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Galas come naturally to Tim. He was raised by his mother, after all, and no one could put on the most cutting, high-society-ready smile quite like Janet Drake.
This gala, for once, isn't being held by the Wayne family. Instead, Bruce and his children are invited to a charity event hosted by the Harrimans. The couple, Isabella and Clarence, are old money, and old in general. They have four children, and each of them has at least two kids of their own. None of the children will be in attendance, however, due to the gala having a strict seventeen and older age limit. Tim is pretty sure the only reason the cutoff is there is so they don't face passive-aggressive backlash for inviting the Waynes but not the record-breaking CEO of their company.
Or maybe Tim is just self-important.
The downside of the age limit is that Duke isn't able to make it. Even more unfortunate is that Damian isn't able to come. In any other circumstance, Tim wouldn't want to be around the little demon, but galas are different. Galas mean gossip and thinly-veiled shit-talking and people thinking they're more important than they are. And Tim is nothing if not a gossipy bitch. Damian, as annoying as he is, is the only one who can match Tim's judgment.
All in all, Tim likes galas. Sure, they can be exhausting, and going to one injured is always a nightmare, but something about them makes him feel secure in his skin. Like where he belongs is gathering intel on Gotham's one per cent and enjoying some drama mixed in. In this case, he'll be doing both.
Lex Luthor was released from prison three weeks ago. Since his return to LexCorp (and seriously, how does he keep his position?), he and his staff have been very hush-hush, refusing to see journalists and dodging questions that manage to be thrown their way. Conveniently for the bats, the head of his R&D department, Eliza Anniston, eldest daughter of the Harrimans, will certainly be present at the gala. As a favor to Clark, Bruce and his birds will try to get information out of her.
Tim brainstorms ways to get anything out of Eliza as he gets dressed at Wayne Manor. The dress code is strict, an extremely formal black-tie, so Tim doesn't get to have any fun with colors. He deftly ties a black bow tie with the most subtle twill pattern around his throat and folds down the collar of his crisp white shirt. He shrugs on the suit jacket of his tux, sleek and sharp and a rich black that absorbs very little light. He slips on black socks and flawless patent red-bottom leather loafers. Finally, he ties everything together with polished silver cuff links given to him by his father and an elegant leather watch, a gift from his mother.
Looking at himself in a full-length mirror, he doesn't see an adopted Wayne. He is a Drake, through and through. He is his mother's son, cutthroat and dangerous in the most refined ways. He embodies Janet Drake at galas, and he knows the other attendees see it. In his eyes, they see his mother's glint, adopted for his own use. In thirty minutes, Tim will be in his element, and Janet Drake might as well be there with him.
The moment he exits his room, he hears a door down the hall open. Cass slides out with grace the rest of them can only imagine possessing, and she is dressed to the nines. Cass looks gorgeous in a beautiful black floor-length gown with a tasteful square neckline. It's simple yet stunning. Where Tim's accent metal of choice is silver, Cass's is gold, and she likes to pair it with diamonds. All her jewelry matches, from her not large but not subtle diamond earrings, to her diamond pendant on a pure gold chain, to the gold and diamond tennis bracelets on each wrist. It's accented more by the simple, small gold hoops in her second lobe piercing and gorgeous gold bangle to add some stylish asymmetry to the outfit. Tying the whole thing together are the shoes, strappy gold pumps with red bottoms like Tim's.
Like this, she could be a Drake.
Cass spots Tim, giving him a once over and nodding minutely to herself. Then, echoing his thoughts, she softly says, "Not a Wayne."
Tim smiles at her, and it's most likely going to be one of his only real smiles of the night. She doesn't say it with the same malice Damian does. When Damian says he's not a Wayne, he means that Tim doesn't belong here, with this family. He sees him as an interloper, someone inferior and not deserving of the Wayne name. When Cass says it, she says it with affection. She sees him and thinks he is beyond the Waynes. Tim doesn't think either of them are correct, but he has yet to figure out why.
He links his arm with Cass's when she comes close and says, "Neither are you."
