Chapter Text
The last day of school was always bittersweet at Gotham City School for the Deaf.
At least, that’s how Tim saw it. He was excited to go home for the summer and see his parents, of course. He hardly ever got to see them during the school year. But as much as he loved Jack and Janet Drake, it was hard to be around them. His parents didn’t sign, so Tim was forced to rely on speaking and lip-reading in order to communicate with them. It was exhausting.
See, Timothy Drake had not been born Deaf.
He’d lost his hearing at the age of four, after contracting bacterial meningitis. The infection caused extensive ossification of both cochleae and severely damaged his auditory nerves, leaving him with profound, bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. He wasn’t a candidate for cochlear implants or even hearing aids. So, since he couldn’t be “fixed”, his devastated parents had shipped him off to the School for the Deaf as soon as he was old enough.
Twelve years later, they still refused to learn so much as the ASL alphabet.
A wad of socks hit the back of his head. Tim turned away from the open suitcase on his bed and faced his best friend, Sebastian Ives. “What?”
“We have five minutes. Hurry up,” the boy signed. Ives had been Tim’s friend since kindergarten and roommate since middle school. He’d been deafened after completing cancer treatment as a toddler. The two had quickly bonded over their love of sci-fi and Dungeons and Dragons.
Tim rolled his eyes. “Almost done.”
Ives looked skeptical. “If you’re not ready when my mom gets here, your ass can take the shuttle back to Bristol.”
“Quit throwing socks at me, and I’ll finish faster.”
Without giving his friend the chance to reply, Tim turned back to his suitcase and mentally checked off everything on his packing list. Clothes? Check. Laptop? Check. Camera bag? Check. Everything he needed to get through the summer was stuffed into his overfilled suitcase. The rest of his belongings would stay behind and wait for him to return in the fall.
Once his luggage was zipped up and ready to go, Tim slung his backpack over his shoulder and said farewell to his dorm room.
As the two boys made their way to the parking lot, Tim signed goodbyes to all the other students and teachers he came across. These people were like his family. Sometimes, GCSD felt more like home than Drake Manor. It was where Tim had learned ASL and found belonging—where he’d gone from being deaf to Deaf. He truly didn’t know what he was going to do without them when he graduated next spring.
But at least he had a whole year before he needed to have that figured out. For now, Tim just needed to worry about surviving the summer.
Instead of spending time together as a family on Tim’s first day home in months, the Drakes decided to attend a gala.
This particular event was being held at the Gotham City Museum of Natural History to fund its new paleontology wing. As prominent archaeologists, the networking opportunity was “simply too good to pass up.”
“Remember…your best {behavior?}, Timothy,” his mother reminded him as they moved through the museum’s grand entryway. There were people everywhere, all decked out in the finest suits and dresses money could buy. The flashing cameras caused constant shadows that made understanding his mother even harder than usual. Still, Tim could pretty much guess what she was saying.
Contrary to popular belief, lip-reading was not an exact science. There was a lot of guesswork involved. Even with his parents, the hearing people he knew best, Tim was only able to read about 40% of what they said (and that’s if they were actually looking at him). With strangers? He was lucky to get half of that. Over the years, Tim had gotten really good at mentally filling in the blanks so he wouldn’t have to ask people to repeat themselves. He’d learned at a very young age that his parents hated it when he did that, especially in front of their friends.
“Of course, Mom,” he assured. He made sure to keep his voice calm and steady at all times, just like his speech therapist had taught him. His parents had paid good money to ensure Tim never developed a “Deaf accent” after losing his hearing. It simply wouldn’t do for high society to know the Drake heir was anything less than perfect.
“There’s Victor Morrison,” his father pointed out, his facial expression turning excited. “I’ve been…to meet… ages. I’ll just–”
Tim completely missed the rest of the sentence as his dad turned away. Jack then started walking towards the man he’d identified as Victor Morrison, which helped Tim fill in the rest of the gaps. He glanced back to his mother, only to realized she’d been talking to him as well.
“… table. Your father or I will come {get?}… it’s appropriate.”
Right. At public events like this, the Drakes typically preferred to keep Tim in the background. He was usually sent to the refreshment table or somewhere else out of the way so he could play the part of the “aloof teenager.” Until his presence could be used to make his parents look good, of course.
