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1
The day of Tim’s yearly parent-teacher meetings, Dana is sick.
She still insists that he go. That he mingle with the parents of Tim’s friends, that he meet his teachers, his coaches, that he see Tim’s art projects, and peruse the posters he stayed up late making for student government.
Parent-teacher day is always packed and parking is a bitch and a half with all the freshly licensed teenagers cramming their newly acquired cars to every inch of visible real estate. So Jack took a taxi, unwilling to risk the new family car from potentially getting rear ended by some selfie-taking teen.
Jack had attended a handful of parent-teacher conferences in the past. A lot of the time he and Janet had been out of the country and hadn’t been able to attend in-person so they’d sent one of their DI assistants in their place.
But Jack knew how these events went.
Chat, get complimented on having a great kid, shake hands, go home.
So Jack was caught off guard when, while shaking hands with one of the office secretaries checking parents in and providing their ‘Visitor’ badges, she informed him Tim’s father had already been checked in.
Initially Jack stared at for a moment, mystified, before self-consciously looking down at his suit and wondering if she thought he was somehow Tim’s mother - but then the realization hit him.
Of who could possibly be to blame for such a statement.
Jack speedwalked down to the art room, glancing down at the printed map in his hand just to make sure he was heading in the right direction.
He found Wayne sitting at one of the art stations with all the other parents, listening to the ceramics teacher talk about her class, the progress made, and the upcoming art exhibition that will be hosted in the gymnasium in the Spring, blah blah blah.
Wayne must’ve sensed his presence because he turned to look at him.
He also had the audacity to wave, the movement of his arm revealing the bright green ‘Visitor’ sticker pinned to the lapel of his suit.
Unbelievable.
Jack didn’t make a scene.
He didn’t yell or demand he leave.
Instead he took a seat. Wayne’s table was the only one with a seat open so Jack didn’t have a choice in his accommodations.
“You told that secretary you were Tim’s father?.” Jack whispered sharply, under his breath and unable to stand the indignation any longer when all the parents stood a few minutes later and began the tour of the art studio.
Wayne avoided his gaze, faking interest in some of the worst pottery Jack had ever seen.
“All I said was that I was here for Timothy Drake. The invitation did say parents slash guardians, Jack”
Jack had no idea how Tim could stand this man.
“In case you didn’t realize Wayne, you aren't a parent slash guardian.”
Jack thought he was making a perfectly fine point.
But all it earned him was a furrowed brow shot in his direction.
Jack believed he’d been beyond accommodating to this man. He also thought he was within his reason to be a little upset that the school Jack paid thousands in tuition for, would allow anyone off the streets into the building just because they claimed to hold a connection to one of the students.
Wait a minute…
“How did you even get an invitation?” Jack asked. As far as he was aware the only mailing address that should be in Tim’s file was of the brownstone Jack purchased to be within the district lines for this particular private school.
Wayne kepts a focused eye on the nametags of the different flower pot projects. Which were all shit.
“Wayne you sneak.” Jack muttered, keeping his voice low and an eye out for any parents that might have picked up on the tension.
The last thing Jack wanted was to be known as that parent that got into arguments on parent-teacher day.
Jack needed to maintain a stellar reputation.
He and Dana were applying to the PTA this year and Jack didn’t want anything ruining their chances in such a competitive circle.
So despite every molecule in Jack’s body telling him to swat Wayne like a fly. He resisted and instead started integrating himself into the crowd of fellow parents.
Part of him hoped to lose Wayne in the crowd of furs, handbags, and perfumed scarves.
But instead Wayne locked onto him like a homing missile and followed Jack as he walked around the student art studio, looking at some of the self-portraits.
He spent the longest lingering on the lines of string running across the room where some of the photography projects were pinned.
He recognized himself from behind cooking dinner with Dana. There was another of him in his armchair, squinting to read the fine print of one of Janet’s old Egyptology books.
He ignored the ones of Wayne fixing his tie in a hallway mirror presumably taken at Wayne’s home.
Eventually one of the art teachers ushered the crowd back out into the hallway to split up and visit the different student-run stations set up for parents.
Tim waved at him from behind a recruitment table with all the other members of the Forensic Science club. To Jack’s chagrin he felt Wayne lift a hand to wave back first.
But Jack waved harder.
“Tim is having the other parents touch various surfaces and lifting their prints for his club’s demonstration,” Wayne informed him as they followed the flow of the crowd to the gymnasium.
“I know. I helped him set up the booth.” Jack smartly replied back.
Wayne was blessedly silent for all of two seconds.
“Well I gave him the idea.”
Jack bit back the snort that wanted to burst out.
“Yeah so you could have him gather evidence for a case - is one of the yoga moms a suspect of yours?”
Jack had meant it in a mean and mocking sort of way.
But when he glanced at Wayne he saw his eyes were locked on the light fixtures around them, it was the same thing Tim did when he was guilty of something and he knew it.
“Christ.” Jack cursed, already feeling a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. “You’re a horrible influence on him.”
That wasn’t true. Tim had a troublemaking streak a mile wide before he ever even met Wayne. Jack still remembered getting called into the principal’s office when Tim was in kindergarten because he’d forged the signature of some administrators on some paperwork so he and his classmates could go to the petting zoo.
They were all in the process of getting on the school bus when someone decided to call someone else to confirm one detail or another and then it all fell through.
If Jack was being honest, dusting for prints at a school event to catch a criminal was probably all Tim’s idea and Wayne just thought it was his.
Glancing over his shoulder, Jack had to arch his neck a bit to catch sight of Tim who was gleefully snapping on blue latex gloves at his booth, the very picture of joy.
The sight made the furrow in Jack’s brow soften.
Well. So long as his boy was happy.
Jack spent the rest of the parent-teacher day with a shadow at his heel. Occasionally Wayne wandered off on his own but he always ended up coming back.
His return from his most recent detour was when Jack is in the middle of a very interesting conversation with the coach of the football team.
“-may not be the biggest guy on the team but my boy works harder than anyone you’ve ever met!”
Jack was talking up his boy to butter up the coach for the Spring football tryouts. Nothing he said was an exaggeration and it helped that the coach for Tim’s school used to be in the NCAA just like Jack.
Jack had never been good enough to actually go pro, not like some of the other guys on his old college team. But football had won him a full ride to a school of his choice so he had a great deal of love for the game.
Was it too much for an old man to want his son to follow in his footsteps at least for a season?
“Tim’s going to play tennis in the Spring.” Wayne said matter-of-factly from behind him.
