Chapter Text
Timothy Jackson Drake wasn’t someone of importance. Maybe once upon a time he had been, but not anymore. He was a normal (somewhat boring) 17 year old, with a normal (extremely boring) job and apartment on the outskirts of Crime Alley. He had only a select handful of friends, one of which was his boyfriend. So how did he find himself a new family, one that was healthy? Well, relatively so. It was a work in progress.
Timothy Jackson Drake, despite his rather humble living style, had grown up in a wealthy household, high in the social chain. The moment he turned 16, he arranged for himself to be emancipated and cut contact with his parents, Jack and Janet Drake, CEOs of Drake Industries. When they had heard the news, they weren’t hurt, or angry. Rather, his parents had been oddly calm and supportive of his decision.
Tim didn’t care much whether they were alright with his decision or not. Throughout most of his childhood, they wouldn’t have paid attention to him if he lost his spleen. When he was younger, he tried not to be upset, he really did. He tried his hardest to be understanding that his parents’ jobs were difficult, demanding. But with age, came acceptance.
When he turned eight years old, he realized that his parents didn’t care for him. It wasn’t that they hated him, they just didn’t care for him. They didn’t care to dine with him, or take him along with them whenever they went on business trips across the globe. He told himself that he didn’t have it bad, that at least he wasn’t being abused. But still, he couldn’t help the anger he felt towards them. How could they treat him like that? Like he was one of their underlings, in no way important to them.
Sure, when they were in Gotham they brought him along to the many boring galas. But was it out of the kindness of their hearts, to spend time with him, their son? No, of course not. It was for business. Jack and Janet Drake were known as selfless, kind people with an even better, kinder son. The Drake name was well known in the social chain of Gotham, and because of that there were expectations for him to act a certain way. Tim was good at playing the innocent role, as well. Not that he wanted to, he despised it. It was such a pain, having to smile 24/7 while out in high society public to keep up appearances. He had hobbies, friends he wanted to see. But anything he was interested in, anyone he wanted to hang out with, had to be approved by his parents.
When he turned nine years old, he solved one of the most important and well kept secrets, who was Batman under the mask? In hindsight, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out when Tim began looking. It started when he had come face to face with the first Robin. During one of his parents’ many galas they attended, there was a Rogue attack. Poison Ivy, bless her heart she was one of the only villains Tim could stand, made a surprise appearance with the intention of causing a commotion; or rather, to teach a lesson to the attendees of the gala. Specifically, the host. He was the CEO of a successful company that used their resources to convert remaining toxins from rogue villains, into clean energy. It would have been a good cause, one that Poison Ivy no doubt would have approved of. But like most successful businesses that are for a good cause, there’s an underlying issue. In this case, it was that while yes, the company was making good progress on converting the toxins, the output was more damaging than the input.
The fumes that were released from the process were more harmful to both the environment and citizens of Gotham. But of course, the CEO wasn’t held accountable, nor had he ever actually gotten caught by the authorities. But it was a different case when it came to the Bats. Or it would have, had Poison Ivy not shown up. Bruce Wayne himself had intended with his (adopted) son, Richard Grayson. But unknown to the host and attendees, they were there for a reason other than the gala. Collecting intel on the CEO was the real objective, finding evidence that he was covering his tracks, paying off council leaders to allow his company to continue its harmful business.
He remembered nodding off to a speech his father was making before the attack, much to his mother’s displeasure. “Timothy! This is an incredibly important social gathering. You are embarrassing our family name.” She chewed him out quietly, practically hissing in his ear when his father was done with his speech, whereas the audience gave a polite applause. He did feel bad, if only slightly. But the gala had already been going on for a good few hours, and he was fairly sleep deprived; along with slightly tipsy from subtly downing a glass of champagne. That, he wasn’t too proud of, but if nobody caught him, was he really drinking underage?
He was then dragged around for another half an hour by his mother and father, who were speaking to some business woman who he didn’t pay much attention to, a brunette lady with a kind smile and deep plum dress. She was nice, and he found that he didn’t have to contribute to the conversation much, just stand there with his best business smile plastered on his face as his mother and the brunette woman spoke about a plan to go out for dinner. As a nine year old, he was fairly observant. So if he noticed the way the brunette woman had a hand on his mother’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, he didn’t mention it. His father could figure it out himself if he wanted, Tim didn’t want to get involved in his parent’s already less than ideal relationship. Lord knows his father wasn’t faithful.