She tilts her head and frowns slightly. Tim continues. "Not a Wayne, but not a Cain either. Tonight, you're someone my mother would be proud of."
Her frown is replaced with a bright smile, contagious to the point where Tim beams back as they walk down the elaborate stairs of the manor. The two of them meet up with Bruce and Dick, the only other members of their family attending the gala. Steph rarely comes, and Jason and Bruce are fighting over something stupid again, so he's out of the picture. Bruce's tux is almost a carbon copy of Tim's, though made of a different material and his bow tie is plain black velvet. Dick opted for a normal necktie, but he looks no less formal. At least, not to the untrained eye. Dick hates galas, and sometimes hates Bruce for dragging him to them, and somehow his attitude is reflected in his clothing. Tim's pretty sure the only reason he's going to this one is to help out Clark.
Dick grins when he sees them, though Tim can tell he's tense. "Well, don't you two look positively wealthy."
Tim raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "We are wealthy," he says. "We're literally one of the richest families in the world."
Cass nods. "Old money," she agrees.
Dick rolls his eyes. "I know that. But you two look the part."
"And you could learn from them," Bruce interjects. "Time to go."
Dick sputters, and Bruce raises a challenging eyebrow at his oldest son. Dick glares at him, mumbling something about rich people being crazy, and exits the manor. Bruce, Tim, and Cass follow, meeting Alfred and the car outside. The butler give Tim and Cass and approving look and opens the door for them, helping them in so neither of them creases their outfits in unacceptable ways. Once the four of Alfred's wayward charges are situated and secure, he takes them away from the manor for another Wayne public appearance.
They all chat quietly during the ride. The first ten minutes are dedicated to mundane things. Bruce asks Dick about his work in Blüdhaven, and Tim talks Cass's ear off about the new camera he recently bought. His old one, the one he's been using ever since he started stalking Batman and Robin (and yes, he can admit to the stalking), finally gave up on him. He cried a bit, he'll admit, but he's incredibly excited to see what his new one can do. He chatters about the settings and specs, and muses out loud how good it will be for nighttime photography. Cass, for her part, looks genuinely interested. She asks questions here and there and nods when Tim gives her a satisfactory answer.
The latter ten minutes of the ride are spent planning.
"This is a mission," Bruce reminds them, "but it's also one of the more formal galas I've brought you to. So please behave." He says the last part pleadingly, and they all know it was meant for Dick.
"Do you have anymore information on what we're asking for?" Tim asks, "or should we start probing and hope for the best?"
"Clark thinks we can rule out Kryptonite," Bruce answers, looking more relaxed. "He's worried that Luthor is either working on a distraction for some reason, or he's trying out cloning again. Even if he isn't planning anything, Clark wants confirmation. It won't be difficult. Oracle will be able to hack Eliza Anniston's phone the moment any of us get close to her, and that's if she hasn't already. Anniston also has a habit of drinking too much at events like these."
"Mission will be easy," Cass says confidently.
"Yeah, the mission will be easy," Dick grumbles. "The gala will be hell."
"Don't be dramatic," Cass deadpans, and Tim snorts.
"She's right," Tim says. "You need to learn to tolerate social events like these. Find something about them you like."
"I like leaving," Dick says.
Tim rolls his eyes and doesn't grace Dick with a response. He turns to Bruce. "I can probably get Anniston to open up," he says. "I know how to get her to talk."
"And if you can't?" Dick asks.
Tim shrugs. "Wait for her to get drunk, I guess."
"Amazing plan," Dick says sarcastically.
Normally, Tim would be hurt that Dick doesn't believe in him, but he can't find it in him tonight. Not with his sister next to him and the excitement to be in the middle of what is essentially the world's largest and richest toxic group chat.
Tim might be a bit of a drama queen, and he should probably be concerned.
Whatever.
They finally stop at their venue, the Harriman's mansion, and it takes every ounce of self-control Janet ingrained in him to not jump out of the car and rush inside. Bruce exits first, and Tim can see the wave of flashing camera lights through the tinted windows of the car. Dick is next, also the subject to pictures, but significantly less than Bruce was.