Wayne had the shittiest timing.
Coach David’s smile froze slightly.
“No he’s not.” Jack quipped back, not bothering to turn around. “So like I was saying David-”
“I already bought Tim a new racket, and he’s been practicing for tryouts at the manor’s tennis courts.” Wayne offered, slipping into place beside Jack.
God Jack wished he’d stop walking beside him and stay ten steps behind like Jack had told him to. People might think they knew each other.
“Tim doesn’t like tennis.” He said back, tensing as he saw Coach David’s eyes begin darting around and looking for an escape.
“Yes he does.” Wayne replied.
“No.” Jack said back, shoving Wayne’s shoulder slightly in a pointed ‘Shut Up’ move. “He doesn’t. He’s not good at tennis, that’s why he doesn’t like it.”
Tim had held a strong dislike for anything he wasn’t naturally good at since he was a baby.
“Well that’s why he wants to go to try-outs, Jackie! So he can join the team and get better!”
Jack hadn’t been called ‘Jackie’ since he was a teenager and being goaded into a fight.
Jack has been working on his temper for the sake of his blood pressure. Both his therapist and Dana have helped him with following his breathing exercises to keep himself under control.
So while Jack, briefly, thought about grabbing Coach David’s clipboard and smashing it over Wayne’s head. He didn't.
But boy did he want to.
A few months later Tim sprains his wrist during a case as Robin and can’t try out for either Tennis or Football.
Which means Wayne lost.
Jack has lost as well but it's Wayne losing that mattered the most to him.
2
When parenting a teen superhero patience was key.
Jack has learned to be more lenient on things other parents would consider nonnegotiable
Like staying out late, or missing days of school, or sleeping in on Saturdays.
To accommodate Tim’s life and the path he’d chosen Jack had to be willing to budge on some things.
Jack’s mistake, however, had been blindly trusting a teenager and not thinking they would take advantage.
Jack’s only reprieve was the fact that Wayne had been hoodwinked as well.
“He’s grounded for the rest of the summer.” Wayne offered calmly while sitting in Jack’s armchair in Jack’s living room. He was holding a glass of Dana’s secret recipe pink lemonade. It had a paper parasol toothpick speared through a maraschino cherry bobbing in it.
“No.” Jack replied. “The rest of his life.”
Jack loved his boy. Truly he did. Tim was a genuine bundle of joy to Jack’s life even if his birth had been the result of Jack’s vasectomy failing to do its one job.
But boy did his baby like to test Jack’s limits.
“Well that’s a little excessive.” Wayne commented idly while stirring his lemonade with one of the crazy straws Tim insisted they use to serve guests.
Jack stared at him for a solid minute. If his son was not in outer space without his permission doing god knows what -he may find the sight of grown man in a custom suit drinking lemonade sort of comical.
Instead Jack went back to the issue at hand.
“This is all your fault.” Jack said pointing at Wayne who looked offended. “My Tim used to be a good sweet boy before he met you-”
That wasn’t entirely true but Wayne didn’t know that.
“Now he’s lying to me about jetting off to outer space to visit kaldarusean friends.”
Wayne stayed silent and then-
“It’s pronounced Kanga-Rhedian.”
Jack felt the last thread of his patience snap.
“Who cares! My son is in outer space! My son is in outer space! My son is in outer space!”
Jack was borderline hysterical with the heart rate to prove it and Wayne was sitting in his living room, drinking lemonade, and staring at him like he was a zoo animal.
“He told me he was visiting friends! But apparently he left out the part about taking a spaceship to see them!”
Jack’s pacing was beginning to wear holes into the carpet.
“How did he even get his hands on a spaceship? His allowance is only ten dollars a week and he spends most of it on chips and candy!”
Suddenly, Wayne frowned slightly, the corners of his lips turning down as his brow furrowed.
“Tim said you stopped giving him an allowance because he was failing Calculus.”
Jack turned to him, bewildered.
“Tim’s failing Calculus?”
—
Jack knows Tim is clever and smart. Hell, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he was probably smarter than Jack.
Granted Jack never really grew used to all the technology that was rapidly advancing around him, not like Tim did. (Jack still had a pager he carried everywhere with him and it had been the source of many jabs from his only (soon to be dead) child.)
When Tim’s school announced the transition to electronic report cards Jack had gone on his usual tangent about technology. But in the end he’d given in and asked Tim to make him an account and attach it to his email so he could receive the updates about things like Tim’s attendance, his grades, and any special announcements from the school.
It takes Bruce showing Jack the emails from his phone that Jack, once again, realizes he’s been had.
“A C in Physical Education?” Jack sputters, gripping Wayne’s phone in a white-knuckle grip. “How does he have a C?”
“His gym teacher says it’s because he keeps taking naps on the soccer field instead of running laps with the class.”
Wayne is staring down at the “report card” Tim printed for him when it was released, the one that Jack had pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet. There was a blankness in his eyes. Like that of a goldfish. Just complete incomprehension of what was in front of him.
Which may have been because Tim had given himself straight A’s.
Jack had been so proud that he’d taken Tim to the mall to buy a few new outfits and hadn’t said a word when he bought more of those hideous pre-ripped jeans that were apparently ‘in style’.
A fake report card? Okay okay that Jack could admit was very typical of teenagers Tim’s age.
Jack had tried pulling the same thing with his dad when he was a kid. It had gone spectacularly bad when his dad found out.
For some reason Jack didn’t think ‘military school’ would be as effective a punishment for Tim as it had been for him. Mostly because he was half sure Tim could and would get himself expelled so he could go back to public school with his friends.
….Which may have been the motivation behind the sudden grade tanking.
Gotham East Tech Academy had an academics policy. Meaning students could get kicked out for having bad enough grades. According to the emails on Wayne’s phone, Tim already had one warning regarding his academics.
Jack had tried about a million different parenting strategies with Tim.
He tried being an authoritarian, he tried being gentle, he tried being Tim’s friend, and he tried being Tim’s boss.
Jack knew Tim was as stubborn as a bull. That no amount of reasoning, threatening, or pleading would get Tim to do something he didn’t want to do.
So Jack knew there was no point in trying to coerce Tim to raise his grades.
So Tim won…again.
Something that was becoming a frustratingly common pattern.
Sometimes it felt like Jack was being led by the nose when it came to Tim. Like no matter what he did he was just playing into exactly the hand of whatever it was Tim wanted.
