Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the Lord and Lady Drake perished, the country mourned. Jack Drake was beloved for his contributions in piecing together the history of their fair land, and Janet for her family’s long line of businesses that had prospered and brought good fortune to the people. It was a shock, therefore, when the Wayne family uncovered that the Drakes had given birth to an until-then unknown heir. A daughter, Timothea, who padded around in an empty house full of artifacts, barely willing to make a sound even with no one around to hear her.

The head of the Waynes, Bruce, already well-known for his tendency to adopt lost children who needed a home, announced for the sake of the kingdom that she had been sequestered for most of her life because of her sickly constitution, and that he would take her on as his own ward. There was much rejoicing at the announcement. The Drake line had not died, and their child would be raised by one of the kindest and most generous men the country had known. What could there be to worry about?

She’s too small, too quiet. It’s like she’s trying not to be noticed, by anyone.

Richard Grayson, eldest of Wayne’s adopted children, had returned quickly from his travels abroad when he heard he was going to have a new addition to the family. He’d expected someone confident and bright, like Janet had been, or intelligent but distractible, like Jack. What he found was a thirteen-year-old who looked more like she was ten, who barely spoke without careful encouragement and acted like she was doing her best to just not exist.

Bruce had refused to let him see her until they’d spoken, having wisely predicted the likely smothering reaction that Timothea would invoke in his eldest. They stand in the doorway, keeping watch while the girl sat calmly by a window and read through a book that should have been much too complex for anyone of her age.

“What happened to her, B?”

Bruce sighs heavily. “We don’t know. Some of us knew Janet had borne a child, but when there was no announcement and no child presented, we all thought it had been stillborn and did not ask out of respect. But she was in their home all along.”

Richard tilts his head slightly. “Because she was sick.”

“No.” Bruce shakes his head, doesn’t look at the confusion in his eldest’s eyes. “We announced that, but as far as we can tell, she’s only as prone to illness as any other child her age. No,” he adds, holding a hand up to forestall Richard’s next question, “we located and spoke to the midwife that helped deliver her – she was as healthy as they could have hoped for. As large, too – we asked her what could possibly have caused Timothea to grow up as small and delicate as she did, and the midwife told us only that some children who are starved of a parent’s love from a young age do not flourish as well as others.”

He did not have to look at Dick to know that there was anger in his face at the realization that the Drakes had apparently chosen to have a daughter and discarded her like a worthless piece of detritus from one of their digs. “So what do we do with her?”

“Feed her. Take care of her. Love her.” Bruce sighs again. “It’s all we can do.”

Their main concern was Damian Wayne, the youngest and only biological son of the Wayne family. Unlike Jason and Dick, he had been born into wealth and taught by his mother that he would inherit the Wayne estate and anything else he chose to take over, by force or cunning. He had been left at Bruce’s doorstep at the age of eight, outwardly arrogant but secretly terrified and hurt that his mother abandoned him to live with the father he never knew.

It was difficult to guess how he would react to Timothea. He had treated Dick and Jason terribly at first, considering them his inferiors and pretenders to the Wayne family. It had taken Dick’s careful love and Jason’s refusal to put up with any disrespect that convinced him to behave more civilly. To everyone’s collective relief, he had even begun showing signs of caring towards others, albeit largely directed towards his small collection of animals. It was a step forward for him, and one they encouraged greatly.

He could have responded very badly to the addition of a new child in the family, but instead, he seemed to appoint himself her protector. When they had first met, Bruce and Richard had practically been holding their breaths, waiting to see how it would go. Damian had narrowed his eyes at her, taking into consideration the careful way she held herself, the bright spark of intelligence that she could not hide completely no matter how she tried. Then he had nodded sharply. “I will accompany you for a walk,” he announced. “Your skin may be fair but that pallor cannot be healthy even for you, Drake.”

From then on, whenever they were present together, Damian could be counted on to care for her welfare. Although he fussed whenever some exercise left her drained and panting for breath, he encouraged her to keep strengthening her body. Unlike many others in his age and position, he had been taught that women should be graceful and well-tended for as a sign of respect, not as compensation for an inherent weakness. Richard had once listened with a warmth in his heart as Damian ranted at him about how imbecilic and cruel her parents had been to take someone like Timothea and lock her away, deny her the birthright she so deserved.

Richard had given Damian a warm hug that the younger boy accepted with resigned annoyance before going to Bruce’s set of state rooms, where he conducted most of his affairs. He’d leaned in the doorway and waited for his adoptive father’s attention. “You know, Little D doesn’t know it yet, but he doesn’t see Tim as a sister.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce answered mildly.

“Someday, he’s gonna realize it, too, and he’s gonna come to you. Do you have a plan for when that happens?”

“She’s my ward, not my daughter.” Bruce stands and stretches, relieving himself of the few aches he gained from sitting in his chair going over reports from his lands for so long. “A union between the Drakes and the Waynes would be advantageous to both of us. And the Drakes’ solicitors will look on it favorably because of how well we’ve been providing for her already. As long as Tim is amenable, I see no reason to deny him.”

Richard tilts his head so he can see just outside the window in Bruce’s room, where Tim is just visible resting comfortably under a tree with one of her books. Damian approaches her with a blanket and wraps it around her shoulders, doubtlessly having noticed the chill in the air that was only going to become worse as the day drifted into evening.

He smiles. “Me neither.”

Chapter Text

Tim doesn’t know what to expect when Mr. Wayne moves her from the Drake estate to the Waynes’ own manor. She had known what her parents wanted from her: an heir; a quiet, intelligent young woman who would one day take her place as their successor, and would remain out of sight until then. Mr. Wayne, on the other hand – Bruce – had touched her gently and spoken to her like she was something worth listening to now, instead of the unfinished thing she knew herself to be. He seemed perfectly content to have her in his presence, pleased by her company instead of spending the bare minimum of time necessary to be caught up on her studies. Although he encouraged her speech with questions, Timothea politely attempted to keep what speech she used quiet and short, unwilling to expose him to more of her childish drivel than necessary.