Tim catches Cass's eye and they both nod. They exit the car at the same time, out of opposite doors, a perfect mirror of each other. The flashes increase. Everyone wants a good shot of the young CEO and Bruce Wayne's only daughter.
"Miss Wayne!" a reporter shouts. "Who are you wearing?"
Cass gives him a gala-ready smile. Tim couldn't be more proud. "Schiaparelli," she says, just loud enough for him to hear. Tim can hear the strain in her voice, and he links his arm with hers once more.
"What of the other Wayne children?" another reporter asks.
"Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne do not meet the age requirement," Tim cordially responds.
"Miss Wayne, will you be performing with the ballet school again this season?"
"Mr. Drake-Wayne, recently your relationship with Bernard Dowd has been made public—"
"Miss Wayne—"
"Mr. Drake-Wayne—"
They finally push through the crowd of photographers and reporters to where a waiter dressed in all black stands. He motions for them to follow him.
Walking behind him, Tim feels Cass relax and lets go of her, but not without one last reassuring squeeze of her hand. "My mother always told me that my smile is a weapon," he murmurs. "'A perfectly crafted smile is a perfectly sharpened knife. Let it cut just as deep.' She used to have me recite it before an event. She was right."
He looks at his sister with tangible warmth in his eyes. She looks back at him, her black eyes full of affection reserved only for him. "A perfectly crafted smile is a perfectly sharpened knife," Cass repeats. "Let it cut just as deep."
Tim smiles broadly. "Yes," he says, and then feels a wave of grief. "She would love you."
Cass grabs his forearm and stops them right before they enter the ballroom. The waiter goes in without them. She looks up at him earnestly. "Tonight I am a Drake," she says.
And Tim? Tim could cry. He takes a deep breath and gives his sister a fond, watery smile. "You can be a Drake whenever you want to be."
She nods, pleased. "Good," she says, then tugs his arm. "Come. Time to socialize."
Tim chuckles, and he can't quite hide his excitement. "That it is."
They walk into the ballroom side by side. A photographer, a hired one, snaps a picture of them. The two Waynes. The two Drakes. Tim has no doubt that it is and will be the best picture taken this evening, and he makes a mental note to ask the hosts for any photos that include him and his family.
They part ways soon after, as it's time to mingle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cass make a beeline for some girls close to her age near the refreshments. As for Tim, he makes his way over to his father, who is chatting with Clarence Harriman, a classy man in his early seventies. He catches the end of Bruce's sentence.
"…and, of course, having so many can get hectic."
"Don't I know it," Clarence responds.
"You would, having four of your own." Bruce chuckles, then turns to Tim in faux surprise. "And here is one now!"
"Mr. Harriman, thank you so much for the invitation," Tim says, shaking the man's hand.
"Of course, Mr. Drake-Wayne. It's always lovely to see you," Clarence says. "Your father here was just telling me about your full house."
Tim laughs politely. "I caught the end. It can get chaotic sometimes, but I love it all the same. I'm sure Bruce would agree."
"I'm sure he would," Clarence says, turning to Bruce. "Though, I can't help but notice the absence of the rest of your children."
Tim grins. So the gossip begins.
"Duke and Damian are too young, unfortunately," Bruce says. "Jason also had a prior engagement."
Yeah, if that engagement was shooting people to spite Batman.
Tim kindly excuses himself, wandering into the crowd. He takes in everyone's outfits. Most of the men, himself included, are wearing virtually the same thing. It makes Tim more aware of flaws. He passes a man who never slit the vent in his suit jacket, and sees another man with his cuffs undone. Tim knows every name, and notes who is messing up what. As for the women, their dresses, hair, and jewelry set them all apart from each other. Now, Tim doesn't know the first thing about women's formal fashion, but he knows the basics of what is gala appropriate. He know the blonde woman's deep maroon dress is not long enough, and knows someone else's v-neck is much too deep. Every once in a while. he spots jewels that are either fake or too garish. This is all information he stores in his mind. It will come in handy.
