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Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake. The name sat weirdly on his tongue. It was a new name. His new name. One that would hide who he really was. Tim stared down at the piece of paper officially confirming the name change and felt his stomach turn slightly as he read over the letters. He was no longer legally known Timothy James Dent, the son of Harvey Dent; the man now known to the world as Two-Face.

Though he may only be eight years old, Tim knew full well that the name changes and his mother’s sudden marriage to her long-time friend and colleague Jack Drake was all because of him. And because of how just six months ago, Tim had been kidnapped by several family members of his father’s victims and crimes. Tim had been very lucky that Batman and Robin had come to save the day before the enraged family members could have taken their anger out on him like they had planned.

(Tim was sure that in any other circumstances that being saved by his favourite heroes would have been a great and wonderful experience, but the severe concussion and broken arm he suffered blocked out any hero worship he might have felt at the time.)

But it was because of him needing to be saved and the injuries he suffered that they were here today. Tim watched as his mother and now step-father sign form after form, essentially erasing Timothy Dent from public knowledge and making Timothy Drake a real person. It was necessary. It was painful. He hated the fact that it had to be done.

Too many death threats. Too many tabloid reporters breaking into their home. Too many people blaming them for what Two-Face has done that month. It was too much of everything and he could not fault his mother for wanting Tim and herself to be safe and away from all the negative attention that his father’s crimes had brought.

Tim loved his father. He really did. Harvey Dent was a kind man who with a fiery determination, took on the worst criminals in Gotham and brought them to justice with Commissioner Gordon and Batman. His father was the Apollo of the legal system. A hero in his own rights. A good man who stood up to those who broke the law and gave victims of crimes the closure they needed. Not to mention he was a wonderful husband and father who loved them both dearly. He was everything Tim had loved and had looked up too growing up.

But when Sal Maroni threw acid on Harvey Dent’s face three years ago, everything changed.

Tim was not going to say that he did not notice that his father had some issues before he became Two-Face. With a genius level intellect, Tim notices everything. Like how whenever his father would pull himself away from Tim if he was angry or frustrated or would outright leave the house with hands shaking and a cold look on his face. How his hand would tremble when he wanted to hit something but refused to do so. How he hated raising his voice at Tim and his mother. Tim had noticed too that there had been times when his father had talked to himself or had fixated on his coin when a case was hard.

There was a good chance that whatever his father had been repressing his whole life had been forced to the surface by the acid but Tim still believed that his father was a good man.

Somewhere deep down under the mental illness and pain brought by the acid was the man that the media called Apollo. Tim knew it. He just hoped one day his father would be able to show it once more.

He held the paper with his new name close to his chest and wondered if his father knew what they were doing and how he would feel. From the letters he had received from his father, there was a good chance that he would approve of what they were doing. Harvey Dent still loved his wife and son but he had acknowledged in his letters that there was always going to be someone out there who will hold the family members of the criminal to blame for whatever crime was committed.

With all these papers signed and their identities changed, Tim knew that he would not be able to send as many letters to his father anymore. And that visits to Arkham would all but stop. And he wanted to rage at these facts. He wanted his father. He wanted the man who wrapped him up in blankets and watched stupid films with him. He wanted the man who would dance in the kitchen with his mother while singing off-tune to corny love songs. He wanted the man who was his father.

He didn’t want to pretend that Jack Drake was his father. He did not want to change his name. Tim wanted to stay in their apartment in the heart of Gotham. He wanted to fall asleep to the sounds of the sirens and the lights flashing across his window. He didn’t want to move to the edge of Gotham where there were only old manors, trees and silence. He did not want to leave his home or his name.

But the choice was not his to make. The danger that they were constantly placed under because of who his father was have become too much. The kidnapping was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Tim knew how much this pained his mother. Janet Dent loved her husband and the life they had made together. But there was very little else she could do. They were both in danger and they were both constantly on edge because of how they were related to the supervillain Two-Face.

Jack Drake was a good friend of his mothers, that Tim knew well. Jack had been one of Harvey’s groomsmen at their wedding. Jack was risking his own life and company by doing this for Janet and Tim but Tim wanted nothing more than for this to stop. For all this to just go away and for him to go home to their apartment in the city to see his father at his desk in his office, whole and well. He wanted to be lifted up into his father’s arms and to be held close again.

He wanted things to be normal again. But they won’t be. They can’t be. Harvey Dent was in Arkham Asylum again after being beaten by Batman once more. Janet Dent, loving wife of Harvey Dent, was now Janet Drake, wife of Jack Drake; the CEO of Drake industries. And he was no longer Timothy James Dent, the boy genus son of the most brilliant lawyer in Gotham City.

He was Timothy Jackson Drake. The boy who was going to live in an old manor at the edge of Gotham City. The boy who can no longer be the boy genus and get 100% on his tests anymore. He needed to be boring, average Timmy Drake who doesn’t stand out or do anything that could draw attention to him.

Timothy Jackson Drake.

That name felt like bile burning in the back of his throat.

Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake had two shoe boxes under his bed that held his most prized possession.

One box contained the photos he had taken of Batman and Robin, both the first and the second. Each photo had been taken on a small but professional camera Tim had received from Jack when he had first expressed interest in photography several years back. Tim developed the photos he took in secret, using his bathroom as a dark room and never letting anyone know about it. The chemical burns from developing the photos and the scrapes and bruise he had gotten while chasing after the caped crusader and the boy wonder were worth it, in his opinion.

No one had to know he was going out to get these photos. No one needed to know. It was for his enjoyment alone. Each burn and bruise were covered up by loose clothing and well-placed foundation that he stole from his mother. A lie always rested on his tongue for when they are found and questioned. It was worth it though. The feeling of watching the heroes take on criminals and save the day made Tim feel… alive was the best word to describe it.

The adrenaline of being so high up with no support and no one knowing that he is there was honestly the best rush he had ever gotten. When he was on the buildings looking down on Gotham and her people, it felt like he was a gargoyle; silently watching and seeing all that the city had to offer. Both the good and the bad. There are times when he just sits there, on the roof of some building, listening and watching the city as the cool breeze flows around him.

Tim never feels freer than in those times. Up there on the roof he is nobody. He is nothing. There are no expectations on him. No one telling him that he needs to watch what he says or does. He doesn’t have to dumb himself down or pretend that he likes something that he doesn’t, just so he could fit in more. On the roof, by the gargoyles, he was just another lonely soul with no name. And he adores that feeling more than it was healthy.

The only times when Tim didn’t go out Batman spotting was when Two-Face was out of Arkham. Which was every three to four months. Sometimes Two-Face would be out for months, making Tim stay home and away from the city that he loves. Other times his father would be only out for a week or so before he was taken back into the Asylum; sometimes by Commissioner Gordon, other times by Batman.

Tim avoided the news whenever Two-Face was out. He did not want to know his father’s crimes or what his father was going. Not out of shame or disgust, but out of heartbreak. Harvey Dent was a good man, no matter what the people on the news thought. He was just mentally ill and he needed help.