Like that time their family fishing trip turned into a surf-with-the-whales tour because Jack had booked the wrong boat company. He still had no proof that it was Tim’s fault but he had his suspicions given that Tim had insisted on wearing a wetsuit when they boarded.
Oh Tim. His habit of tricking adults was cute and endearing when he was a kid but now it was becoming a problem.
If he were only doing it to Wayne then it would be funny.
But his poor, dear old dad?
Tim maybe could’ve begged a little harder to not leave public school before Jack’s tuition check cleared.
“He’s going to get kicked out, isn’t he?” Jack sighed, already resigned.
“Looks like it.” Wayne agreed far too casually.
Jack shot him a suspicious glance. Wayne had been more of a hardass than Jack had been when they entered joint negotiations with Tim over his civilian responsibilities to keep being Robin.
Wayne had wanted Tim to maintain a perfect 4.0 GPA while Jack had been satisfied with at least a 3.4.
But now that he learned Tim was going to fail out of private school- he was seemingly unconcerned?
Jack’s mind started shifting gears, turning rapidly and flipping through every nugget of information he had on the situation. His quick thinking had saved his ass more times than he could remember.
Tim fails out of private school.
Tim must go to public school.
Tim wants public school because friends are there.
Tim will not go to old public school because it is outside district lines.
Outside district lines because Jack purposefully moved them closer to Gotham Tech.
Current public school options within their neighborhood are terrible.
Worse than Tim’s former school which he’d gone to when he and Wayne were neighbors-
“Oh you piece of shit.” Jack cursed, shooting Wayne a dirty look. Wayne blinked big and slow.
Like a fat cow.
His brows even furrowed together like he was confused at Jack's sudden “misplaced” aggression. But the shifts in his face seemed too purposeful and measured to be real.
Tim’s old public school was outside their district now, but it was well within Wayne’s.
Wayne was planning to have Tim’s school records list Wayne Manor as his primary place of residence.
And Jack was going to have to let him. Because the alternative was letting Tim go to the local public school where a teenager gave birth in the bathroom the previous year.
So Wayne had seen Tim’s grades sinking. Seen them and rather than warning Jack or shaking some sense into Tim - he’d let it happen.
What an asshole.
“You’re an asshole.” Jack muttered, shoving Wayne’s phone into his hands and fumbling for the junk drawer of the music stand holding all of Jack’s opera records. He knew there was a school resource booklet somewhere. Jack was going to make calls like no other parent had made calls before.
His son was not getting expelled.
—
When Tim gets expelled, Wayne tries arguing that it would make for an easier commute if Tim just stayed at the manor on school days so his butler could drop him off at school. It was only a fifteen minute drive afterall!
“It makes logical sense, Jack.” Wayne says over the phone even though Jack has already blocked him on the landline twice. “Tim can stay with me during the week - and then he can spend the weekends with you.”
Jack is cutting up some cantaloupe for Tim’s afternoon snack and comes very close to losing a finger with how hard he’s chopping the knife into the cutting board.
Jack knows on some level that Wayne is only doing this because Tim being grounded for going to outer space without asking means the two can’t see each other.
Jack has already intercepted a letter Tim tried sending Bruce via carrier pigeon.
Any longer and Jack was half sure Tim was going to go stir crazy enough to send a homemade satellite into space just to be able to text memes to Bruce.
To Tim’s credit, he is adhering to his punishment down to the letter after having his phone and laptop taken away.
Jack even has a written and signed agreement from Tim swearing he will never “embark1 on outer-space2 trips3 by spaceship4 ever5 again6 without7 permission8”. The amount of footnotes in that one sentence contract did not bode well but Jack would take what he could get.
“I am not splitting custody of my son and only taking the weekends - that’s for deadbeat bums.”
Jack’s father and his third stepmother had done that when Jack was in middle school and half the time the damn woman had forgotten to pick Jack up.
“Well I like the idea.” Another voice suddenly chimes in on the line and Jack bites back the body sagging sigh that wants to leave him.
“Tim, I told you to stop spying on my calls, get off the line.”
“Hello Tim.” Wayne pipes up, voice now heavy with interest at realizing they’d been getting eavesdropped on. “I had no idea you were there.” He continues, making it somehow sound like a compliment.
“Hi Bruce!” Tim quips back, voice brimming with so much happiness that Jack could practically see the tail wagging behind him “Did you get my letter on the Saltzberg St robberies?”
Fuck. Jack knew there’d been a second pigeon in Tim’s room. But Tim had convinced him the muffled cooing had been in his head.
“Timothy Jackson Drake, do I need to remind you that you are grounded?” Jack says pointedly, balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek while scooping cantaloupe into a superman themed bowl.
Tim makes a miserable sounding noise over the line before whining about Jack being unfair, that Tim’s been to space tons of times and nothing ever happened! That he already promised not to do it again6!
Jack’s been listening to Tim caterwauling over being grounded for the better part of a week and he knows, if given the opportunity, Tim will keep it up for hours. It’s gotten to the point Jack is suspecting his son is torturing him to get him to end his punishment early.
No shot. Tim will have his freedom at the end of his two week grounding like they agreed.
“You know in some countries this constitutes unlawful imprisonment.” Wayne interjects.
“You shut up.” Jack shoots back absently while washing his hands. “Tim your snack is on the counter, make sure you set the table for dinner when you come down.”
“What are we having?” Tim asks, dropping his woe-is-me act in a blink.
“Dana found a recipe for some nice greek moussaka.”
“Woah,” Tim replies just a touch too awed, “that’s Bruce’s favorite.”
Wayne remains pointedly silent on the line.
—
It’s over dinner that Tim negotiates an early end to his punishment and the agreement that Jack and Wayne would…share him.
One week on, one week off.
A fifty-fifty agreement.
During the course of a single dinner Jack went from having his son 100% of the time to 50.37% (with allowances for school breaks, and holidays).
Jack’s not even sure what he’s signing and the only thing that reassures him is the fact that Wayne doesn’t either. The two of them are standing side by side in Jack’s office, bent over Jack’s desk, as Tim sits in his office chair and prints page after page of an agreement he apparently had locked and loaded.
Wayne’s brows are furrowed in confusion but everytime Tim says ‘sign here, print your name here, initial here, date here, finger print here’ he does so without protest.
So does Jack.
Before long Jack is somehow standing on the stoop of his townhouse and waving goodbye as Tim hurries down the stairs with an overnight bag in one hand and Wayne in the other getting dragged down behind him.
Tim shouts a ‘thanks!’ over his shoulder to Dana for dinner while Wayne balances a plate of leftovers wrapped in aluminum foil.
