Chapter Text
Tim is flat on his back, sprawled out on his bed, bouncing a rubber ball off the ceiling. He has plans for driving lessons with Alfred at 9PM, but it won’t stop being 8:45. Tim swears that it’s been 8:45 for at least twenty minutes now. Time is dragging worse than when he’s watching the clock during the last ten minutes of the school day.
Speaking of the school day, school went well. Jason claimed that Wayne Manor has too many distractions as long as Dick is around, so tutoring was moved to Gotham Public Memorial Library afterschool. Jason called the library “a Dick-less location”, and then he laughed at his own joke for a good five minutes.
After studying at the library for a few hours, Alfred drove Tim back to Drake Manor, and Tim had the Mrs. Mac mannequin in the rocking chair by the window in her knitting pose. Alfred accepted the excuse that Tim didn’t want to disturb his housekeeper when she was in the knitting zone, so that all worked out great.
Tim has to sneak out of the house for his driving lesson, so there’s no need to pose any mannequins. Instead, Tim just needs to wait.
He turns his head to look at his phone and the bold numbers, 8:45 shine back at him.
Seriously?!
Tim goes back to bouncing his rubber ball off the ceiling, and groans as time continues to drag.
Finally, Tim’s phone buzzes, alerting him that Alfred is in the driveway. Tim rolls off the bed so fast that he crashes to the ground.
“Ow.”
He picks himself up, dusts himself off, and climbs out the window. When his feet land on the grass, he bolts across the front lawn. His heart skips a beat when he sees the Batmobile idling in his driveway.
He races over to the passenger side, yanks the door open, and hops inside the car. He inhales the smell of leather and new car (the little tree air freshener is New Car smell).
“I missed you,” Tim hums.
“Why do I have a feeling you are speaking to the car and not me?” Alfred says, dryly.
Tim turns to face Alfred and it’s the first time he’s seen the Wayne butler in anything other than a full suit. Alfred’s technically wearing a half suit, because he has a white dress shirt and black dress pants, but his sleeves are rolled up and he’s not wearing a suit jacket, so he must mean business. He’s not wearing a tie, which means the top button at his neck is unbuttoned.
Tim smiles at casual Alfred.
“I missed you too, Alfie. I just really really missed the Batmobile.”
“You’re making it worse, Master Tim,” Alfred chuckles. “Now, down to business. Seeing as this is a school night, I will have you back no later than midnight. Which does sound rather late now that I have said it, but we have much to do.”
“Alfie, how are we going to drive to Gotham City and back and still have time to fit everything in?”
Alfred shifts the car from park into drive. “Our destination is not the city, my boy, I’m taking you where I taught a much younger master Bruce to drive. All we have to do is take the highway East of Bristol and there are miles of wide open space.”
Alfred revs the car and smiles at Tim.
“Master Timothy, have you heard of the term boosted launch?”
Tim shakes his head, no.
Alfred lifts his foot from the brake and the car surges forward, smoke billowing from the back exhaust and from under the tires. Alfred flies down the road and the roar of the engine almost drowns out Tim’s squeals of excitement.
Alfred drives fast, so it doesn’t take long to get to the empty closed off road, which looks like a raceway, that’s the location for tonight’s lesson. Orange cones are already set up and at various distances apart. When Alfred approaches the mock driving course, he makes a sharp turn, causing Tim to claw for the overhead grab handle. Tim holds onto the grab handle for dear life, but Alfred neatly stops on a dime, in between two orange cones.
Alfred shoves the gear stick into park. “Our first lesson is parallel parking, but not like that. You will perform it the traditional way. Handling a vehicle at low speeds is just as important as maneuvering the vehicle at high speeds.”
Tim groans, because he wants to go fast, but Alfred’s the GOAT so he’ll do as the man says.
After an hour of extremely low speed parallel parking, Alfred shows mercy and moves onto his next lesson. One that finally involves speed.
He returns behind the wheel and, again, launches the car from stopped to high speed. The feeling is such a rush of adrenaline that Tim’s stomach drops and his head is swimming. Alfred skids to a stop, and turns to face Tim.
“The Batmobile has a setting that makes it almost silent when stealth is needed, but that should only be used in emergencies. The true strength of this vehicle is the roar of the engine.”
Alfred revs the engine hard and the rumble of the motor sounds like thunder as the sheer power of the car shakes the ground.
“Every Gotham criminal’s worst nightmare is hearing the Batmobile’s engine calling for them in the distance. If you hear the Batmobile approaching, you know it is too late, but you run anyway, because what more can you do? The sound of the engine strikes a chilling fear right down to the bone. Batman doesn’t have a battle cry. He doesn’t need one. He has the roar of the Batmobile’s engines to let criminals know that pain is approaching, and they’ve already lost.”
Tim nods and writes down his notes diligently in his notebook.
Alfred stops the car and looks over at Tim, while resting one arm on the steering wheel.
“Batman has one rule that is paramount to all other rules. It’s his no kill rule. I also, have one unbreakable rule.” He reaches under Tim’s seat and retrieves a bucket with the Batman symbol on it. He hands it to Tim and smirks. “My rule is simple.” He revs the engine. “Always wear your seatbelt, Master Tim.”
Alfred launches the car forward with more speed than should be possible. Tim clutches the bucket as the high speed makes the trees along the highway green blurs. Tim can barely breathe from the adrenaline and the g-force, but Alfred starts a conversation as if he’s calmly dusting a lamp.
“The Batmobile has a manual and an automatic driver assist mode, but the transmission itself has a classic manual mode.” He pulls a second gear shift next to the steering wheel and the Batmobile goes even faster. “This is the stick shift and in classic manual mode it allows the driver to switch gears. Gear shifting allows the driver to reach top speed as quickly as possible. Master Bruce prefers to drive in third gear.” Alfred’s smirk turns into a smile. “I prefer fifth gear.”
