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Jim Gordon was a man who thought he understood what was going on in Gotham. He had years — his entire life — to become used to the craziness that sent other people in the city spiraling. However, it had recently occurred to him that he did not prepare himself for everything. After all, Gotham got more insane with each passing date.
Case in point, Batman appeared on the roof and demanded to know if he knew anything about Ginnie Goodlake. Jim knew the name. She was the new guardian of Timothy Drake after his parents died. It made headlines for a week, seeing as Drake Industries was on the line.
Then Batman said for him to investigate child cruelty before taking off in the night. Jim hated that. Batman did it to him all of the time. It was aggravating on good days, and straight-up maddening on the bad ones. Jim was used to it, though.
He started his investigation into Ginnie Goodlake that night. Once he took a peek, he couldn’t force himself to stop. Why on Earth would a single person need so many poisons, anti-freeze, pest control chemicals, and a gun? Jim determined that Batman was correct about Ginnie being something more, something corroded.
Jim had a cop pair bring her in that night. They had enough circumstantial evidence, and Batman was usually a good testimony to present to a judge. Oddly enough, Gotham didn’t bat an eye at the Dark Knight. He was usually right about these things.
When he saw the swoosh of Batman's cape enter the security camera office, Jim didn’t care. He was likely here to check if his predictions were correct. If a kid was in trouble, then Jim knew that Batman would try to help out. It’s what he did.
As soon as Ginnie Goodlake was in the building, she trembled. She was placed in an interrogation room. One of the nice ones that didn’t have a table or glass separator. One of the comfier ones so that criminals felt more at ease confessing to their crimes.
Jim walked in with two paper cups of water. He set one in front of her before he sat down. Ginnie took the water graciously, lapping it up while her temple sweated. She seemed extremely nervous and anxious. Jim was almost positive that she had done some bad shit. Especially since the child in her custody was nowhere to be found.
Jim attempted to start with small talk. “I heard you took custody of your sister’s child.”
Ginnie set her cup down, like it burned her. Her eyes darted around, crazed. “He’s a demon in disguise,” she announced. Jim just stared. Ginnie took the initiative, “He used to be a good child. Maybe the fae got to him when my sister and her betrothed were away. Who knows?” Her gaze fell down before lifting back up.
Jim coaxed, “Do you want a lawyer?” Most people asked for lawyers. It’s standard. It’s normal. It’s what a person in an interrogation room should ask for.
Ginnie shook her head and vehemently said, “No. I decline it. I know what I did. I finally killed the beastie. It took weeks, but I did it.”
Jim confirmed with dread, “You killed Timothy Drake.”
Ginnie nodded her head quickly, almost violently. “I killed the demon that took over my nephew’s body. Timothy’s been dead long before.”
Jim felt the need to look at the camera in the corner. He glanced at it, then refocused. He clarified, “How did you kill Timothy’s body?”
“I’ve been trying to for months, really. I tried really hard. I thought it’d be easy. But he’s smart. Truly smart. And demonic. He kept coming back to life. No matter what I put in his food or his drinks or when I bashed him over the head and threw him into the pool. He would wake up the next day, eat cereal, then go to his room.”
Jim faltered. How many times has this woman attempted to kill her nephew?
Ginnie continued into the night, almost hysterically, “I finally had enough. If he kept healing, I’d make it so he couldn't heal anymore. I checked how to kill zombies and his like. Creatures don’t do well with head trauma. So, while he slept, I pressed the gun to his head. I almost wept when I woke up the next day and he was gone. He was dusted away from the world like the vermin he was!”
Jim prayed that the woman was lying. Surely she wouldn’t shoot a child. Timothy Drake was 13-years-old, well-liked at school, a wonderful student, and was known to be friendly if a bit awkward with social situations. He had a whole life ahead of him.
Jim asked, “Timothy’s body disappeared. How?”
Ginnie’s whole body shook. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I assume that the fatal injury finally made his rotting corpse fade to dust. It was unholy, you see. It didn’t belong on Earth.”
Jim forced himself to not move. He asked gently, “When did Timothy become unholy?”
“When he came back to life!” she yelled.
That didn’t make sense. She made it seem like she was only trying to kill Timothy because he was a demon possessing the body of her nephew. However, if she only believed him to be a demon after he came back to life, then something had to have happened before.
Then, it dawned on him. Jim croaked out, “Why did you kill Timothy that first time? Why did you plan to kill him?”
Ginnie looked up from her intercrossed fingers. She admitted after a bit, “I thought it’d be an easy job. I’ve done it before, I have. With my husband. Eyedrops in his water until he died. No one suspected a thing. I attempted the same with Tim. Even after he was bedridden and weak, he still had life. Then, one day, it was like nothing happened. I knew then and there that the demon took over. Timothy died that day, and something unholy possessed his soul.”
“Why did you try to kill Timothy?”
“His money,” she spat out like it was obvious. “It wasn’t worth it. I can’t stand to be near him. He acts completely oblivious to my problems. He just… floats through the halls and pretends that he didn’t take over my nephew’s body. His inheritance was not worth living with that demon.”
“His inheritance?” Jim forgot momentarily that Timothy was the Drake Industries heir.
“He got everything,” hissed Ginnie. “I was Janet’s sister. I was always there for her. I was the one that made sure that no one knew that she stepped out on Jack. And yet— and yet she betrayed me by giving everything to Timothy. A child she didn’t love.”
Jim ticked off all of his list. Motive? Money. Means? Multiple attempts and a likely fatal gunshot wound. Confession? Check. He was done. Ginnie Goodlake wouldn’t be able to escape this. He arrested her on the spot and sent her to a holding cell.
Jim went into the security room. Unsurprisingly, Batman was sitting there. He had a grim expression on his face. Jim knew that he wasn’t much better. He sat down on one of the other swirly chairs.
