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Timothy Drake is next. And, perhaps, the one Jonathan is… well, not most intrigued by, the entire family is as intriguing as they are terrifying, but…
Drake lives the entirety of his life in the public eye. He's the very well known CEO of Wayne Enterprises, now that Bruce Wayne has retired, and he's constantly making society pages for something or another. He's the one at clubs dancing the night away, he's the one who attends every gala, every charity event, and he's the one who gives press statements.
It also helps that, unlike his brothers, Drake enters the room, and gives Jonathan a polite nod. "Mr. Sims."
"Mr. Drake," Jon returns, caught off guard a bit as the boy -who can't be more than twenty-one, and that only because of his reputation for clubbing -moves over towards the couch Jason just vacated.
Before he sits down though, he sighs, looking at the couch for a moment. Then he reaches down, and starts brushing the cushion with his hand, bits of dirt falling down onto the floor.
"Got Jason talking about the Joker, hmm?" he asks, almost casually, before inspecting the seat. Apparently satisfied, he sits down, crossing one leg over the other, and wrapping his hands around his bent knee.
The picture perfect image of politeness, of a young rich playboy settling in for an interview with a nosy reporter, without a care in the world.
"So, Mr. Sims. Or do you prefer Archivist?" Drake asks conversationally.
"Whichever you prefer, Mr. Drake," Jon says, shrugging a bit uncomfortably. Not at the manners, or the question about his preference, but because this family and their behaviors are starting to give him whiplash.
"Hmm. I suppose we'll see then. You know, it's funny… You belong to the Eye, but the Weaver nearly got you," Timothy says, apropos of nothing. And when all Jon can do is blink, Timothy shrugs.
"My abilities are… different from most of my siblings," he says casually. "Even my Weaver brethren. I can see connections to the Fears, and I can see people's fears. And when I look at you… You have the Eye all over you, of course, as you should, Archivist, but you also have the faintest tendrils of Web squirming in-between the Eye, like veins in the eye itself. Oh, but I apologize; I'm getting ahead of myself. Go ahead; do your little ritual," Tim says, nodding towards the tape recorder.
Jon has to clear his throat before he can speak. "I… Statement of Timothy Drake, Avatar of the Web. Twelve July 2018. Statement begins."
Timothy leans back in the seat a bit. "Well… Where to begin. I suppose I should start by saying that I very easily could've belonged to the Lonely; my parents had a child with the express purpose of cultivating an heir for Drake Industries. They had no real interest in being parents, and I was raised by a rotating cast of nannies, tutors, and household servants while they traveled the world for business, or on one of my mother's 'archeological digs'. Which really meant an archeological site that she'd funded, and went to go traipse around like an idiot tourist.
"I suppose if I'd been more… bitter about it, I probably would've turned to the Lonely. But fortunately for me, my parents weren't… neglectful, per say. They cared for me as much as they could, in their own stilted, childish way. And because I knew they did care, no matter how poorly, instead of insulating myself, instead of pulling away… I started trying to understand humans. To understand why some parents seemed to love their children so deeply that a scraped knee hurt them more than the child, while others actively hurt their children, and other just… didn't care one way or another.
"I was young; while I don't think it was a conscious thought process, I think that -at the time -I thought if I could find that magical combination… All the patterns and behaviors that good parents and good children displayed… I could mimic it. That I could try to install those patterns and behaviors in my parents."
He sighs, almost sounding… put-out, before he continues. "I never did, of course. But I did find that I learned quite a bit about human behavior. And that in doing so, I could… predict how people would react to things. It was a short step from predicting how they'd react to things, to manipulating them to react in the way I wanted. While I couldn't ever truly manipulate my parents into giving me more actual affection, I could manipulate them into giving me more freedoms. More expensive belongings. I could guilt them into giving me almost anything I asked.
"Now, obviously that's not the only thing that drew me into the Web. I was… a curious kid. To a fault, honestly; I look back on it now, and it's amazing that I survived long enough for the Web to claim me. I thought Batman was fascinating. He was one of the few things I could never predict. Him, the Joker, Two-Face, the Talons, Bane… They were all things that didn't react in ways I could understand. Which of course only made me want to know more. Of course."
He tilts his head towards Jon with a small, knowing smile. "You really would've done better with the Web, Jon; I understand why the Eye chose you… but you would've been happier as one of us."
"I… um… thank you?" Jon manages to get out. It's almost more disconcerting, hearing he would've been welcomed somewhere, than it is when others try to kill him. Which… says something about his life, something he's choosing not to look too closely at.
Tim waves his hand dismissively. "It's not necessarily a compliment; obviously I'm a bit… biased, but I will say you're most likely safer with the Eye. The games we get caught up in…" He chuckles softly. "I find them fun. But I'll admit they're deadly, in a way that most of the other Entities aren't. But I'm sorry, I got off topic. The Web. And the other Avatars.