Jack should probably feel a little hurt but mostly he’s just stunned and a little bit impressed.
The coach at Gotham Tech would have killed for a go-getter like Tim on his football team.
3
It’s not that Jack doesn’t worry about his son. He does.
He probably spends more time worrying about Tim than he does anything else. Even before he knew his boy dressed in tights and fought criminals - he worried about Tim.
Tim was always on the smaller side. A little shorter than other boys. A little lighter than other boys. A little too smart for his own good with a mouth to match.
But even though Jack worried about Tim, he never really…worried in the way other parents worried about their kids.
Tim was a good kid. Like an actually good kid.
So when Jack gets woken up in the middle of the night with a phone call from the local police station, he’s certain there must be a mistake. Or an explanation.
Jack is one of many parents who show up in their pajamas to the station to pick up their kid.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Wayne is already there, sitting patiently in a chair of the waiting area. He’s fiddling with his watch beside his yawning, eldest son who was stretching in cookie monster pajamas.
Wayne is in fuzzy slippers and a smoking jacket, the kind Jack used to see in black and white movies. His hair is only slightly messy, just enough to lend to the idea he’d been sleeping less than an hour ago.
His gaze meets Jack’s and while normally Jack would take offense at the man making eye contact - he was just too tired. Dana was out of town at the bachelorette party of her friend so Jack had been home alone when he needed to drag himself out of bed to get to the station.
Jack wraps his fleece robe slightly tighter around himself and starts over. He makes sure to keep his voice low as he settles in front of Wayne who stares up at him.
“So what kind of bullshit did you have my kid doing to get him arrested?”
Jack can curse if he wants to, his little one isn’t in earshot.
Jack is expecting something like surveillance. Maybe Tim was buying ‘dope’ to verify the dealers in the area, or maybe he was at that house party to do recon and get the layout of the neighborhood and house.
Jack didn’t know and sometimes it was better that he didn’t. But that also had the consequence of letting his imagination run wild.
He’s expecting Wayne to launch into another one of his long, technical explanations about some bullshit- instead he just blinks up at him. Pauses. And-
“There was no mission.”
Jack stared back at him.
“No mission?”
Wayne nodded.
Jack kept staring.
Kept waiting for some crack in the facade, or darted eyes, or an expression that was just too curated and controlled. Tim’s face did the same thing when he was trying to pull a fast one on him and Jack still wasn’t sure if Tim got it from Wayne or if Wayne got it from Tim.
After a moment Jack’s brain suddenly starts sputtering into production again as he realizes that he’s standing in a police station, in his pajamas, because he got a call about his son being one of many kids arrested at a house party.
“Tim was arrested.” Jack says blankly.
Wayne nodded, lips pursed with dissatisfaction at the revelation that Jack just spoke out loud.
“My Tim was arrested.”
Wayne nodded again and Jack hated that he detected the hint of sympathy in his eyes as he watched Jack come to terms with the fact that his son got arrested.
All of a sudden a cop turns a corner ten feet away from them, beside him is Tim who is looking up at him and chatting, his hands waving as he’s making some point in their conversation with a smile on his face. He must sense the eyes on him because his gaze shifts away from the cop and over to Jack.
Tim’s face doesn’t slip or break at all before he turns and pivots on his heel, walking back around the corner like he could pretend he didn’t see them.
Jack waits, he doesn’t call out because his boy is smart enough to know he can’t run from this for long.
Also because the cop on the phone said they wouldn’t release Tim unless it was into the custody of a parent or guardian.
So Tim was out of luck. Especially since Wayne had already paid off all the actors in Gotham to no longer accept anymore jobs from Tim after he tried hiring an actor to pretend to be his uncle and sign him out of school.
After a moment Tim’s head peeks around the corner to check if they’re all still there.
They are.
For a moment all four of them just stare at each other. Wayne especially has a concentrated expression like he’s trying to gauge what Tim will do next. Tim seems to be trying to do the same.
After a beat Tim finally comes out.
Jack stares at him. Tim’s t-shirt is white with grassstains, the bottoms of his sneakers are streaked with mud. As he steps closer Jack can pick up the slightly…skunk-like smell clinging to him-
“Timothy Jackson Drake if I find out you smoked marijuana-!” Jack began, aghast.
“It wasn’t mine!” Tim immediately denied, whining, voice already pitched to be slightly high. “I was holding it for a friend!”
“Which friend? I want a name.” Wayne spoke up beside him, his shoulder brushed Jack’s and Jack, for some reason, wasn’t struck with the odd urge to turn and smack him like an overly sensitive cat. Maybe it was because he had another, similarly angry parent, at his side to back him up.
“I’m no rat!” Tim scowled at them both. “If you want answers you’re going to have to kill me!”
That could be arranged, Jack idly mused.
It seemed Wayne was thinking the same because his gaze narrowed on Tim, meeting the harsh glare of a teenage boy a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. It was like watching a chihuahua square off against a rottweiler.
Jack had been in Bruce’s shoes more times than he could count. He’d always been the one to blink first and lose the stare off with Tim. It wasn’t his fault he had dry eyes. Diabetic retinopathy was a bitch.
Tim shifted his stance, settling his feet shoulder width apart and leaning in slightly to get comfortable. Wayne mirrored his movements.
Jack turned to the only silent member of their party who was watching with a look of fascination at Wayne and Jack’s son.
“Tim called me when the cops showed up,” he offered, not taking his eyes off where Wayne and Tim were locked in. “He said he was going down for a friend whose parents would kill him if they knew he snuck out and to come pick him up before the cops called Bruce or you.”
Jack blinked.
“And…Wayne caught you on your way out?”
“Nope. I woke him as soon as Tim hung up.” The younger man shrugged slightly.
Jack stared.
“Why?”
“I found out he has my number saved under ‘Fatass’ in his phone and it hurt my feelings.”
Despite his words, Jack doesn’t pick up on a single tone of hurt. If anything Wayne’s eldest sounded almost…fond.
Jack had a younger half-brother he didn’t talk to anymore. But he did have fond memories of being young and messing with the smaller boy, finding endless amusement at getting him into trouble with their father.
Wayne’s eldest had a smile fighting to creep across his face the longer he stared at Wayne and Tim glaring at each other.
Jack had all the papers signed, nodded sincerely at the warnings about ‘first offenses’, and had Tim’s stamped permission to leave all wrapped up by the time Tim lost.
“I want a rematch.” Tim insisted, arms crossed with demand as they all walked out onto the street.