Still, Tim wasn’t going to argue. It wasn’t like he wanted to be in the middle of all the socializing, anyway. He’d much rather find an isolated corner to wait things out in. “Yes, ma’am.”
After ordering a Coke from the bar, Tim found a nice wall to lean against. It was between a velociraptor skeleton and a case of bugs fossilized in amber, and it provided him with a nice view of the rest of the party. Tim preferred to have all his sides guarded so people could only approach him from the front. He was much less likely to get surprised that way.
He noticed the Waynes as soon as they arrived.
Bruce Wayne, as usual, led the pack as its patriarch. His children followed closely behind him: Dick, Jason, Cass, Duke, and Damian. None of them looked particularly happy to be there, save for maybe Dick—though, Tim imagined that was just because the eldest was the best at faking exuberance.
Not that he really knew the Waynes, of course. Not personally, at least. He knew them by reputation, just like every other Gothamite did, and he had talked to them a handful of times throughout the years at various societal events, but he wasn’t delusional enough to think of them as friends or anything.
Even if he knew their most guarded secret.
It all started when Tim was nine-years-old. GCSD was smack dab in the middle of downtown Gotham, so Tim often caught glances of Batman and Robin from his window. Eventually, he began sneaking up to the rooftop to watch the vigilantes more closely using the zoom lens on his camera. When Robin had performed a quadruple somersault one night, Tim had immediately made the connection to the Flying Graysons. That night at the circus had been one of the last times his parents had willingly spent time with him before he’d gotten sick. From there, it had been all too easy to put the rest of the puzzle together.
Bruce Wayne was the Dark Knight himself. Dick had been Robin until he was about eighteen. Then, he’d quit, become Nightwing, and moved to Blüdhaven. The second Robin, Jason Todd, was around for a few years before being killed by the Joker. Tim had never been able to figure out exactly how (which infuriated him to no end), but the boy had been resurrected and was now working as Red Hood, a semi-active crime lord that had made peace with the other Bats shortly after his return to Gotham.
While Jason had been dead, Batman grew increasingly violent. Tim had been afraid that his hero was passing the point of no return, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to actually do anything about it. After all, why would Batman have listened to some random Deaf kid? He’d thought about going to see Dick Grayson and asking him to become Robin again, but thankfully, Cassandra Cain had shown up in the nick of time and become the new Batgirl (the first one had disappeared around the same time Barbara Gordon had been paralyzed by the Joker). She’d mellowed Batman out a lot and now worked often with another young vigilante named Spoiler. Then, a couple years after that, Damian Wayne had been thrust upon Bruce’s doorstep, and a new Robin was seen in the skies once again. The most recent addition, Duke Thomas, joined the family a little over a year ago. As Signal, he was not only the sole Bat that patrolled during the daytime but also the only metahuman on the roster.
Nowadays, the Bats worked as a family unit—not always the most functional, but they clearly cared for one another a lot. As much as Tim enjoyed watching them fight, his favorite thing to do was “listen” in on their chitchat between ass-kickings. A few years back, he’d successfully hacked into the Bats’ main comm line and connected it to a program on his laptop he’d developed that transcribed their speech into text. It allowed him to be able to follow along with their conversations without diving deep enough to end up on the radar of the seemingly omniscient Oracle (whom Tim pretty sure was Barbara Gordon, based on the way Nightwing tended to flirt with her).
Tim would be lying if he said he’d never been envious of the Waynes. Or that he hadn’t developed a definitely-somewhat-unhealthy parasocial relationship with them. But what else could he have done? With Ives spending most weekends back home with his parents, Tim had been left alone a lot while growing up in the dorms. Most days, spying on the Bats made up the highlight of his evenings.
The Waynes split up pretty soon after entering. Bruce immediately started socializing while Dick took Damian around to see all of the museum’s displays. Cass, Duke, and Jason, as always, made an immediate beeline for the refreshment table. They, like Tim, preferred speaking to as few socialites as possible.
“…understand why… come…fucking things,” Jason huffed. As the trio drew closer, Tim was able to pick up a little bit of their conversation. “Makes {regret?}…the family.”
Duke smirked knowingly at his brother. “No... You love us.”
“Despite…fucking efforts.”
It was then that Cass noticed him. Tim mentally slapped himself. He could practically hear his mother’s voice (or what little he remembered of it) yelling at him that it was impolite to stare.
