Chapter Text
- Tim -
Jack Drake wakes up on Friday evening in March, over 3 months after the incident that landed him in his coma. Tim is sitting at the table just off the kitchen, eating pancakes because Dick had requested breakfast-for-dinner. Dick is in the middle of telling a story about rescuing a person who had duct-taped himself to a billboard in an attempt to build clout for his album when Bruce’s phone rings.
Tim watches Bruce’s face change when he sees the caller ID. He gently excuses himself from the room. Tim watches the door, suspicious, and forgets to pretend to care about the food he’s been picking at long enough that Alfred clears his throat and pointedly glances down at Tim’s still full plate. He resumes halfheartedly eating his syrup-soaked pancake.
Bruce returns with a strange expression on his face that Tim can’t quite place. Dick must recognize it, because he stops the story he was telling right in its tracks upon seeing it.
Bruce clears his throat. “That was the hospital. Tim, your father is awake.”
For a moment, Tim freezes, shocked. Then, his mind immediately starts racing. His mouth moves before he’s even finished a thought.
“Did they test his functioning yet? Did they say when he could come home? Nobody’s been cleaning the house, I need to go over there and get things ready,” Tim rambles. “The doctors said if he woke up, it would take a while for him to be able to walk, we’ll probably need to get a ramp installed, and that could take some time, so we should really get that process started. I mean, I need to go see him first. Can someone give me a ride?”
“Tim, slow down,” Bruce says. “He woke up briefly, but he still needs his rest, and visiting hours are over. I can take you to see him in the morning. But, there are some other things we need to discuss.”
“Bruce,” Dick says, tone low. “You said you were gonna talk to Tim about this before it got to this point.”
“I know, Dick, but now is not the time-”
“Talk to Tim about what.” Tim blurts out before he can think better of it. The feeling of dread that started building in his stomach from the moment Bruce had started talking was becoming unbearable.
Dick and Bruce glance at each other. They both look guilty.
“Tim, we can’t let you return to your father’s full custody. We can set up visits with him anytime you want, but I can’t in good conscience send you back to him,” Bruce explains.
“What? I know he’ll still be sick for a while, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay with him! I can take care of him and myself.”
“It’s not about that, kid,” Dick interjects.
“Then what is it about?” Tim can’t stop the volume of his voice from rising, his tone from raising another octave. There’s something dark and hot sitting in his chest.
“Tim, when your parents asked you to meet with Chisholm, they put you in danger. We’re just looking for your safety here,” Bruce says, gently. He’s got his hands raised like he’s trying to placate a cornered animal.
Tim shakes his head violently. “No. You guys don’t understand this, you’ve never understood! I agreed to sleep with Chisholm. My parents didn’t force me and neither did Chisholm. My parents are good people, okay? They would never - they love me!”
Tim stands up from the table, pushing his chair back without caring that it scrapes loudly across the kitchen floor.
“Of course they love you,” Bruce soothes. “But people can love you and still hurt you. Kiddo, you were only 13 years old. You weren’t able to consent, no matter the situation. I know you know that. What would you say to someone who went through that as Robin?”
“It’s not the same!”
“What makes it different?” Dick questions.
Tim freezes. Because, in truth, there isn’t anything that makes it different. But Tim can’t accept that because if he does, it means he’s a victim. Deep down, he knows that’s true, but it hurts to think of himself like that. To acknowledge that what his parents did was wrong.
For a moment, he can picture himself standing back in the apartment, watching his parents walk away and leave him with a monster that will haunt his nightmares for years to come. He feels far away from his body, disconnected from the moment in front of him.
“It - it just is. Okay? It’s just different,” Tim says, suddenly exhausted. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
He flees the room before anyone can protest. He runs all the way up the stairs and shuts the door behind him. Sliding down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. It all feels like it happened in between blinks. Tim gives into the fuzzy feeling taking over his head, and doesn’t think about it anymore.
- Barbara -
Tim calls her at 9am, which immediately sets off alarm bells in her head. Tim is a baby insomniac who never rises before 11am on weekends.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” He says when she picks up the phone. “My Dad woke up last night, and I was hoping you could give me a ride to the hospital.”
Barbara has brought Tim to the hospital to visit his father a couple times over the past few months. Usually, she picks him up from school since it’s just a few blocks away from the clocktower. They get dinner in the city after and catch up. Usually, Bruce, Dick, or Alfred will drive Tim from the manor.
There’s something fragile in Tim’s voice, though, so she doesn’t push it.
“Of course, kiddo. I can pick you up in an hour?”
“Thank you.”
Tim hangs up pretty quickly after that. Barbara sends a text to Bruce asking what the hell is going on, and pulls herself out of bed. She has a feeling this will be a long day.
—
The drive from Bristol to Martha Wayne Memorial is about 40 minutes. Barbara lasts about 5 minutes with Tim’s sullen silence and one-word answers before she turns on a podcast. Crime Hit, because it’s Tim’s favorite. He hums approvingly when she puts it on, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes for the rest of the trip.