For moments like now, he thinks as he's stopped by a group of three familiar middle-aged women. They're all dressed simply but appropriately, and Tim knows the look in their eyes all too well.
"Timothy, dear, how wonderful to see you!" Mrs. Buchanan exclaims.
"Yes, it's been much too long," says Miss White, who is nursing a glass of champagne.
"Good evening, Mrs. Buchanan, Miss White, Mrs. Merritt," Tim politely greets. "How are you all doing."
"Oh, just lovely," says Mrs. Buchanan. "Eleanore here was just telling us about the brunch she had with Allison Sutton last week."
"Birdie, please," Mrs. Merritt protests. "Timothy doesn't care about that."
"If you need to get something off your chest, Eleanore, please do," Tim says. "I'm all ears."
It was the only invitation Mrs. Merritt needed. She tells Tim everything, from Allison Sutton's husband having an affair (which is the reason they aren't here) to them divorcing due to the mistress being pregnant with quadruplets. Tim reacts appropriately, and somewhat genuinely. He raises his eyebrows and gasps and asks questions when needed.
"She's filing for full custody of their children, of course," Mrs. Merritt says. "Allison would be remiss to keep her awful excuse of a husband around."
"Oh, yes," Tim agrees. "Splitting his time between their three and the new four. It would be awful for everyone."
"You understand," Mrs. Merritt says. "But enough about us. How are you, Timothy? How's the company?"
"Still afloat, as you can see," he responds, and the ladies laugh.
"You're a very impressive young man," say Miss White.
"Why, thank you Charlotte," Tim says, and takes s step back. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, there are still some people I would like to get around to greeting tonight. It was lovely talking to you ladies as always."
The three of them voice the same sentiment, and Tim wanders away. He wasn't lying, he really does need to meet other people. Namely their other host, Isabella Harriman, and most importantly, Eliza Anniston.
Tim spots Isabella first. She's berating some of her staff by the looks of it, her eyes sharp and mouth tense. She was always the type to get upset over the most minuscule of things. Tim remembers hearing about one of her galas from his parents, years and years ago. Jack and Janet had come back earlier than expected. Not that it would have matters — Tim always stayed up to see them. He remembers Jack scooping him into his arms as Janet sat on the sofa to free herself from her heels. Jack had sat next to her, sandwiching Tim between them. His mother played with his hair as his parents filled him in on the events of the night, which included Isabella Harriman verbally eviscerating a waiter for putting one less ice cube in her drink than she wanted. It was ridiculous then, and it's ridiculous now.
Tim saunters over to Isabella, who shoos her staff away when she sees him.
"Mr. Drake," she greets, outstretching a hand, "thank you for coming."
Tim shakes her hand. "Thank you for inviting my family," he says. "Your home is lovely as always."
Isabella plasters on a smile so obviously fake it would make his mother retch. "Thank you, Timothy. Always so polite."
"Might I ask a favor of you?" Tim asks.
He sees some of the light drain out of her eyes when she agrees.
"Could you forward me any pictures of my family taken tonight?"
"Of course," Isabella agrees. Her eyes then flick to something behind him. "If you'll excuse me." She takes off. Tim can almost hear his mother ranting about the lack of manners and poor etiquette, but Tim mentally shrugs and tells himself to leave it alone.
He wanders more, chatting with anyone who stops him and picks up non-alcoholic drinks off trays. Everything he hears he catalogues away to tell Damian later. Eventually, Tim's mingling brings him to Dick, who is trapped by a woman who Tim knows has a daughter his brother's age. Downing the rest of whatever sparkling drink this is and picking up a flute of champagne , Tim elects to rescue his brother.
"Hey, Dick," Tim says, handing Dick the flute and watching him visibly sag in relief. "And good evening, Mrs. Austen. I hope my brother isn't giving you too much trouble."
"Oh, not at all, Timothy!" Mrs. Austen exclaims. "He is charming as always."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Tim responds. "I hate to intrude, but Maya Campbell is asking for you." She's not, but they'll get so caught up in gossiping about Maya's sister's step-son's new scandal to realize that.
