Work Text:
It was just another morning at the office, but, as Tim walked through the building, the halls seemed to go quiet around him. As he settled in, an intern steps in, standing awkwardly in the door. Tim realized he didn’t know the man’s name.
“I thought you might like to see this sir.” He moved his hands from behind his back and gave him a tabloid. On the front, in big bold letters, it cried, ‘Drake heir, illegitimate’.
There was a shot of him standing next to Bruce, the rest of the family cropped out. Beside it, there was a head shot of him a few months ago giving a speech for Wayne industries. On top, a teenage Bruce was smiling back.
He flipped through to the article. There were more words about the company, how, it made sense really.
Obviously the only reason Bruce would have made him CEO was because he was the blood heir.
Tim looked up to see that the intern had run out.
A faint voice in the back of his head thought about how furious Damian was going to be.
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Tim had known of course. He’d known since he was a little kid.
Where Jack was broad and tall, Tim was slim and short. Jack used to ruffle his hair, tell him how much he looked like his mom. And, sure. Tim had her long face and her piano fingers. But not everything matched up. Obviously no one would say that to their faces. The Drakes were still too influential to insinuate anything upfront. But, of course, that had changed a lot in recent years.
Tim wasn’t naive. He knew that his parents weren’t exactly the most perfect relationship. Both of them had their flings. They both knew about them; they just didn’t care all that much. Then, they’d throw them in each other’s faces whenever the bad fights broke out. Tim wasn’t supposed to hear the accusations, but he’d always been sneaky. They still loved each other. They were too perfectly matched not too. No one else could rival Janet on Akkadian history, or Jack on Persopolise tablets. They’d argue until their breath ran out on matters of translations, Binford’s theories, and ancient travelling routes. Where one would be cautious, the other would be headstrong. They took the world of archeology by storm, and had the shelves of awards to prove it.
They were both brilliant. And they loved when other people told them that. So, it worked for them.
Tim knew that Jack probably wasn’t his biological father, but that was ok. He didn’t need another dad.
Jack loved him though. He was bad at showing it sometimes, sure. Jack had always been quick to get angry when things went wrong. And both of his parents had always loved their work more than they could ever love a child. But Tim knew they loved him in their own ways. He saw it in the little smiles they’d toss at him over the kitchen table when they were home. When his mom used to play the piano and his dad would sing along, and then grab his hands and dance around the living room with him. The kid archeology set they mailed him for Christmas one year from London. Or the violin they had delivered a couple months after his seventh birthday. It was more than a lot of kids got.
After Tim figured out Robin was Dick Grayson, and Batman was Bruce Wayne, he did a lot of reading about the famed millionaire. And, with that reading came pictures of him, of Martha and Thomas. And, while Bruce was still huge, he had an angularness to his shoulders that almost mirrored Tim.
Tim noticed that his chin looked almost exactly like Thomas’, down to the little divot in the middle. And he found a photo from Martha’s modelling days, and realized his eye colour matched hers perfectly.
He found a picture of Bruce at his age and they could have been brothers.
And, really, it made sense.
Jack Drake was never a fan of Bruce Wayne. Anyone who was anyone in the Gotham upper circle knew it. Sure, Janet would make an appearance at the Wayne galas, but Jack never did. Whenever a Wayne came up in conversation, Jack was more biting than usual with his comments.
So really, Tim figured it was pretty clear what had happened.
Before Jason died, there was a part of him that longed to go over to the Wayne household. Only in the times where his parents had gone on extended trips and were too busy to phone.
As a kid, Tim dreamed about Bruce, throwing open the wooden doors, looking down at him, and instantly coming to the same bygone conclusion.
At night, he watched from a distance as Bruce cuffed Jason on the shoulder, or ruffled Dick’s hair when they were in costume. One night, he’d thrown his arm around Jason after he executed a tricky grappling move and smiled so so big. You could practically see the pride flowing off of him.
Tim still kicks himself for missing the picture.
And then Jason died. And it couldn’t be about Tim anymore. He was almost relieved when Bruce didn’t realize the eerie resemblance Tim showed to the oil painting on the wall. And really, in those days, Bruce wasn’t noticing much of anything.
Over time though, Bruce came back. He was a detective again. And, every once in a while, he would look at Tim, as though putting together puzzle pieces.
But, then the years went on, and Jason came back, and there was crime and aliens and cataclysmic events, and at some point, Tim realized Bruce had probably known all along. Bruce was a lot like Tim, in that he was good at crossing boundaries. He’d probably done a DNA test on him, if not the same day Tim had shown up at the manor, at least at some point, suspecting him to be a clone, or a shapeshifter, or just to check if his Robin might need some sort of early intervention to prevent an awful rare cancer.