Help that he was not getting in the hell hole that is Arkham Asylum.

Inside the other shoe box under his bed, Tim had all the letters that his father had sent him from the Asylum over the last four years. From the fine printed letters that were pages long and numbered so Tim could read them in order to the torn and crumbled pages that held messages of love and possession in crayon; Tim kept them all. Since becoming Timothy Drake, it has been hard to get the letters his father has wrote him. Thankfully, Detective Harvey Bullock set up a drop box for Tim so that he could still receive the letters in a safe manner.

It was in those many letters that Tim noticed that his father was not getting the help that he needed. While everyone knew that Arkham was corrupt and that it was all but a revolving door for most of the criminals; Tim knew that Bruce Wayne put a lot of money into the facility and he had hoped that his father’s former friend would have noticed by now that things have gotten bad in the Asylum. After all, Bruce Wayne did not get the title of World’s Greatest Detective just because he dressed up in a weird ass bat suit.

Then again, ever since Jason Todd, the second Robin, had been killed by the Joker, Bruce has not cared for much at all. Wayne Enterprises’ shares have dropped in the last two years at a steady, but damaging rate. Bruce himself has only made a handful of appearances at parties and always leaves early. Not to mention how violent the man has become while wearing the mask. Tim has had to call 911 more times than he wants to admit because the Batman, Gotham’s hero, went over board and nearly killed someone.

If Tim was going to help his father, and by association everyone in Arkham who actually needs it, get the proper mental health help that they need, he was going to have to manipulate both Bruce Wayne and his caped persona into doing what he wants. Something that does not sound or look easy at all.

But Tim knew he could do it. It would be hard yes, but there really was no other choice. Tim couldn’t demand that his father get better treatment like a normal family member could. He was Timothy Drake now, not Timothy Dent. Making a fuss now would expose the lie that had been set up for his safety and Tim could not risk the sacrifice that his mother had made for him. He couldn’t.

Tim originally planned on going to Jim Gordon, the Commissioner. Jim was a long-time friend of his father and had been the namesake of Tim’s original middle name. But things in the GCPD have been… tense with Batman’s latest brutal fights. Jim would not be able to do much at all with his current position at the GCPD being reviewed by Internal Affairs.

So, he would go to Bruce Wayne, one of the few people who know that he was once Timothy Dent. He will bring the relevant letters that showed that his father was deteriorating and he would bring the public files on Arkham spending and the public files on Wayne Enterprises’ donations to Arkham. Tim knows there is a chance that Bruce would just blow him off. The man’s mental health was clearly deteriorating because of the loss of Jason.

Which was why he planned to go to Wayne Manor when he knows Dick Grayson is visiting. The last remaining Fly Grayson, the original Robin and Tim’s first real hero. Dick Grayson was a good man, if hard headed and fashionably challenged. Tim had been there when the Fly Graysons had fallen. Bruce Wayne had taken Tim and his family out for a night at the circus. It had been great night. Tim had gotten a photo with Dick and his family, had gotten to pet an elephant and had gotten to see most of the show before the Graysons had fallen to their deaths with a sickening crunch that still haunts Tim to this day.

It was several days after the Graysons death that they had received word that Dick Grayson had been placed in Gotham’s Juvenile Centre for troubled boys. Harvey Dent had raged when he had heard that the young boy who had just watched his parents fall to their deaths had been sent to a Juvenile Detention Centre; on that was known for its abuse record and corruption. It was one of the few times Tim could ever recall his father hitting the wall in a rage. His mother had ushered him out of the room after that outburst and several hours later he had heard that Dick Grayson was out of that place and was staying with Bruce.

And Tim knew, that despite being Nightwing and despite having continuously taken him back to Arkham, Dick Grayson was extremely thankful to Harvey Dent for helping him get out of that Detention Centre and into the warm safe walls of Wayne Manor. He knew he could rely on Dick kicking up a fuss if Bruce does not immediately do something. If Batman does nothing than Nightwing would at least look into it.

Tim also knew that even with Dick Grayson there to poke and prod Bruce Wayne into looking into the information Tim planned on giving them that there was still a good chance they would both ignore it and say that it is merely just Two-Face’s mental health getting worse and that there was nothing that they could do. Tim had several half-formed ideas for if or when that happened. None of the ideas were pleasant and would likely leave him at odds with Batman and the rest of the superhero community.

But if he was to be honest? Tim did not care if it came to that. Tim still loved his father and would always love him. And even though he could not legally be his son any more, Tim refused to leave his father alone in his fight against his own mind. He refused to allow the corruption in Arkham to stop his father and others from getting the proper treatment they deserve. Yes, there were terrible people in Arkham who were beyond help, like the Joker and Black Mask. But there were others, like his father who had suffered a mental breakdown after having acid destroy half his face. Like Harley Quinn who was tortured both mentally and physically by the Joker and developed Stockholm Syndrome. Like Poison Ivy, who had been forced into her powers against her will and was now so connected to the plant life around her that she is physically hurt when her plants are attacked.

These people needed proper help. Not on and off torturous and experimental medical procedures. They needed real doctors, not men like Hugo Strange who have had lawsuits against them suddenly drop when key witnesses end up dead in alleyways and or unable to testify for one reason or another. Something needs to be done. Or the endless cycle of pain and suffering will not end.

Batman might keep the streets safe by putting the various villains of the week away in Arkham or Blackgate but that does not solve the bigger problem of the repeat offenders getting out and continuing their crimes. Better doctors and psychological help is a good place to start. If Tim can get the ball rolling with adults who have the power to do something than at least he would have a starting point to go off on.

And if ball does not roll with the gentle push he is going to try and give it? Than Tim is just going to have to kick it.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor will always be an imposing and beautiful sight, no matter what time of day that it is. It was a grand, old Manor that has stood on these lands for hundreds of years, passed down through the generations of Wayne’s. The grounds that the Manor sat upon always looked endless and vast from the slopes of the driveway and the gates made the Manor grounds look larger than life.

The thick iron gates that lead to the grand driveway to the Manor doors looked heavy and burdened with age. Tim didn’t dare try and touch them, fearing that Bruce Wayne with his Batman paranoia would have placed some type of trap on them to keep unwanted guests from climbing over the gate and trying to get to the main house.

Tim had spent hours getting ready for this moment. Everything from the way his hair was parted to how his clothes sat on his body, even how his shoes were tied. He made himself look both like average Timothy Drake and child genius Timmy Dent. He has not seen Bruce face to face in years, not since just before he became Tim Drake. He needed for the older man to see the new him and remember the old him. Both personas would through the man off guard and make it easier for him to make his case.