He pulls the gear shift and the car’s speed explodes.
Tim has never gone this fast before in his life and he loves every minute of it. Unfortunately, his stomach doesn’t love it as much as Tim’s heart does. He clutches the Bat-bucket tighter.
“There’s an art to smooth gear shifting that Master Bruce does not have the patience for, no matter how hard I try. Whenever I install upgrades, I sneak in a quick driving lesson or two, but Master Bruce is too bull-headed to listen. One of these days he’s going to strip the gears and he’s going to have no one to blame but himself when he spins out. Pay close attention Master Tim, this is how you perform a proper downshift.”
Alfred pulls the stick shift down to first gear, jerking the car to a slower speed, and then he pulls the gear stick next to the seat into reverse. The back end of the car lifts off the road as the car fights against the immediate change in speed and direction. The Batmobile skids backwards before the back tires slam against the road.
The car suddenly pulls into high-speed reverse with such a jolt that it knocks the wind out of Tim. This is simultaneously the coolest and most terrifying thing he has ever experienced.
Alfred raises his voice to be heard over the squealing tires. “Proper downshifting should never compromise a steady speed.” He looks at the dashboard and frowns. “I lost too much acceleration that time. The tire pressure is a little low. I’ll have to fill them up when I get back to the cave.”
Alfred downshifts again so that the car is driving forward, but this one is less dramatic, and all four wheels stay on the road. The car is also cruising at a far lower speed.
Tim shouts, “That was incredi –”
The last syllable is lost to the Bat-bucket, as Tim’s dinner comes back up.
“I’m so sorry, my dear boy,” Alfred says, not sounding sorry at all, and Tim spits out, “You gotta teach me how to do that,” before heaving again into the Bat-bucket.
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The back end of the Batmobile slams to the road so hard that the front-end lifts in counterbalance. Tim grips the wheel as tightly as he can. He hits the brakes, which causes the car to fishtail before it skids to a stop.
“Sorry, Alfie,” Tim says slumping his shoulders.
“That is why we have front and back shock absorbers, Master Tim.” He smiles at the young driver. “And also, why I installed shatterproof windows.”
Tim puts the car in park and Alfred can see the tears welling up in the boy’s eyes. Of all the things that Alfred is learning about Tim, it’s the boy’s lack of self-esteem that is the most concerning.
Tim’s eyes are filled with tears, but to his credit, he doesn’t let any fall. Instead, he takes a deep breath and stares out at the empty road. When he speaks it’s almost too low for Alfred to make out the words.
“Why do you trust me with your car? Dad wouldn’t.”
“Jackson Drake and I are very different men, Master Tim. I believe we are also very different fathers.”
Tim’s eyes dart over to Alfred, and this time a tear slips out. He rubs it away quickly with his sleeve, but another one slips out, and soon there are too many to keep up with.
Alfred reaches across the console between the seats and rubs Tim’s back as the boy buries his face with his hands.
“You are in rare company, Master Tim. I don’t trust anyone else to operate this vehicle other than Master Bruce and yourself. I also trust you to keep my family’s most well-guarded secret. You are a remarkable young boy, Master Timothy. You are bright, and kind, and I am so very proud of you, as I’m sure your parents are as well.”
Tim scoffs. “You know my parents. They’ll never be proud of me.” Tim looks up. “I don’t really care what they think. Well, I do, but what they think doesn’t matter as much as what you think, Alfie. You’re one thousand percent cooler than Mom and Dad.”
Tim sniffs and wipes his nose with his sleeve.
“Master Tim,” Alfred scolds with the click of his tongue. “As I’ve told Master Jason, a sleeve is not a proper substitute for a handkerchief or a tissue.”
Alfred presses a button on the dashboard and the center console opens. He lifts out a metal tackle box. When he lifts the lid, the inside opens up to reveal accordion style shelves, filled with vials of toxins and antidotes. Empty syringes and basic medical supplies are also stocked inside the tackle box, but more importantly, at the very bottom is a package of tissues.
Alfred hands Tim the tissues and Tim squeaks out a thank you.
Tim wipes his eyes and blows his nose. He’s not crying anymore, but his hands have started to shake, as well as his voice. “You, um, you said you trust me, and I trust you too. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about my dad. He, um, he – it’s really hard to say.”
Alfred continues to rub Tim’s back. “Take your time, lad.”
Tim whispers, “He drinks a lot and, um… yeah, that’s it.”
Alfred knows there’s more Tim wants to say, but he doesn’t want to push the poor lad. Jack and Janet Drake won’t be back from their business trip for a while, so if what Tim is struggling to tell him is what Alfred thinks, the boy isn’t in any danger as long as the Drakes are away. He can wait until Tim is more comfortable to share his secret. He has to gain the boy’s trust a little bit more.
Alfred has had enough experience with Bruce to know when to back off before causing a full shutdown, so he tables this conversation for now.
“Master Tim, I am available to speak to you at any time, day or night. You need only to call me, and I will listen and provide all the aid that is needed. I need for you to understand that.”
“I do, Alfie.”
“Good,” Alfred says. “Now, let us try downshifting again, and this time apply less pressure to the brake.”
“Understood,” Tim says, all the excitement returning to his smiling face.
“And you do not have to cheer every time.”
“Boo, Alfie,” Tim says throwing the car back into drive. “If you don’t woo hoo, it’s like it never happened. Everyone knows that.”
“Master, Ti-”
“Woo hoo, Alfie! Wooooo hooooo!!”