Chapter Text
Luthor.
Tim was half sure the man had broken in because, despite looking poised in Tim’s desk chair, the man wasn’t on his schedule today. His mouth quirked at the image of Luthor shimming through the ventilation so he could dramatically ambush him in his office.
The man spent most his time pinning after Superman - in an evil, super-mastermind kinda way- of course he couldn’t do something normal, like call ahead so Tim knew to stay home or hide in the bathroom. No, this was Lex freaking Luthor: voted megalomaniac of the month for a consecutive 63 months.
He’d probably used giant magnets to get in.
Tim’s smile grew. Luthor copied it.
Horror. He wasn’t scared per se, just extremely disgusted and put off. Is this how people who knew Bruce Wayne was Batman felt at galas when Brucie pulled them into an affectionate hug and showed- dear god, the rapture is here- his teeth?
Tim’s hair on his neck sprung up. A way of his body saying: not today, Satan.
“Hello, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Luthor said, sitting in Tim’s chair in Tim’s office
What the absolute heck-a-doodle?
“You weren’t expecting to see me here-“ Tim narrowed his eyes. “-in my office?”
Luthor ignored him, leaning back till the chair squeaked. If Luthor broke his chair, Tim was going to break his face. It’d be the headline everywhere: Wayne Heir Decks Lex Luthor. He’d have to flee the country- Kon would help.
The chair squeaked again as Luthor sat back up, giving Tim a knowing look. What he was supposed to know was unclear. Luthor raised an eyebrow; Tim raised him two.
“If you’d take a seat.” Luthor gestured to the chair Tim made work associates sit in- where he made Damian sit.
Luthor better have brought a shovel, because the only way he’d ever, ever, sit in that chair if Luthor defiled his grave and dropped Tim’s worm-food remains onto the cushion. Over his decomposed corpse would he take that seat.
Tim blinked at him, a silence drawing out. He made his facial expression meet how he was feeling: God is dead and so am I. The dark circles under his eyes always helped sell the look he found.
Luthor’s smile faltered. “Mr. Drake?”
Tim spun on his heel and left, the door thumping behind him. He’d reached his capacity for bullshit when Jason had shown up earlier covered in ‘strawberry jelly’ from ‘an accident at the jelly factory’. His office had glass windows, flaunting Luthor’s gaping mouth as he stomped towards the elevator.
Tim clicked for the lobby and, for a brief moment of blissful naivety, he’d thought Luthor had given up. He’d long assumed this job had cremated him of all hope, but Luthor scrambling out of Tim’s office mutilated the last piece he even didn’t know he had.
Pity. He’d liked having hope.
Luthor’s eyes singled in on him. Tim gave an airy wave as the doors slid shut, sealing him from the bald demon.
For thirty wonderful, peaceful seconds, he didn’t have to deal with anyone. No eager interns, spontaneous family members, or creepy businessmen.
Life wasn’t chill with Tim’s happiness; life wanted Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne to suffer. He’d learned that years ago. This job only cemented it.
The doors dinged open and Tim was met with the bustling lobby of Wayne Enterprises. The commotion was familiar; it was nice. Luthor jumping out of the stairwell like some heinous jack-in-the-box? That was actually also familiar, but it wasn’t nice at all.
Tim didn’t want this.
Their gazes met and Tim slowly backed into the elevator, doing a two-finger salute across the lobby.
Tim had a blossoming list of questions, the most pressing one being: how did this bug-eyed stalker know which floor he was going to pop out onto.
It’s one Red Robin will answer later: a future Tim’s problem. Current Tim’s problem was the supervillain strutting across the marble floors towards him.
His fingers rapidly clicked the ‘close door’ button. Deep down, he knew it was fruitless, the button didn’t actually do anything.
Nonetheless, a part of him withered away as Luthor, chest heaving, slid into the elevator.
“Hello, Mr. Drake.” His torso puffed and beads of sweat broke his composure.
Tim pulled a hand to his chest, eyes wide. ”Why, Mr. Luthor! What a lovely surprise! What are you doing here?”
