. And, Dick’s least favorite, he liked watching Dick when he used the gymnastics equipment Bruce had set up for him.
The only exception to this rule was one weekend out of the month which, as Alfred had explained it to him way back then, was when the Drakes were home.
Dick hated the Drakes, no questions asked. They made nosy, little Tim look like an angel in comparison. Just being in the same room as them, with their society smiles and judgmental looks, it made Dick nauseous. Like he was facing a pair of venomous snakes.
It was obvious how much they loved their son, considering that besides their digs, he was all they ever talked about. How smart he was, how talented, how perfect Timothy Drake could do no wrong.
That was why, during charity galas, like the one he and Bruce were attending now, he made sure to stay as far away from them as possible.
He was chatting with a group of women, putting on his usual charming act, when he felt someone pulling at his pants leg. Glancing down, Dick recognized Tim.
“Just a minute,” he told him, returning to his conversation. Moments later, he felt the tugging again and he lightly patted his head. “Give me a second, Tim.”
The motion stopped.
One of the older women, Vera or something, was in the middle of re-telling one of her boring stories, when she trailed off mid-way, looking down.
“Oh no, sweetie, what’s the matter?”
Dick turned around to find Tim staring at the ground, hyperventilating and very red in the face. Going right into action, Robin instincts acting up, Dick knelt down in front of him. In the year he’d known Tim, he’d always seemed like a grown man trapped in a child’s body. Now, trying desperately to hold back tears, he looked like the kid he really was.
“Tim? Timmy, what happened?”
With a sob, Tim threw his arms around Dick’s neck, gasping for air. Feeling guilty for ignoring him earlier, Dick shushed him hurriedly, rubbing his back and holding the back of his head.
“It’s ok, buddy, it’s okay. What’s wrong, do you feel sick? Does it hurt somewhere?”
Tim hiccupped into his throat, shaking his head. “I’m lost ,” he whimpered.
And Dick couldn’t, not for the life of him, understand what that meant. How could Tim possibly be lost? He’d been to the Robinson’s house at least a dozen times, it just didn’t make any sense that he was lost.
“How about we go find your parents?” Dick suggested.
His stomach sank as he felt his collar start to become wet and Tim shuttered with another sob. Definitely panicking now, he glanced around the room, trying to locate Bruce. Carefully picking the little boy up, spotting Bruce just across the floor chatting with a group of Gotham’s most elite, he rushed over to him.
Bruce looked up as they approached, eyes going wide.
“Tim? Honey, what’s the matter?”
Tim didn’t answer, tightening his grip on Dick and going unnaturally silent.
“He said he’s lost,” Dick explained, sharing a look with Bruce that clearly stated he didn’t know what that meant either.
The people around them began to whisper, looking around the room as rumors already began to spread.
“Where are the Drakes?” They asked. “Has anyone seen them?”
As it turned out, Jack and Janet had left earlier to catch their flight to Italy. And in their hurry to leave, they’d forgotten their own son.
Dick and Bruce spent the rest of the night with him, taking poor little Timmy back to the manor. Who, no matter how tightly Dick hugged him, wouldn’t stop crying. The whole time, Bruce kept trying to reassure him.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re coming back. I know your parents love you very much. They're going to call you later as soon as they land,” he kept repeating. Almost like he was trying to convince himself, more than Tim.
For the first time, Dick started to wonder if the Drake’s truly loved their son.
He didn't get time to figure it out, though. The next morning, someone came to pick Tim up to send him to boarding school.
Three years later, Dick already pushed that thought out of his mind. There was a big fall out between him and Bruce, stripping him of his Robin title, and Dick was already Blüdhaven-bound, by the time Timmy Drake was back in Gotham.
Tim
At age 9 and ¼, Tim has established his position as The Shadow, the GCPD’s anonymous informant.
He was the best, and he knew it. Okay, except for maybe Batman, but Tim was still smart enough to have figured out the Dark Knight’s identity, right? Tim had Bruce Wayne pegged before the tender age of 5, after all. That set him on track as one of the best detectives Gotham ever saw, at least in Tim’s book.
