Chapter Text
Routine is something that Tim found easy to get into. He gets up in the morning. Gets ready for school. Is dropped off by Mrs Mac at the front gate of the school. He goes to classes, talks with his friends and classmates, does his work at an ‘average’ standard. After school he goes to his martial arts classes and gets his arse handed to him by his teacher, Nyssa. After that he goes to the library and finishes off the rest of his homework before heading home and watching Netflix until it is time to eat dinner.
This was not his normal routine, not really. Normally he would head out into city itself once he was done with his homework at the library. He would take his camera and take photos of the different buildings and landmarks Gotham had to offer. While he did enjoy following Batman and taking photos of the caped crusader, Tim loved taking photos in general. He loved finding beauty in the simplest of things, like a crumbling gargoyle on the roof of the older buildings in Gotham or the remaining plants left over from Poison Ivy’s latest fight that were still vibrant and feisty despite being weeks since Ivy herself had been near them. There was beauty in everything and with his camera and his dark room, Tim was able to bring that beauty to life.
But with Nightwing still stalking outside his window at night and the possibility that he could be followed and or tracked down if he isn’t home at a reasonable time, Tim was left with altering his normal routine to make himself look more acceptable and normal; something he had unfortunately gotten used to these last couple of years of being Tim Drake.
It was well into the second week of waiting to see if Bruce/Batman acted on the information Tim had all but waved in his face, when he received a text from Detective Bullock saying that there was another letter in the drop box. Tim was more than surprised to hear that there was another letter so soon. Tim had received a letter just over a month ago, the one he had shown Dick and Bruce. Normally his father would only write once ever two months when he was in Arkham, mostly due to the security risk of Tim being found by someone with a grudge against Two-Face and the fact that his father was often put into the Rogues Gallery where most of Gotham’s A-List criminals are put. In theory, the Rogues Gallery was an isolation ward where no phone calls or letters were allowed to be sent out or received.
That was only in theory. Everyone and their dog knew that it was only a semi isolation ward where if you had enough favours or money, you could theoretically get whatever you wanted sent in and out of the Asylum.
To get the letter from the drop box, Tim is going to have deviate from the routine that he has set up. It technically would not be out of place for him to go and get the letter from the drop box but it would show the location of the said drop box to anyone watching him. That is assuming that they don’t already know where it is. He trusts Detective Bullock, he does. The older man may be rough around the edges but he would never endanger Tim knowingly. Batman and Nightwing won’t hurt him either, but they might try and stop him from communicating with his father.
There were a lot of variables that Tim simply did not know. He did not know if Batman or Bruce Wayne had even started looking at Arkham or not nor does he know if this was just a trap that was set up by Bruce and or his caped counterpart to ‘show’ Tim how easy it would be to take him or lead someone back to Drake Manor. But Tim would have to take the risk of getting the letter anyway. There was no telling of what information it could hold about his father’s mental state and what was happening in Arkham.
Tomorrow was Friday. And a half day at school due to a planned teacher’s strike. The drop box was at a small post office not too far from GCPD. There is an arcade half a block away from drop box.
Tim leaned back on his computer chair and frowned, he was twelve. Going to the arcade with friends is not out of place for a twelve-year-old boy. He could meet up with his school friends after they get out, making a quick excuse of going home to grab a bag of clothes for when he has his martial arts class would give him enough time to grab a change of clothes and grab the letter without raising much fuss of worry.
It could work. It could definitely work. Biting his bottom lip gently, Tim sent off a message in one of the many group chats his school friends his friends had set up, asking if anyone wanted to meet up at the arcade after they got of school. The response was overwhelmingly welcoming, seeing as it was a half day at school and the said arcade that Tim mentioned was considered to be one of the better ones in the city. It took about half an hour of messaging back and forth before he had a small group of friends agreeing to meet with him at the arcade at one pm.
That will give him plenty of time to head back to Drake manor and grab a change of clothes for his martial arts class at four thirty pm and grab the letter from the drop box without anyone seeing him and asking questions.
It was a good plan. Yes, there were variables and a good chance that he could get caught by his friends getting the letter or that the letter itself was a trap but there was very little Tim could actually do about all that. It was a risk he had to take. He needed to get that letter. He needed to know what his father had written to him. It could be anything, from more information about what was happening in Arkham to how his current mental state was fairing or it could even just be a small letter saying how much he was proud of Tim and how much he still loved his son.
Tim needed to know what it said. It was…The letters meant so much to Tim. His father means so much to Tim. It doesn’t matter that it would be safer for Tim to just forget his father and go about living his new life as Tim Drake. It doesn’t matter that he was putting his life and the life of his mother and stepfather at risk. Harvey Dent was Tim’s father and Tim still loved his dad, no matter what he has done.
Tim really hoped that it was a letter from his father and not a trap or something else from Bruce or Dick in an attempt to ‘help’ him let go of his father. Tim could completely understand why the two older men would do such a thing. Getting Tim to forget or to at least stop maintaining contact with his father would mean that Tim and his mother would be safer than they currently are with Tim compromising them by getting these letters. But it would still hurt and Tim was not sure how he would react in that situation if it occurred. He would be angry yes, and hurt, but what would he do?
