Chapter Text
Tim had made himself quite comfortable on the picnic table outside of the Gotham Convention centre.
In fact, he was quite content as he sat crosslegged on the top of it, coffee to his right, computer on his lap, bag to his left.
Sure, the coffee didn’t taste great, not so much because it was decaf but because it was Gotham and Gotham’s coffee was either rancid or glorious depending on not only the beans that were used but wether or not the person making it liked you.
Today he had gotten Carlos.
Carlos, in turn, had gotten Tim’s taste buds.
He didn’t bother curling his lip though, not looking up from his screen while absolutely taking note of who it was that was existing the convention centre. When it was no one of interest, Tim refocused on his game.
Tim sipped on the coffee, being very brave to not spit it out again, and set aside the cup.
It really wasn’t that bad of a drink, in fact Tim was fully capable of downing the entire arsenal of a pissed of barrister if he were on a stakeout or a particularly important project, but Tim liked to humour Carlos even if Carlos wasn’t here to appreciate Tim’s reaction.
Another group came out from the centre, talking to each other with fake laughs and boring stories.
Then, the door barely getting a chance to do a full rotation before the next group was coming through, was the target.
Like the others, the target was speaking nonsense to his companions though when he laughed it was particularly grating, echoing all the way over to Tim’s makeshift office. Damn, he really should have bought that pot plant after all, to complete the image.
The target’s gaze drifted towards where his car had once been parked, the car that Tim had gotten impounded three hours ago. The crease in his brow eased just as quickly as it had come, but an entirely new expression came over him as one of his companions gestured towards Tim.
Tim pretended to not notice the attention, though he did let the smug satisfaction sink in.
Bingo.
The man had tried to school his expression once more, trying for a bright smile instead that was more fake than Dick’s hair.
Though the target tried to continue on with the conversation, his companions were waving him off, telling him to go enjoy the rest of his day.
Tim waited, for the target to either fuck off and get the confused ire of his companions or approach and actually have to acknowledge that Tim was very much undeniably who the companions thought that he was.
When the target took his damn sweet time, Tim made a show of drinking a little more of his coffee before raising his head just enough to apparently notice who it was that was standing there floundering.
“Dad?” Tim called out.
New satisfaction set in as Jack Drake was unable to hold back his scowl before it fell back into a pleasant smile. Jack came closer, dragging his feet as much as possible, and Tim found himself oddly amused with each subsequently slower step.
Well, as amused as he could be now that his heart had started rabbiting in his chest. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was all just some terrible idea that he should have shot down the moment he had come up with it.
“Dad,” Tim said again, forcing his own smile. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“It is only for a few days, Sport,” Jack said. “Didn’t want to bother you.”
“You could never bother me.” Tim said.
Tim closed his laptop and set it aside, making certain to make the bracelet on his wrist glint in the sunlight.
As planned, Jack’s gaze dropped down onto it. This time he managed to keep the scowl from setting in but Tim’s chest still ached with the confirmation all the same.
Tim should just fuck off himself. Jack just proved exactly what Tim had already worked out, there was no point in drawing this out. And yet… And yet it was still nice to see him, in some messed up way.
It didn’t matter that his Dad had never said that he was coming to Gotham, it didn’t matter that Jack has been actively avoided coming to this city for nearly an entire year by this point, what mattered was that his Dad was here.
He was here, and sure he’d move on again soon enough, but he was here now.
“What are you doing here, Sport?”
That old nickname, one that had never felt like Tim’s so much as it was Jack’s.
“Shouldn’t you be in,” Jack trailed off. “School? Or something? College?”
Great, not only did Jack not know how old Tim was, he had no idea that he’d given up on schooling ages ago.
“Actually,” Tim said lightly. “There’s no meetings at Wayne Enterprises today, and as the CEO I can decide whether or not to go in on those days.”
“Wayne Enterprises, eh Sport? You’re, uh, certainly holding true to the Drake name, aren’t you Lad?”
Another name, one that Tim liked more. That is, when Bruce used it. Bruce said Lad in a certain way, one that Tim had been trying to break down for the last few years as compared to sound bites from the times Jack had used it.