Richard had welcomed her with open arms in a very literal way. He’d folded her into a hug the likes of which she’d never experienced before escorting her to a sitting area and peppering her with all sorts of useless questions. Do you like to read? What do you read? What did you do when you were alone? What would you like to do now? She answered as many as she could out of politeness, but he had seen her stiffening uncomfortably and eventually went quiet, willing to simply sit with his arm around her, tucking her against his side like she belonged there.

Jason had been… Jason. He was known among the populace for his coarser manner and irritability. He made overtures at sociability when he needed to, but the time they spend together is often silent, keeping company in an odd sort of camaraderie.

Damian… Damian was the surprise. When they first came face to face, he had furrowed his brows and stared at her intently as if he wanted to read all her secrets from what he could see in her physical form, and the best she had thought to hope for was a quick dismissal. Instead, whatever he believed to have found in her must have pleased him, because he had extended an invitation to accompany him on the grounds.

Among others, he was arrogant and short-tempered, too assured of his station in life and too proud of it, as if he had earned it by something other than merely having the fortune to be born. But he treated her with a reverence she found almost unsettling, looking after her with a care she didn’t often see him exhibit towards others. He spoke freely when he felt she was not paying proper attention to her limitations, but he had carried her inside when she fell asleep on the grounds and found a soft blanket to tuck around her as she continued her slumber on the sofa. Not because she was frail, although she has seen that word in the eyes of others looking at her. Tim knows her own bones, knows that they do not bend under pressure. But because of something else, something she has no name for yet. He had even insisted she take part in his own exercises, learning the ways of weaponry she had only ever read about before.

Once, after a particularly grueling session with the staves, she had asked him if he was training her because he wanted to be relieved of the duty of caring for her. He had bristled. “Of course not! Should you be attacked, I will be the one defending you. Do you dislike your lessons?”

“Of course not.”

“Very well,” he had said as if that somehow ended the line of inquiry.

She suspected none of the other members of the family were particularly aware of these sessions, but as long as it did not interfere with anyone else’s duties, she couldn’t see what objection they might have. Besides, it made her feel… more confident, capable, to know that Damian felt her worthy of his time in such a manner.

Chapter Text

“Timothea. You promised me you would not do this again.”

“What?” Tim glances up from her parchments, squinting a little to see him properly. Her candles had burned lower than she realized.

Damian is standing just inside the room, his arms crossed and an irritated look on his face. It’s not an uncommon sight, but it usually isn’t directed at her as much as others. “I was informed you haven’t been seen outside this room in the last twelve hours.”

She frowns. “That must be an exaggeration.”

“It isn’t.” He moves the parchment away from her immediate grasp, although he’s at least careful not to damage it. “You will ruin your eyesight.”

“Damian. Just give me another hour.”

“Tt. Absolutely not.” He holds out a hand to her, making it clear that he expects her to accept his help to stand.

“You’re being overly cautious,” she says. “I’m perfectly capable of deciding when I need a break.”

“You need food and rest,” he counters. “In that order. I will carry you from this room if I have to.”

“Damian – “ She abruptly loses her place – quite literally – when he tugs her out of her chair and scoops her up into his arms.

There are days when she remembers fondly the time when he was shorter than her, and a maneuver such as this would have been, at the very least, considerably more difficult. Now, it’s a gallingly simple task for him to simply carry her around as he wishes. “This really isn’t necessary,” she says.

“I won’t have you ruining your health. Particularly not for the work of your parents.”

She frowns again, and twists her neck a little so she can see his face. “Why would the involvement of their research make a difference?”

He’s quiet for a few moments longer than is natural before he shakes his head. “It doesn’t. I simply think they would not want you to neglect yourself for the sake of their archives.”

It still doesn’t quite ring true to her ears, but she chooses to accept it for now. “If I promise to remember your request going forward, will you put me down?”

“Mm.” She thinks she sees a small twitch of a smile in the corners of his mouth. “We’ll see.”

Damian and his father had gone on a tour of the Waynes’ land holdings that lasted a little over half a year, leaving her to the care of Richard, Jason, and the household staff. Damian had kept up a correspondence with Tim through letters and kept her updated on what was happening. She ventured to give him small pieces of advice, things she had learned from her readings that would help them assess the estates and – more pertinent to Damian, specifically – aid him in interacting with others without coming across as too unpleasant. He seemed pleased with her suggestions and wrote back whenever something she had told him served him well.

When they finally returned, she was shocked by how much he’d grown; the boy she had gotten used to looking down on sprouted a few inches taller than her. When he had exited the carriage and looked down on her for the first time, he had gotten an insufferable look on his face, like he was far too pleased with himself for the change in their respective heights. From then on, he insisted on aiding her in ways that just reminded her of the new difference. He was particularly fond of informing her she shouldn’t strain herself trying to reach things beyond her grasp – typically books, the shelves in the family library went far above her head – before removing it with ease and giving it to her.

Richard found her glaring at nothing in particular after one of these incidents and slung his arm around her with a grin. “He’s Bruce’s son, Pretty Bird,” he said. “We all knew this was going to happen sometime or another. Besides,” he added with a knowing wink, “I think you’re really going to be grateful for it some day.”

(She denied it at the time, but there did come a time when she enjoyed the way Damian’s body enveloped hers, could make her feel safe and valued and precious, and she wouldn’t have traded it for a few more years of being able to look down at him.

He was still an irritating ass about it, though.)