It was just as Tim’s father was mentioning a possible business deal with the brunette woman, Katherine Liels, that there was the sound of glass shattering, gasps and hushed, urgent whispering. Then a muffled scream, rushed footsteps. Tim snapped his head up from where it was sleepily lolling to the side, squinting and dragging his eyes around the room. He was expecting a broken wine glass, maybe a waiter had tripped and spilt a glass of stupidly expensive wine on some lady’s new dress. It would have explained even the scream, rich people were dramatic. But instead of a minor accident, his eyes landed on the skylight, which had been shattered by a cluster of overgrown vines. As a born and bred Gothamite, he was familiar with most of the mainstream villains, as well as the less popular ones. Poison Ivy was fairly well known, one of the more liked villains. She didn’t harm civilians for fun, cause chaos and pain just for the hell of it, didn’t engage in human trafficking. No, she just wanted revenge for the environment, despite her less-than ideal way of getting it.
His father gripped his shoulder tight, shuffling him and his mother to one of the corners of the room, as far away from the skylight as he could. Majority of the guests followed suit, huddling in the corner. The few that hadn’t opted to rush for the doors instead, but before they could make their escape, deep green vines sprouted from the skylight and floor, barricading the door. They seemed to be oversized rose vines, spikes and all, but none of the beautiful red flowers. Just dangerous thorns that promised no escape.
Tim was scared, rightfully so. Yes, he had witnessed, and even been the victim of, villain attacks before, but he was a sleep deprived 9 year old, he had a right to be scared, damn it! Huddling close to his parents, he squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. Even if it was during an emergency, his parents would not be happy if he were to cry in public. They claimed it to be a show of weakness, and more importantly, utterly embarrassing. Refusing to open his eyes, he listened to the screams from around him. There was shouting, rustling, a woman’s voice; who could only belong to Ivy, and finally- a pair of footsteps. Not from the crowd or Ivy, but Batman and Robin.
The majority of the fight, and night for that matter, was more of a blur, his tired and semi-tipsy mind not being able to focus much. But something he did remember? It was after all of the commotion had died down, still crying his eyes out, when Robin himself was standing before him, giving him a blue raspberry lollipop. He distinctly remembers his parents being upset at that, not wanting him to have sugar at such a late time. But he didn’t care much about his parents opinion at that moment, he was ecstatic at the fact that Robin was smiling down at him, offering his arms out in a hug, meant to calm Tim. And it did; it was one of the few hugs he had ever gotten, and by far the most precious.
The hug given to him was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it. It was tight, almost overwhelming in the way that it squoze his tiny frame. But god, was it comforting. It sure as hell didn’t remind him of his parents, and only when he was laying in bed, wide awake from the adrenaline, did he realize what it had reminded him of. Realization hit him like a truck- Dick Grayson was Robin. Tim had always had a fairly good memory for a child, so of course he remembered the circus. To be fair, how could he forget? The sight of their lifeless bodies was something that he still thought about; tearing up every time he thought about the gruesome sight.
The ages matched, along with when he came to Gotham. Getting adopted by Bruce Wayne, then not long after a young vigilante with seemingly polish perfect flexibility, not to mention the stunts he performs, shows up as Batman’s sidekick? That couldn’t have been a coincidence. His thoughts were traveling a mile a minute, all the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. His neighbors were Batman and Robin! He-he lived only a few miles away from The Batman and Robin! He had ended staying up the rest of the night, coming up with paragraph upon paragraphs of all the information he knew, along with an accurate timeline.
He never told a soul, keeping what he found out a secret. It wasn’t particularly difficult, he didn’t have anyone he could have told. Well, he had Ives. And if it counted, Mrs. Mac. But whether or not he had someone to tell, he wouldn’t. Until the day he died, he would keep their secret.
And so far, he was doing just that.
Tim had his arm propped up on the counter, leaning against his hand as he dozed off. He preferred the night shift, but sometimes it was just so… boring. Every so often Bernard would stop by, accompanied by Ives, Pru, or Tam if any of the three had free time. But most of the time it was just him, his thoughts, and taking naps. Well, naps was generous. He was in Gotham, for god’s sake. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall asleep in a store at night, while being close to Crime Alley. So he was… resting. Totally not half asleep.
He jolted awake at the sound of the bell chiming, standing up straight so as not to look like he was slacking off. It wasn’t uncommon for people to come in for a drink or to use their free wifi during the night shift, but it didn’t happen very often. He put on his best customer friendly smile, which totally wasn’t just his business smile renamed.