"Thank you so much, dear. Richard, I'll come find you another time," Mrs. Austen says. as she scurries off.
Tim watches in amusement as Dick inhales half of his champagne in half a second. "Was she trying yo set you up with Anna again?"
"When isn't she," Dick grumbles. "Have you spoken to Eliza yet?"
"No, I haven't even seen her," Tim admits. "Have you?"
Dick nods, much to Tim's relief. "I saw her briefly, right as B and I walked in. She shook our hands and ran off without a word. If you want to know what to look for, she's wearing a navy blue dress with a slit, and she's got in these awful green earrings."
Tim scans the crowd. Almost everyone is in dark colors, black and navy being the most popular, so trying to find Eliza Anniston is like trying to find a needle in a pile of other needles. His eyes pass over an abundant level of women in navy or navy-adjacent dresses with slits, all of them too far away to see the color of their earrings. They all start to blur together until his eyes catch on giant emeralds.
There, halfway across the ballroom, is Eliza Anniston. Tim sees what Dick means by awful green earrings. They're large, awfully cut emeralds that look closer to costume jewelry than formal wear. They also clash horribly with the shade of her dress, which Tim can admit is gorgeous. Her dirty blonde hair is in an immaculate updo with an elegant pin stuck in it, and she looks every part the rich, accomplished daughter. Really, the earrings are the only problem.
"I see her," Tim tells Dick. He pats his brother on the shoulder and leaves him, tapping into the comms for the first time this evening to let Bruce and Cass know he's moving in.
In Eliza's hand is a half-drunk glass of wine. The gala's been going on for two hours already, and Tim is banking on her having a drink in hand the entire time. On his way over, he watches her drink the rest of it, so Tim grabs another glass before approaching. He shouldn't enable her alcoholism, but he needs the information. He'll send help her way tomorrow.
"Mrs. Anniston, good evening," Tim greets, offering her the wine.
"Oh, Mr. Drake-Wayne, thank you," Eliza says, sipping her wine. Her speech is only slightly slurred, and she hasn't gotten to the point of swaying on her feet yet. That's fine. Tim can work with this.
"Just Tim is fine, Mrs. Anniston." He gives her a show-winning smile. "Us corporate folk have to stick together."
She laughs amicably. "Yes, I suppose we do. In that case, please call me Eliza. Mrs. Anniston makes me feel like I'm at work."
"Oh, I understand," Tim says. "At work, it's always 'Mr. Wayne' this, 'Mr. Wayne' that. It's all so demanding."
"At least you're in charge at WE," Eliza says. "You can't be kept on a short leash if you make the leash."
"If only," Tim says, and then puts on a sympathetic expression. "Why, are things tense at LexCorp? I was under the impression stocks were up and morale was high."
"You have no idea," Eliza says. "Luthor has us all running around nonstop. I can't remember the last time I haven't worked overtime. And I'm in charge of my department, so I can't imagine how all my employees are feeling."
This is why Tim has always liked Eliza. She may work for a rival company, one that actively tries to take down a close family friend, but she's easy to talk to. Tonight isn't the first time she and Tim have discussed the hell of the office, and he suspects it won't be the last.
"Let me guess, post-prison PR nightmare?"
"Gosh, I wish it was just that." Eliza runs a hand down her face. "We have to manage the journalists as well as order parts and put together some new insane invention no one has ever heard about. A word of advice, Tim, never build something a crazy man comes up with in jail."
Tim snickers. "Is it really that bad?"
"Absolutely," she says. "I really shouldn't say this, but as a fellow lead, you're the only one here who could understand." She sighs and takes another sip of her wine. "He wants plutonium. He's bought it already, didn't even mention it to us until a few days ago, but it hasn't arrived yet, thank goodness. When it does, work will be awful. I have half a mind to quit tomorrow, but there's no one else qualified to run the department."
There it is. That's exactly what the bats need. Not that Tim knows what exactly Luthor is planning. Surely he doesn't think a nuke will hurt Superman.
"Plutonium is hard to come by," Tim says. "I wonder why he expects it to come so soon. Does he not know how long it takes to ship?
