Chapter Text
Tim is at a gala. He hates galas.
Maybe that is too harsh. There was a time when Tim loved them. Going to a gala meant that his parents were coming home, and that used to be something Tim looked forward to. There was another window in Tim’s very short life where he had been excited for galas for the sole reason of getting to see Batman and Robin at a fancy party. By twelve, that window has closed, and galas are now firmly a source of dread.
Tim was nine when he discovered the whole Bruce-Wayne-is-Batman-and-Robin-I-is-the-very-cool-Dick-Grayson secret. Last year, he made the mistake of both revealing his knowledge and trying to blackmail the original dynamic duo with it after Jason Todd’s death and Batman’s subsequent spiral into violence.
It had not gone well.
Instead of accepting Tim’s very rational plan, Dick and Mr. Wayne decided that Tim’s knowledge was apparently quite concerning—even though he had promised that he had never told anyone. But with space, Tim could understand that. It was logical, and the safety of the Bats was too important for there to be any loose ends. What Tim could not understand was the problem the pair seemed to have with his extracurriculars. So much so that they had contacted his parents and made them send him to a boarding school abroad. In fucking Switzerland.
There are no vigilantes worth shit in Switzerland.
After a year of blinding Alps and restricted internet, Tim had finally gotten his parents to crack and let him live in Gotham again under the conditions that he does not bother Mr. Wayne, gossip or whine about his homelife in any setting, and follows through with his familial duties.
Tim agreed immediately. Which is how he finds himself in a stuffy, too small tuxedo at the final, and therefore mandatory, event of the season. At the Wayne-fucking-manor’s ballroom. The high ceilings and warm wood are decorated no doubt by Alfred Pennyworth in dark ivies and greens. To the rich, summer themes did not exactly have to be creative.
“Janet!” Mr. Wayne’s voice jolts Tim out of his thoughts and cracks his pretending-to-be-calm face for all of two seconds. He is also dressed in black-tie and, unfortunately, is making a beeline to the Drakes. When he stops at the trio, Mr. Wayne kisses Janet’s hand before turning to Jack.
“Jackie!” Mr. Wayne reaches to shake his hand. Tim sees his dad’s eye twitch before he smoothes out his expression to be more grateful.
“Brucie!” The pair size each other up, but with Jack being 5’8” and Mr. Wayne being giant, it does not last long.
Mr. Wayne turns his attention to Tim.
“And who is this?”
Tim wipes his hand quickly and hopefully discreetly on the side of his pants before extending it to Mr. Wayne.
“Timothy Drake, sir.” They have already met multiple times officially from Tim’s years as child-accessory for rich people events, but Tim can not help but feel a little relieved by being asked to introduce himself again.
Mr. Wayne is a busy man. Between being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and being Batman, he has a lot on his plate. And Tim is not all that memorable. It is very possible that in the midst of his grief for Jason, his spiral into putting petty criminals in the hospital, and his recent reentrance into the public eye that Mr. Wayne does not remember Tim. With being gone for a year and not telling anyone about the secret he is not supposed to know, Tim is not all that much of a threat.
Mr. Wayne gently shakes Tim’s outstretched hand and smiles down at him warmly. There is a sparkle and light in his eyes that was not there the last time they had met. Come to think of it, Mr. Wayne looks a lot better. Less pale. His eyebags are almost gone.
“Of course,” Mr. Wayne says and pinches his brows together, “you got into that fancy school in Switzerland, correct?”
Fuck.
Tim would like to respond but his mouth has gone dry.
His mother clears her throat.
“Yes,” Tim squeaks, and feels his mother’s nails dig into the back of his neck, “Yes sir.”
Mr. Wayne changes his focus to Janet.
“Timothy here has just finished his exchange program abroad and will be back at Gotham Academy this fall,” Janet explains. She moves her hand from the back of Tim’s neck to snatch a flute of champagne from a waiter’s tray. She does not offer one to Jack.
It was not an exchange program, but ditching boarding school after one year sounds less prestigious.
“Oh.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes sharpen for a second before he blinks and gives another smile that is all Brucie. “How wonderful. You both must be proud!”
Tim does not concentrate hard enough to not make a confused face, which he has to fix almost immediately and prays that his mother did not see.
“Of course,” Janet says with enough force that Tim knows she absolutely did, “Timothy is quite the student.”
Mr. Wayne holds her gaze for what Tim feels is an uncomfortable amount of time before turning back to Tim and gesturing to the far left of the room.
“There is a group of youngsters over by the chocolate fountain,” Mr. Wayne says with a voice that is bright and conspiratory.
Tim looks up to his father, and then to his mother. Both look perturbed, and Tim doesn’t know what he has done yet for them to look that way.
Jack clears his throat.
“Yes, Timothy,” he chuckles and removes his hand from Tim’s shoulder, “Get away from us old folk.”
Tim glances up to his mother but she is still focused on Mr. Wayne. Her lips are pulled down in a frown. If she is this annoyed this early in the night Tim agrees with his father that it would be best for Tim to make himself scarce. And far be it for him to disregard a direct, clear order from his parents.
With a nod he excuses himself zig-zags like a rabbit through the sea of ball gowns and black suits, away from the older Drakes and Mr. Wayne and closer to the dessert table in the corner.
He is disappointed in himself by how surprised he is when he hears the loud laugh of one Dick Grayson.
Dick Grayson, wearing a deep blue suit, stands by the dessert table, piled high with pastries and a chocolate fountain. He is surrounded by a group of college-aged rich kids looking enamored by whatever story he is telling. One of them shares a smile at Dick’s laugh while the others look ready to tear her apart, exchanging looks while Dick is not looking.