Speaking of making his case; Tim looked through the papers he had in his hands one last time, checking again that he had everything he needed. It had taken Tim over an hour to find all of the papers that he wanted in his room. In the last month and a bit, he had become slack on his cleaning and everything was a mess. He was less than pleased with himself and was now ten minutes behind schedule because he had spent the time cleaning up his messes. At least Mrs. Mac does not go near his room, the family house keeper would have scolded him for leaving everything on the floor and not taking out his dirty dishes when he was done with them. Her anger is not something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Taking a slow, calming breath to try and settle his nerves and slow his racing heart beating franticly in his chest, Tim walked over to the small pad on the side of the brick wall of the gate and pressed the big red button and waited. He remembered pressing the button many times as a very, very young child. A toddler really. His father would hold him up and he would press the button and squeal with joy. The memory made him want to smile but he didn’t. He needed his game face on and everything from now on must be acted out perfectly if this is to hopefully work.

He waited patiently for either the gates to be open or for the small screen on the pad to light up and someone to greet him. For five minutes there was nothing but silence and the rapid beating of his heart in his chest to keep him company before the screen on the pad lit up and an image of his own face appeared on screen. He made himself look shy and sheepish at the camera, feeling confident that the look appeared natural.

“Wayne Manor. Whom may I be speaking to?” The rich, calm and British voice spoke clearly through the speaker and Tim allowed himself to smile softly. He had always liked Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s butler and father figure.

“Hello Mister Pennyworth.” Tim kept his voice soft, praying that it wouldn’t break just yet. “Um, I am not sure if you remember me or not, but it’s Tim. Tim Dent. Well… Err, not Dent anymore but um…” He trailed his voice off and looked down at his shoes, kicking them lightly. “Is… Is Mister Wayne home by chance?” Tim was quite proud at how he managed to keep his voice awkward and soft.

“Tim Dent?” There was a slight hint of confusion in the older man’s voice but there was also a hint of joy. “Master Tim it has been years! I did not recognise you at all you have grown so much over the years. Come through the gates, Master Bruce is home, I will let him and Master Dick know that you are coming.” The screen went black and the heavy gates creaked open beside him, granting him access to the grounds.

If there was one thing he could say that he did not like about Wayne Manor, it was the fact it took over seven minutes for him to walk from the gates to the Manor doors. By car the trip would only take a minute or so, but by foot for a small twelve-year-old boy? It took way too long. At least Tim could say that him playing baseball and doing martial arts for the past four years means that at least he is not out of breath or looking silly. At least the walk was nice, given that he got to see the beautiful gardens that the Manor holds.

As he walked up the grand steps to the Manor, Tim forced away all the self- doubts and worries that were floating in the back of his mind. He could do this. He had planned this out perfectly. The worse that could happen here is that Bruce Wayne might ignore what he says and send him on his way. And Tim would have to initiate plan two but that was fine. He could live with that.

Tim raised his hand to knock on the handcrafted and stunning wood door when the said door swung open and there stood Alfred Pennyworth, the man who was the backbone behind Batman and Bruce Wayne. He looked older than Tim remembered, but even with the new lines around his eyes and whiteness of his hair, Alfred Pennyworth look as sharp and as fit as ever.

“Mister Pennyworth.” Tim gave a genuine smile up at the older man as he lowered his hand. He had missed the older man. Whenever his father would come and see Bruce, Tim would end up playing with Alfred. Usually chess or the older man would read him classic books. When he had been a young boy, Tim had seen Alfred as a surrogate grandfather.

“Master Timothy. You have grown.” The butler smiled slightly. “You look strikingly like your mother.”

Tim snorted quietly and shrugged. It was true. Tim had inherited his mother’s small figure and structure. It was likely he would not be much taller than her at all. “So, I have been told.” His martial arts teacher, Nyssa, says that his slight figure that he inherited from his mother was a good thing as it means that people will always underestimate him if he gets into a fight. Tim just wants to have a growth spurt already because he still looked like he was ten. Which you know, is not exactly the most fun thing in the world.

The old butler gave him a raised eyebrow and a small smirk. “I am sure you will hit a growth spurt soon enough.” He said, reading into what was not spoken. Tim gave another shrug and smiled softly without saying anything. There was a slight worry in the back of his mind that the old butler would figure out that he was trying to manipulate Bruce and Dick, but Tim dismissed it.

Even if Alfred suspected him of manipulation, it would not matter seeing as nothing of what Tim wanted was actually bad and that the information he had on him was just the bare bones of what you could find on the internet. No one in their right minds would suspect that he was trying to free his father, which he wasn’t, or that he was trying to do something that would harm Gotham.

He was just a scared young boy worried about his father. Who would fault him for that?

“Come, Master Bruce and Master Dick are waiting for you. They were both quite surprised when I told then you were at the gate.” Alfred stepped to the side and allowed Tim in. The grand entryway was just as large and beautiful as he remembered, though it had been renovated several times by the looks of it.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Tim bit his bottom lip slightly as he fell in step behind the older man as he was lead through the Manor’s labyrinth of corridors. There were areas of the Manor that looked lived in and well used. There were pictures on the wall of Dick and Jason with Bruce at different places. There were pictures of Bruce and his parents and things were perfectly placed at all. But there were other places that looked too perfect, too well presented. Like they were from a magazine of fancy homes.

It was a strange mix if Tim was to be honest. Back when they were living in the city and when his father was still a lawyer and not a super villain, Tim’s house had been full of pictures and little bits and pieces that made the whole place feel like home. Drake Manor was a stark contrast to that. The Manor was like a show home, nothing was out of place and there were barely any pictures at all, least someone realise that Tim does not look like Jack at all.

“Oh no, you are not interrupting at all, young Master.” Alfred was saying as they turned down another corridor. “They are free for the next few hours and are more than eager to see you.”

Tim felt a small blush rise up onto his cheeks and he ducked his head shyly. While he knew that the reason for why Bruce and Dick were probably eager to see him was because he wasn’t technically supposed to go and see anyone who knew his father and him before Tim’s identity was changed, it was still very nice to hear that someone was eager to see him. No one is eager to see him. He was average Tim Drake with a handful of people he could call friends and parents who were away most of the time.

But he should not let the warm feeling that swelled in his chest at the thought of someone wanting to see him distract him from his goal. Yes, it really was a nice feel and oh he was definitely going to need to think over and examine these emotions later. When he is not trying to manipulate Batman and Nightwing into investigating corruption in Arkham Asylum.

The room that he was led to was a large study with an entire wall taken up by a celling tall book case filled with large books, most of which looked like they had never been open before. There were several comfortable looking chairs around a small coffee table that looked like it had never had a drink ever rest upon it. The room was perfectly placed and everything looked staged. Even Bruce and Dick who were both sitting on the chairs looked like they were models waiting to be photographed.

Both Bruce and Dick stood as he entered the room with Alfred, their ‘Brucie Wayne’ and ‘Richard Grayson’ personas shining through as they both gave him model perfect smiles. Eager to see him, but not eager enough to be themselves. Or as themselves as they allow themselves to be with people who don’t know their night-time activates. Tim felt his lip twitch slightly at the perfect smiles, wondering if he was offended or not that they would chose to use them on him. It may have been a few years since he last saw both of them but he did not expect to see the public personas of the two men before him.

Well there was nothing he could do about that. Just because they were using those personas did not mean that he could not do what he came to do. Tim gave a small, shy smile and ducked his head as Alfred introduced him.