“Don’t… Don’t-“ Luthor leaned against the wall. “One moment… I just ran a couple of flights of stairs.”
Tim inched away from Luthor while the man rested his hands on his knees and drew long breaths.
The floors ticked back towards his own, but each second stuck with Luthor made Tim more desperate to hit the emergency stop and climb through the maintenance hatch like a spider monkey with a strong will to live and an animosity for businessmen with no hairline.
He’d do it too... if it didn’t raise serious questions of who Tim Drake really was.
“Don’t patronize me,” Luthor finally said, straightening himself up and smoothing his suit jacket.
“I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, what are the odds of the two of us getting into the same elevator?” He let out a good-natured laugh. It wasn’t good-natured; it was a cry for help. Jesus Christ, someone rob or kidnap him and get him the hell away from this rich dweeb beside him.
He was going to die in a ditch and Luthor would be the culprit.
The man gave him a glare that rivaled Batman’s. The hatred was palpable; Tim could have swum through it if he’d wanted. The sea of displeasure parted for something more horrid: Luthor’s smile. Tim’s hair stood up again and he resisted the urge to take another step back.
“Yes, what are the odds of that?” Luthor’s smile -which, ew- grew and he clasped Tim’s shoulder. “Now, we have a meeting to be getting to.”
“I don’t believe you’re on the schedule,”
Nails dug into his shoulders. Tim could die saying he’d never met a businessman quite like Luthor.
When Tim snapped -as the second he’d taken this job it’d become when not if- he’d enact his double hitter revenge plan: kill Luthor’s business assets and flaunt his hair where Luthor would see by starring in a shampoo commercial.
“You’ll find a way to fit me in,” Luthor snapped as the door opened. “Now preferably.”
Tim was being led back to his office, where he’d no doubt be blackmailed into accepting a shady deal that’s end goal would be to screw over Clark because Luthor was obsessive like that. Tim rolled his eyes at the predictability of it. The same tango as usual and Luthor still hadn’t improved his dancing.
In rolling his eyes, he saw a darkened blob in his office. Tim smiled, a real one for once. “Of course, right this way.”
Luthor opened the door, manhandling Tim in. They both stopped short as Bruce rose to meet them, reading his phone.
“Hey, Tim, I wanted to talk to you about Jason and his-“ Bruce’s eyes rose and slid to Luthor. “-‘strawberry jelly incident’. Mr. Luthor, I didn’t mean to impose.”
“Oh, it’s quite alright. But, Mr. Drake and I have business to-“
“I’m sorry, family emergency. There’s jelly everywhere.” He turned to Tim, but his darkened gaze repeatedly flittered to Luthor. “Jason is in hiding and Titus has gotten a taste for jelly. Anything or anyone cannot be saved from him. I’ve had to impose martial law.”
“That does sound like an issue.” Tim conceded. “I think I have to take care of this Mr. Luthor.”
“I’m sure Mr. Wayne can-“
Bruce gasped and looked at his phone. “It’s Titus. He’s got Damian and he’s asking for a ransom! Two whole jars of jelly, but Jason destroyed them all!” He grabbed Tim’s arm and pushed Luthor’s back until they were all in the hallway. “We have to leave, we might not be able to save Damian, but we can save Jason.”
“But-“ Luthor started.
Bruce pulled Tim towards the elevator, shoving him inside. “Goodbye, Mr. Luthor.” The doors closed, shutting the man off.
With the closing of the doors, Brucie departed and Batman spun to loom.
“So… you’ve got a jelly problem,” Tim raised an eyebrow.
“You can drop the act. Whose blood was it?” Bruce’s tired gaze was eerily similar to Tim’s own ‘God is dead expression’. Tim made a locking motion and tossed the invisible key over his shoulder. Bruce grumbled before ruffling Tim’s hair. “I’ll find out; I always find out.”
Bruce dropped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Unlike with Luthor, he found himself leaning into it rather than away. Both Luthor and Bruce teetered someway into a little bit crazy, but Bruce was the good kinda crazy.
”Trust me, I know.”
The crazy he could count on.