“You lost.” Wayne replied. “Don’t be a sore loser chum.”
Tim huffed with an offended sort of noise.
“This is not an admission of guilt, I’m still innocent until proven guilty.”
Wayne shot Tim an unamused look.
“Bud, I just picked you up at a police station for underage drinking in a house party that got busted for drugs.”
“I didn’t drink! Also weed is not a drug!”
“And that is not a defense.” Wayne raised a brow and poked a finger into Tim’s stomach.
Tim breathed sharply through his nose like he always did when he was angry and without breaking eye contact said-
“Dad. Call my lawyer.”
“He’s my lawyer Timmyboy, and no.” Jack wrapped his robe over Tim’s shoulders, internally shaking his head. Teenage boys and their insistence to not use coats when it was chilly. Jack would never understand.
Tim shot angry eyes up at him.
“Don’t look at me like that - you’re the one in trouble here.”
“I’m innocent!”
“Tell that to the judge.”
Jack led Tim to the backseat of Wayne’s car and let the door click shut behind his child who was trying to argue with him before turning to look back at Wayne who was attempting to rub out the furrow between his brows with his thumb.
“I’m gonna keep Timmy company,” Wayne’s eldest said quickly, a grin on his face before darting to the passenger side door of the car.
Jack heard Tim yell out an accusatory and impassioned ‘you narc!’ just before the car door slammed shut.
Jack lets himself take a steadying breath, heaving a deep sigh and shaking his head.
Oh Tim. Oh Tim. Oh Tim.
What was he going to do with that boy?
“Do you think he’s acting out for attention?” Jack couldn’t help but ask a little helplessly. Jack couldn’t share a lot of ‘parenting pains’ with Dana. Both of them were afraid it was still too soon for Tim to think of her in a maternal light rather than his dad’s wife. So they’d both thought it better to leave the ‘parenting’ to Jack for the moment.
But fatherhood was…hard. He didn’t want to be too harsh, but he also didn’t want to be too gentle.
Tim was still a child and still needed a guiding hand.
But Tim was so independent. So resistant to letting others do things for him. So insistent on doing things his way and fervent in the belief he didn’t have to do things like…ask before dropping off the face of the earth for a week or two to pursue a case.
Aside from Bruce, there was no one else Jack could…commiserate with.
“He said he didn’t drink, that he didn’t take anything.” Bruce said quietly, fingers still pressed to his temple.
“Do we believe him?” Jack asked and he felt a shot of guilt at saying it. He’s no stranger to Tim’s lies. But…they weren’t often malicious or dangerous lies.
Bruce’s mouth tightened slightly.
“He…he’s not the type. He’s never expressed an interest in trying substances.”
“When I was a kid neither did I but the one time my father left his liquor cabinet unlocked - I tried it.” Jack admitted, surprising himself with the honesty. “I guess I thought it would make me cool. All it did was make me sick and get me in trouble.”
“Your father punished you?” Bruce asked curiously.
“Well yeah, he was a father. That was sort of his job.” Jack offered, shrugging. “Made me spend my whole Summer working with him at the office. Answering phones, making copies, getting coffee from sunrise to closing Monday through Sunday. To keep me busy so I wouldn’t get in more trouble”
That summer had been the most time Jack had ever spent around his father. Then at the start of the new school year he was sent to a military academy five states away.
Jack couldn’t imagine doing something like that to Tim.
“I can’t see Tim being very happy fetching coffee orders for the office.” Bruce mused.
Jack couldn’t help the small, choked laugh that was startled out of him at the image.
Tim would replace the sugar shakers with salt in a heartbeat. Tim hated busywork and he’d make sure everyone knew it.
His boy was a bossy little thing.
Bruce must’ve shared his amusement because he let a short breath of laughter leave him before he shook his head again.
“How do we deal with this? We can’t both punish him.” Bruce muttered. “We also can’t prove that, aside from sneaking out, he actually did anything wrong.”
Jack hummed, agreeing. Having Tim face punishments on both fronts would just make him upset with both of them. Make him less likely to call them if anything bad ever did happen out of fear of both of them bringing the hammer down on him.
“Well… he was under your roof when he broke the rules.” Jack began slowly, his normal distaste at the statement not weighing as heavily. “Whatever punishment you decide will be what we go with I suppose. Neither of us can really enforce the punishments of the other and there’s also the possibility we may, at some point, disagree with a punishment and choose not to enforce it when Tim is with us.”
Having Tim split his time between two households was difficult. It introduced another layer to parenting.
So maybe it was only natural they began taking more unconventional methods?
“That would also make it so he’s only capable of resenting one of us at a time.” Bruce nodded, seemingly following the logic in Jack’s observation. “However there’s the risk of one of us falling into the role of the default disciplinarian.”
Jack made a sour face and silently agreed. The last thing he wanted was to constantly be grounding or punishing Tim in the weeks he had him. There was also the fact that, as Robin, the risk of him misbehaving with Bruce was higher.
For a beat Jack just stood with the unsure anguish toiling in his gut. Then a thought occurred to him.
Bruce stared at Jack’s closed fist held out in front of him with visible confusion.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Jack offered.
Bruce didn’t hesitate to offer his own fist.
A moment later. Bruce’s ‘paper’ to his ‘rock’ was followed by a short breath and a quiet “washing the batmobile it is.”
4
Jack’s not sure what to call the weird feeling in his gut. It’s some odd mix of what can only be… distress or tension…or possibly acid reflux.
Jack decides to plop a tablet of effervescent into a glass of water just in case.
He can feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he lifts the glass to his mouth.
“Do you have any more of those?”
Jack makes him wait until he’s emptied the glass and lowered it back onto the table with a dull ‘clink’.
“No.”
Things have been better for Jack once he was no longer the de facto bad guy in his kid’s life anymore.
Now there was someone else to take the blame at least 54% of the time.
Tim wasn’t a bad kid, that had never been the case. But he was, as Jack was learning, a kid who needed eyes on him at all times. Supervision of a sort. Like the kind prison guards had to do with inmates, just a quick glance into the room when passing by to make sure no one was trying to shiv someone in their sleep.
Tim was not a child for the faint of heart. He was a positively lovely child… when he wanted to be.
As evidenced by the raving reviews every other adult aside from himself and Bruce gave about him.
So thoughtful, so smart, so kind, so sweet, so quiet, so patient.
Praises coupled with smiles, pats on the shoulder, and words of “you must be so proud!”
Jack is, actually, very proud of his kid. And everything everyone says about him is true, however, sometimes Tim will just choose to… not be those things.