The person who had walked in was a fairly short kid, with an expression that held importance. Tim knew he recognized him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t a regular, so where could he have seen- and oh my god, that was Damian fucking Wayne, Tim realized with a start.
He glanced at the moon shaped clock; it was almost one in the morning. It would have made sense if he was coming in as Robin, a late pick-me-up of a tea or something of the sort (Damian refused to drink coffee, he claimed the taste was too bitter but in reality he didn’t like the adrenaline rush it gave him; It reminded him too much of The Pit,) but why the hell was he coming in as Damian? He was a Wayne, and like the authority that name gave him, it also put him in danger. He was a smart kid, and Tim knew he could defend himself. But still, walking alone at night wasn’t a good idea. But either way, it wasn’t his business, and Damian was a customer. So Tim was going to treat him like one, not like a helpless kid.
Tim was about to address Damian by his name, but he knew how much he disliked the attention of the media. So instead, he opted for the regular greeting, pretending as if Damian wasn’t anyone significant.
“Hello, welcome to Crema Cafe. The special of today is a Lavender Chai.” Gesturing to the sign on the counter with the special scrawled on it, “What’ll you be having tonight?”
Damian scowled at the mere idea that he would be getting something at the cafe. He didn’t threaten or insult Tim, though, so that was an improvement from when he had first arrived in Gotham. Not that it was any of Tim’s business, but he had researched when Damian first showed up, wanting to know the true origin of the young boy, and who his mother was. It was difficult, probably the hardest he had to work to find answers. (Besides Oracle, but he wasn’t even going to count her. That took a full week, less than sixty hours of sleep, and an insane amount of redbulls and monsters.)
“Greetings,” He shot a subtle glance at Tim’s nametag, one that was almost impossible to clock had Tim not been paying attention, “Timothy. I am here on behalf of an acquaintance.”
Of course he would use Tim’s full name, despite just ‘Tim’ being written neatly. He didn’t say anything about it, because why would he? He didn’t mind being called Timothy, it had just reminded him of his parents somewhat. And even then, he was (mostly (not)) over all that.
“Of course, what was your acquaintance wanting to order?”
“Brown has requested a coconut lotus, in the largest size you have.” Tim nodded along as Damian spoke; it was fair to assume by ‘Brown’ he meant Stephanie. He was prepared to speak again, to ask if he had anything else to add to the order, but Damian held his hand up as if commanding Tim not to speak. “However, just last week she had accompanied someone in a cruel offense against me, covering my bed and sheets in cheese. As vengeance, I request you add as much garlic powder to the drink as you can without it being considered a dangerous health hazard. Father and Pennyworth have barred me from inflicting harm on anyone.”
Tim nodded along, barely being able to contain a laugh. It seemed the Wayne’s were in a prank war. The cheese-covered bed was a good idea to be fair, not something he had ever heard of being done. But he could understand how it frustrated Damian. Usually Tim didn’t partake in prank wars, not that he had many people to do them with, but technically this wasn’t him in the prank war. Yes, guilty by association or whatever, but he didn’t think Damian would rat him out. Well, he knew Damian wouldn’t. He knew that when he gathered allies, he would not betray the trust given. Tim wouldn’t consider himself an ally, just a guy giving a customer what they wanted, but he was sure Damian wouldn’t see it that way. He took everything too seriously, even if Tim knew he was adjusting to his life away from the League. He was even partaking in prank wars.
“Yeah, I can do that. Uh… no ratting me out, right?” Yes, Tim was sure Damian wouldn’t tell, but… still good to ask.
Damian’s face fell into a sneer, turning his nose upwards. “Of course I will not. What kind of man do you take me for, Timothy? I will not expose your involvement.”
Tim chuckled, turning and making his way into the backroom to start preparing the drink. Of course Damian would treat it like a mission, and he wouldn’t snitch on those who aided him. He was quick to make the drink, having gotten the whole ordeal down months ago. Making his way back into the main area, he found Damian browsing the section of their instant teas and coffees, which were ground and packaged by the cafe themselves.
“Here you go, one coconut lotus with a fuck-ton of garlic.” Tim placed it on the counter, sliding it across to where Damian wouldn’t have to reach across the counter space to grab it. Damian turned from the shelves, making his way to the counter in a few strides. He grabbed the drink, nodding in what Tim assumed was appreciation.
“I will be sure to return so I may express my gratitude for your compliance in a suitable way. Farewell, Timothy.” Dropping a hundred in the tip jar (which, hold shit) and handing Tim the money for the lotus, Damian turned on his heels and trudged out the door.