Chapter Text
Tim And The News
When Sarah woke up the next morning, she whined quietly under her breath and slowly attempted to stretch her legs and found herself… mostly pinned by weight. More approximately the weight of her littlest brother and the comforting arm of her father who was still sound asleep to her right.
Comforting weight. It was far better than learning how to sleep alone, so she wasn’t about to complain about it.
Sarah blinked away the sleep from her eyes and peered out the window at the greying light peeking through the curtains. That usually meant the snow was coming, and with it being nearly November, Gotham nights were about to get colder.
Sleep is so nice. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.
Which would’ve happened if Bruce’s phone wouldn’t keep vibrating. After four vibrations, Sarah groaned quietly and shifted her weight to poke her father in the chest repeatedly. It was a freaking miracle he’d managed to sleep this deeply considering it was after nine.
“Dad,” She whined. “Dad, I’m begging you as a growing eighteen-year-old girl - pick up your freaking phone.”
“Yeah, B.” Dick piped up from the opposite side of the bed. “Some of us are perpetually exhausted and enjoy our beauty sleep,” He paused before continuing, “And Tim is thirteen and dependent on caffeine to survive. Let the baby bat sleep.”
Bruce’s eyes slowly fluttered open as his children continued pleading in his ear, most of which he didn’t catch until he heard his phone vibrate. “Okay, okay.” He murmured lowly. “We’re spending a day in until Alfred takes Tim to get some supplies from his home. Back to bed.”
Bruce squinted through the low light to read the new articles repeatedly appearing on his phone: Jack and Janet Drake Deceased, Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries Deceased in a plane crash, Jack and Janet - Jack and Janet.
He was a lot more awake after that.
According to the numerous articles, Jack and Janet had passed in a plane crash that had departed from Turkey en route back to Gotham less than two days before. According to the article, they were on their way back early to surprise their son since their excavation had ended early.
On their way to surprise their son.
Stormy blue-grey eyes slowly shifted to the middle of the bed where Tim was hidden between his eldest two children. Tim, barely fourteen years old, was far smaller than most boys his age and had spent most of his childhood alone because his parents couldn’t be bothered to remember how to take care of a child. Their child, who happened to be the most brilliant teenager he’d ever met.
Tim was a child who didn’t know how to not be alone.
Bruce slowly unwound himself from his daughter’s embrace and brushed her hair away from her face as she sank into the now open spot on the bed, sighing as she buried her face into the sheets and went back to sleep.
He met Alfred in the hall. As always, he seemed to already know that something was wrong.
“Master Bruce,” He said lowly. “How are we to tell young Timothy?”
“That’s the same question you probably asked yourself with me,” Bruce joked weakly. “And to answer it, I don’t know. Not yet. I’ll give the children a few hours before we get on with our day.”
“Very well. I’ll prepare a late breakfast.”
“Alfred?” Bruce asked. The older man lifted his head to meet his son’s eyes. Eyes that, for someone as young as he was, should not have looked so old. “Thank you. I appreciate the help more than you know.”
Alfred nodded and clasped Bruce’s shoulder. “I will always grant you aid for my grandchildren, Bruce.”
And then he was gone and Bruce was left astonished by the fact that Alfred had openly called the children his grandchildren.
***
It was nearly ten thirty by the time all three children were downstairs. Tim was wrapped up in his older brother’s Comfy - which was an oversized sweatshirt that came down to his thighs - and mostly hidden by the hood as he wordlessly slid onto the stool with an open hand out towards Alfred.
“Master Timothy, I believe the polite way to ask for your coffee is-“
“Alfred,” Tim interjected. “May I please have some coffee before I die.”
Dick and Sarah slid into the stools on either side of Tim. “Forgive him, Alfie.” Sarah mused. “Tim doesn’t exactly have manners before his first cup of the strongest black coffee this world can offer. He just tends to be extremely overdramatic instead.”
“Don’t worry,” Dick said. “We’ll work on his social skills. The first thing is sitting with Oracle to learn to hack, which he already seems to be good at because he hacked my phone and sent emails to my bosses about how I’d be out for.. what was it, Timmy?”
“Three days.”
“That’s it! Three days.”
Bruce laughed quietly around the rim of his coffee cup and readjusted his grip on his newspaper, trying to avoid the heavy feeling in his stomach as he watched Tim eat through his peripheral vision.
How do I tell a teenage boy who loves his parents despite all the pain they’ve caused him that they’re dead without saying goodbye?