It was, in some ways, the main way Batman cared.
So, Bruce knew. And Tim knew. But, Bruce didn’t know that Tim knew, obviously. And Bruce had decided not to tell him.
Which was fine. Tim didn’t need another father. And Bruce didn’t need him as a kid.
When the plane crashed, it broke something inside Tim.
His mom was gone. The house would never again echo with the chords of Rachmaninoff or Chopin. She’d never smile her real smile, the private one she saved just for him when the people at the gala were being dumb. Or stick her toes under his leg when they sat on the couch together and read. She’d never hold his face and smile, making him feel like they were part of an exclusive club. A club of people who really understood the world. Like she was proud of him.
And his dad was in a coma. Gone, but in a different way.
Bruce kept extending offers of help, but Tim gracefully refused. The man still paid for the ICU and had sorted out the funeral arrangements for his mom before Tim had even realized that was something he had to do.
Tim went out on patrol less often. Bruce never said anything. He’d invite him for supper over text, and occasionally, Tim went and ate in silence, Alfred’s cooking tasting like ash in his throat.
Neither Bruce nor Alfred ever seemed to mind.
When Jack woke up, Tim thought it might be a new start. It wasn’t as though he was in a state to travel to archeology sites like Mom and him used to. And they both missed Mom. It had been a while since they had something in common.
Tim got the house fit for a wheelchair user as soon as it seemed like his dad might actually come home. The gym on the main floor was retrofitted to a bedroom, and, after hiring a few contractors, the bathroom ended up being an easy fix. He interviewed home health assistants, and created a schedule that ensured his dad didn’t have to endure the indignity of his son helping him while he was vulnerable.
It worked well. Jack moved back in. He didn’t acknowledge the changes, but Tim knew he appreciated them. Neither of them talked much, but Tim figured it would come in time.
But, after a week of Tim splitting his time between Wayne Manor and helping his dad, Tim found plane tickets to Schiphol, with a connecting flight to Telloh.
Jack at least had the decency to look embarrassed when Tim confronted him about it.
“I have a couple of nurses that’ll help me out while I’m heading over there. And I’ve contracted out a couple of assistants for the dig itself. Really, I’m going to be in more of an administrative role. Old guy like me, should’ve left the digging to the grad students years ago.” His face pinched. Tim knew how much he loved being the first one to touch something in millions of years. The excitement he felt when pulling out a new discovery. It’s part of the reason Tim couldn’t fault his parents for leaving so often.
Tim watched him play with his hands. Yet another thing he’d never inherited.
“Besides. You’re so grownup now. And you never really needed me. Not really.” Jack nodded, like he’d made a good point.
Tim held in a scream.
“Of course I need you Dad.” It came out softer than he’d anticipated.
Jack smiled sadly at him.
“You’re not like other kids. You’re smarter. You hold yourself straighter. You’ve always been so self sufficient. You know, your mother and I never really knew what to make of you.” He grinned like it was a funny joke they were both in on. “You’re so much older at eighteen than I ever was.”
“It’s been a long couple of years.”
“And you’ve handled them so well.” He paused. “You know, I am so proud to call you a Drake.”
Tim felt his throat swell. They’d never really talked about the whole ambiguous paternity thing. Tim knew Jack probably had his suspicions. He wasn’t a dumb man, no matter what the tabloids thought.
“Thanks Dad.”
There was a sheen to his eyes, and Tim looked away. They were both too prideful to acknowledge it.
They had a quiet supper, and Jack had left early the next morning.
Two years later, he came back to Gotham. He’d been killed before he’d even made it back to the mansion. Captain Boomerang had known his flight schedule.
Tim threw himself into the work and tried his hardest to forget burying his second parent. He moved in with Bruce upon his insistence, and it was ok. Stilted, but ok. He always knew that he was taking up more than he was supposed to. It wasn’t like he was Dick or Jason. They had been chosen. Tim was an obligation who’d outworn his welcome. But whenever Bruce ruffled his hair, or called him ‘son’, Tim let himself pretend like he was wanted. They sat together in the study working on WI projects, or the Batcave, bouncing ideas back and forth.
Tim was always careful not to take up too much space. There were a lot of days when Bruce forgot he existed. He was busy. But Tim wasn’t like other kids. He didn’t need attention in the same way they did.
Then, Damian came, and it was hard.
Then, Bruce died.