“Master Bruce, Master Dick, this is Timothy err Well…” The old butler paused. “This is Master Timothy Drake. I am sure you both remember him correct?” Tim was not surprised that Alfred knew that he was Timothy Drake. Tim was sure that Bruce had a hand in helping Tim’s mother change their identities.

Tim looked up and gave both men a small nod while fidgeting with his papers. “It is nice to see you both again.” He spoke politely, not meeting either man’s eyes just yet.

“It is good to see you again Tim.” ‘Brucie’ grinned as he gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit, sit! Come and tell us what brings you here to visit!”

Tim gave a small smile up at Alfred before shuffling over to the chair and sitting down. Dick’s smile had gone from ‘super attractive model smile’ to a more softer and kinder one. Tim could remember seeing the older man give such a smile to young kids and scared civilians as Nightwing. He gave a timid smile back at the older man and twisted the papers in his hand a little bit more.

“So, Timmy, what brings you here? Is everything alright? Your identity is still good and safe?” Dick asked, his voice very smooth and calm. If Tim was not used to hearing it while out taking photos of Batman and Nightwing, he would have found it very relaxing. Right now, though it put him slightly on guard because Nightwing normally uses that voice when he needs to get information out of scared individuals.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Mum and I safe. Our identities haven’t been found out at all. Um…” He looked down at the papers. “I’m here because of my dad. Not Jack… but dad.” He did not look up to see their reactions even though he wanted to.

“Tim… is there something wrong? Has your… has Harvey sent you anything threatening? Or have you been threatened by someone because of him?” Bruce asked, losing the ‘Brucie’ persona all together and becoming more… was ‘real’ the right word to use? He wasn’t sure how to put it but Bruce’s voice wasn’t Batman’s but it wasn’t ‘Brucie’s’ either.

Tim looked up now and shook his head. Bruce Wayne looked tired. There were large shadows under his eyes and the older man looked pale and pinched. Tim was not sure if Batman had been injured in the last week or not because he had not been out Batman spotting at all, but he knows that Bruce would not get much sleep with his caped persona out all night and then going into work to be a CEO.

“No… No one has threatened me.” Tim said quietly, fiddling with the papers. “When… When we changed our name and stuff, Detective Bullock set up a drop box in the city so that dad could keep writing to us without knowing where or who we now are. And some of dad’s letters in the last few months have been… off.”

Bruce frowned at his choice of wording. “Is he deteriorating?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “He was put back in Arkham several months, back right? Could he just be having a bad couple of months?”

Tim shook his head again. “That’s the thing Mister Wayne, dad has been coherent and hasn’t relapsed like he has in the past.” Tim held out the letters that he had in his hands. “The one on the left is how dad writes when he is relapsing or having a bad month. He sent me that last year before he broke out of Arkham and tried to burn down the Mayor’s office.” The writing in that letter was barely legible was written in crayon. There were words and whole paragraphs crossed out and it was very obvious that when his father was not in his right mind when he was writing that letter.

Tim held out another piece of paper. “This is how he normally writes to me. This was what he wrote at the start of the year.” The letter he passed to Dick was well written, neatly spaced and written in pen. There were only one or two words crossed out but there was no violence in this letter like there was in the other.

Bruce and Dick looked over both letters together, their heads bent down close to each other as they examined the words and the paper they were written on. At some point Alfred had left the room and had not returned. Tim was not sure if he was giving them privacy or if he was getting them drinks but he could not honestly say when the older man had left.

“Do you have the letters that he has been sending you lately, Timmy?” Dick finally asked, handing both letters to Bruce. The former Boy Wonder’s eyes were sharp as he looked Tim over.

Tim nodded and held out the recent letter. On the surface, this letter looked like the one he had just given them. Well written, coherent and written in pen. It was what was written that was the concern. His father mentioned the unauthorised testing of drugs on inmates. The unethical electroshock therapy that Gotham banned after some inmate decades ago had experimented on staff members for hours before the guards stopped it. The letter also mentioned the constant changing of medication, a new drug every week and how none of the inmates were allowed to even know what they were taking. There was also a few mentions the poor conditions that the inmates dealt with and that funding to the Asylum was not regulated and that money was going straight to the Doctors and guards, not to fixing the Asylum.

He knows that it is technically not enough to warrant any type of investigation through any real legal means. Even if he had gone to Jim Gordon, there was a good chance he would not be able to do much other than give the information to Batman. He hoped that going to Bruce would be able to get both Bruce Wayne and Batman to look into it.

“Timmy, there isn’t much anyone can do with this.” Dick sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. “Harvey… Harvey is legally insane, as much as I hate to say it. Even with how coherent this letter is there is no proof to what he is claiming. There isn’t much we can do.”

Tim hated how sad and apologetic Dick sounded. That was not what he wanted to hear. He held out the other papers that were still in is hands. “But there is proof!” He said almost desperately. “Arkham Asylum is a government funded public criminal asylum. All of the practices used on patients must be logged. As well as all of the medications and therapies used. There also has to be clear and direct links to where the funding is going. The numbers aren’t adding up to the equipment used and to the medication. Something is wrong. Wayne Enterprises gives thousands of dollars every year to help keep Arkham up and running. Where is that money going? What is happening in there? Please.”

The more he spoke the more Dick’s face became uncomfortable and heartbroken. There was pity in his bright blue eyes and Tim felt nauseous looking into them. Bruce’s face was not much better. The older man had all but gone blank and his eyes were cold and unemotional. Neither man said anything for a few moments after he finished speaking. There was just awkward and heavy silence before Bruce spoke, his voice tired and strained.

“Tim, there isn’t anything we can do to help you.” The older man looked down at Tim as he stood up. “Arkham is corrupt yes, but it is where your father belongs. He is getting the help he needs there, no matter what his letters may say. You need to stop accepting his letters, Tim. It puts you and your mother at risk when you receive them. And no amount of planning and safe keeping will keep your new identities safe if even just one person finds out that you are now Tim Drake because of these letters.” Bruce rubbed a hand over his face. “Your father was a good friend of mine, Tim. But you can’t put much stock into what he says to you. Your father is sick and the Asylum is where he can get the help he needs. It was nice seeing you again, Tim.”

And with that Bruce Wayne just left the room, leaving the letters on the table and the door open behind him. Tim shook slightly as he gathered the papers, his hands trembling as he put them all neatly in a pile. He heard Dick stand and looked up at the older man, there was still pity on his face.

“Come on Timmy, I will take you home.” He said, voice soft and gentle. Tim was repulsed by it. He wasn’t some child who needed to be comforted. He had a setback but that doesn’t mean anything. He will get his father the help he needs. Tim will.

Shaking his head Tim said nothing, just walked towards the door. He heard Dick sigh and then suddenly there was an arm wrapped around his shoulders and he was being pulled into Dick’s hard chest.