"So. There I was, nine years old, and running around Gotham with my camera at night, trying to get pictures of the Avatars. Trying to figure out what made them tick, why I could predict everyone else, but not them. Trying to figure out what made them different. By that point, I'd pretty much fallen into… let's call it a 'stasis' with my parents; they would be home for a week or two, before rushing off to another dig site for two or three months, meaning I mostly had the house to myself."
He chuckles quietly. Almost softly. "Can you imagine, Archivist? Nine years old, no adult supervision, and a black AmEx card. A mansion all to myself, with the rare exception of my parents coming home for a holiday, or business meeting. I turned the attic into a… well, not a murder-board, I hadn't gotten quite that far yet, but… Well. I turned it into my Web. All the people I photographed, pinned up, connected through my strands of string, connected to what I could use against them. What I could use them for.
"You know, I'm actually pretty proud of what I managed to do. By the time I was twelve, I'd managed to destroy the careers of nine city officials, two representatives, and a mayor," he says casually, leaning back in his chair, looking for all the world like a cat who's gotten the cream. "Not to mention all the little lives I'd changed. Not for any real reason other than that I could. It… amused me, to pluck my strands, and see what fell. To drop a pebble into the water of Gotham's elite, and watch the ripples expand further and further.
"I'll admit that out of all my siblings -other than maybe Damian -I'm the least…" He pauses for a second, clearly thinking. "Well, I suppose human would be the best word, honestly, as much as Bruce would throw a fit to hear me say it like that. But the thing is, unlike Dick and Jason? I never really cared much about fitting in. Never really even thought about it, to be honest. I didn't have a frame of reference for it. I just sat in the attic of my mansion, with maids and housekeepers scurrying around downstairs, and I… plotted. Schemed. My web grew bigger and bigger, expanding out more and more, and the only time I considered the humanity of the people I was puppeting was when I had to consider how they'd react to certain events.
"The problem, however… was that I'd been… noticed. Time wise, it was a few months after Jason had become one of the Buried's. Honestly, his death is the only reason I'd been ignored for so long," Tim admits with an almost casual shrug. "My twelve year old self liked to think I was being sneaky; that I wasn't leaving any metaphorical fingerprints behind when I played. But the reality is… Any of the Avatars who paid attention knew there was someone new on the scene. Anyone who cared to really look knew the Web had suddenly come to play in Gotham. Bruce had been trying to track me down for months, but he was too distracted trying to keep Dick from losing himself.
"After Jason came back though… well, it was perfect, wasn't it?" he says with a small smile. "There Jason was, a new Avatar, practically starving, Dick trying to learn how to control himself again, and Bruce with a ready made case for them. Find the Avatar who kept playing with Gotham's politicians and elite.
"It was a disaster," he admits, giving Jon a little 'aww shucks' smile. "It didn't take them long to figure out that it was someone using the Drake name. Bad luck for my parents that Dick figured that out when they were home for three weeks. They assumed it was my dad.
"I probably could've stopped them. Well, not stopped them, but stopped them from killing my dad at least," he says with a shrug. "Even Jason, newly emerged and ready to eat whatever he could, wouldn't have just killed a kid. But an adult? A rich adult, an Avatar of the Web? Dear ol' Dad might as well have been served up on a silver platter.
"Unfortunately for my dad… I had exactly zero interest in getting between Jason and a meal," Tim says with a shrug. "Remember, I'd spent about four years photographing Batman, Robin, and then Robin the Second. So I knew who they were, and I… had at least an elementary understanding of what they did.
"To be fair to them though, my mom probably would've been fine, except she went for a butcher knife to try and stop Jason, and Dick… well, he didn't take too kindly to somebody trying to stab his newly resurrected brother. Between the two of them… I was an orphan in about five minutes. I think it probably took them longer to figure out how to get around my house, how to find my parents in the mansion than it did to actually trap them and start playing with them."
Tim pauses for a moment, and he makes a quiet, almost thoughtful noise. "I could've saved them, though. If I'd wanted to. If I'd been… inclined to. Truthfully though? Even if I didn't know what Jason and Dick were, what they would do… I don't think I would've tried it. I'd spent too many long, lonely years in my web to truly care about them. Much less care enough to get between them and an apex predator.
"It's… sort of amusing though. Dick realized pretty quickly after they'd killed my parents that… well… they'd killed them. And while those of us who worship the Web, or the Eye, or the Lonely might not be as tough and invulnerable as the rest of them… we don't die easily either. Jason might've been too busy being satisfied with his catch -remember, he was only a few months old at that point -but Dick? Dick knew right away. They'd come loaded for bear, and brought down a mouse.
"In retrospect… I'm very lucky that Dick was letting Jason do the hunting. If Dick had actually called a hunt on the 'the Web Avatar'? I don't know if he would've been able to not kill me. Not after the past year he'd had running practically feral. But he hadn't, so while Jason gorged himself playing with my dad… Dick decided to search the house.