For no reason other than he can.
Tim is a dumbass teenager in the way that ALL teenagers are dumbass teenagers.
Honestly, a lot of the time it felt like Tim just did things partly to see if it stuck and partly to see what would happen.
“Some misbehavior is a good thing Mr. Drake,” Jack’s overpaid therapist once told him. “It means the child feels like the bond he has with you is secure, that he’s safe enough to act out and test limits and that he won’t be hurt or face severe punishment or consequences as a result.”
That had made Jack feel reassured and even happy for about five minutes.
Currently it was making Jack feel a little betrayed.
Jack had already made peace with the fact that he was sharing his son with another man. That his son ate dinner at a different home, did his homework in a different lounge, and decorated a bedroom in another house. Jack had made peace with it.
However he had not been prepared to share Father’s Day with another man.
Bruce was currently using a packet of pocket wipes to clean his menu and the tabletop at the diner Tim had texted Jack to meet him at.
Apparently Jack hadn’t gotten the memo about the…group brunch plans.
He’d thought Bruce was supposed to get breakfast with Tim and then Jack was supposed to have dinner plans with him and the two would stay far away from each other.
It’s not like Jack hated Bruce as much anymore.
He could cooperate with him and coordinate with him. The two even had a shared calendar outlining Tim’s schedule and appointments that they joint edited from the comfort of their respective homes.
Which was how things were supposed to be.
Until Jack woke up to a text from his son saying that he had a packed day and would squeeze him in for a quick lunch date at noon.
Jack wasn’t sure how he felt being penned into his son’s busy life but he’d take what he could get.
Tim was a busy kid, a popular kid. More than once Jack had opened his front door to someone in a costume asking for an audience with his son. Jack had brewed coffee in his pajamas in the middle of the night for guests that quietly thanked him before they hunched back over the desk Tim was furiously typing at.
His son was a hot commodity and it made Jack feel both proud of him and afraid for him.
Bruce was typing on his phone, probably sending another ‘where r u?’ text to Tim.
Meanwhile, Jack flipped through the menu for the fifth time and tried not to feel weird about the fact that he was one of two grown men crammed into a corner booth at a Mexican food diner waiting for his son to show up.
“He says he’s ten minutes away,” Bruce offered unprompted, “and that we should start ordering and to get him the chilaquiles verdes and a pot of coffee for the table.”
Jack’s stomach churned at the thought of any spicy food, but what Tim wanted Tim got.
Still, Jack ordered Tim an apple juice. Knowing his boy he’d probably already downed two energy drinks and a soda, the last thing he needed was more caffeine.
Bruce must’ve thought the same because he ordered Tim an orange juice as well as a plate of fruit to go with his late breakfast/early lunch.
Tim was red-cheeked and out of breath by the time he reached the table.
The skin of his cheek was warm and slightly sweaty when he pressed a greeting kiss to his and then Bruce’s cheek before sliding in beside Jack at the boothe.
Jack tried not to feel smug and instead pushed over the napkin wrapped utensils to Tim.
Jack managed to make it through most of lunch by just cutting and moving around his food while asking Tim questions about his day and his plans.
Jack would’ve gotten away with it if Bruce hadn’t commented on his apparent “lack” of appetite.
Bruce’s unnervingly blue eyes, that looked like they belonged on a husky, blinked in pure innocence while Jack’s son turned to him, brows already furrowed and fingers prodding at him with concern.
It’s not that Jack didn’t like spicy food.
It’s just that…when you’re fifty-seven and you have GERD, you learn to pick your battles.
“Dad, do you want some of my fruit?” Tim asked, pointedly pushing over the little bowl he’d made a face at when he spotted it, face still creased in concern.
Once again. Jack picks his battles.
One look at his huevos rancheros Bruce had so kindly poured extra tabasco on and the bowl of grapes, honeydew, and blueberries.
Well Jack’s choice was obvious.
“Bruce you finish these.” Tim slid over Jack’s plate towards the only man wearing a three piece suit in a two block radius.
Tim’s smaller hand pat gently at Jack’s wrist and Jack felt the flood of affection pool in his stomach. Oh his boy really was the sweetest. Always looking out for his dear old dad.
“These have hot sauce on them.” Bruce offered, stating it like an observation but Jack had, unfortunately, been around the other man long enough to know it was his way of complaining about something. The skies are gray, there’s a puddle by my car, that dog has a chain collar, Tim won’t stop sending me pictures of things captioned ‘this is u’.
“You like hot sauce.” Tim replied.
“Only on pizza. It was the only thing Alfred let me eat with my hands when I was growing up.”
Jack stared blankly at the man sitting across from him.
Bruce turned his head and met Jack’s gaze.
“The other kids saw me use a fork and knife once and bullied me for it.”
“Stop making every conversation about what a loser you were in highschool!” Tim half whined and scolded as he stretched across the table and turned the plate onto his own half empty dish.
“I wasn’t a loser.” Bruce replied.
“Sure Bruce.”
“I had lots of friends.” Bruce continued.
“I dare you to call two of them right now.”
“No.”
“Also put the phone on speaker while you do it, I want to know what these people sound like.”
“No.”
Jack speared a grape with his fork and watched his son heckle a grown man.
When the check came out Tim jumped on it, ripping it off the table before he or Bruce could even make a move towards it.
“It’s my treat.” Tim assured them both, smiling wide before looking down at the bill. Jack mentally counted down the seconds before starting to reach for his wallet when Tim turned and whispered “Dad, can I borrow ten dollars?”.
Bruce began doing the same when Tim inched slightly across the table and in the same low voice whispered, “Bruce, can I borrow ten dollars?”
Jack waited for Tim to get up and start making his way to the register before he acknowledged the other man also staring after Tim.
“I’m moving some of my equipment assembly factories across town.” He said quietly, purposefully keeping his voice low because he’d slowly grown a bit paranoid about Tim’s tendency to overhear things.
Bruce’s eyes flickered back over to him. There was an intent look in his eye. It wasn’t one Jack saw often, at least not directed at him.
Jack continued, fiddling with the wrapper of one of the mints that had been left at their table. “I was going to put the warehouses on the market - I probably wouldn’t get a lot for them, they’re in a quiet part of the city and all the other warehouses around them shut down ages ago and have been on the market for years-”
Jack’s eyes flickered over to where Tim was leaning at the cashier’s raised desk and clearly asking questions about the pastries in the glass case beside the register.