But, only he didn’t die, and Tim had to find him, and keep a multi-million dollar company afloat, while dealing with everyone assuming he was crazy. So, it didn’t really matter anymore.
It was always a chance that the media would find out.
He’d turned his cell phone off after the second call. And then took his desk phone off the hook. He paid a lot of money to a PR team for stuff like this, they’d email him an action plan in an hour or so, and he’d follow their lead.
Even if people didn’t realize it, Timothy Drake was great at taking orders.
He had to give a quarterly report to the rest of the board at the end of the week. And, of course, he’d have to edit the whole presentation now. There couldn’t be any doubts that he was the right person for the job. The stock had already fallen sixty points by ten o’clock. Tim popped a couple Advil, and tried to ignore the pressing migraine that this whole thing was causing.
His assistant stopped by in the early afternoon with a salad from a restaurant on the block, a black coffee and a bottle of water. He was too professional to mention anything about the news, which Tim appreciated. As he was leaving, he mentioned Bruce had been calling every hour, trying to talk to Tim.
Tim made a note to give him a raise. When Bruce wanted something, it took a lot of steel to stand in his way.
He checked his phone and scrolled through the missed calls. Not an insignificant number were from Bruce.
Interesting. He probably wanted to get their stories straight. Or maybe get Tim’s plan for WE. Even if he didn’t really care about the day to day of the company, Tim still figured he’d be upset if the whole thing went down. Bruce cared about the people who worked for him.
There were bigger things he needed to deal with than Bruce though.
Sarah from PR had emailed him a list of talking points to go over, and they had a meeting set to go over interview options. A few investors had reached out to touch base. Their messages were polite, but the anxiousness bled through the cracks. Tim worked on calming them down with gentle, but confident messages. People like them needed attention when they wanted it. They liked to think they were the most important people Tim met with in a day, and Tim couldn’t get away with just ignoring their calls.
Bruce on the other hand was a big boy. He had years to talk about the elephant in the room. He could wait a few more hours.
A few more hours turned into a couple more days. Tim felt a little bad about it. He meant to phone him back. He did! But every time he picked up the phone and opened Bruce’s contact, there was something that kept him from pressing call. Bruce could be perplexing at the best of times. Tim never really knew what to make of their relationship. They weren’t family, but they were a little more than co-workers. But Tim wouldn’t really call them friends either.
They hadn’t talked for weeks, so it didn’t really matter anyways.
Tim kept going out as Red Robin. And, if he avoided the typical patrol routes, no one had to know but him.
He went on Good Morning America to help settle down the gossip. He thought it went well. It was hard to balance the young bachelor persona with his CEO professional mask, but Tim figured he did alright. He laughed it off, kept it vague, and made sure that his team had prepared an intensive document of questions that were on and off limits.
The stock prices stopped bombing, and, with the announcement of a new green tech initiative a few days later, it actually started to climb again.
Sarah planned him an interview for GQ, and he took the afternoon off to go get photographed in a suit. It meant he needed to work later into the night. It worked out though, since 2 am for Gotham was the perfect time for phone calls with the Tokyo office.
Bruce had gone radio silent, which, really, was probably for the best. Tim deleted the messages unopened. Wayne Enterprise was doing well again. There was nothing to worry about. And, really, it’s not like there was ever any concrete evidence. They could carry on, like they always do.
It would have been fine, if Alfred hadn’t texted him, inviting him over to the manor. Alfred never texted. Or, really asked for anything, ever. Tim couldn’t say no.
Tim chose a Wednesday afternoon to go over. Early enough in the day that the super crowd wouldn’t be there, but late enough that anyone who’d stayed over after patrol would have cleared out. Damian and Duke both were in school, Dick was at work, Jason was as unlikely to be at the manor as Tim was… Cas might be around, but she was fine.
Even after all these years Tim still felt awkward standing at the front door. He had a key, but it never felt right just walking in. For some reason knocking felt wrong too though.
Alfred opened the door and his face warmed with a small smile.
“Timothy my boy, it’s been too long.”
It had. In avoiding the manor, he had ended up missing Alfred, a lot.
“Hey Alfred.” No matter how old he got, he still felt young under the mans gaze.
“I thought we could have tea in the garden. The delphiniums are splendid right now, and I believe you’d enjoy them.” Alfred stepped back into the mansion, and Tim came in, shutting the huge doors, and taking off his shoes.
Alfred kept walking as he talked. “I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could spare some time with my phone. I’m afraid that I’m not as skilled with the apps as the youth are, and I would feel much better if it was you than Damian.” He glanced back and gave him a quick wink. “Leave an old man with some dignity.”