“Timmy.” Came the muffled voice above his head. “Don’t let Bruce get you down okay? He has a lot on his plate right now and I will talk to him later for you. But Timmy, your dad isn’t in a good place, you need to take anything he tells you with a grain of salt.” The arm around him tightened and pulled him closer to Dick. Tim did not hug the older man back, even though the feeling of being hugged was great and being hugged by Dick Grayson was even better. He did rest his head on Dick’s chest and let the older man hold him though.

“Come on, I will show you out then.” Dick sighed after a minute or so of holding an unresponsive Tim.

The walk out of the Manor was quiet. Neither Alfred or Bruce were to be seen at all and Dick did not seem to have anything else to say to Tim. But Dick did keep his hand on Tim shoulder the whole way out of the Manor and down the drive way. The older man keyed in a code, that Tim did not see, onto a small pad by the gate that opened them. They stood there for a moment before Dick pulled him into another quick hug before pulling back.

“Take care, Timmy. I will talk to Bruce for you alright? But don’t let this consume you. You can’t live your life dictated by your father. You have a new life and you need to live it. Don’t get swallowed by the past. Live, Timmy.” Dick smiled down at him and pushed his hair back from Tim’s face. “I will see you around.”

And with that Dick turned and began walking back to the Manor. Tim held onto the papers he had tightly and walked out the open gates. It was not until he was half way back to Drake Manor that the tears he had been holding back began to fall from his eyes.

This was just a setback. This was just a setback. This was just a setback.

It’s okay. It will be okay. Tim knew there was a chance this would happen. He knew that Bruce might have reacted like this. He planned for this. But planning and experiencing was two very different things. Tim could not help but feel a burning disappointment for his favourite hero. He expected more from Bruce Wayne. He expected more from the man who claims to be Gotham’s hero. He expected more from his father’s former best friend.

He would give Bruce Wayne a month to do something about the information that Tim had presented him. If Bruce does nothing, not as Batman or Bruce Wayne then Tim would take matters into his own hands and initiate plan two.

He won’t give up. He won’t.

Chapter Text

The first week of waiting was the hardest, in Tim’s opinion.

Tim spent the rest of the day in Drake Manor after being more or less rejected by his father’s former best friend. He finished off his homework, having to dumb down everything and purposely answer the questions wrong so no one realised how smart he was. And if he cried several times in frustration and hurt from being rejected and not acknowledged by the man who was his hero? Well, it’s not like anyone is ever around to confirm it happened.

The rest of the week was spent in mind numbing slow motion. School was dull as always. He has several people who he calls his friends but all of them like Tim Drake, not him. Not the real him. The smarter him that likes photography and art and who wants to help Gotham and those who are less fortunate. His friends like the him that skateboards and is quiet and not too smart.

Tim does like his friends, don’t get him wrong. Ives is one of his best friends and hanging out with all his friends was great. Tim just wished he could be Tim. The real Tim.

The week dragged on and on. Each day passing slower than the last. The repetitive nature of his daily routine almost suffocating him at times.

He told himself he would give Bruce a month to do something but it was not easy going back to the empty Drake Manor and pretending that everything was normal when the sting of rejection and disappointment was still a stabbing pain in his chest.

No amount of planning can ever account for the pain it feels to be ignored and dismissed by your hero. While the older man had not been in his caped persona, Bruce Wayne was very much still the Batman and the hero that Tim adores. Or used to adore. Seeing the man in person and up close made Tim realise just how depressed and changed he was from Jason Todd’s death. And how much the older man had stopped caring about himself and others. Remembering the curt dismissal and lack of interest in what Tim had to say left him with a clench jaw and eyes narrowed.

Bruce Wayne used to be a man that cared. One who would listen and hear someone out completely. He did not dismiss people without at least trying to hear them out. He has seen Bruce at his best. Seen the caring man go out of his way to help people in the grandest and smallest ways he could. Before his father became Two-Face, Tim remembered how Batman would stand tall in his father’s study, helping whatever case Harvey and Jim were working on. After his father became Two-Face and Tim had started taking photos of Batman and Robin, Tim got a firsthand look at how gentle the tall, imposing man could be.

Maybe that was where Tim went wrong. He had seen Bruce Wayne at his best but Jason Todd’s death changed the older man and not for the better. Jason Todd’s changed everything. Batman has been in a downward spiral since the older teens death and everyone was feeling the pain from Bruce’s mourning.

Tim’s heart went out to Bruce, it did. To lose a son like he had would have been a painful and horrible experience. But Bruce was taking out his pain on everyone else. And he did not seem to care about what happens to the people he beat in his anger and grief. There were at least five different occasions that one of Batman’s victims would have died from the beatings they were given if Tim had not called an Ambulance for them. It was those five occasions that Internal Affairs were investigating Jim Gordon for.

Tim had the names, ages, the list of injuries and the dates that they were brought into the hospital for those five victims. Depending on what happens at the end of the month long wait Tim was forcing himself through, will determine what he would do with that information. To Tim’s knowledge, the matter was still very much hushed in the media and police force. Internal Affairs may be investigating Jim’s relationship with Batman and the several injured victims, but no one wants to have it known that Batman may be going rogue or violent.

As a founding member of the Justice League, Batman had some leeway in terms of property damage and beating people up. But that leeway only goes so far and if the police are forced to have to go after Batman because of his brutal and mostly unnecessary beatings of small time criminals, then it could leave the entire superhero community at risk. Which you know isn’t a good thing in this day and age with alien invasions happening every three to four months and supervillains with cliché and melomaniac plans to take over the city/world are a common place.

Heroes are needed and are beloved. And despite the way he is acting in recent times, Batman is still counted as Gotham’s beloved Hero.

Which is why Tim really hopes that plan two could be delayed as much as possible. Because plan two was going to be a shit show for everyone involved and while Tim really does want to help his dad out, he also does not want to end up on the bad side of the Justice League. Well, Tim Drake doesn’t want to end up on the bad side of the Justice League. Whatever name Tim takes up if he initiates plan two wouldn’t mind being on the bad side of the Justice League it gets Tim what he wants.

If that makes any sense at all. Does anything make sense? What was he doing with his life? Does he really want to go through all of this? Would it be a better idea to take Dick’s advice and just let it all go and forget that Harvey Dent is his true father?

Tim shook his head and drew himself out of his thoughts completely. It was past midnight and he had been streaming these thoughts through his head for the past several hours. He could not go out Batman spotting because he did not want the odd chance of Batman actually catching him to ruin his plans. And if he was to be honest with himself, Tim was slightly pissed off at the older man and did not want to be near him at all.

Sighing, Tim looked out the window and at the large tree that stood beside it. He had climbed that tree so many times over the years. It was his way in and out of the Manor whenever he went out with his camera. He liked that tree. What he did not like was the eyes watching him from it.

Ever since he had gone to Wayne Manor, Nightwing has stopped by his place and has just watched him through the window. Tim pretends that he cannot see the vigilante and most normal people would never be able to tell there was someone there. But then most normal people haven’t spent the past several years following vigilantes in the dark. Tim knows full well what to look for when spotting vigilantes who want to stay hidden. He would not have gotten some of his best shots if he had not learnt how to find people in the shadows.