“I know Tim’s been using the top floor of the townhouse for his work station but I wanted him to have a bit more space, some privacy, a place to keep his supplies and files-”
“You want to build him his own cave?” Bruce’s tone was suddenly a lot more interested.
Jack held back a grimace.
“I’d been thinking of it as more of a…clubhouse. Like a treehouse of sorts.”
Jack had wanted a treehouse so badly as a kid. His father had promised he’d build him one every summer but never had and eventually Jack had gotten tired of asking and forgotten about it.
“So I wanted your…advice. About what to include, things he would want included, or things he’d need?”
Jack had done his best to stay removed from Tim’s…activities. Not because he didn’t care or want anything to do with them.
Just that…well a lot of it went over his head. Sometimes Tim would lay stretched out on the couch, watching TV with Jack while on the phone with Bruce about some particulars about a case they were both working on.
Jack wanted to take an interest in his son’s hobbies and activities but vigilantism was a different ballpark from wizards and warlocks figurines.
“Don’t worry I have a few suppliers and equipment already in the process of being shipped to the city, it’s already been customized to Tim’s preferences.”
Jack was in the process of nodding before the words registered in his ears.
“Wait. They’re customized already?”
Bruce’s eyes were on his phone, typing and absently answering Jack.
“Yes, I started preparations when I heard you telling the realtor you weren’t going to put all the factories on the market.”
Jack stared at him.
“You heard me say that?” He asked not as incredulously as he probably should feel, “What, do you have my phones tapped or something?”
Jack grounded Tim when he found out he’d done that with the landline and Jack’s cellphone. What was he supposed to do about Bruce doing the same?
“No.” Bruce replied, still not looking at him. “I’ve had your house bugged since I met Tim. I return every few months to change the batteries.”
Jack stared at him. For a moment Jack almost thought the man was joking. Then he remembered who he was talking to.
“I’m telling Tim you’ve had his room bugged for years.”
Bruce’s eyes finally pulled away from his screen to stare at Jack with, what Jack could only describe as honest to god surprise.
Why the man thought Jack wouldn’t immediately tattle on him to their son Jack would never know.
+1
Jack knew Dana had opinions. Theories too.
But she was kind enough to never voice them because if she did - Jack would genuinely not be able to answer them.
The arrival of a flashy Jaguar sedan into the parking lot of the Big Belly Burger drew rolled eyes from Jack and an excited shift in the backseat from Tim.
Too bad for Tim, but his dear old dad still has his wits about him and made sure the passenger side doors were equipped with automatic locks.
Tim’s fiddling with the handle yielded no results aside from a huffy noise and a whined “Daaad”.
Jack had learned his lesson about going through the checklist before letting Tim go.
“You got your toothbrush?”
A sigh followed by a mumbled ‘yeah’.
“Pajamas?”
“Yeah.”
“School uniform?”
“Yes.”
“Extra socks and undies?”
“Ew gross don’t call them that I’m not five.”
“You’ll always be five to me, Timmyboy. Do you have your retainer?”
The responding silence was the only answer Jack needed. He reached deftly into his pocket and held out the little plastic case decorated with Blue Beetle stickers.
Tim immediately snatched it out of his hand and hastily unzipped his overnight bag to stuff it inside.
“Don’t tell Bruce.” Tim quietly whispered into his ear, having unbuckled himself to lean forward enough to snatch the case.
Jack hummed in agreement.
Because he knew if Bruce figured out Tim didn’t have his retainer, not only would he have gotten one ordered and made that same day, he would’ve taken the opportunity to list himself on the emergency contact form at Tim’s orthodontist.
Jack knows he would because he’d already done it at Tim’s dentist, pediatrician, pulmonologist, and physical therapist.
The sedan parked patiently beside them obnoxiously honked and Jack briefly considered opening his door to ding the car.
But that would be petty.
Instead, Jack turned around in the driver seat to take one more look at his son.
Partly so he could memorize what he was wearing in case Bruce tried to kidnap him by refusing to give him back; and partly to make sure Tim hadn’t accidentally left his jacket in the backseat again.
Tim’s winter hat was snug on his head, his little hands were half tucked into mittens, and the thousand dollar neon color puffer jacket Bruce bought him (that made him look like a chubby highlighter) was zipped up to just below his chin.
Tim was pouting, fiddling with the duffle bag in his lap, and staring at him with beseeching eyes.
Jack felt himself soften like butter.
“Okay, okay, go ahead.”
With a flick of his finger on the driver side, Tim’s door unlocked.
Tim made that breathless little sound he always made when he was excited and instantly started scooting over to it. Jack heard the door click, followed by a brief pause, and then another shift.
He was only partly surprised when he felt the warmth of Tim’s babysoft cheek press to his when an arm wrapped him in a brief hug.
“Bye dad,” Tim mumbled into the fur collar of Jack’s winter coat. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I love you.”
Jack placed his hand over Tim’s and gave it a firm squeeze.
Tim’s hand was still so much smaller even though his palms were rough with callouses from his night job.
“I love you too, Timmyboy.” He said back slowly and meant every word.
Tim turned his head to the passenger side seat and blurted out a quick “Bye Dana, I’ll miss you!” before quickly shoving open his door.
Jack listened to the sound of the ‘ding’ of car door against car door followed by the sharp intake ‘oopsie’ hiss Tim made.
“My bad, Bruce!” Tim yelled out before slamming the Jack’s car door shut behind him and quickly climbing into the backseat of Bruce’s car, no doubt already taking the apology back and blaming Bruce for his bad parking job.
That was his boy.
Jack let Bruce pull out of the spot first. He watched him exit out of the parking lot, driving over the gray snow slush puddle sitting right where the parking lot met the street. He stared as he drove straight for a block and then used his turn signal to go right, before disappearing out of view.
Jack felt a wad of emotion in his chest watching Tim go.
It would lessen over the course of the next two weeks but only disappear completely when they meet back up in the parking lot of the fast food joint Jack was currently parked in so Bruce could give him his son back.
At first Jack hadn’t been sold on the idea of splitting Tim’s time at home. But with Tim’s school situation, Robin duties, and chores it was the only option.
They’d already decided months ago that Bruce would have Christmas and New Year’s and Jack would get Halloween and Thanksgiving, with some allowance for emergencies like Arkham and Black Gate break outs.
The next year they’d switch holidays so it would stay fair.
Jack hesitated to call it a “custody arrangement” but that’s what it felt like. Meeting in the parking lot of malls, fast food places, and shopping centres so that Tim could switch cars with his backpack full of stuff and spend the week someplace else.