"I ran to my sanctuary; to the one place I'd always been safe, the one place I'd always been able to control everything. And that's where Dick found me," Tim says simply. "He found me there, frantically looking over my web of blackmail, trying to find something I could use to convince him to let me live."
"Of course, once he realized I was just a stupid twelve year old, it put a slight kink in his plans. More so than any of us, Dick has always liked kids. I'm not sure why," Tim says, a small frown on his face. "Because Dick is… well, if you've ever seen him on a Hunt, you'd understand why it's so… out-of-place, I suppose, the way he treats kids. Like they're something precious and fragile, something he has to protect. Like watching a tiger cuddle up to a baby piglet. It's… disconcerting.
"Of course, I didn't realize any of that at the time. All I knew was I was in my sanctuary, my safe place, hoping that if I stayed quiet enough, the monsters downstairs wouldn't find me. It almost made it… worse, I think, knowing what I knew. Knowing what they were. Not entirely, obviously," he says, waving his hand almost like it's incidental. "But I knew enough to know that they weren't entirely human, and that they were… predators.
"I'd watched them play with their food for years at that point. Since I was nine years old, I'd watched the things that were my next door neighbors hunting people down, playing with them, taunting and tormenting them, before finally killing them. And now… they were here for me."
Tim smiles, almost… fondly, the look seeming to humanize the boy, showing Jon that beneath the cold, calculating facade was still some part of a young man. "I can't even begin to try and explain my… confusion, when Dick started talking to me. Started asking me questions. Asked if I was a part of the Web, if I was the one blackmailing Gotham's elite. All in this… gentle, almost soothing voice, like he was talking to a baby or something. But even as he was talking to me, he was looking at my board behind me. Looking at the strands connecting all of my pawns. Seeing his and Bruce's face up there, and a picture of Jason's funeral, with a question mark.
"You have to understand, Mr. Sims… The Fears don't… exist here, like they do in other places. Not that they don't exist, you understand, but that it's… a different type of existence. I'd been working for the Web, feeding it, nurturing it for at least four years, maybe longer, but I wasn't… I didn't understand what I was. I didn't understand that I was feeding something bigger than myself, and that that 'something' was in turn, feeding me, turning me into something else. I just… knew I liked pulling on strings, and seeing what happened," he says, a bit contemplatively.
"So I… I knew Dick wasn't human. Or at least, not entirely human. But it'd never occurred to me that I was like him, right up until Dick started asking me questions. My father was downstairs with Jason, screaming loud enough that I could hear him even through the Ever Deep, and here was Dick, telling me not to be scared, he wouldn't hurt me, and did I want to go home with him."
Timothy chuckles. "You know… At the time? I was absolutely terrified, Mr. Sims. But I look back on it now, and… It's funny. It was practically something out of the Scary Movie franchise. Here's this being, that looks human for all intents and purposes, but a being that I've watched turn into a monster, telling me not to be scared. Telling me I can go home with him and be safe, practically cooing at me like a mother cat to a kitten… all the while my father's muffled screams as Jason killed him played in the background. Calling me 'Little Weaver' while my dad's screams grew fainter… and fainter.
"But I'll admit that I was… intrigued," he says, seeming to 'settle' on the word rather than choosing. "After all… I knew they weren't human. Or at least, not entirely human. I knew they were something more, something different, something better.
"However… I'd be lying if I didn't say I was… jealous? Hmm. I'm not sure what the right word for it is," he says, sounding a bit… put out. "But I'd watched Bruce with Jason and Dick. Watched him teach these two boys, who weren't even biologically his. Watched him smile at them when they did something difficult, watched him worry and fret like an old lady, watched him hug them, and ruffle their hair.
"I'd watched Dick and Jason, even before Jason's death. Watched them tease and antagonize like brothers do, watched them shove each other and get into mock fights… watched Dick go absolutely feral when Jason was threatened. And I'd seen what Jason's death had done to Dick, had done to Bruce. These three monsters, not related by blood, but by choice, were closer, and more of a family than I had ever seen. Certainly closer than I'd ever been to my own parents, who -at the time -were either dead or dying downstairs, and I felt absolutely nothing about it.
"So maybe… maybe a part of it was… Even if they were going to kill me… Maybe I could just… just see what they were doing. Up close. That I could watch them be a family, and… and maybe they'd… they'd let me be a part of it. Even if it was only for a little while."
Jon can only watch, as Timothy startles a bit, his head snapping first towards the tape recorder, then to Jonathan himself, then back to the tape recorder. And just for a split second, barely a moment, Jonathan feels the danger, feels the threat in the room, more real and subtle and insidious than anything he'd felt with Richard or Jason.
But the moment passes. It passes, and Timothy stands up smoothly, brushing out some non-existent wrinkles on his trousers.
"Well. I think that's enough of that for one sitting, Archivist. I'll send Damian in."
"I… of course. Thank you for your time, Timothy," Jon manages to get out. "End of statement."