Tim looks nervous as they take the elevator to Jack Drake’s room. Bruce had shelled out a pretty penny for Jack to have a private room. Barbara had taken this ride with Tim half a dozen times, but she’s never seen him look quite so … scared. He picked at his fingernails, pressing his back into the corner of the elevator and pulling his arms in close.
“Are you okay?” Barbara says gently. She reaches over and pulls his hands away. His nail beds are starting to sluggishly bleed.
Tim nods. “My Dad is awake now. Of course, I’m okay.”
The elevator door slides open, and Tim heads straight to Jack’s room, Barbara trailing after him. She waits outside the door while Tim goes in to see his father. The large glass sliding door is left open, and Barbara can’t help but listen to what’s going on.
“Dad?” Tim says, soft and uncertain.
“What are you doing here?” Jack’s voice is a complete contrast; rough and low. He sounds almost angry. The man had just awoken to find months of his life gone and his wife dead. According to Bruce’s replies to his text, they weren’t sure he would ever walk again.
“I came to see you. I’ve been visiting-”
“I don’t want you here.” Jack interrupts.
Barbara almost gasps. Out of all the responses she could have imagined, Jack would have reacted to seeing his only son after waking from a months-long coma that hadn’t been on the list. There’s a long moment of silence, and Barbara can’t see inside the room, but she can imagine the look of shock on Tim’s face.
“W-what? But Dad-”
Jack interrupts again. “You look just like her. Nobody would ever shut up about how you looked just like your mother.”
“Dad-”
“Stop calling me that. Janet is gone. The love of my life is fucking dead, and there’s no point in pretending anymore.”
Dread builds in Barbara’s stomach. The heart monitor's beeping is the only thing filling the tense silence that seems to seep into the hallway.
“I don’t understand,” Tim pleads.
“I loved her. I loved her so much, so I forgave her. She slept with someone else, and I forgave her. And for her sake, I pretended. You were always hers, so I pretended. But she’s gone now. And I can’t stand to see you standing here; you look just like her.”
“What are you saying?” Tim says, so quiet now that Barbara has to strain to hear him.
“I’m saying, get the fuck out of my hospital room. You aren’t my son. Get out!”
There’s a clatter, like something has just been thrown across the hospital room, and Tim flees the room.
--
Barbara doesn’t catch up to Tim until he’s already sitting in the passenger seat of her van. He’s wiping tears away with the tattered sleeve of his hoodie.
“Tim…”
He starts laughing, and the sound is abrupt and out of place in the fragile atmosphere surrounding Tim like a dark cloud.
“I always thought there was no way we could be related,” Tim says. “We are so unalike. I’d look at him and think, how can this egotistical idiot be my father. Turns out I was right the whole time, who knew?”
Tim bursts out into laughter again. “The whole family except me, apparently!”
“Are you okay?” Barbara asks, and it feels lame, like there should be something better she can say to Tim at this moment. But there are no magical words to fix this.
Tim shakes his head. “Bruce was right.”
“Right about what?”
“My parents. They didn’t really care about me.” Tim says, voice cracking. He looks down at the dashboard as he says it, hiding his face with the hood of his oversized sweatshirt.
“I’m so sorry, Tim. None of this was fair to you.” She says. “You are such a good kid, and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Tim sniffs softly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m so tired of this, Babs.”
“I know.” She reaches out and places a soothing hand on his back.
Tim finally looks up at her, eyes red-rimmed. “Can we go home now?”
“Of course, kiddo.”
- Bruce -
When Tim comes home from the hospital, Bruce is waiting in the driveway. Dick has counseled him to wait and let Tim come to him, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from being there to make sure Tim was okay.
When Babara’s van pulls into the driveway, Tim barely waits for the car to come to a stop before he’s climbing out of the passenger seat and running toward him. Tim slams his weight into Bruce, wrapping his arms around him. Bewildered, Bruce returns the hug, pulling Tim securely into his arms.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Tim says.
“It’s okay, kiddo. I understand. Did everything go okay at the hospital?”
Tim shakes his head. “No. But it doesn’t matter. Thank you for being my dad, Bruce.”
Bruce’s brain short circuits for just a moment, because Tim just called him dad. This sweet, too-smart-for-his-own-good little shit that wormed his way into his heart when Bruce wanted nothing more than to shut himself away, this kid that’s been through so much and given everything of himself to the people he loves just called Bruce dad.
He tightens his embrace. “Of course, Tim. Always.”
--
Later that night, the family gathers in the cave. They don’t don their costumes like usual. Instead, Barbara pulls up the feed to her father’s bodycam so they can watch the GCPD raid Ventex Pharmaceuticals.
Last week, the commissioner received enough information from an anonymous tip to put both the Chisholm brothers and their rival, Henry Poole, away for the rest of their lives.
And Tim sits among his family, safe and loved. For now, that’s enough.