He fixed his face into a polite smile and nodded at the three Waynes in greeting, hoping to every deity imaginable that he hadn’t creeped them out too much. He’d seen how badly the Bats could beat people up.
Thankfully, Cass returned his smile and even waved at him. She and her brothers then continued on their search for snacks, leaving Tim both relieved and a bit disappointed.
Crisis averted.
The car ride home was uneventful.
His parents were talking to each other—from what Tim could tell, they were very excited about the connections they’d made during the gala. At least, that’s what he assumed they were still talking about. Both of his parents kept their faces turned forward, so Tim had zero way of reading their lips or following along with the conversation. And honestly? He didn’t have it in himself to care at that moment. He was exhausted.
They pulled into Drake Manor’s long driveway a few minutes later. His parents hurried inside the large mansion, never once turning back to acknowledge their son. It hurt, sure, but Tim told himself that at least he wasn’t getting yelled or lectured. That meant his performance at the gala had been satisfactory. So, yay for that, he supposed.
Once inside, a waving motion in his peripheral grabbed his attention. He snapped his head up and saw his father looking at him.
“We’ll…back out… minute, Sport,” his father informed him. “The Morrisons invited… {drinks?} tonight. Your mother and I… change clothes. I’m sure… night to yourself… school for … Am I right?”
Tim swallowed. They were leaving again. He shouldn’t have expected anything different, really. His parents were busy people with busy social schedules, after all. “Sure, Dad. Have fun.”
His dad smiled widely at him. “Thank… understanding, bud. Tomorrow, we’ll go…. {breakfast?}, and you can tell…your final {exams?}!”
The promise of a family breakfast shouldn’t have filled him with as much warmth as it did. “That sounds perfect!”
His mother reached up to cradle his cheek. For once, she actually spoke to him clearly enough for him to easily read her. “We really… glad to… home, Timothy. Your father and I missed you dearly.”
“I missed you both, too,” Tim replied honestly.
Tim retired to his room feeling hopeful. He couldn’t wait to tell his parents about everything he and Ives had gotten up to since Spring Break. Of course, the cynical part of him warned not to get his hopes up (his parents had a bad habit of canceling plans with him if they got a better offer), but Tim refused to let his spirits be dampened.
He hit the hay pretty early. Hours of pretending to be hearing had left him completely drained of all energy. The first few days home were always the hardest. Over the years, signing had become as natural to Tim as breathing. But unless he was in the privacy of his own room, ASL had no place in the world of the Drakes. Therefore, Tim had to completely switch his way of thinking in order to fit in how his parents wanted him to. Which was for the best, really. He was about to be a senior. And, as his dad put it, the “real world” wouldn’t put up with his Deafness. That’s why his parents had never gone out of their way to learn to sign or even accommodate him by installing things like flashing doorbell lights or strobing fire alarms. They were preparing Tim for adulthood, where he’d just have to learn to get by like everyone else.
At least, that’s what Tim told himself as he fell asleep.
Bruce had just hung up the cowl for the night when his phone began to ring. All five of his children were currently safe and sound upstairs in the Manor (a very rare yet very welcome occurrence), so, quite confused, he looked at the caller ID:
Jim Gordon.
He immediately answered, making sure his voice sounded like he’d just woken up. “Jim? It’s 3:00 in the morning. Is something wrong?”
“I’m so sorry to wake you, Bruce, but I’m afraid a situation has just been brought to my attention. What do you know about Jack and Janet Drake?”
Okay, now Bruce was really confused. He hurried out of the Batcave and headed up towards his study as he replied. “Not much, to be honest. They live next-door, though my estate is 150 acres, so that description’s a bit generous. I know that they’re archaeologists, and that they have a teenage-son named Timothy. Other than that, I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to them much, at least not recently. They travel a lot.”
“You said ‘not recently,’” the commissioner pointed out. “Did you used to speak with them more?”
Bruce swallowed. “What’s this about, Jim?”
His friend sighed. “Jack and Janet Drake are dead. They were both in a car accident about an hour ago.”
“What about Timothy?” The billionaire demanded, his heart picking up speed. “Was he in the car with them?”
“No, he couldn’t have been. Their convertible was only a two-seater. I have two officers at the Drake house right now. The reason I’m calling is, the hospital social worker contacted the Drakes’ estate attorney’s office once they were officially pronounced dead. In Janet’s will, she specified that if anything should ever happen to her and Jack, then full custody of Timothy Drake should be transferred to you, Bruce.”