Tim… Still did not know what made it so different.
“Wayne,” Jack said. “How is he going, anyway, still cashing in on that-”
“Bruce does not get benefits in exchange for being my guardian.” Tim said flatly. “In fact, I am emancipated, though I have chosen to give Bruce a position as my guardian for the sake of custody and medical proxy arrangements when I am compromised.”
For as intelligent as his Dad was, Jack looked wholly and utterly lost.
“You…” He said, thinking it through. “You are emancipated, but Wayne still controls you?”
“It isn’t about control.” Tim said.
It’s about safety, actually. It felt better knowing that his best interests were being looked out for, even if Tim himself was fully independent and capable of looking after himself. Of course, he didn’t quite want to say as much to Jack, and even if Tim told him the full truth of it he doubted that Jack could fully understand.
“You know, Lad,” Jack said. “The Wayne name is powerful, no doubt, but you can rise the Drake name even higher than it already is, you should choose the most useful employees from Wayne and make your own company.”
“I’m good.” Tim said.
While Jack did not seem convinced, Tim continued all along.
“Does Mom know you’re home?”
Home. This was home, Jack’s and Tim’s. Sure, the house they had once shared is in Bristol and not the City proper, but Gotham was still meant to be their home.
“Of course.” Jack said.
While so confident in his demeanour, Tim knew full well that Janet had no clue that he was here. Sure, she might have guessed given that the convention was on their shared industry, but Jack’s keynote speech in two days was not yet revealed as to who was speaking.
The only reason why Tim himself had known that he was in town was because he had hacked into the planning committee for the convention, not that it really felt like hacking given their lacklustre security.
“Then does that mean-”
“It’s been a good chat, Sport,” Jack said. “But I have arranged a meeting with-”
Tim did not bother to listen to the rest of the spiel, also knowing full well that he had not arranged anything at all for the rest of the day, though he might want to work out where his car has gone.
“Actually,” Tim said. “I’ve really missed you, Dad, do you think that we can go out for a coffee or something? Please?”
Jack fell for it, hook line and sinker.
“Certainly, Sport. Tomorrow? Lunch, my shout, unless you’d prefer your benefactor to take the bill.”
A barb, one that Tim did not fall for.
It didn’t seem to matter to Jack at all that Bruce had no financial incentive to have taken Tim in, as far as Jack cared it was the other way around. Tim had accepted the guardianship not for emotional safety, but financial.
As meagre as the Drake fortune was compared to the Wayne’s, it was still far more than enough to live comfortably on for a thousand lifetimes so long as Tim didn’t waste it on bad investments like Jack himself had nearly done half a dozen times already.
No, money had nothing to do with it at all.
“Sounds great.” Tim grinned.
He packed his things half slowly, waiting for Jack to change his mind and declare that they should just go out together now, catch up on old times. Jack didn’t.
“Bye, Dad.” Tim said. “It was great seeing you.”
Jack nodded.
Tim still lingered another moment, another eternity, waiting for what exactly he wasn’t quite sure anymore.
Steeling himself, Tim fully climbed off of the picnic table.
Jack regarded him for a moment and Tim couldn’t help but stand a little taller as if to impress him. Then he let himself slouch again because Jack had turned and walked away without another word towards where his car had once been parked.
Tim wasn’t surprised, not by any part of the interaction. He wasn’t, he told himself, even as his eyes stung.
He wasn’t surprised, Jack was Jack. He cared about Tim, he just did not know how to express it. Or, he did not care about Tim, either way it did not change anything at all.
As he waited for some lights to go off so that he could cross the road, Tim found himself glancing back towards that bench.
Jack had not turned back. And that was fine. That had to be fine. It was fine even though Tim’s nails were digging into the palms of his hands because there had still been some stupid part of him that had hoped that things would be different now.
His Mom was trying. Janet wasn’t perfect, far from it, but she was actively trying to make up for all the days that Tim had spent alone, for all the expectations he could have never met let alone exceeded no matter what he did, she was trying to make up for mistakes she had never even known she had made.