Tim sighed as he snapped another shot of an arms deal going down at Gotham Pier. Just a couple of Penguin’s guys he’d have to follow into Crime alley later. He missed Robin. Don’t get him wrong, Batman was cool and everything, but Robin was his better half!
But he wasn’t all that disappointed though, there were rumors flying around of a new vigilante in Blüdhaven. A man they called Nightwing.
Glancing up from his camera, Tim cursed. His guys were already on they’re way out. Quickly putting his camera back in it’s case, he took chase from the shadows. He knew the general direction they were headed, so he aimed for a short cut. All The Shadow needed now was the exact address, so he could get that to Gordon and then they could get the warrant.
Cutting through an alleyway, Tim stopped for a second, backtracking… That was the Batmobile he just saw, and was that? A kid stealing the tires?
Yes, yes it is!
Tim shook his head. He didn’t have a moment to lose, that was Batman’s problem, not his. Besides, wherever the car was, the Bat couldn’t be too far. And there was no way Tim was risking the one thing he was good at in life by sticking his neck out.
A couple blocks later, he spotted the car again, pulling into the driveway of a little corner store. Dashing down the street, he pulled up his binoculars to try and spy through the window.
Penguin’s two guys shook hands with the woman behind the counter, who gestured for them to come into the back. Tim smirked to himself, taking note that there was a possible hidden room, perhaps below the shop.
It was a Friday night, so Tim decided it was best to go to bed now. He liked using the Batcomputer in the early hours when Mr. Wayne (‘Tim, I keep telling you, it’s Bruce ’) was still in bed, and Mr. Pennyworth (‘Master Tim, just Alfred is quite alright’) was convinced he was in the library while he prepared breakfast.
He was glad it had only taken him a couple weeks of readjustment to get back into his old routine. It’d taken his way longer when he was 4 ½ and just starting to learn how to sneak around the astute butler. But, hey it all worked out, and Tim just wanted to compare some notes with Batman before he had to put on his whole ‘Timothy Drake, rich brat’ act.
Even though he was way too old for a sitter, Tim could understand why Mr. Wayne was still convinced he had one, he was so old fashioned like that - he still lived with his butler after all! (Mr. Pennyworth is technically family though, and Tim loved him). He was just glad, even though all the fake payments were tedious, that the Waynes were so nearsighted, they actually continued to believe his ‘nanny’ had weekends off, because the moment he came back, they’d invited him to return.
He liked his time in Wayne Manor, and even with Dick gone, Tim was sure as long as he visited sometimes, things wouldn’t change too much.
(Oh was he wrong.)
Jason
When Jason suspiciously came down for breakfast, he froze when he reached the dining room. At the table, another black hair-blue eyes boy looked up at him, puzzled.
The first thing that popped into his head was:
Oh God, I knew it, Wayne is a pervert! I never should have followed Batman home!
He practically jumped a foot in the air when the man in question appeared behind him, yawning.
“Hey, chum,” Bruce said sleepily, sitting down heavily at the table, reaching for a cup of coffee.
Jason, rooted to the spot, and the kid stared at each other for 10 whole minutes, until Bruce took notice.
“Oh, yeah, Jason, sit down.”
He didn’t move.
“Don’t worry, buddy, this is just Tim Drake. He lives next door. His nanny is out on weekends, so he stays here.”
Tim turns back to his breakfast as Jason approaches.
“Hi…” Jason manages.
“Pleased to meet you, Jason,” Tim said, blinking at him with an expression Jason just wanted to slap off his face.
He extends a hand, but Jason doesn’t take it, narrowing his eyes.
“He’s in...” Bruce glances at Tim. “Aren’t you in 5th grade now Tim?”
“6th,” Tim corrects pointedly. He looks at Jason again, hand tucked away. “What grade are you in, Jason.”
“None,” Jason growled. “I don’t do school.”
Bruce frowned. Tim smiled.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I love school.”
And Jason just knew from that moment. Just that first encounter made it very clear.
I hate this little shit.