Bruce sucked in a breath. “Me? Why? Surely, they have closer friends or relatives. I’ve only ever met Timothy in passing.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, but in her documents, Janet also confessed that Timothy did not belong to Jack. Instead, she claimed that you are Timothy’s true biological father.”
Batman was not easily shocked. The Dark Knight prided himself on never being caught off guard. Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, was floored.
He could almost hear Dick’s voice mocking him. “If you had a nickel for every time a woman surprised you with a son you never knew you had, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?”
His children were never going to let him live this down.
“I-I had no idea,” he sputtered, rubbing his hand over his face.
The commissioner hummed. “I was going to ask you if there was any possibility of her claim being truthful, but based on your reaction, I’m gonna assume that’s a ‘yes.’”
Memories hit Bruce like a freight train. He gripped the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to combat the oncoming headache. “There was… a night, yes. Just one. It would have been sixteen, seventeen years ago? Janet wanted to make Jack jealous—something about him being ‘unwilling to commit’, and I’m sure you’re aware of the reputation I had in my twenties, Jim, before Dick came along. After that, they got married very quickly, and then Timothy was born a few months later. I just always assumed the shotgun wedding had been because Jack had gotten Janet pregnant, and Janet never said nor did anything to indicate otherwise.”
Stupid. He was stupid. Stupid for sleeping around. Stupid for trusting Janet when she’d promised she was on birth control. Stupid for not realizing sooner.
“Well, confirmation can always come later. For now, my officers have radioed in saying Timothy isn’t answering the door. They’ve walked around the perimeter, and all of the lights are off in the house. If the kid’s there, he must be a very deep sleeper. They’re about to break in and do a sweep.”
Bruce grabbed his car keys and headed for the foyer. “I’m on my way. Thank you for calling me, Jim.”
“Of course. We’ll try to keep the press away for as long as possible, but you know as well as I do how these things tend to play out.”
Unfortunately, that was all too true. The media was going to have a field day with this. But one step at a time. For now, another boy had just lost the only parents he’d ever known, and it was going to be up to Bruce to pick up the pieces.
When he pulled up to the house, two police cruisers were parked in the driveway. A pair of officers waited for him outside the door.
“Have you found him?” he asked quickly.
One of the officers nodded. “Kid’s one hell of a sleeper. He didn’t wake up until we turned the lights on and shook him. He hasn’t said much since—must be in shock or something.”
Bruce frowned. “May I see him?”
“Be my guest.”
When he stepped through the door into Drake Manor, his heart broke. He saw Timothy Drake, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the couch between two officers. Now that he was face-to-face with the boy, Bruce felt even stupider for never considering the possibility of him not belonging to Jack. The jet-black hair, the icy blue eyes, the sharp widow’s peak—it all screamed Wayne.
Upon closer examination, the poor kid looked half-asleep and more than a little disoriented. His eyes kept darting between the two adults as they both asked him questions and muttered reassurances. His brows were also furrowed, as if he was having trouble following along.
That’s when Bruce noticed Timothy’s sweatshirt. Its burgundy fabric was faded and well-worn, but the lettering was still clear:
GCSD.
The only school in the city with those initials, at least to Bruce’s knowledge, was Gotham City School for the Deaf. But that couldn’t be right. Timothy had spoken to him and his children a handful of times throughout the years without issue, and he’d never seen the Drakes use any form of sign language in public. Plus, while Jack and Janet had hardly been friends, they’d still run in the same social circles. If the Drake heir was Deaf, surely Bruce would have heard about it through the grapevine.
Unless, of course, they’d hidden it.
Bruce's stomach dropped. That was something he could see the Drakes doing. Image was everything to them, after all. Or, at least, it had been.
After watching the boy for a few more moments, the truth became increasingly clear. Timothy hadn’t heard the police ring the doorbell because he couldn’t hear at all.
“Officers, I don’t think he’s understanding anything you’re saying,” he announced as he entered the room. Upon seeing him, the boy’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Bruce made sure to keep his face fully visible as he knelt in front of the shaking boy and asked very carefully, “Timothy, are you Deaf?”
Looking slightly relieved and scared all at once, the boy nodded.