A spiteful and vindictive part of his mind that he normally tried to supress briefly brought up the idea of writing a letter in Jason Todd’s handwriting and sending it to Bruce and or Dick to see how they would like it but Tim was quick to dismiss that thought. He was not cruel. He could never be that cruel. Jason Todd was dead and Tim respected his memory too much to ever do such a thing.
No, he would find something less cruel and more appropriate if the letter was fake. Maybe he could add something to plan two? Tim wasn’t sure on what to do. In any case, Tim was not going to find out if the letter was real or not until tomorrow, so there was no point thinking about what could be or what could happen.
It was still early by his normal standards but Tim thought it would be best if he got ready for bed anyway. Placing his phone on charge, Tim grabbed the towel that he had used yesterday and walked to the small bathroom next to his room. Nightwing had not yet turned up to do his normal spying thing and probably won’t come for another hour or so. Mrs Mac had already gone home for the night and it was just him in the house, seeing as his mother and stepfather would not be home for another eight weeks.
Being home alone is something that Tim had also gotten used to while being Tim Drake. His mother and stepfather were always away on some business trip and Mrs Mac did often leave him at night to go back home to her own family. At first it had been overwhelming and terrifying. Even before Harvey had become Two-Face, Tim was always with someone or in the same area as someone else. He was never left truly alone. But once his mother married Jack for both of their safety and wellbeing, his mother had to leave constantly with Jack for his business and Tim was left alone. In the manor outside of the city.
It wasn’t all bad, if Tim was to be honest. Yes, it could get lonely not having someone there with him all the time but Tim adapted. He had independence and freedom that he would not have if he was constantly watched over by a guardian. Tim never would have been able to go Batman spotting over the years if there was someone at home who would miss him if he went out at nights. He never would have been able to do much of anything if he wasn’t left alone like he was.
And there is a plus side to not having constant guardians watching him, Tim mused to himself as he looked at his now bare chest in the mirror, cataloguing the new and old bruises that coloured his chest like a canvas of blue, purple, yellow and black water colours splattered across his skin. With no guardian to watch and monitor him, Tim was allowed to train as hard as he wanted with his teacher.
When his mother first reached out to his teacher, Nyssa Raatko, she had strict instructions that Tim was only to learn how to defend himself in situations where he was kidnaped or cornered by attackers. His mother wanted Tim to learn enough defence so that he could hold off any attackers long enough for him to run away. And Tim respected that. There was no point of trying to be a hero or a big guy in a fight when living in this city. Gotham was a place where learning defence was a good survival skill and being able to get away was always your best bet of surviving.
But even though Tim did respect his mother’s wishes, he wanted to learn everything he could from his teacher. He wanted to learn how to fight hard and dirty and he wanted to be able to take a hit and get back up and keep fighting. He wanted to learn how to fight like his teacher, who moved like she was death incarnated ready to strike down her enemies with a simple but devastating blow. When he approached his teacher about his desire to learn, she had laughed at him. Called him a small little hatchling bird who was not ready to learn how to truly fight. That he was to young, too innocent and sheltered to learn how to fight like she does.
So, he told her to teach him. Told her that he wanted to learn and that he was willing to do whatever it took to learn to do what she does. It took time, but Nyssa finally agreed to teach him, really teach him, how to defend and attack. And she did not hold back. Her blows were painful and his body was always in a state of low key pain these days but Tim was happy. He was learning more than just how to get out of ropes and cuffs or how to evade multiple attackers. He was learning how to disarm someone who was holding a knife to his throat. He was learning how to break holds and take down multiple attackers who came after him. He was learning not only how to evade someone with a weapon but how to use that weapon against someone else.
In the past year alone, Tim has managed to learn so much from his teacher and he was always looking forward to leaning more and more from her. The bruises and pain were worth it, no matter what people might think. Tim was proud of each bruise that marred his pale skin. They were there to teach him to move faster, think smarter and be better.
The bruises always sting at first when the water hits them but the sting is quickly gone and the aches of the day are eased under the warm spray. Despite the fact he does enjoy the warmth of the water and relaxing under the spray after a day of school and his training with Nyssa, Tim was limited to only three minutes in the shower each day. Jack was forever worrying about the costs of utilities in the house when he and Janet were overseas and Tim did not want his stepfather to be angry at him for making the water bill once again go up because of his enjoyment of showers.
Tim stepped of the steaming shower and looked at himself in the fogged mirror. The image before him was distorted and barely visible but it was there. It was him Timothy James Dent and Timothy Jackson Drake. Both sons of Janet. He doesn’t look like his father. Tim is his mother’s son, through and through. From his slight, slim frame to his bright blue eyes and pale skin, Tim was every little bit like his mother. And it was disappointing that he could never pick out his father when he looked at himself in the mirror. Tim has made peace with that fact. He has his father’s determination and stubbornness to do what is right and that is all he needs right now.
It will be his father’s determination and stubbornness that will help him achieve his goals. And it will be his slight figure and pale skin of his mother that will make everyone underestimate him, giving him an advantage that will further his goals with much more ease.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, Tim walked back to his room, ready to call it a night and be rested up for tomorrow. He had busy day a head of him and he wanted to be rested and ready for anything that could happen. He dried himself off and dressed himself in his sleep pants and shirt before nesting himself in his sheets with still damp hair. Tomorrow was going to be a long day but he would be ready for it.