He swallowed the knot in his throat and continued to quietly observe his kids jesting with their grandfather over a shared breakfast of poached eggs, crisp bacon, freshly brewed coffee, and hot oatmeal.
“Master Timothy,” Alfred said. Tim looked up from his coffee cup and grumbled as he removed his helmet to look Alfred in the face. That was rule one: When Alfred talks, you listen. “How would you feel about accompanying me to Drake Manor to get some of your things for your bedroom?”
Tim noticed immediately how Alfred avoided saying home. He rose a brow and lifted his chin higher to show his full face. “I think that would be okay,” Tim replied, chewing lightly on his lower lip as he hesitated to continue, “My mom and dad are supposed to be home soon, they sent me a message a couple of days ago before they got on their flight. Do you think we’ll see them?”
Bruce was glad Sarah and Dick were masters at being impassive when it was necessary. “I’m not sure,” Alfred replied. “Right now I am simply concerned about finding the proper supplies for you while you are living here and being Robin. Do you believe you can be ready to depart within the next fifteen minutes?”
Tim’s phone, which had been moved from his sweatshirt to the counter, was suddenly no longer there; Bruce watched Dick slowly slide it into his back pocket without Tim catching on to his action as he was still busy gulping down his coffee.
Rule one of Tim Care: He’s not entirely cognizant of the world around him until at least his second cup.
“Sure.”
“Brush your teeth and wash your face, Baby Bat!” Sarah sang over her shoulder as Tim glared at her over his shoulder. “And maybe we’ll reward you with your second cup!”
“I’ll get it regardless!” Tim called in reply. The four of them waited patiently until Tim’s footsteps ascended the stairs to the second floor before turning to one another to address the elephant in the room.
“How long did you two know?” Dick demanded. “Sarah and I caught it five minutes before we walked into the door. It’s a freaking miracle the kid slept through the whole night and is groggy enough for me to not get caught stealing his phone.”
“He slept through the night. He’s taking care of himself because he has people to tell him to do so now, and he’s expressing interest in things he’s never mentioned before.” Sarah replied. “Quite frankly, I don’t care what’s happened to Jack and Janet. We just need to keep doing what we’re doing.”
“Sarah, that’s insensitive.”
“These people forgot they had a child and didn’t care enough to ensure he’s properly taken care of! I-“ His eldest daughter froze, gaze falling on Bruce as they locked eyes. “Uhm… B?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“We’re going to have a problem. A custody problem. He’s going to be put into the system if one of his relatives doesn’t take him in, and I worry for his mental well-being if his relatives are anything like his parents.”
Bruce pursed his lips. Tim had been working rather hard to prove himself and his worth as Robin since Bruce had taken him in and began training him. He’d been exceptional so far. What Bruce hadn’t noticed, however, was how well Tim adapted to being in the Manor if Dick and Sarah were also present. Alfred had only just made him aware of it.
If his eldest two weren’t present and remained in Blüdhaven, Tim was often distant and spent most of his time isolated in his room.
Hm. That proposed an interesting question.
“I’m ready, Alfred,” Tim called, slinging his nearly empty backpack over his shoulder as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. Sarah and Dick simultaneously beamed as Alfred rounded the counter, murmuring to the siblings to do the dishes while he was gone, and went to collect Tim and usher him out the door.
All three breathed a sigh of relief as the heavy double doors closed.
****
They were right outside the gates to the Drake Estate when it began playing over the radio waves. Alfred barely had enough time to stop the Bentley before Tim was throwing himself out of it to vomit into the dying grass by the gates.
The Drake Mansion loomed overhead as the words “We mourn the loss of CEO Jack and Janet Drake of Drake Industries this cold, autumn day in Gotham. They leave behind their 13-year-old son, Timothy Drake, an eighth grader at Gotham Academy with a promising and bright future. We will touch more on the story as the details come in.” echoed through both open car doors while Alfred tended to his youngest charge.
Tim couldn’t stop heaving. Even with the comforting hand running the length of his spine, he couldn’t seem to stop. The chill in the air did nothing to help the tears streaking down his cheeks and… wait, why could he not hear Alfred?
We mourn the loss…
We mourn the loss….
We mourn….
Oh. That’s why. His brain has chosen to ignore every aspect of his surroundings except the mantra they seem to keep repeating over the radio.
“My boy,” Alfred said softly, pressing both palms firmly to Tim’s arms so he could feel the warmth radiating from the older man. “Tell me: I need you to tell me five things you can see.”