She was trying.
Tim should not have hoped that maybe Jack would do the same.
Tim downed his medication, fist bumping Jason as Jason went to go get something from the fridge then tripping him as he came back around.
Jason scowled at him, kicking him right back.
“Hey!” Tim snapped.
“Hey to you!” Jason returned. “You’re the asshole that-”
Jason’s hand was gripping onto Tim’s elbow. Tim shoved him off but Jason refused to let go and it was only when Tim realised that the world was swirling that he leant into his brother’s hold instead.
“Oh…” Tim breathed. “Uh…”
“Couch?”
“No, no, I’m good, I’m good now.”
Tim breathed in deeply, again and again until the blurriness eased back into full clarity.
“I’m good,” Tim said more strongly.
While Jason still looked apprehensive, he let go.
Leaning against the bench instead, Tim breathed a few more times. Jason gave him that time, making no move to go towards the dining room as he started eating his toast right there and then.
When Tim was fully certain that he wasn’t going to collapse or anything else, he met Jason’s eye.
“Absence?” Tim asked.
Jason shrugged.
“Jason.”
“Think so.” Jason said, munching on his toast. “But only for like, less than a thirty seconds.”
Tim blinked slowly, only the slightest of trembling in his hands that was already going away.
“If it was only that long,” Tim said. “Then how did you realise?”
“I know you Timbo,” Jason said.
Warmth bloomed in Tim’s chest. Who cared whether Jack wasn’t sure if he was in high school or college, Jason could apparently tell that Tim’s brain had shut off for a few seconds before coming back online without him ever once collapsing.
“And,” Jason said. “Well,”
Jason gestured with his toast to the bench behind Tim. Tim glanced backwards, then turned sharply towards the mess of juice that was dripping down the cabinets, a small puddle already growing on the floor.
“Jason what the hell!”
As Tim scrambled to clean it up glancing at the entryway a thousand times as if Alfred would all at once be there, Jason seemed quite content to eat his damn toast.
“You know, you’re an asshole.” Tim said.
“I dunno, Dearest Timothy,” Jason said, toast on heart. “I just saved your life, it would have been dangerous if you fell. You should be grateful.”
“I’ll be a hell of a lot more grateful if you just-”
Tim trailed off, standing as tall and proper as possible as Janet Drake hovered just outside the kitchen.
“Hey Mom.” He said, heart rabbiting. “I, I didn’t know you were-”
“I can leave.”
While Tim’s first instinct was that she was being scathing about it, he distantly registered that it was a genuine offer.
“No.” Tim said. “No, please, uh, come join us. Would you like some toast? Jason has made plenty.”
Jason glared at him, pulling his plate of seven more slices towards himself.
Tim was on the picnic table again.
He had not brought the same set up this time, instead playing on his Switch even though he hadn’t really been looking at the screen so much as keeping an eye on the convention centre.
Hours, he waited, drinking down five whole cups of decaf coffee.
Hours and yet Jack did not emerge from the building, not even when the last of the convention staff left.
It was fine, Tim told himself, Jack had simply been making the best connections he could be amongst the experts in his field, he had not chosen to leave from another door because he was avoiding Tim, he had simply gotten distracted and had forgotten about their coffee meetup.
It was fine.
It needed to be fine.
Tim stayed a little longer, just in case, even after the door was fully locked from the outside.
He waited even longer still, waiting for Jack to come out.
Waiting for his Dad to maybe, just maybe, choose to see him this time.
There was flour all over Janet’s hair and yet she was not panicking over it, she simply laughed, flicking a little more icing towards Tim.
Tim dodged it, revelling in that beautiful sound.
Sure, Alfred was not going to be very impressed with the mess, but Timothy Jackson Drake was very good at cleaning up messes before anyone noticed there was an issue to begin with. He’d mastered the skill in fact, partially because of the woman who stood across from him.
She really did look like a mess, more so than Tim had ever seen her. His Mom had always seemed so poised, so put together, this was nicer somehow. More… Real.
