Chapter Text
Jack and Janet Drake died six years, three months, and fifteen days ago. Their bodies had been recovered from the Gotham bay, along with their car, and evidence that their son had been with them too. When autopsy reports came back they had found out that Jack’s BAC levels were high enough to cause the accident, further investigation suggested that the man had problems with alcohol. The only question left was where was Timothy Drake's body?
It took ten days for them to give up the search. They had spent hours dragging the bay and diving into it but nothing came up. Eventually resources had to be removed to focus on more promising cases than the missing body of a seven year old. No one had cared about the case going cold, never completed. The Drakes had no family, or friends, to care about it. So it was tossed into the back of the filing cabinet and forgotten about.
No one knew what to do with the Drake manor, so they just let it sit there. Isolated by five miles of nature around it. The closest building being Bruce Wayne's manor. It grew lonely and cold, however not as empty as everyone thought.
Six years ago Timothy Drake sat alone in a cold dark living room. The only light offered was the harsh light coming from the TV in front of him. The sound of new reporters droning on, mixing with tap tap tap of the rain outside of the window. He had a blanket wrapped high around his shoulders and was waiting. Waiting for the news to report something specific, to see his family name flash across the screen and for the tight knot of anxiety to finally release.
For the next month he had lived in isolation. The curtains drawn over every window, not a single light flickering in a room. No one ever came by. Tim didn’t want to risk it though, he was finally freed and he wasn’t ready for the freedom to be ripped from his tiny, shaking hands again. He survived off the food left in the cabinets and fridge, spending his time planning what he would do next.
Despite only being seven years old, Tim had a mind much sharper than anyone else's. His parents drilled in lessons and years of grooming him into the perfect heir, matched with his love for books and mysteries had turned the boy into a force to be reckoned with at a young age. He consumed knowledge as fast as the Flash, and he solved twice as many cases at The Batman in only a year. He had plans for his city, and no one was going to stop him from saving it.
It took Tim five years to completely start up his operation. The first three years were spent carefully hacking into anything he could get into, the police station and even higher forms of government that never even spared Gotham a glance. Hell, Tim had managed to weasel his way into the Justice League's computers, it did take him over a month to even begin the first steps into them but now he had basically complete access. Carefully hiding away from anyone smart enough to tell that he was there.
The next two years were spent shadowing the Bat clan, watching them fight and work together. Filming and analyzing every single move they made. He did the same with any other hero or vigilante that showed face in Gotham, and even taking a week or two to visit the cities protected by the rest of the JL to get an understanding of the way they all worked. He used the knowledge to train himself while also learning how to defend himself against the heroes that would be running after him the moment he actually appeared in Gotham as something much bigger than the young boy running everything behind the scenes.
He was thirteen years old when he joined the streets of Gotham as another vigilante. Plowing his way through criminals so quickly that it was hard for anyone to miss him. A tornado of white and black running through the shadows of Gotham and leaving a trail of unconscious bodies for the police to clean up.
The city had started to call him Ghost. The name spread around in a whisper of rumors. Tim only smiled every time he heard the name, grinning like he owned the world. Running across rooftops and into alleys. Everyone knew his name, whispered it like a bad word. The world knew him.
Being so popular came with its downsides. Drawing the attention of everyone, Detectives, Batman, criminals. It was Tim against the world and yet here he was thriving off the adrenaline and knowledge that no one would ever catch him. He was what everyone called him, a Ghost. One minute he’d be there and the next he was gone. Untraceable. A whisper with the wind that drove everyone up the walls with questions. Just another one of Gotham's mysteries.
Tim took in a deep breath of the smoggy city air. Standing on the edge of the first rooftop he got to and admired his city. “Tonight is going to be a great night,” he spoke aloud to the wind. A grin stretched across his masked face as he turned around. “Is that right, Batman?” He asked the shadowy figure behind him before tipping backwards and falling from the building.