Chapter Text
A few days later, they received the news.
Tim had been trailing behind Jason as they wandered through the manor. Jason would roll his eyes, his left leg still in the cast, so he relied heavily on his crutches. The pair were just about to enter the library when Tim heard Bruce's footsteps approaching.
Tim gestured at Jason, and they both waited for Bruce to appear. Like clockwork, the Dragon rounded the corner and froze at the sight of Tim and Jason staring at him.
At Bruce's somber expression, Tim's own expression sobered, "Bruce? Did something happen?"
"Let's sit down first," Bruce responded ambiguously, leading the two teens into the library before handing Tim his phone.
Tim answered with a confused twist of his lips, "Hello?"
"Hello, is this Timothy Drake?"
"Yes, who am I speaking to?" Tim shifted his tone, sounding colder, matching that of the stranger.
"I am Davis Warner," the man said. His voice was prim, proper, and without a single drop of emotion or compassion, "I am calling on behalf of the Bureau of Consular Affairs."
Tim's blood ran cold, and dread sank into his stomach. It was as if the ground was collapsing from under him, "Your parents, Jack, and Janet Drake, were returning from Florence, Italy, when their taxi suffered malfunctions and exploded. The first responders were unable to save your mother; she was found dead the moment they arrived. The official death was marked at 2:34 pm, June 29, 2010. Your father, on the other hand, is alive yet unconscious."
Tim blinked slowly, "Do you know how their taxi came to malfunction? What happened to the driver?"
"The driver was found uninjured," the man's voice was not helping with Tim's disconnect, "as for how the taxi malfunctioned, we are unsure. Since you are a minor, this is just to inform you of the situation. What happens to your mother's corpse will be determined by your father and your inheritance by a lawyer."
Without wasting another word, the man hung up, and Tim sat holding the beeping phone by his ear.
Tim barely registered the phone being taken from his hands as a low ringing noise started in his ears.
"It's going to be alright, Tim," Bruce soothed, gently brushing a hand through Tim's hair despite the mist leaking from his skin and the weak growl pushing from his throat. "We'll be with you throughout this, I promise. I promise."
Tim blinked sluggishly, his hands clenching as he glanced at the Dragon's expression, and then his eyes darted to meet Jason's. His brother's expression was sympathetic and understanding, a nearly pitying light in his eyes.
Despite his pseudo-family's constant comfort and near-suffocating presence--- all stemming from their knowledge that Tim was capable of heinous acts in his grief--- Tim found himself focused furiously on the Batcomputer. His fingers flew furiously across the keyboard as he searched desperately for clues. His bots ran and scanned hundreds of hours' worth of camera footage. Tim was looking for something specific.
Tim could only do something like this without interference because he knew Barbara was at the library and was away from her computer. It was a dirty move, especially since Tim was using his mist to layer a concealment spell.
Illuminated by the pale light of the Batcomputer, Tim finally found something. It was a sequence of pings cascading into security footage taken from an alley.
Pale blue-white eyes pinned on the screen as one Jack Drake walked into view. There were two men already there. One had dark hair with a lit cigarette in his mouth, and the other had ashy blonde hair.
"You know why I'm here," Jack spoke first, his voice trembling with barely concealed rage.
The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes and spoke with heavily accented English, "How much are you willing to pay?"
"€1.4 million," Jack responded with an arrogant tilt to his voice. God, Tim hated that human, Jack gave a bad name to all humans. If only Jack had died instead of Janet, that would make Tim so much happier.
Then, the rising irritation quickly shifted to anger- Jack shouldn't have ordered a hit on her. He didn't know why he was surprised. For a man whose job and hobby consisted of hunting down, murdering, butchering, and killing sentient creatures, Tim wasn't surprised he resorted to permanently silencing Tim’s mother.
"Who's it for?" the light-haired man asked.
Tim pulled another window, running the men's faces through his program and searching for their names. It was unsurprising how easy it was since both had been arrested many times already. The light-haired man was Matteo Pelosi, and the dark-haired man was Carlos Sergeto.
"Janet Drake," Jack declared confidently.
Sergeto sounded dubious, "You want to place a hit on your... wife?"
"That DEMON is not my wife," Jack snarled, his calm demeanor ripping away to reveal twisting and broiling anger hysteria. The Hunter's composure cracked like a dropped egg, breaking and shattering into thousands of unstable pieces. Tim wasn't there, but he kinda feels bad for those two.
Tim has felt the effects of Jack's anger before, and it was never fun. If Jack had ever laid a hand on him, Tim knows that his mother would've killed the Hunter and married Bruce Wayne instead.
Jack's anger continued, "That BITCH is a fucking demon that TRICKED ME! Her bastard son is- I wouldn't be surprised if he was a bitch like that Fox too."
"Why don't you do the job then?" Pelosi huffed, giving Jack a dirty look, "Ain't you a Hunter?"
Jack sneers at the two men, and Tim thinks Jack is a prime example of not making a successful business deal. No wonder his mother was the head of Drake Industries.
"Listen here, you worthless rats. I'm the one with the money- and I am the one paying you! I don't care how you do it, but you better kill that bitch, or you'll have to say goodbye to your money. I wouldn't expect you two mongrels to understand the intricacies of Gotham Politics."
As the two Italians exchanged looks, Tim realized this was why Jack was also so grievously injured. The Hunter could not hold his mouth and experienced the consequences.
Honestly, karma. Jack deserved it, and Tim itched to sink his claws into the Hunter's throat.
"Fine," Sergeto huffed, "but for someone so public, it'll be €2.6 million."
Jack bristled, "€2.2 million."
"€2.3, but you pay upfront," Pelosi interjected, his face tense with irritation.
"Half up front, rest after," Jack argued.
Sergeto rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand, "Deal."
"Deal."
As the recording played out, nothing else happened as they went their separate ways.
Tim pushed away from his desk, taking a deep breath as a wave of cold anger burned through his veins. Jack was still unconscious at the Gotham General Hospital, so it gave Tim time to gather what he needed. After scrubbing the Batcomputer of his tracks, Tim got up and began to prepare.
He had a Rat to catch.