He looked at the vague shape of Nightwing sitting in his tree before turning over and putting his back to the older man. He was not sure if this was Dick’s way of checking up on him or if the older man was making sure that Tim didn’t do anything reckless because Bruce had turned him away. It was slightly irritating yes, but Tim did not mind it too much. He had already hidden the photos he had taken of Batman and Robin in his old Dungeons and Dragons sets that were in the bottom of his closet. He had placed a handful of general porn magazines in the box where the photos used to be. So even if Nightwing broke in and searched his room, which Tim was sure he probably did seeing as the two boxes under his bed had been shifted slightly to the left, there wasn’t going to be much for the vigilante to see.

Still, Tim would prefer if the older man was not staring holes into his head at night. Or if he could actually tell if there had been small hidden cameras and or mics placed in his house. While he did not really think that he would warrant that much attention, the paranoia of the Batman was something that was well noted and known.

Tim closed his eyes and pushed away all his thoughts. Tomorrow was Monday and he had school early in the morning. Mrs Mac would be coming at seven am to pick him up and drop him off at school. He had his martial arts class in the afternoon after school was done and he needed to drop by the library after his class to use the computers for some of his school work. He had a very long day ahead of him and Tim needed his rest. Creepy vigilante outside his window or no creepy vigilante outside his window, Tim needed to go to sleep.

Bruce Wayne has three more weeks to do something with what Tim had told him. Three weeks. It may seem long but with how busy his days are going to be in the meantime? The three weeks will pass in no time and then Tim would look into initiating plan two.

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.

Chapter Text

Tim stared down at the letter in his hands with mixed emotions. He was unsure if he was enraged or not at what was written on the page.

There was no way his father wrote this. No way in hell. It was an extremely good forgery and the writing itself was a near perfect match for his fathers handwriting skills. Whoever forged the letter even got Harvey’s fancy G’s correct!

But Harvey Dent never once mentioned Jack Drake in his letters before now. He did mention Tim’s mother every once and a while but he would never mention Jack. Tim wasn’t sure if his father actually knew about the arrangement that Jack and his mother had made or if he just simply thought that Janet was raising Tim on her own, but Harvey never mentioned Jack. They had only ever met a handful of times in person, from what Tim could remember and those times that they did meet were at parties or fun raisers because Jack is always away overseas.

Harvey Deny would not mention a man he barely knows and he most certainly would not put Tim or Janet in danger like this by mentioning the man who they were now living with.

‘Tim, I want you to forget about me. I want you to have a normal life away from my actions and crimes. You and your mother have a chance to live away from all that I have done and Jack Drake is a good man. He would be a better father to you than I ever could be here in Arkham. Please Timmy, stop putting yourself in danger for me. Stop putting your new life in danger because of me.

I won’t be sending you anymore letters, son. I can’t do this to you anymore.’

Whoever wrote this clearly did not know Tim nor Harvey very well. Everything else in the letter seemed fine at first glance except for this part. This part stood out and made Tim feel ill. Reading back through the letter again, Tim could see the obvious signs that this was not his father who wrote the letter at all. The tone of the letter and the continuous insistence that Tim should forget about his father was just not right and not at all what Harvey Dent would write if he was going to stop writing letters to Tim.

It does beg the question as to who wrote it in the first place and why.

His first thought was of Bruce Wayne or perhaps Dick Grayson. Tim had told the both of them about the letters and the system that Detective Bullock has set up for him. Nightwing had been outside of his window constantly at night and could have easily have gotten access to his letters under his bed.

Or it could have been Bullock himself. The older man may have had an odd crisis of conscious or had heard something that worried him. But then again, Bullock did not have access to the letters and would not be able to as accurately forge the letter Tim now held in his hands.

There was always a possibility that his father had written the letter. But Tim dismissed it. No matter how bad his father had gotten, no matter how lost in his mind and psychosis, Harvey Dent never once put Tim or his mother in intentional danger and the letter is clearly intentional all the way.

One way or another, Tim was not happy at all. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to find out who wrote this letter and why.

Tim had hoped that the letter would say that Bruce Wayne was investigating the Asylum or that Batman had visited his father’s cell one night. Hell, Tim had been prepared for the possibility of his father having a bad month or had possibly relapsed. He had not been expecting this forgery at all.

He had been so confident in his plans for the day, so ready and expectant that nothing would go wrong. The half day at school had been short and enjoyable with lessons mostly being cancelled while the teachers explained that without the Wayne Enterprises yearly donations the school board was cutting both the teachers salary and the free lunch program for under privileged kids. His friends had all been excited to go to the arcade and Tim had been eager himself to spend some mindless hours playing games with them

The arcade had been loud and bright and Tim had more fun than he was willing to admit to himself or out loud to anyone else. Though he wasted more money on brightly flashing games than he would have wanted, Tim would have to admit that winning the Star Wars lava lamp did make up for it. By the time four pm rolled around, Tim was down thirty dollars and was more than happy to leave the arcade and his friends.

Everything had been going to plan. He left his friends and had gone to get the letter and now whatever good mood he had during the day was gone. He stuffed the letter into his bag and glared at the floor. He needed to leave now if he was going to get to his class but Tim wanted nothing more than to start searching for whoever had written the forgery.

But he couldn’t do that. His teacher would be pissed off at him for missing his class with her and Tim did not want her to become angry and cut him off from his classes. Tim wanted to be strong and fast and as deadly as she was and if she cuts him from her teaching he would never have that.

Unhappy and bottling down his anger, Tim made his way to his martial arts class. Nothing seemed to be going to plan anymore. Tim needed to rethink everything and reorganise all of his plans because nothing he did seemed to be working.

Neither Bruce Wayne or Batman have investigated Arkham, someone had made a forgery to try and scare Tim away from trying to help his father and he had found out this morning from Mrs Mac that his mum and Jack weren’t going to be home for another two months due to a volcano eruption caused by some idiot with some sort of magma ray?

Nothing this month had gone right and really, it was probably his fault. He shouldn’t have gone head on to the Wayne and expected that Bruce would still be the man Tim remembered from when he was a child. He should never have told either Dick or Bruce about the letters or how he got them. He needed to salvage the mess that he made and think of a new way to help out his father.

Plan two would just have to wait until he could think of a new and better thought out plan and-

“oomph.” Tim stumbled back from the chest that he just hit. He barely managed to keep himself on his feet. The girl in the purple hoodie was not so lucky and ended up on the floor. “Oh shit! I am so sorry!” He held his hand out to the girl, who looked to be the same age as him.

“Urgh, watch where you are going!” She hissed, grabbing his hand and using it to pull herself up. “Like seriously, what the hell man?”

Tim pulled his hand back and rubbed his sore chest, the bruises were aching from being hit by a solid mass. “I am sorry.” He apologised again. “I was lost in thought and didn’t see you. My bad.”

The girl rolled her eyes at him. She looked familiar and for the life of him, Tim honestly could not remember where he had seen her before.