Tim should not feel so surprised to see him—this is his house after all. Only, he had not seemed very receptive to working with Bruce again. And when Bruce had said “youngsters” Tim was not exactly thinking of someone in his mid-twenties—basically pushing thirty—not that Tim would ever tell his hero that. But still.
Thankfully, Dick has not looked at Tim yet, and Tim feels absolutely no need to insert himself into this group, even if laughing with Dick would be really cool. Not worth the anxiety. And the last conversation did not exactly go amazing.
Tim quickly checks to see if his parents are watching, feeling relieved to see that they are still talking with Mr. Wayne, who he unfortunately does make eye contact with before trying to hide behind a waiter. Thankfully the waiter is already moving in the bathroom’s direction. He can regroup or hide there until it is time to leave. Hopefully. He might have to go back out and stand by his parents while they make business deals, so really he only has ten minutes or so to regroup.
He’ll take it.
Unfortunately, in the midst of his escape to the bathroom the waiter stops to offer a group of old people a platter of puffed up hors d’oeuvres. Tim is forced to continue alone. He tries his best to look small and unassuming, and it is only when he rounds the corner into the restroom, and closes a stall that he lets himself sigh. He doesn’t like feeling this way. Like he is in trouble.
He knew that this was going to be a stressful night, and that he was likely to cross paths with the Waynes. Well, he didn’t know it would be at their house until his parents picked him up at the airport this morning and told him about the event, but still, he was aware that they might cross paths again. One day.
Which is why he has a plan. He is going to follow his parent’s rules—and not complain about it. He is not going to go Batwatching for a couple days, even though he really missed it and was able to hide all his gear and pictures from his parents before they tore his room apart making him pack.
Some small but rising part of Tim can’t help but think that it all feels…unfair. But, he reminds himself, he had tried to blackmail Batman and Nightwing. It is only fair that the pair be upset with him.
He catches a glance at his watch and, squinting at the Roman Numerals, deduces that it has been almost fifteen minutes since he entered. He has to get going.
Sighing again, Tim flushes the toilet for show, and takes his time washing his hands at the sink. He has only just poked his head out to strategize his path back to his parents to try and gauge how long they will actually be at this party when he feels an arm quickly tighten around his shoulders.
“Tim!” Tim just about leaps out of his skin, only to be turned and meet Dick Grayson’s smiling face.
“Hi?” Tim responds, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice. He does not think he is successful.
Undeterred, Dick’s smile does not falter as he guides Tim away from small groups conversing to a more secluded area of the ballroom conveniently sheltered by a decorative plant.
“How was Switzerland?” Dick asks leaning down to be eye-level with Tim, looking incredibly earnest.
Tim knows how to answer this. He was prepped in the car.
“It was a lovely academic opportunity that has changed how I see the world,” he responds, cringing at the stiffness of the response. It certainly wasn’t the worst kind of school for troublesome rich kids, but it was not entirely…welcoming or relaxing. He has to keep any waver he might feel out of his voice when he talks about it.
Dick raises an eyebrow, and Tim knows he needs to nip this in the bud. He is about to improvise another Janet-approved answer when Dick throws out a curve ball question.
“Uh-huh. And how long are your parents staying with you this time?”
Oh.
Oh.
Tim really needs to nip this in the bud. A condition of him staying in Gotham is to not whine or gossip about his homelife. This conversation is moving quickly into the whining-gossip category, especially if Tim admits that his parents are only seeing him for less than 24 hours this trip and planning to almost immediately leave for the airport after this gala. Somehow Tim does not feel that giving details of his parent’s itinerary—specifically the not-returning-for-four-months—would not bode well for them.
After a year of strict monitoring at school there was not a chance in hell that Tim was about to throw away his return to his regular, unsupervised life. Not even for Nightwing.
“They…are….” Tim stares at a spot just over Dick’s shoulder as he trails off, and squints when his eyes start really wanting to blink. A childish distraction, but Tim is nothing if not practical. Dick turns to look at whatever Tim is staring a hole through, and Tim pulls away, making to speedwalk away as fast as he is allowed to at a gala.
He does not get far.
Dick puts a hand on his shoulder which, while surprisingly gentle, does not let Tim go. Or move. He isn't even visible to the rest of the party, still obscured behind the plant.
Dick does not seem amused by Tim’s antics, and pulls him closer, adding another arm to effectively box Tim in in an arms-length hug.
“Kiddo—” Dick starts but is immediately cut off by Tim.
“I won’t bother you this time!” The admission is not exactly loud, but catches Tim by surprise all the same and he has to resist the urge to cover his mouth. “I…you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t bother you this time.”
Dick unfortunately looks very bothered, but before Tim can smooth that out, his mother approaches him in a huff.
“Timothy,” she starts, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder now that Dick has let go, “come see the Caulfields with us. They just got back from Europe, so you can talk about that.”
“Yes, ma'am," Tim replies, a little embarrassed by how young his voice sounds. He clears his throat and gives a polite nod to Dick, working hard to not make the next words sound biting. “It was nice seeing you. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Dick’s eyebrows seem to go through a range of emotions, but before Tim can see which one they land on, he feels his mother putting pressure on his back. He lets her guide him towards the bar where his father talks to an old man that Tim knows is the head of some oil company. The oil company head does not say anything to Tim, but Tim uses his listening face anyway, tracking Dick and Mr. Wayne’s movements the rest of the night. He catches his mother shooting cold looks at Mr. Wayne whenever he drifts close to the Drake’s conversation cluster.
It is only after hour two, when thirty minutes into the second course that Tim’s parents decide it is time to go. Tim is tired and grateful they are leaving, even if he knows that they were only leaving because Jack had one too many drinks.
A win is a win, Tim thinks as he helps guide his dad into the backseat of their driver’s car. This, thankfully, means that Tim could actually go to sleep early.
After he helps his mom get his dad to bed.