Jack thought maybe he’d be a little more…okay about the distance when the idea was first initiated.
Afterall, Tim had been attending boarding school for most of his childhood. It wasn’t rare for Jack to have gone entire school semester’s without seeing Tim.
Sure they’d had weekly phone calls, frequent letters emailed between them. Jack had even sent postcards from every airport he and Tim’s mother visited.
So Jack had experience being thousands of miles away from his son.
He hadn’t liked it then but it had been a necessary sacrifice for Tim’s education.
This time though…
There was something different in the longing Jack felt knowing he wouldn’t see his boy for another two weeks.
It was the first of the school break extensions between himself and Bruce and Jack was having a…harder time than he thought he would letting it go.
The entire week leading up Jack’s stomach had been in knots. Walking past Tim’s bedroom where he’d been picking through his clothes and deciding what to bring with him had made his heart feel heavy.
He hadn’t shown it, not wanting to put a damper on Tim’s…excitement.
It’s not that Jack didn’t trust Bruce either. The other man had done a good job of proving himself a generally competent man. It was a world of difference from the man Jack had used to read about in the paper.
Jack had not had a lot of confidence in the man after knowing of his exploits. But. He took good care of Tim. He made sure he was well looked after and cared for.
So it’s not the prospect of leaving his son in Bruce’s supervision for two weeks that left Jack so…unsteadied.
Dana’s gentle nudging was what made Jack realize they’d been sitting in the snowing parking lot for several minutes. It’s also what reminded him that he and Dana had a flight to catch.
While Tim was in Gotham with Bruce, Jack and Dana would be spending the winter holiday in Paris.
Jack had told Tim about it, offering to buy another ticket for him to come with them, hoping maybe it would be enticing enough for him to accept.
But Tim had just frowned and said “but I’m supposed to be with Bruce those weeks.”
Jack was no stranger to international travel, he was less of a stranger to travel during one of the busiest holiday seasons of the year.
The airport was packed, the Christmas music was loud, the coffee had the vague flavor of being burnt, and Jack’s head hurt from all the noise.
Jack had his routine down pat. Aspirin with an airport pastry and coffee, a nice neck pillow, headphones, and novel pre-downloaded on his phone.
Dana’s plan was a touch simpler - to sleep through the flight.
Jack had practically lived his entire adult life on a plane to and from somewhere. But when he got to his seat and sat down.
He blanked.
Rather than settling in and getting comfortable like Dana.
He just…stared out at the Gotham City International Airport runway, watching as it disappeared behind them until the lights of the city were nothing but dots.
Just before his phone was useless for the rest of the flight, a text message popped up on his screen.
Made it home with Bruce! Have a safe flight Dad!
The sudden message was a pleasant surprise. One Jack hadn’t been expecting.
It was something Jack caught himself staring back at the text multiple times through the flight.
In France, Jack tried enjoying all the festivities leading up to a Christmas in Paris.
He and Dana shopped, visited museums, took guided tours of the city, visited a baguette factory, took a cooking class.
They even had reservations for dinner at the Eiffel Tower.
It was a good vacation, well planned, and making the most of their time in the country.
But Jack spent the vacation in a…slump.
He did his best not to show it.
It was Dana’s first time out of the country and she was excited. Jack didn’t want to be the one to put a damper in it.
But he couldn’t help but be so hyperaware of the empty space at his and Dana’s side. The distinct lack of a third voice piping up to make an observation or comment that would never fail to draw an amused snort of him. Every picture he took with Dana got stared at a moment longer because there weren’t any fingers poking up behind his head to form bunny ears.
Jack missed his son. Deeply.
The only moment of reprieve was when he got a call from Tim on Christmas morning.
Tim’s voice was a pleasant sound, more so since he called to talk about the Christmas gifts Jack had entrusted to Bruce’s butler.
For nearly an hour, Jack listened to his son babble about decorating gingerbread houses with Bruce’s eldest son, about drinking hot cocoa, and about how he uncovered a drug running ring that was hiding bricks of cocaine in the toy donation bins of various community centers.
Listening to Tim talk in that same familiar and excited way he always would when he wanted Jack to be proud of him for something lightened his mood for the rest of his and Dana’s vacation.
When they returned to Gotham, Jack was the first one to arrive in the parking lot at the end of Tim’s winter break.
In the backseat where Tim always sat was a brown bag stuffed with various little candies from Paris as well as some interesting little trinkets Jack found in the Paris Christmas markets for Tim.
A familiar black jaguar smoothly parked beside him a few minutes later, on time to the second of their pre-decided time.
With some amusement, Jack noticed it left enough room to accommodate the swing of a passenger side door.
Wayne’s windows were tinted and Jack patiently waited all of thirty seconds before beeping his horn.
Tim jumped out of the front seat with a grin.
He waved a greeting at Jack and then turned briefly back towards the open door, bending over slightly to babble some last words to Bruce.
Tim’s old worn duffle bag has been replaced by a new soft, leather one with thick straps and the seal of an Italian artisan textile house on the straps.
Bruce’s gift to him no doubt.
Any bitterness that could have bubbled in him was washed away when Tim climbed into the backseat and immediately hugged him from behind the headrest.
His hands were ice cold and he wasn’t wearing his mittens.
Jack would be texting Wayne about that through the encrypted messaging app they shared.
“Hi Dad! Hi Dana! How was Paris? I missed you guys -”
The sound of a brown paper bag getting rustled filled the car.
“Oh sweet! Are these for me? Oh man, wait till I fill you in on what happened, so like last week I was-”
Jack felt a smile pull at his mouth as he watched Tim in the rearview mirror before glancing at the road in front of him to pull out of the parking lot.
Halfway down the block he glanced at his side mirror and saw the black Jag still sitting in the same spot.
An odd sensation filled him at the familiar sight.
He couldn’t see Bruce. Not with the distance growing between them and not with the blacked out windows.
So he couldn’t even begin guessing what he was doing.
For some reason though…Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that he was staring at them as they drove away.
For a moment, Jack wondered if Bruce had felt the same weighted gaze from Jack when he watched them drive away weeks earlier.
He wondered if that empty feeling was also settling into Bruce’s gut.
“Tim,” Jack began, voice softened slightly. Curious eyes met his from the rearview mirror. “Make sure to send Bruce a message when we get home - so he knows you got there safely.”
Tim made an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
“Man, you and Bruce are too alike!” He complained, making it sound very much like it was meant to be an insult. “He told me to do the same thing for you two weeks ago!”