"Honestly, who even knows with that man."
Before Tim can respond, he feels a presence behind him. He turns his head slightly to see Cass with an unreadable expression on her face. He turns back to Eliza.
"Eliza, have you met my sister Cassandra?" Tim asks.
"No, I don't believe I have." She shifts her wine glass to her left hand and extends her right. "Eliza Anniston. It's lovely to meet you."
Cass shakes her hand. "Cassandra," she replies softly before looking at Tim. "Bruce wants you."
"Ah, I'm afraid I have to leave you now, Eliza," Tim says with an apologetic smile. "It was nice to speak to you. If you ever want to transfer from LexCorp, you know where to find me." Tim has a mental list of how many of Luthor's employees he can steal for WE. So far, the number is fourteen, and Tim has only been CEO for nine months.
Cass links her arm with Tim's, holding on tighter than she usually does. True to her word, she steers him in the direction of Bruce and Dick, but Tim can tell something is wrong.
"You okay?" he asks.
Cass shakes her head. "Later."
"Alright."
They walk through the ballroom in comfortable silence as Tim ruminates over what Eliza told him. Plutonium… Whatever Luthor's building requires a nuclear reactor, which can't been good for any of them. He's already proven to be willing to start wars in order to kill Superman. Would he be willing to risk nuclear war for the same reason? That's if he's even building a nuke. Luthor is, as much as Tim hates to say it, a genius. He could have figured out another use for plutonium that no one else has thought about.
He's interrupted from his thoughts by someone poking him on the forehead.
"Earth to Tim," he hears Dick say.
"Sorry," Tim says with a sheepish grin.
"I saw you talking to Anniston," Bruce says, all business as always. "Do you have what we need?"
Tim nods. "Time to go, then?" He knows Bruce won't want to talk about it here.
Bruce looks between his three children. He takes in Tim's ease, Cass's trained poise, and Dick's posture practically begging him to go home. He sighs. "Let me thank our hosts again."
"Yes!" Dick hisses.
Bruce rolls his eyes, but he can't hide his fondness. While he's gone, the three of them talk amongst themselves. It's nice, Tim thinks. He hasn't had a laid-back conversation with his siblings in a while, especially Dick. It's no one's fault, they've all just been busy. He and Dick talk about who they've met tonight, and Cass chimes in every once in a while. She's still clutching onto Tim, and he knows there's something she's not saying. She said later, though, so he will ask later.
Off to the side, Tim hears the tell-tale click of a camera, and he can already see the picture of him, Cass, and Dick circulating around the internet. Gotham's sweethearts, all dressed up and smiling.
In the middle of Dick telling Tim something he heard from Mr. Presley, a lawyer in an awful ill-fitting suit Tim saw in passing, Bruce comes back.
"Ready to go?" he asks his kids.
"Absolutely. Yes. Finally," Dick says rapidly, slinging his arms around Tim and Cass. "Let's go, baby birds. Comfortable clothing awaits us."
Cass rolls her eyes, but walks in step with him. "Drama queen," she says.
"If you think I'm a drama queen, you should have seen Tim," Dick says. "His eyes light up at gossip like a kid's on Christmas."
Tim shrugs, feeling the weight of Dick's arm. "I'm nosy," is all he says.
"Oh, we know, you little stalker," Bruce says from behind them, but Tim can hear the smile in his voice.
Alfred is parked as close to the mansion as possible when they four of them get outside. They all slide into the same seats they were in when they arrived, being slightly less careful of their clothes now that their public presence is over.
Tim fills them in on what he got out of Eliza. They spend a few minutes guessing what the plutonium could be used for and how to stop it. Dick suggests breaking into LexCorp and stealing plans, or having Babs hack their systems. Tim suggests intercepting the plutonium delivery, which would buy them time. Cass wonders if they could just destroy all of their equipment. In the end, Bruce actually approves of all three, but they can only enact their plans when their ideas are both more polished and more coordinated. They all beam at the praise, much to Bruce's confusion and Alfred's delight.