“So,” he hedged.
Batman turned to him. He had to force himself away from the screen. “Timothy may be alive. We’re searching for the boy.”
“If you think he’s alive then you must not believe what she said.”
Batman grunted. “A gunshot wound to the brain would have killed a child of Timothy's size.”
Jim pursed his lips. “I hope you’re right, and he’s alive because she lied.”
Batman moved to leave. Jim called out to him. “If the kid’s alive, can you bring him down here? I can help him work out the fostering papers. I already have someone in mind.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sure you know that Bruce Wayne is always up to taking in someone else.”
Batman shifted away. Jim huffed in amusement. Maybe it was true that Batman and Bruce Wayne didn’t get along. He had heard the rumors, but of course, nothing was ever credible.
Jim had an unrestful night. He couldn’t sleep well, even when he knew that Timothy was being looked for. He rolled up to work that day with an awful cup of coffee in his hand. Every time the phone rang, he hoped for it to be Batman confirming that Tim was alive. On the other hand, he was scared that the call would be a death notice.
Then, mid-afternoon, Nightwing walked into the precinct with a child holding his hand. No one even did a double-take. Nightwing waved Jim over. He had never been so grateful before.
Nightwing said, “Tim, meet Commissioner Gordon.” The boy stuck out his hand. Jim took it quickly. “Commissioner Gordon, this is Tim.”
Jim felt a bit dumbfounded. “I see.” He released his grip on Tim. “You’re alive. That’s good.”
Nightwing chuckled anxiously. It was forced. “Tim here would like to give his statement as soon as and as quickly as possible. He’s had a rough few months.”
Jim picked a new room. One that was used mostly for kids who had witnessed something traumatic. The room was a bit more colorful and fluffier. Tim sat down on one of the chairs. Jim kept his distance as Tim picked at the hem of his oversized shirt.
“Okay, kid,” said Jim, “whatever you say will be typed up. That will then be printed off onto paper. Then, you’ll sign the paper. That’s all you need to do.”
Tim nodded. “Okay.”
Jim sighed in relief. “Good.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Your aunt, Ginnie Goodlake, has been arrested for confessing to attempted murder. She said some very concerning things about what she did to you.”
Tim itched at his arms. “I know.”
Yeah. That wasn’t good. The kid was aware that she was trying to kill him. That’s not healthy.
“Okay,” said Jim, “let’s take this one step at a time. Do you know how she first tried to kill you?”
Tim blinked at him. “Tried to?”
Jim nodded slowly. “She attempted to kill you many times, allegedly. Do you remember the first time?”
Tim shook his head, clearly hesitant. “Nightwing said that I get to decide if I should tell the full truth to you or not.”
Well, that was concerning. Extremely concerning.
“Lay it on me, kid.”
“My aunt didn’t just try,” he whispered, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m… I’m different. I heal.”
Oh Sweet Jesus.
Tim continued, slow and nervous, “I think I might be a metahuman. For example, when Aunt Ginnie shot me, I woke up with the bullet laying beside my head. It was covered in blood and my forehead was too. And I had this weird bump on my forehead. When I looked in the mirror, it looked like a hole. And it was healing.”
“Your aunt actually killed you,” he realized. Jim thought he was getting used to Gotham. Thought he could take every weird thing thrown at him.
Tim hummed. “I think so. I don’t know for sure. After a couple of weeks, I tried to film it so that I had proof, but it didn’t work. I don’t appear on camera.”
The next few hours were… interesting, to say the least. Tim took him through an account of all of the deaths he could remember. Then Jim brought him some dinner, to which he thanked Jim for. He couldn’t believe it. The kid didn’t seem completely traumatized. He almost sounded like he only came forward because he was getting annoyed with dying. Like he didn’t realize how horrific his situation was.
Jim was able to work out a deal with Ginnie and a locally trusted judge. Ginnie’s confession and Tim’s statements lined up. Metas were protected under certain bills. Ginnie may not have officially killed her nephew, but she temporarily killed him dozens of times. That was a crime, whether or not she wanted to believe it. However, Ginnie was still certain that her nephew was replaced by a demon. It was enough for Ginnie to be sentenced to a mental institution for the rest of her life.
And then Jim got to sort out everything else. He called Batman again. They talked shortly about how to report a metahuman to the Justice League. Since Batman was a part of the League, the Dark Knight offered to file the paperwork himself. Jim was grateful. He wasn’t fond of the too-chipper heroes that made up the rest of the League.
He came out of his office to see Tim playing rock-paper-scissors with one of his lieutenants. Tim looked innocent there, nice and kind. His assigned child worker was in the seat next to him, writing things down on her clipboard. Jim felt horrible. The kid was going to have to be located elsewhere. Metas weren’t allowed to be in an orphanage in Gotham. Too many incidents caused the rule to go into effect. Tim would be shipped to Central City, San Francisco, or maybe even Florida.
And then the child worker got up. She bee-lined to Jim. Worried, he asked, “Is everything okay?”
She smiled. “Yes. Tim’s already got an application to be fostered. He won’t have to leave Gotham.”
“Oh?” That was great news. As far as Jim knew, Gotham was all Tim had known. Other cities were hazardous, full of too-nice people and too-sunny days.
“Bruce Wayne. He’s fostered before with the intention of adopting. It also works out because the Wayne’s were the Drake’s neighbors. It’ll be a relocation, but his routine shouldn’t change much outside of his new home.”
Jim was relieved. He knew that Bruce may seem eccentric, but he loved his children dearly. Dick, his eldest, ended up just fine. Jason had been in his care for a while now too. They both thrived in the Wayne Household. Tim would surely fit in there. Being a metahuman may seem tricky, but healing from even fatal wounds wasn’t a bad thing in this town.