Chapter Text
If asked, Tim Drake would say he had better coping skills than Bruce Wayne. However, none would be able to condemn him for this lie as no one was able to witness Tim Drake punish himself for his perceived failures. He traveled the country, going from house to house of the mortal parents of demigods and attempt to offer them whatever sentimental earthly possessions their child left behind.
Tim Drake was always able to offer something to the parent or guardian. Sometimes it was just the camper's beaded necklace. Other times it was a photo of their child laughing or participating in a camp activity. Often, the parent would thank Tim with tears in their eyes like Mr. Beauregard. Sometimes they would lash out at Tim, even hitting him like Ms. Yew did. Occasionally, Tim would not remember the interaction at all like when Tim went to Mr. Nakamura.
Tim had woken up with a black eye, the vague feeling that he intentionally overused his powers, and an even vaguer note in his binder that he gave Mr. Nakamura a photo of Ethan. Tim was fine not remembering that interaction. He no longer kept track of dates, not wanting to know how long it's been since the war; how long everyone has been dead. Thinking of Camp Half-Blood filled him with nausea, memories of helping Will clean out the too quiet Apollo cabin all too fresh.
Tim returned to Gotham an unknown number of months after the war. He entered as he always did: silently and unnoticed. He choked down a flower, acquired a phone, warded it with his blood, sent out a text to the nymphs and Florian, and went back to solving a centuries old problem with the belief only a hellhound and satyr were aware of his mission.
Tim managed to have a breakthrough while he was working: he found an entrance to one of the tunnels. Florian still hadn't recovered, so Tim was left to decide what to do by himself. He was going to map out the tunnels.
Tim wasn't going to be stupid about it, of course. Tim made a suit.
Tim's suit did not have a bat emblem. The only thing that connected it to the Bats was the fact that it was mainly black with a splash of traffic cone orange on the front; an homage to the t-shirts of Camp Half-Blood. His mask was unlike anything the bats wore. The front was a metal face-plate, but the back was fabric with harpy feathers sticking out of it. The face-plate could be separated into two halves—a top half and bottom half—for easy repair and so that if one half gets compromised, the other half would be safe. Taking inspiration from Jason, he also installed a little surprise in it to prevent people from removing it, although it was nowhere near as deadly as a bomb.
The harpy feathers could act as throwing knives in a pinch against monsters. Tim also had his bo staff, his spear, zweihander, and a few other tricks up his sleeve like magic grenades that acted as reverse flash bombs. Tim always wore his suit when he was exploring the tunnels of Gotham just in case he ran into trouble. But he never ran into trouble inside the tunnels. No monsters, no people. It was as if everyone knew better than to venture in.
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Tim stopped in the tunnel. It was warm. He touched the ceiling and yep, it should not be that hot. Tim closed his eyes and concentrated, forcing his senses to expand above ground to determine if there was a shadow he could jump to. He found an opening and stepped forward.
Tim scared a firefighter half to death as he stepped out of the woman's shadow. Tim looked at the burning building as a familiar bone deep ache and the beginnings of a migraine began to settle.
"What's the situation?" Tim asked. The firefighter assessed Tim for a moment and then sighed.
"Apartment building is on fire and the structure is destabilized—some people are still stuck in there." Tim didn't need to hear any more as he itched to protect. He set his knee brace to 'acrobatic' and sprinted into the fire.
The Bats and every single first responder are taught to do ask themselves one thing before they rescue someone. Is the scene safe? The answer to this question as Tim rushed in was a resounding no, but Tim had an idea. As Tim sprinted, he began to whisper gentle encouragements under his breath in ancient Greek, imploring the fire to remember that it is someone's home and that it offers refuge to those that seek it. That it was a hearth, even as it burned to the ground. The fire led him to people.
When he found someone, Tim teleported to the edge of the fire and dropped the person off with the awaiting EMT's before rushing back in. Person after person he retrieved until Tim had three people left. All three people were in the same place and Tim went deep into the building where he could hear a PASS device's distress alert.
Tim teleported inside the collapse alcove and hauled out an injured firefighter and the person he intended to rescue, deeming the uninjured firefighter as low priority. As Tim was about to grab the last man, the building shifted and the ceiling came down. Tim lunged forward, using his body as a shield to protect the firefighter.
As the debris stopped raining, Tim quickly found himself in the same position as Atlas holding the sky and Tim wheezed as he realized that he inadvertently became a major structural support for the building. The firefighter was still there, his leg pinned by debris a few feet away. Tim forced the flames around them to back off, hoping to give the firefighter a small break from the oppressive heat.
"Hey," Tim coughed, his throat dry. The filter in his mask wasn't made for this. "Can you get any closer to me? I can't risk destabilizing the building."
"No," the firefighter croaked. "Leave without me; you Bats aren't even supposed to rescue people from fires—that's our job. Your family and Gotham needs you."
"I'm not a bat. And you're right about Gotham needing me, but you're part of Gotham and at the moment you need me. I'm not leaving." The firefighter snorted at Tim's logic.
"And your family?"