Tim had seen what Alfred could do with a computer and doubted he needed help getting into Instagram. He nodded though, “Course Alfred.”
“But first, I would ask you to talk with Master Bruce.”
Tim stopped and Alfred turned around to look at him.
“Alfred, there’s nothing really to say.” Because, really, there wasn’t. And the more that they pretended there was, the longer it would take for them to get over this whole stupid thing.
Alfred considered him sadly. Tim resisted the urge to curl his arms around himself, and instead looked straight back at the man.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to see then.”
He turned and walked quickly down the hallway.
Tims guts churned but he followed him anyways. It wasn’t long before they were standing in front of Bruce’s study, looking at a closed door.
“I have a batch of muffins that need to come out of the oven,” Alfred said. “Something to look forward to later.”
Tim nodded.
Alfred put his hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright lad.”
Tim felt his throat constrict, but he glanced at Alfred and managed a half grin. It must have appeased the man, because he headed back down the stairs, and Tim was alone.
He knocked, carefully.
“Come in,” Bruce’s voice rang out softly, muffled by the door.
Tim walked in. He’d assumed that Alfred had told Bruce about the ambush, but, from the brief flicker of surprise on his face, Tim realized they’d both been duped.
Bruce was around the desk in a second, and then Tim was in his arms, being hugged.
Bruce never hugged. Tim vaguely wondered if he was alright.
“Hey.” Tim said, squished a little by a bicep.
Bruce released him and looked him over. Tim knew he probably came up short. Sleep had fallen by the wayside while he dealt with the fallout. More than normal, that is.
“Thank you for coming.”
Bruce had his business voice on. Tim knew it would be like this. He tried not to be disappointed.
“Yeah, course.” Tim tried to appear very interested in the thick leather books lining the walls.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Bruce looked at him. “I’ve fixed the stock crash. Lucius said he sent you a report.”
“You’ve been doing well with the company, but, I was more hoping to hear about you.” His voice had turned into the softer voice he used on scared kids, mixed with a hint of confusion. Something in Tim ruffled.
“The bust last week of Maroni’s shipment went well. I talked to my source with the GCPD, he said the evidence looks like it’ll be admissible. There were a few big names that might not get out for a while. Obviously not the top circle, but between that and the seized product, it might keep them quiet for a bit.”
Bruce kept looking at him.
“I saw. You did good work.”
Tim knew.
He held his breath waiting to hear whatever faults Bruce had picked out, but the silence stretched on. “Thanks.”
Bruce sat down on the loveseat and Tim followed his lead, sitting on the sofa across from him.
“I wanted to talk about the article.”
“I’ve been playing damage control. So far it’s been moderately effective. Office moral is down, but I’ve been making plans to help fix that.” Tim paused, “It would help if you could release a statement. Actually.” He immediately realizes he should have phrased it better. Obviously Bruce knows how to play the press, he doesn’t need Tim to tell him what to do.
It would help though. The silence on Bruce’s part was almost the most damning thing about the whole ordeal.
Tim watches Bruce’s face, waiting for the anger, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just looks… sad.
“I didn’t want to release anything before we got a chance to talk.” Of course. Smart. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Obviously, the whole situation’s unfortunate, but I think that we can manage it.”
He looks down at his hands. He’s known for a long time that Bruce wasn’t about to announce him as a real member of the family, really, it wouldn’t make sense. He was the neighbor’s kid, and then an employee. But Tim still didn’t want to look at Bruce as he laid it all out.
Bruce took a deep breath. “We had a genetic sample. I tested it, and, what they wrote… It’s accurate. Tim…” Bruces voice sounds like he’s delivering bad news. Like Tim was about to cry or something. The whole thing almost makes him want to laugh.
“I mean, come on. It’s not like you didn’t know.” He blurted it out a little faster than he’d planned. Bruce inhales sharply and Tim chances a look up.
Bruce’s face was splayed open. Tim had never seen him look so heartbroken.
“No, I didn’t know. Tim,” he said quietly. Tim suddenly felt very awkward. He wished he hadn’t worn a collared shirt for this conversation.
“It’s ok. Um, really Bruce.” He waved his hand. “Seriously. It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Bruce looked lost for words. “Tim, even if, even if you weren’t mine biologically, the way I’ve been ignoring you over the last few months, it’s anything but ok.”