“Spoiler Alert! Walking around Gotham lost in thought gets you killed!” Spoiler Alert? Spoiler…

Holy shit, this girl was the girl in the purple suit who had been carefully dismounting Cluemaster’s games. Tim remembered watching her for months when Batman was off with the Justice League and not in Gotham.

“Whoa… your Spoiler.” He whispered, unable to help himself. She had no armour or weapons, she was alone and she still went out into the streets to fight crime. That was so cool. She was like Robin without Batman there behind her.

The girl looked at him wide eyed and yanked him into the alleyway beside them. “Shut your mouth! You want us to get killed? And how the hell did you know that?”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Tim fiddled with the straps of his bag. “Look, I have seen you, in your… you know, out at night before. And when you said Spoiler Alert I recognised your voice, that’s all!”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped in close to his face. “Just keep your mouth shut about it okay? I don’t want anyone to find out.”

Tim nodded, almost going cross eyed looking at her. “Yep. Understood. Sorry again.” He took a step back. “I gotta run and get to class. Um, sorry again and see you around I guess?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead he took off in a run. He was going to be late for his class and as much as he would have loved to have stayed and actually tried to talk to her about her crime fighting or even staying long enough to know her name and introduce himself, Tim needed to get to his class.

There would be time later to search for the girl in the purple suit. He can talk to her another time, but not right now. Oh, this so has not been his month at all

Chapter Text

It took barely half an hour of getting his ass kicked worse than usual for his teacher to stop their lesson and stare down at him with narrowed eyes.

“You are distracted, Timothy. Distractions while fighting, even while learning to fight, can be deadly.” Her voice was cool and there was a hint of disapproval in her tone. Tim flinched slightly and looked down at the mats, shame welling up within his chest. He had been distracted. With everything that had happened it was any wonder that Tim could even walk straight given how occupied his mind was.

“I am distracted, Miss Nyssa.” He admitted. “And I apologise for not giving your lessons the attention they deserve.”

Nyssa gave a low hum and said was silent for a moment or two before saying. “Come with me. You are clearly not in the right mind to train as you should.”

Tim looked up at her in slight confusion. In all of the years he had trained with her, Nyssa never once stopped training him when they had a lesson scheduled, even when he had been distracted or worn out. Still, he did not argue with her. He was too fond of their lessons to risk angering her.

So, he followed her out of the dojo and into the small office area that he had only been in a handful of times to either fill in the paperwork needed to take his classes or for when he needed to pay for something he had accidentally broken during his lesson. The office was plain and simple with only a large wooden desk with a laptop on it and two chairs, one either side of the desk. There was no filing cabinets or paintings. There wasn’t even a window to see out of, leaving the only light in the room to be the artificial and painful lighting from the fixtures above.

Tim honestly did not like the office. It felt cold and impersonal. It was nothing like his father’s old office back when he was a child. Harvey’s desk had always been covered in paper and pictures of Tim and his mum. There had been various certificates and paintings on the walls as well a nice window to bring in natural light. Jack’s office was a lot tidier than his fathers had been and less used since he was always away but even that felt warmer and more inviting compared to this office.

Nyssa sat at one of the chairs and gestured for him to do the same.

“You have been distracted child. You have been for the past several weeks. Tell me, are you no longer interested in your training? Is you mind no longer focused on your lessons with me? What has drawn your attention away from the passion and dedication you have shown me before?” Her words were sharp but her tone was soft, making Tim want to squirm. He didn’t want to disappoint his teacher. He adored their lessons, even if they left him with my bruises and in pain most of the time. He was learning so much and he loved every new technique that he learns and masters.

“I am still very much interested in our lessons, Miss Nyssa.” Tim stated without hesitation. “These last few weeks have been…not the way I had wanted. And I am sorry for not putting one hundred percent into your lessons.”

He was not sure if he wanted to talk about his plans with his teacher. On one hand, Nyssa knew full well who his father really was and knew of Tim’s desire to help Harvey recover and get the help he needs.

One the other hand, Tim was starting to see that maybe he had messed up his planning and had taken stupid actions these last couple of weeks and he did not want to let his teacher know that he had been so stupid and carelessly.

Nyssa just hummed and shook her head. “You are usually only this distracted when you have been in contact with your father. My sources say that you have not had a letter from him in over a month, though the drop box where you receive your letters was accessed the last night.”

Tim knew better than to ask about his teacher’s ‘sources’. This was Gotham, you just don’t ask those kinds of questions, especially not to a woman who can easily kill you with one hand. But the information that the letter had been dropped off last night was interesting and completely eliminated his father as being the one who sent it. Detective Bullock always delivers the letter in the morning before his shift because it is easier to drop it off when he grabs his morning coffee.

That leaves one of the Bat’s then. Which one though? Nightwing or Batman?

Tim gave a frown and looked down at the dark wood of the desk. “My father’s last letter was… disturbing.” Tim admitted. “He is lucid and hasn’t relapsed but he has stated that there are doctors who are preforming experiments on the other patients and I am worried for him.” He ran his finger over the wood. “I had hoped that raising the matter to Bruce Wayne, who was once my fathers best friend and who is funding Arkham. But that was a week and a half ago and I am just worried that he is going to completely dismiss what I said.”

His teacher looked down at him, her manicured fingers gently tapping the wood. “You should not rely on others, especially men who are distracted by their own grief and anger, to get things done.” She said after a moment of silence. “I take it that letter that was placed in your drop box was a fake?” She asked.

Tim nodded. “It was a very good forgery. But my dad would never put my mother and I in danger by stating who we are now living with. Nor would he tell me to forget about him.” He explained to her, squirming slightly in his chair. Nyssa was staring down at him with sharp, unblinking eyes. She reminded him of a wolf staring down at her pray. It was unsettling to say the least.

Nyssa leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers sharply on the wood, making him jump at the sound. “If you wish to help your father, Timothy, you need to keep your mind here in the present. Not wherever your mind wonders when you begin to over think matters. Now, you should not expect Wayne to do much. Nor the Batman. Both men care little about those who are like your father. As long as they are locked away with the notion that they are receiving help then they, like many others, will not look to closely at the matter at hand.”

Frowning, Tim tapped his own fingers against the wood gently. “Then how do I raise awareness? I can’t go into a court and demand that someone look into this. Not as Tim Drake. And if I go as Tim Dent someone will put two and two together and I will end up putting my Mother and Jack at risk.”

His teacher nodded at his words. “You are correct. And obviously Wayne or possibly someone else does not want you to go looking into this yourself. So, the question I have for you, young Timothy, is how far are you willing to go to help your father and the many other who are in need of proper medical attention in that wrenched place? What are you willing to sacrifice? Are you willing to go up against those who are more powerful than you? Are you willing to anger those whom you have admired? What are the limits of your love and dedication?”

Tim narrowed his eyes at her words. “There is no limit.” He stated clearly. “I want to help my father. And those who actually need help. If the Batman and Bruce Wayne have stopped caring about this city and the people in then I will do my best to help them.” It was a stupid and childish thing to say but it was no less true. Since losing Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne has stopped caring about others and was taking his grief out on everyone. Five people have almost died because of Bruce’s grief and many more have been injured. He may only be twelve but was willing to do anything to help his father and others who were in need.