"Dead." The firefighter was silent, but things did not stay silent for long as the man's PASS device activated. Tim's brain to fill with static as more and more time went on. The firefighter tried to get Tim's attention, but his voice fell on deaf ears. Tim was no longer in Gotham—he was in California, holding up the sky so that Artemis and Annabeth could take a break and rest. Artemis had been easily able to imbue Annabeth with strength as Annabeth was similar to her Hunters, but she wasn't able to imbue Tim with strength to the same degree as Annabeth.
As a result, Tim's white streak was bigger than Annabeth's even though Tim held up the sky for half the time she did. His white streak has not faded like her's and Percy's had. Holding up the sky almost killed Tim. He was bedridden for two days before he slipped away outside of Camp Half-Blood's barrier and pressed a knife against his own neck. And yet, despite the unimaginable toll that was exacted from Tim, he had still been unbelievably, undeniably, bored out of his skull.
And so, Tim chanted Hesiod's Theogony poem as he held the sky. It wasn't a short poem by any means; it is over a thousand lines long and detailed how Kronos overthrew Uranus, and how Zeus overthrew Kronos. Tim intended it as a big 'screw you; we beat you once before and we'll do it again' to Luke and Atlas. Alas, he did not remember ever speaking the poem, his mind falling into the rhythm of it as he dissociated.
Without Tim to remind the burning apartment building that it once provided shelter and home to people, the unbearable heat quickly encompassed them once again. Only echoes of Tim's past reminders prevented him from being burnt to a crisp, and yet he still did not waver.
That is how the rescuer's found him as the building was stabilized and the fire finally doused. An unwavering pillar to protect one man he did not know, simply because he knew no one else was able to. That's the type of person Tim Drake is.
He stopped whispering the Theogony as they freed him from his predicament and dragged him out, not saying anything as he was strapped to a board. Conversations were had that Tim didn't hear.
"Shit, I can't cut through their suit."
"Since when did the Bats get a meta that has super strength and fire resistance?"
"Marco said they weren't a Bat."
"Can someone please help me get this damn mask off of them so that I can give them oxygen? This mask is probably clogged with soot—"
"There could be a bomb in there—"
"Well, it's not like any of us have the Bats on speed dial," the EMT snapped. They had yet to load the hero into the ambulance, knowing you simply don't bring vigilantes to hospitals. There was a pause before an old lady spoke up.
"I have Red Hood's number."
"Myrtle, call him immediately and then you're going to tell us why you have his number."
"He walks me home from my Spades games."
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Tim was still silent and nonreactive as he was placed into the back of the batmobile.
"I got the new vigilante," Batman grunted. "Breaths seem mildly labored, but suit seems relatively undamaged so hopefully burns are minimal."
"What's the suit look like?" Barbra asked. "I can see if they've been caught on cameras before."
"Covered in ash," Bruce deadpanned. "The mask has a metal front that covers the entire face and the cowl appears to have feathers attached to it. I divested them of their cross-chest utility belts and am currently looking through them. There are twelve small explosives that look to be a kind of smoke bomb, nine small throwing knives, six general fear toxin antidotes, six general joker venom antidotes, three vials that have a golden liquid in them that has the same color and viscosity as nectar, and—" Bruce's breath stuttered. "A bo staff."
"That's—no, it can't be Tim," Jason said. "Tim might be a demigod, but only big three kids would be able to hold a building for five hours; we're talking Heracles levels of strength here."
"But the files said Gotham demigods are more powerful than normal demigods," Bruce countered. "I know we only have Tim as a baseline, but he likely tempered his strength when he was around mortals."
"No, we also have Curtains and Second as a baseline," Jason reminded. "Although we're pretty sure they're the same person considering both had that big ass sword and communicated with a hellhound. They didn't perform massive feats of strength, though."
"Hey, didn't Wally describe Tim talking with a hellhound?" Dick chimed in as he swung through Bluhaven.
"Eh," Jason shrugged. "It seemed like Tim was just giving the hellhound orders."
"Can't find them on any cameras," Barbra reported. "Cameras don't seem to be tampered with, either." Batman grunted in acknowledgment as he arrived at the batcave and was quick to move the young man into the med bay where he was set down on a cot. Alfred swiftly acquired the specialized trauma sheers used to cut away the Bats' suits and everyone present in the cave breathed a sigh of relief when they cut through. Everyone froze as the pink flesh was revealed; his body looked like it was a patchwork of sunburns.
"It's Second," Jason breathed. "It's—only he has that many scars on his torso. And he has that tattoo over his heart."
Despite what the average Gothamite may think, the Bats are not heavily covered in scars. Their armor does its job well, and it is of course most concentrated on their torso where their vital organs are. The majority of their scars are on their limbs where it is more likely a bullet or knife to find a weakness in their armor.
Second was obviously not a vigilante—or at least, he clearly didn't have the history of being armored like one. The obvious being what looked like a massive bite wound that appeared to encompass nearly his entire torso, and the less obvious were the odd scratch-like scars on the young man's shoulders. Is every demigod covered in scars like Second?
Bruce tested the mask for chemical residues that are used in bombs, thinking back to Jason's initial return to Gotham and how careless Second was described to be with his own life.