His Mom’s laugh petered off and she was going to suddenly start yelling at him for making the kitchen look like this and Tim was stumbling back, he was stumbling back, hand gripping onto the countertop, his heart beating right out of his chest he had fucked up, she had only just started tolerating his existence and he’d fucked it all up.
“Timothy?”
“I’ll clean it up.” He rushed out. “I, I’ll clean it all, I promise, I-”
“Why would you…” Janet said. “Oh.”
Her gaze shifted to the flour, the icing, to every single not yet washed utensil, every single spot of non-perfect including Tim himself.
“Love,” She said. “We will-”
We will leave you behind if you can’t behave.
We will not bring you anything more if you keep destroying priceless artefacts.
We thought we raised you better than this, Timothy.
“I need…” Tim forced out. “I need to go, I’ll clean up, I swear, I just, I need to go.”
Before she could curse him out for his ungrateful insolence Tim was tearing through the hallway, his nails clawing at his chest.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe because he had messed up everything, he had disappointed her, again, just like he had disappointed his Dad in his being there outside the convention hall.
Tim was outside even before he realised it but he kept walking, he needed to keep walking, he needed to get out, out of the house, out of his skin, out of his life, he needed to make everything stop.
His foot caught on something and he was vaulting forward, barely catching himself on a tree.
The kitchen was a mess, it was all a disaster and he shouldn’t be out here, he should be in there fixing it up, he needed to fix it up, she was going to see, she was going to come home and she was going to see, she had already seen it.
Fuck, she had already seen the mess and this time she really was going to leave and never come back.
Tim sobbed hard, crashing down onto his knees.
This was stupid, all of this was so stupid. It was just a little flour and icing, hell he’d managed to hide away entire crime scenes before anyone ever saw them and yet here he was, unable to breathe no matter how hard he tried to.
Tim pressed his head against the tree, commanding himself to calm but he couldn’t, he fucking couldn’t, he needed to just calm down and everything was going to be just fine, he needed to just breathe and relax and he could deal with the rest later.
A hand on his shoulder and Tim was whirling.
Bruce, it was Bruce, kneeling down beside him.
“Get her out.”
“Lad,”
“Get her out, get her, she needs to,”
“Okay,” Bruce said. “Okay, I will. Alfred,”
“Right away, Sir.”
She was going to yell at him, she was going to realise just how much of a mess of the kitchen he had made and she was going to yell at him except it was so much worse than that because he could feel her nails digging into the back of his neck and he could hear her voice proclaiming that she had raised him better than this, she expected better of him than this.
“Tim,” Bruce said.
“Go away, please, I’m fine, you need to go away, go, I’m fine,”
“Tim.” Bruce said said again, cupping his cheek. “Focus on my breathing, Son.”
He couldn’t, he couldn’t do anything at all because he needed to go back into that kitchen and he needed to make it perfect and it was never going to be perfect, he could scrub it for hours and hours and hours and his Mom would still find fault in it and fuck he couldn’t breathe.
“Tim.”
Tim clawed at his chest except Bruce tugged at it instead, bringing it against his own.
“Focus on my breathing. My shirt. My heartbeat. Focus on me, Son, and know that I’ve got you.”
“The kitchen, I, it needs, I-”
“The kitchen can wait.” Bruce said. “Right now we are here. We are here, together, and we are okay.”
“We- We are okay.”
“Yes.” Bruce said. “Just feel each breath that I take in. Feel the ground beneath us. Feel the sun.”
All he could feel was nails on the back of his neck.
Bruce’s breathing changed, becoming deeper, more exaggerated. In. Out. In. Out. His heartbeat, a steady strong booming against Tim’s palm. His eyes, not forcing Tim to look at him but also not turning fully away from the fuck up that was Tim Drake.
“We, we’re outside.” Tim said, his voice shaking. “Just… Just us. The sun’s out. It’s… Nice. You’re breathing deeply. But you can change that, you can change it and you’re hurt but you’re hiding it and-”
“Tim.” Bruce said firmly.
Tim jolted away from him, waiting for more yelling except Bruce wasn’t yelling, he was cupping Tim’s cheek, brushing a thumb gently against his skin.