After all, Tim’s goal in life was to not only fix the way mental health is treated in America but also to help those people who live bellow the poverty line who. People are people and they deserve help, not stigma and mistreatment.

“And do tell me, Timothy, how do you plan to do that? You are twelve, how can you help anyone?” Nyssa asked, though not unkindly.

Tim shrugged. “I have several ideas, but I am not sure which ones I want to go with right at this moment. I need to rethink my what I am going to do before I act.”

His teacher looked at him for a few moments, searching his face. Whatever she saw made her nod and quirk her lips up slightly in a small smirk. “You are determined. That is good. But you are still very much a child.” Her smirk grew. “That is why you need help.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at his teacher, feeling suspicious and cautious. She wouldn’t be offering to help him without a catch. “And would you be willing to offer that help?” He asked hesitantly.

“Yes. For a price.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, wonder what he was about to get himself into.

“And what price would that be?”

Chapter Text

The price did not seem that steep, at least on paper that is.

Miss Nyssa has a six-year-old nephew who is in need of a new language teacher for both Spanish and German, two languages that Tim was fluent in. He was to teach the boy over the next several months in return for Nyssa’s resources and help.

Though, his teacher never specified what her resources were nor did she say how they could be used to help him raise awareness or deal with the corruption in Arkham and help his father. Tim wondered if he was going about this the right way and if he was going to get himself into more trouble than he originally thought.

Plan two had originally been for him to start sending certain bits of information to Vicki Vale and Lois Lane. Two of the most dedicated and well written journalist he knew of. Both women were willing to run any story they believe should be known to the world and were always pushing the limit of what should and shouldn’t be published.

He had planned to send them the data he currently had on the Arkham spending as well as the current and former list of doctors in the Asylum and point out that at least eight of them had their own criminal records, most for malpractice. He also had a list of low level criminals who were being forced into wards with high risk patients and the general lack of well being and care given to those in the Asylum.

Tim had hoped that, with a little push, that the women would begin asking questions and drawing attention to what was happening. While there could have easily been draw backs with those questions being asked and there would have been a huge risk to both the women and to the patients in the Asylum, Tim was willing to bet it would have shaken enough people to at least start an investigation.

Nyssa’s plan was a little bit different than what Tim’s, to say the least.

She wanted to push not only the Batman into doing his own investigation, but she also wanted for the people of Gotham to question the Status Quo and how they allow things to go about in their city.

And honestly, Tim was all for that. He wanted people to look beyond their expectations that so long as the ‘bad guys’ were locked away everything was fine. He wanted people to see that there were small time criminals with mental health issues being treated horribly in the Asylum and that instead of giving those who need help the assistance that they need to no longer turn to a life of crime these people were all but being tortured by unethical and illegal medical practices by doctors who should have had their licences revoked.

But this… This seemed a little odd and extreme.

Tim looked up from the sketch he was making and wondered again if this was the right thing to do. Nyssa had told him the best way to push the Batman into doing what they wanted was to remind him that while he grieved for his lost bird there were others who were being hurt, either by the Batman’s own hands or by the crime that he was allowing to come to pass because of his lack of attention.

While this was true, Tim really felt uncomfortable with bringing Bruce’s grief about Jason’s death into all of this. He may be angry and disappointed in the man who he once admired and who was once his father’s best friend, but he was truly unhappy with the idea of bring Jason into all of this.

The image he had sketched was of Batman kneeling on the ground holding the broken and bloodied body of Robin no 2 while a building that looked similar to Arkham Asylum with children trapped inside burned in the background. The symbolism was striking and would paint a vivid and unflattering image of Batman. It would certainly bring attention to Batman’s behaviour and possibly cause mistrust and anger at the vigilante.

And Tim did not want that. Yes, he wanted the older man to take action and to help Tim but Tim was not sure if this was the way to go. Gotham City needs Batman. They need someone who can do what the police can’t and they need someone to be a beacon of hope. Without the Batman, Gotham would descend into chaos.

But, if Tim was to be truly honest with himself, the city was currently descending into chaos as it was. Ever since Jason died and the Joker out right bragged about the murder of the Teen Wonder on live T.V, Batman and Gotham have sunk to new lows.

Arkham was not the only place that was rotting with corruption from what he had heard. From GCPD still being over run with corrupt cops in the pockets of crime lords, despite Commissioner Gordons best efforts to the Mayor’s office being rumoured to have rigged the last election so that there would be no women in a high-ranking position. Gotham was getting worse and worse over the years.

There had been a time when things were looking up for the city. When his father had still been Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne was donating and working on so many charity projects that everyone was amazed that the billionaire still had any money. With Batman, Robin (both no.1 and 2) and Commissioner Gordon taking down crime and the feeling of hope was in with the people of the city. Things had been good while they lasted.

Maybe a wake-up call is what Bruce needs. Maybe it isn’t. One way or another he is going to get one and as much as this sketch turns his stomach and makes him feel like crap, it will defiantly serve its purpose in reminding Batman that while he grieves he leaves the city to burn.

It was not a nice reminder. But it was one that was needed. Bruce could have taken time off after Jason had died. If Batman disappeared for a few months after Robin’s death at the hands of the Joker no one would have minded. Yes, there still would have been crime and things still would have been bad for Gotham but everyone would have more or less understood. Everyone knows that Robin is Batman’s son. A grieving father needs some time to himself after the death of his child.

But Bruce didn’t stop going out after Jason’s death. Three days after the Joker was beaten into a full body cast, Batman was out on the streets. And no criminal was safe. It didn’t matter if you were a purse snatcher or a small-time drug runner or even one of the Rogues, Batman would take you done brutally and without a care.

Five people were badly injured currently in hospital from what Batman did to them. Small time criminals who probably would have only gotten a broken arm or ribs when Jason had still been alive. They were all very lucky to be alive. Tim wondered if Bruce even knew that those men were in hospital at all or if he had gotten to the point where it didn’t matter, that so long as they didn’t out right die by his hands it was okay.

Nyssa’s plan of having this sketch painted against the wall of one of the alleyways where one of the men who had been injured had been found may be a little over the top in Tim’s opinion, but it will drive the message home better than anything else.

The image he had drawn made him sick to his stomach but if it is what it takes to get his father the help that he needs then Tim would force down the bile and disgust that he feels of using a man’s grief of his son’s death to further his goals.

The needs of the many outweighs the needs to the few. He hates that saying. But it is relevant for what he needs to do now. Nyssa will take the sketch and hand it to one of her sources and by dawn tomorrow it will be painted up against the wall for everyone to see. By midday it will be all over social media and the news.

It will be the first of many painting to go up in the city. His teacher has given him the rest of the week to make several other sketches for her to use. It was not exactly what he wanted but Tim was in no position to turn away any help he can get.

He will help his father. One way or another. He just hopes he can still look himself in the mirror when he is done.