He can do that. Once his head stops spinning, he can do that.
Without warning, Tim slowly leaned forward to press his forehead to Alfred’s bicep and wrap a trembling hand around his wrist so he could press his fingers against the thrum of his pulse there. The steadiness of Alfred’s presence did help slowly bring him back to reality.
He got lost in his head far too often.
“Grass,” Tim murmured, to which Alfred nodded and quietly motioned for him to continue. “The Manor, both of them. The car. You.”
“Good, good. That’s good. Now-“
“Alfred?” Good grief, he sounds like a petulant little boy. “What will happen to me now?”
Alfred hugged the boy tighter to his chest as Tim went limp in his embrace, helpless to fight him. It wasn’t often that he was granted the opportunity to provide physical comfort for his grandchildren.
“I don’t want to make you false promises, my lad. I want to tell you that we will take care of you because we will always take care of you. What I don’t know..” Alfred faltered. He had an idea, one he wasn’t sure that Bruce was going to go for, but he may be underestimating his son and his uncanny ability to think three steps ahead. “I don’t know the future. I don’t know what will happen. But I do know that we will always take care of you, Master Timothy.”
That was one of the many things Tim would come to appreciate about Alfred: He never sugar-coated anything.
And even though that little voice in his head was whispering the contrary of what his not-yet-grandfather had just said, Tim found himself shocked by how easily he believed him.
Bruce Poses A Question (Or Two)
This is not a difficult question, Bruce. You’re more than aware of how to ask your children a simple question.
Despite being painfully aware of how easy it was to ask Sarah this question, Bruce still wasn’t sure about the best way to approach it. Sarah had made herself abundantly clear when she moved out to live with Dick: Jason’s death was his fault, and she didn’t want to live in a place that had so many memories of him.
Bruce just couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of his head that his daughter wanted nothing to do with him anymore, and that thought broke his heart.
But he wouldn’t tell them that. Neither of them.
He hadn’t even noticed how deeply he was stuck inside of his head until there was a knock at his study door. “B?” Sarah poked her head inside and beamed as her father met her eyes and motioned for her to come inside. “You okay? You’re supposed to be going on patrol soon with Robin.”
Robin. Tim. The other question he needed to find the answer to: Was he going to fight to adopt Tim? He’d more than proven himself, and the weeks of training to prepare him for taking on the mantle of Robin had allowed Bruce to once again learn how to love another son.
Tim was brilliant. He was bright, and funny, and had so much more potential than he’d grown up believing he could have.
“Bruce.” Sarah snapped her fingers in front of his face and frowned. “You’re really out of it today. Are you all right?”
Contemplative blue-grey eyes shifted upward. “I will be, once I ask you a question.” He replied slowly. “Two of them.”
“Is one of them about Tim?’’
Of course, she would know. “Yes,” Bruce replied. Sarah opened her mouth to continue until he slipped the adoption papers out from underneath the tablet to his right and laid them out in front of her. “He’s been anxious about whether or not his aunts and uncles are going to try to grab for custody first so they can get at the family money.”
Which Tim had accidentally blurted out on patrol the week his parents died.
“You want my opinion as to whether or not you should adopt Tim?” Sarah furrowed her brow in confusion as she ran a hand over her face. “Why? We all know you have an adoption problem.”
Bruce snorted. “Adoption problem aside, Sarah,” He said. “He’s upset and terrified of the prospect of being adopted by one of his aunts or uncles. They don’t love him. They love the money.”
“You’re getting better at this dad thing,” She murmured, tracing a finger across the blank dotted line on the adoption papers. Still emotionally stunted though. “Yes. I think you should adopt Tim.”
“Now that leads me into my next question…” Bruce held his tablet up with the article that Vicki Vale had done of Sarah’s art being exhibited at the Gotham Art Museum. “When were you going to tell me about this yourself? Your brother said you won two thousand dollars and put it toward him getting a new apartment. You put yourself aside your entire life to lift others. You’re selfless, Sarah. That’s why I want to, if you want it, fund your education to expand your talent.”
“You want to pay for me to go to art school?” Sarah asked incredulously. She hadn’t even considered going to college since Jason died. That dream of him attending college for his English major and her for her art major had died the night he’d left her. “Before Jason died, I would’ve said yes. My answer is no. It’s still no.”
“Why?” Bruce asked softly. “You have a gift, Sarah.”