“I am not hurt.” Bruce said. “And you are not in trouble. Whatever has happened, whatever Janet said, you are not in trouble, am I understood?”
“She-“ Tim’s breath caught again. “She didn’t say anything. The kitchen, it, I made a mess. She was going to yell, but she didn’t. She didn’t.”
“That’s good, Tim.” Bruce said.
“So I’m overreacting over fucking nothing because I’m just a fuck up.”
“No.” Bruce said. “You are sitting here with me. You are okay. You are not in trouble.”
“She didn’t even say anything.”
Bruce blinked slowly, coaxing Tim’s hand back onto his chest, his heartbeat and breathing consistent, familiar, calm.
“She didn’t say anything.” Tim repeated. “But I, I thought… It’s a mess. I thought she was going to be upset.”
“Because in the past,” Bruce said. “She has been.”
Tim’s nod was slight.
“But she wasn’t.” Tim said. “She, we were making cookies. Some flour spilled out of the bowl and I thought she was going to be upset but she just flicked some at me. And we, I know we shouldn’t have, Alfred doesn’t like anyone messing around in the kitchen but it was nice, it was so nice. Mom was laughing. She was laughing but then she stopped.”
“So you expected her mood to change from enjoying herself to reprimanding you.”
Another nod, Tim’s whole body trembling.
“It’s stupid.” Tim said.
“No.” Bruce said. “It is your body trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting.” Tim snapped. “Least of all by my own stupid body.”
“Tim.”
Tim glared at him. Bruce quirked a brow, shifting back a little but not pulling away fully.
“Fine,” Tim huffed. “I’m not stupid. But I still shouldn’t have freaked out over some stupid flour.”
Bruce hummed.
Tim shifted his own weight, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his chin on top of him. He could… Breathe, now. But his body was sore now, his face still wet from tears he hadn’t realised he had shed in the first place.
“Tim,” Bruce said. “How would you like to handle this?”
Tim glared harder.
“Tim,” Bruce chuckled. “It’s your choice. Would you like me to suggest options?”
Tim’s gaze dropped low and his foot shuffled against the dirt.
“I guess…” Tim said.
“Alfred has gone to send Janet away.” Bruce said. “We can ask her to stay instead, have a discussion as to what happened. We can set up an emergency meeting with Dinah, if you want to talk it out but with her as a buffer. We can talk to Janet in the coming days instead, when you’re ready to. We can clean the kitchen together, or, I can see if one of the others would mind helping to clean in your stead.”
“That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Would seeing the kitchen in it’s current state be healthy for you, Lad?”
While Tim had rushed to say that it would be fine, he forced himself to actually consider it. He was still trembling, his own heart rate slowly coming back down.
“I think so.” Tim said. “I think… I’m fine to clean up.”
“Would that be out of trying to impress your Mother, or would it be because it is a shared space to be respected?”
“Second one.”
“Okay.” Bruce said. “So, we have a little more down time here, then we go to the kitchen and clean it up together.”
Tim’s nod was a little stronger this time. That sounded okay, more than okay.
“Can…” Tim swallowed. “Can we still make cookies? And… Can Mom come back? A little later? When the cookies are done?”
“Of course.” Bruce said.
“But,” Tim said, heart rabbiting again. “Isn’t that unfair to make Alfred send her away only to ask her back and wouldn’t she be furious with me and-”
“Tim.” Bruce said. “Remind me again what our current agreement is?”
“That… That it’s up to me. That I get to decide how much involvement Mom has with my life, and that includes if I want her close. She has been doing classes. Things have been… Good. But I still freaked out.”
“You did not freak out,” Bruce said. “You had a reaction, one that may have been stronger than it needed to be but the next step is simply to move on from it.”
There was still a thrumming of adrenaline running through his veins but Tim nodded again.
“Thanks.” He mumbled.
“Anytime, Lad.” Bruce said.
Lad.
Yeah, it sounded different when Bruce said it. Tim still did not know what the exact difference was, he just liked the way that Bruce said it.