“That explains why it took us so long to get his attention,” the officer to Timothy’s left huffed as he stood up. He left the room, presumably to update his fellow officers outside.
Bruce swallowed nervously. He was competent in American Sign Language, though not fully fluent. A part of him pointed out that billionaire Bruce Wayne had no reason to know sign language, but he was confident he’d be able to come up with a good excuse. Tim needed him right now. There was every chance he was about to be the one to have to break the terrible news of the Drakes’ deaths.
“I’m sorry, my ASL is not perfect,” he signed, to Timothy’s visible shock. “We’ve met before, but my name is Bruce Wayne. Do you go by Timothy? Or maybe Tim?”
“I go by Tim, Mr. Wayne,” the boy responded verbally, his tone insistent. “Don’t worry, I can read lips very well normally. I just got overwhelmed with everyone talking at once. You don’t have to sign.”
It struck him as odd that the boy spoke out loud rather than replying in ASL. But Bruce didn’t want to overstep, so he decided to follow Tim’s lead. “I understand completely. And please, call me ‘Bruce.’ Tim, do you know why the police are here?”
He shrugged. “I got the words ‘parents’ and ‘accident.’ D-did something happen to my mom and dad?”
“Yes,” the billionaire nodded. He was hesitant to continue. “Are you sure you aren’t more comfortable signing?”
The boy looked confused at the offer. “I-I don’t want you to have to accommodate me,” Tim wavered. “I really am good at lip-reading.”
Something about that sentence really bothered Bruce. He’d never met a Deaf person so disinclined to use sign language. There was obviously something deeper going on, but now wasn’t the time to investigate that. Not when he was about to shatter a teenager’s entire world.
“You are,” Bruce agreed, deciding to press the issue one more time before giving up, “but I want to make sure you understand everything I am about to tell you. It’s very important. I promise I don’t mind to sign. I just want to do what’s best for you. Okay?”
The boy still looked reluctant, but finally, he nodded. He brought his hands up and signed stiffly, “Okay. Thank you."
Bruce took a deep, steadying breath, and lifted his hands. “Tim, your parents were in a car accident. I’m very sorry, but they both died.”
His eyes widened. He repeatedly signed, “No," as he shook his head. "That can’t be true.”
“I’m sorry, Tim. It’s true. I wish it wasn’t, but it is,” Bruce confirmed gently. His movements felt foreign and cloddish. His ASL was definitely more rusty than he would have liked. Still, he did his best as he continued. “I can’t make things better, but I promise you won’t be alone. You’re coming to stay with me.”
Tim frowned. “I am?”
Bruce was going to have to tread very carefully. It would be completely inappropriate to tell Tim about their potential biological relationship right now. Especially since it hadn’t yet been confirmed as truth (though, at this point, Bruce was pretty darn confident). In any case, Tim deserved some time to grieve his parents before his views on them were changed forever.
“Yes,” he confirmed, nodding with his fist. “I know how scary it is to lose your parents. So do most of my children. You’ll be safe there. We’re going to help you get through this.”
Finally, Tim buried his face in his hands and started sobbing. Bruce’s first instinct was to start comforting the boy verbally, but he caught himself. Instead, he placed a gentle hand on Tim’s back and started rubbing it soothingly. The teen melted into the touch immediately, prompting Bruce to take things a step further. He sat down on Tim’s left and gently wrapped his arms around him.
The remaining officer stood up. “I’ll give you both a few minutes alone. Mr. Wayne, we’ll need you to sign a few things before we can leave, but there’s absolutely no rush. Just meet us outside whenever you’re ready.”
“Of course, Officer,” Bruce assured. “Thank you.”
As he held the crying boy (potentially his son), Bruce felt way in over his head. Sure, he had five children already, but this felt different. Not just because Tim was Deaf, though that would definitely take some getting used to. There was also the fact that Tim was a complete civilian. He had absolutely nothing to do with Batman Inc. The only other kid he’d taken in that hadn’t known Bruce was Batman beforehand had been Dick, and that had lasted all of five minutes (though, in his defense, the original Boy Wonder had been absolutely feral as a child). With all of Gotham’s vigilantes and their allies constantly coming and going, there was no way Tim wouldn’t find out eventually.
But those concerns, though valid, could wait. The first order of business, of course, would be to help Tim heal and get him settled into the family. It wasn’t going to be easy, so they were just going to have to take things day by day.