Bruce stood up, and leaned back on his desk, looking unsteady. “You brought me back, and then I leave you to run my company. And,” He must have seen the moment of fear on Tim’s face, “You’ve done an amazing job. But, when I took you in, I made a promise to take care of you. And, I’ve been falling short of that.”
Tim didn’t know what to say. Bruce took it as an opportunity to continue.
“And there’s been a lot going on, not that that’s an excuse, but you always do so well, it’s easy to forget you haven’t had an easy time these past few years.”
Tim nodded. He’d heard similar things from his parents for years. People at galas always used to praise how low maintenance he could be.
“You knew?” Bruce stared into him, not in accusation, but in confusion.
Tim nodded.
“When?”
Tim opened his mouth and closed it. “A while ago.”
“Tim…” Bruce’s voice crackled with emotion.
“I suspected it shortly after I realized you were Batman.” Tim said quietly.
Bruce turned sharp on his heel and took a couple of steps away. Tim could hear him breathing deeply.
He turned back to Tim and sat back down.
“Ok.” He nodded to himself, eyes far away. “Ok.”
Tim wondered sometimes if knowing the right thing to say was genetic. If so, both him and Bruce were missing it.
“I don’t want to disrespect Jack, or the role he’s played in your life. I more than anyone understand that a family is more than genetic, but I would love to announce it publicly, if that’s something you’d be ok with.”
Something dramatic must have played out on Tim’s face, because Bruce brought his hands up.
“You don’t have to decide right now. It’s alright. It’s up to you.”
“What?” Tim said, still catching up.
“And, I’ve been thinking. You’re only eighteen. I know you haven’t always felt like it, but I hope that you could see this place as home. If you wanted, you’re welcome to move back in.” Tim stared at him. “It could be… nice, to stay under the same roof again.”
“Have you talked to Damian about it?”
Bruce’s face pinched and he almost looked ashamed.
“I should have done something earlier. I’m sorry. His behavior to you has been inexcusable, and, as the adult, I ignored it when I should have been putting a stop to it.”
Huh. Surprising.
“Damian took it rough, but I’ve been talking to him. He’s getting there.”
Getting there probably meant moving from lethal measures down to a severe maiming, but Tim nodded anyways.
“I don’t want to replace your parents. But, I want to be better. I want to be there.” Tim made a sound and Bruce held up his hands. “Not because of DNA.” He looked down at the floor. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve considered you to be like a son to me for a long time, even if I haven’t always been clear about it.”
Something wounded and awful made its way out of Tim’s throat. He didn’t know why. Its not like this changed anything. Bruce could say that, but he didn’t really know how difficult Tim could be. It wouldn’t be long before he changed his mind. He had bigger issues to deal with. He didn’t have time for him and all his issues.
“Tim, oh, son.”
Tim realized he was crying.
Bruce sat down on the sofa and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling Tim close to his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I ever made you think anything different.”
Tim felt his body shaking, and Bruce rubbed his back, quietly humming in the back of his throat.
“It’s ok Tim, it’s ok.”
Tim made a shaky breath in and leaned back, hurriedly wiping his face.
“Obviously there are things to consider.” He surprises himself with the clarity of his voice. Pure business. Logic. He opens his mouth to start listing them- last names, business dealings, favoritism accusations, the fact that Ra had been back to snooping around, interest renewed ever since learning of his new pedigree…
“It can wait Tim. We can figure it out together.”
“I don’t want them to say anything bad about my mom.” He surprises himself; he hadn’t planned to say that.
“Janet was a great woman. We’ll figure something out. The press was just an idea.”
Tim nodded.
“I suppose, a selfish part of me was excited to have a concrete claim to you I could show off to the world. You matter a lot to me Tim, and I would like to make that clear to everyone. Of course, that doesn’t have to be through the media, it’s entirely up to you.” Bruce pauses, “I shouldn’t have brought it up today. We’ll deal with that in the future.”
It was a lot. Too much. Tim’s chest felt tight.
“I promised Alfred I’d fix his phone.”
Bruce leaned back, sorrow painted on his face. “Of course. We can talk later.”
Tim hopped up and went to the door. But, before he left, Bruce called out.
“Tim.” He stopped in the doorway. “I know the whole situation wasn’t perfect, I can’t pretend that reading that didn’t make me happy on some level. I’m glad that you’re my son.”
“Thanks,” Tim choked out before fleeing down the hallway.
Halfway to the garden patio he almost ran into Damian. Tim tensed, ready for a fight, but the boy just nodded at him stiffly before walking by.
Maybe somethings could change.
At least, there was Alfred and muffins and plants to learn about in the late afternoon sun.
Everything else could wait.