“My gift now is patrolling Gotham and Blüdhaven to make sure those kids who are living on the streets are safe. Those kids who grew up like Jason and suffered need someone to look out for them. That’s my gift. Not my art. My art is just a pastime at this point.”
My job as a soldier is a better gift than the beautiful art I can contribute to the world.
Oh, he royally screwed his kids up. For them to think they had more to contribute by patrolling Gotham and Blüdhaven than by sharing their gifts with those cities meant they staked more value in being child soldiers.
“If that’s how you feel,” Bruce said, averting his gaze back down to the unsigned adoption papers. “One last question. Tim seems to generally do better whenever one of you is here at the Manor. Less reclusive, more social, has a generally better mental well-being. He seems to have taken to you. Would you be willing to move back into the Manor for him?”
Sarah’s breath caught. “Do you want me here?”
“I’ll always want you here, Sar. I’m sorry I ever gave you the impression I didn’t. This is your home.”
She could always reach parts of him I never could. Sarah moved around the desk to bend her head and kiss her father's temple. "Sure, B." She murmured. "I'll move home."
"I'll be sure to have Alfred freshen up your old room."
That radiant, Grayson smile could've melted the coldest heart.
"I look forward to it."
Bruce's Birthday
Tim's been at the Manor for a while now. He's been at the Manor for a while because he now lives there, and his name isn't just Tim Drake anymore.
It's Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. He prefers Wayne, but he'll never confess that. Drake is in his blood but Wayne is his home.
"Baby Tim, doo doo doo doo doo doo-" Sarah's singing voice echoed across the hallway as she entered the den, face and voice muffled by the mountain of blankets she'd brought down from her bedroom - because she has an impressive collection of them - for their movie night. "Baby Tim-"
"You did not just make up a Baby Shark rendition to my name, Sarah!?"
"Are you kidding me, Timberlina? I've waited lifetimes to be able to be the obnoxious older sister and annoy my little brother. This is a rite of passage!" Tim yelped and rolled off the couch and onto the floor to avoid the mountain of blankets falling onto him. "Dick did this for years when I was a child. Don't even let me tell you the horror stories of our days in the Circus."
"I'd rather you tell me what movie we're going to be watching." He argued.
Sarah tossed the remote and vaulted herself over the back of the couch to take the spot that was usually occupied by her and Dick. "You pick." She said. "And pick something good because otherwise when Dick gets here he's going to spend the entire movie complaining about your terrible taste."
Tim was halfway through perusing the catalog on Disney Plus when she realized it: Dick had texted her about his arrival and opening her phone had given her first-row access to her calendar on the screen of her phone. February 19th. Why was that date so important?
"Sar!" She narrowly avoided a pillow to the face as Tim came back into the room - when had he left??? - and set a tray Alfred had prepared of their favorite snacks on the table. The opening credits of Captain America: The First Avenger were rolling across the screen. "Phone got your attention?"
"Why is February 19th important, Tim?"
"Bruce's birthday."
Both Wayne kids froze, slowly coming to lock eyes with one another before Sarah let out an ungodly shriek that had Tim covering his ears. "Birthday? It's February 19th already?! Why did no one tell me?!" She exclaimed. "Oh God, Dick is going to-"
"Going to what?"
Two pairs of eyes snapped toward the doors of the Manor where Dick was dusting off his boots and removing his coat to hang it up on the rack. Sarah smiled nervously and opened her mouth to find an answer to his question when Tim interrupted her, "Our resident photographic memory over here somehow forgot about B's birthday." He said casually. "Now we're panicking."
"We have to think of a plan! We're all here, some of us unwillingly, and I'm not about to let him go another birthday forgotten. He barely remembers them anymore!"
"Alright, genius girl." Dick retorted playfully as he pressed his hands against his hips. "What's your suggestion?"
"You two go buy his gift. I'll stay behind and bribe Grandpa into giving us the best freakin' cake you can get this side of Gotham." She said.
Tim snorted and slipped off of the sofa, scooping up the Comfy that Sarah had snuck into the pile of blankets before shuffling across the floor to join his brother. Dick smirked and eyed him skeptically. "What?" He snapped. "Something wrong with my outfit? I don't plan on getting out of the car."
Sigh. Fourteen-year-olds.
"If I'm being forced to go shopping, Timmy," Tim yelped as Dick tugged him into the foyer and toward the coat rack. "Then you are going to dress warmly. It's the middle of February and there's fresh snow falling on the ground. Get warmed up, kid!"