"Any ideas on the godly parent?" Bruce asked, trying to determine how Second would react under duress. "Curtains can shadow travel, speak with hellhounds, and said they were a descendant of Night, likely a child or grandson of Nyx or Erebus. Second also shattered light bulbs in Tim's safe house when he was extremely stressed, so another point in that direction."
"But what about the fire resistance?" Jason asked. Alfred inserted an IV and that finally got a reaction out of Second; the young man, quick as a whip, grabbed Alfred's wrist with a grip that bordered on painful.
"Luke said you're not allowed to hurt me," Second wheezed with a slur. Second's grip began to weaken and Alfred was quick to yank his arm away. Second's hand dropped to his side as he began to suffer through a coughing fit.
"Test came back clear; his mask isn't rigged to explode," Bruce quickly said. Not needing to be told twice, Jason quickly gave a small saw to Alfred and began the task of cutting into the metallic face. Not even five seconds into the process, the mask's safe guard was activated and a wave of darkness erupted across the room, blinding everyone present.
"Shit!" Jason shouted.
"Is everyone okay?" Batman barked, frazzled. "I'm blinded, but it looks like there's no other ill effects."
"Me as well, sir," Chimed in Alfred.
"Same here," Confirmed Jason. "What's the plan now that we can't see anything?"
"Batcomputer, call Watchtower."
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Tim woke up and immediately knew something was wrong by the awful taste in his mouth that could only be attributed to nectar and the fact he was laying on his back. Tim never slept on his back since Atlas. Gods, everything ached. He must have just finished his shift under the sky.
"Ann'beth?" Tim slurred.
"Curtains, do you know where you are?" Asked Luke who must have been sick due to how weird his voice sounded. Tim frowned at the address.
"F'ck off. You lost the right to call me tha' when you se' a pi' scorpion on Percy. And when you too' Ann'beth as a prisoner. Where's Ann'beth and Lady A?" Something was pressed against Tim's lips and when it hit his tongue he began to splutter, rejecting the foul tasting liquid. That finally made Tim open his eyes and was baffled by the sight that greeted him.
"Dami'n?" The heart rate monitor began to beep quicker. "Why am I in the Watchtower?" Damian was quick to silent the monitors. As memories began to return, Tim reached up and was thankful when he found the top portion of his mask was still there along with his cowl although it was divested of all its harpy feathers. Portions of his body felt slimy and Tim soon realized the translucent goop was aloe vera.
"You were injured and required medical care," Damian sniffed imperiously. "Your mask blinded everyone in the Batcave and they called for backup from the Justice League so that they could get their blindness assessed and you could get medical care. They were able to give you a bit of nectar, and I volunteered to monitor you; the Flash is guarding the door, so don't even think about fleeing." Tim felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.
"Am I free to leave?" Tim asked carefully, keeping his voice as level as possible.
"We request your presence in the batcave if you have no pressing matters to attend to; we wish to know more about you and your current activities in Gotham." Mmmm, don't like that. Were they detaining him?
"Can I say no?" That threw Damian off.
"Of course you can say no."
"Then I would prefer to be released into Gotham, my possessions returned without trackers, and for your family to not seek me out." Tim began to disconnect himself from the various monitors as well as the IV. He levered himself up and frowned at his bare feet; it would be a bad idea to walk around barefoot in Gotham.
"Did we do something wrong?" Damian asked and if Tim knew him better, he would be able to pick up the nervousness that colored the boy's voice.
"What? No, you guys did nothing wrong. I just want to focus on demigod stuff; you keep on focusing on the mortal stuff. Don't get me involved in your stuff and I won't get you involved in mine."
"But we wish to know about demigod activities in Gotham." Damian took a step forward. "We want to help you fix Gotham." Tim's head snapped to Damian as his heart dropped out of his ass.
"What do you mean fix Gotham?"
"The spell over Gotham; we wish to aid you—" Tim covered Damian's mouth.
"How do you know about that," Tim hissed, panicking. He and Florian were the only ones in Gotham that were supposed to know; not even the nymphs knew due to Florian's insistence. How the hell did Damian find out?
"You told us," Damian said, cocking his head as he looked at Tim. "When you you gave us the files, you mentioned fixing Gotham, and then the file for your quest with the Justice League details that there is a spell over the forsaken city." Zatanna must not have censored as much as I hoped, Tim realized with a sinking feeling. He needed to find that file and cut out that section with a knife—
"Where's that file? No one is supposed to know about that," Tim said as he lurched to his feet only to stumble as his left leg buckled without Isabel's brace. Desperation flooded Tim.
"My brace, where the hell is my brace?"
"It's in the batcave," Damian said uncertainly. "We wished to clean it—"
"If anything is out of place on it, I will drag all of Wayne manor into Tartarus, I swear I will," Tim growled as he began to hop into the hallway past a mildly concerned Wally. Damian followed Tim.
"Does the brace hold sentimental value? Or is it just because it's a really advanced piece of medical equipment—"
"Of course it's advanced; it was forged by a daughter of Hephaestus. She also forged my sword."
"Then it can be repaired by her if it gets damaged—"
"She died," Tim snapped. Damian did not say another word as Tim stepped into a Zeta tube.