Back at the manor, Dick practically sprints inside. Cass follows after him, walking on bare feet after taking her heels off in the car. Bruce and Tim go in last, still planning and theorizing and thinking of ways to permanently get Luthor to calm the hell down.
Honestly, Tim should take notes from him. Clearly, he's not hating to his full potential. He should take a look at Luthor's recent activity and see what he can use against Ra's the next time he sends Tim a poisoned fruit basket.
Tim also needs to make sure the benefits at WE are still better than the ones at LexCorp.
Back in the manor, Tim makes a beeline for his room. He doesn't mind tuxes, but he still much prefers a hoodie over a suit jacket. He strips off his clothes, bagging them for dry cleaning and carefully setting aside his cuff links and watch, and puts his comm piece on his dresser to bring down to the cave later.
After a social event, Tim likes to be as comfortable as possible. Rummaging through his closet, he pulls out a surprisingly soft vibrant purple hoodie that he stole from Steph last week, and grey sweats. He sets them aside for after his shower.
Once he's clean and comfortable, Tim wonders if now is later. It's not that Cass was shaken, necessarily, but whatever had happened made her think.
It's easy to find her. Cass and Tim's rooms at the manor are close to each other, and there's a ledge along the wall that's outside both of their windows. Peaking his head out, Tim can see a dark shape sitting on that ledge, just barely illuminated by the weak moonlight. He climbs out of his window and skillfully makes his way over to his sister, plopping down next to her.
For a moment, neither of them say anything. Tim just sits, offering her his support. After a minute or two, Cass leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Tim breaks the silence. "What's wrong?" There's no use in asking if she's okay, because they both know the answer to that.
"Was talking to some girls," Cass says softly. "Nice girls. But asked if I was seeing anyone."
Tim hums. He knows how annoying it can be, people asking you if you're dating anyone and how your love life is going. He's still not sure if the questions are better or worse now that he's publicly dating Bernard.
Cass continues. "Said no, of course. I'm not. They asked me why."
Tim grabs her hand. "Why?" he prompts.
Cass relaxes. "Not interested," she says. "Told them that. Asked if I was seeing a girl. Said no, not interested. Asked how that was possible. Said… said there must be something wrong with me."
Tim finally gets it. Every once in a while, he notes that Cass doesn't have as much trouble with her civilian identity as the rest of them. For them, especially for Tim, maintaining a relationship with someone while frequently bailing because someone is in trouble is difficult. Tim and Bernard have only gotten as far as they have because Bernard knows about Red Robin. Not that he's told Tim that, but he still knows his boyfriend figured him out.
He's always known Cass is different. Now he knows she's different in this way too. He doesn't love her any less.
"There's nothing wrong with you," Tim says. "There never has been, and there never will be."
"It's different, though," Cass says, lifting her head off Tim's shoulder to look him in the eyes. "You have Bernard. Bruce has Selina. I can't have anyone."
"That's not true," Tim argues vehemently. "So you don't want a romantic relationship. That's fine. But you have us. You have your friends and family. You have Steph and you have me. No type of relationship is more or less important than another." He smiles at her, and she gives him a small one back. "If Bernard called me, I'd come running. I would do the exact same thing for you. You're my sister, Cass. You've seen me at my worst, saved me from my lowest moments." Cass frowns at the mention of the Daughter of Acheron, but Tim presses on. "I meant it when I said the Drake name is yours whenever you'd like it. Nothing you do can ever change that."
Cass looks at him then with stars in her eyes. She smiles that contagious smile of hers and presses up against him, tightening her grip in his and leaning her head on his shoulder once more.
"Promise?" she asks.
"I promise," he responds.
Cass hums, satisfied, but doesn't let Tim go. Not that he minds. He's perfectly content to sit here, on the side of the manor, staring at the sky. Tomorrow, they will make a plan to deal with Luthor. Tomorrow, Tim will avoid getting stabbed by Damian long enough to recount to him the night's gossip. Tonight, though, Tim basks in the safety and comfort of his sister and thinks, not for the first time, how lucky he is to have her in his life.