Tim groaned and begrudgingly followed Dick back out the front door. Sighing in relief, Sarah paused the movie and shrugged on her favorite sweater - yes, that same one she'd stolen from Bruce as a child that still fit because it was enormous on her and it brought her immense comfort - as she moved in the direction of the kitchen. They'd only just concluded with dinner less than an hour earlier, so it was likely that Alfred would still be finishing up cleaning the kitchen.
"My dear," Her grandfather's gentle voice flowed through the space as she met his eyes from where he stood behind the counter. "Is there something else you need?"
"Dad's birthday is today and we all forgot," She lamented, frowning as she slid into the empty stool. "It's my fault for forgetting. With Tim's adoption and moving back into the Manor and still trying to make sure Dick doesn't forget to take care of himself-"
What Alfred did next caught her completely off guard. Before Sarah could realize what he was doing, her grandfather was crossing the threshold in the kitchen to come to embrace her. She'd never been able to turn down Alfred's hugs. While it had taken Bruce a while to warm up to the idea of being tactile with both Grayson children, Alfred had warmed up to the idea of loving his grandchildren within the first year of them both living at the Manor.
He was the foundation of this home. If Bruce was the heart and the strength, Alfred was what kept them standing.
She was tall enough to press her face into his shoulder, so that was what she did. Alfred hummed contently as Sarah wound her arms around his middle and melted into his embrace. "You, my dear, tend to take too much onto your shoulders because you think it's what you're supposed to do," He said quietly. "I don't want you to be anything other than you. Just Sarah. Okay?" Sarah nodded from where her head rested. Alfred pursed his lips and brushed his fingers against her temple before slowly prying them apart. "Now. I heard something about making Master Bruce a cake?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you, yeah."
"I can make that happen. While I do that, however, I have an idea of a gift from his eldest daughter."
****
Four Hours Later: Nearly Midnight
When Bruce came home from Wayne Enterprises that evening, his house was quiet. The credits of Captain America were rolling in the den and the smell of cake was potent in the air, which was what led him to the source in the den.
His heart melted at the sight in front of him.
All three of his children were curled in on one another on the mountain of blankets on the floor, softly snoring beneath the flickering embers of the fire one of them had lit before falling asleep. Dick and Sarah had Tim between them both. His eldest boy had his hand buried in his sister's hair, her head tucked beneath his chin with an arm casually slung over her and Tim. It was a miracle in itself that Tim was asleep.
There was a raspberry red-velvet cake sitting on the table behind their makeshift bed with a small bundle of gifts wrapped in black ribbon propping up a painting. Given the other scent in the room - most likely paint, given that the painting looked to be relatively fresh - it was probable that Sarah had painted him this as a gift for his birthday. A birthday he'd mostly swept under the rug because no one but Alfred had mentioned it, and Bruce had stopped caring about birthdays years ago.
That didn't mean his children didn't make an effort to wish him the happiest one, though.
He slipped his shoes and coat off by the door before entering the den, bending low to tuck the blankets tighter around the three - and pretending to ignore Tim's slowly opened eye, sleepily staring up at him and murmuring something Bruce couldn't hear - before turning to his cake and presents.
Tim was somewhat awake now, which Bruce didn't notice. He was too busy staring at the painting.
To: Dad
From: Sarah
It was the first time he'd taken her to the Art Museum as a little girl. She couldn't have been much older than six, but the clarity with which she'd painted this image onto the canvas spoke volumes to Bruce about how it had become a core memory for her.
Bruce ran a finger along the tiny, raised hand that was eagerly pointing at the photos of The Flying Grayson exhibit he'd paid for just the week before. Dick hadn't even known about it yet.
She'd been so full of life back then. So hopeful.
He knelt behind his children and swept his fingers through Sarah and Dick's hair, eyes cast downward as he met Tim's hooded gaze. He was still fighting sleep. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart." He whispered.
"It's cold outside, B," Tim replied. "And happy birthday. We-" He yawned and curled tighter against Dick. "Sorry, we fell asleep."
Did they try to stay up waiting for me?
Bruce allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he tucked the blankets tighter around Tim and let his lips linger at the crown of his son's forehead. "Don't be sorry. This is the best birthday I've had in a long time."
Once he prodded at the fire and was satisfied by its warmth, Bruce lingered just outside of the den and gazed at his sleeping children fondly before disappearing down the hall.
He had a birthday cake to eat and a painting to hang.