Chapter Text
Tim Drake’s life had changed rapidly over the past few years.
He had spent the better part of his childhood alone. His parents were usually in some far off country for whatever work trip they had planned. Of course, when they were home his parents had shown him off. He was expected to be at all of their more important events. Galas, dinners, premiers, any public appearance really. Anything that the paparazzi would be at to take pictures of him.
See, Tim was a sick child. Maybe it could have been categorized as chronic. That didn’t really matter. What mattered was when he was well enough to go out, his presence alone would garner enough sympathy for his parents to thrive off of for at least a few weeks.
The cycle was pretty much rinse and repeat. Make an appearance, watch sympathy roll in, get a bit better, end up sick again. He wasn’t sure exactly how long his body could take it before it started shutting down for good.
He had tried to make mental notes, but he was never healthy for long enough to pinpoint exactly what had happened in the first place. Anytime he started making progress, the cycle started again. When he asked his parents about it, they just shut him down.
‘Some children are just born ill, Timothy,’ his mother had said before she left for that month.
So, he was sick and alone.
And he was fine with that. Sometimes he was sad, but it was never anything he couldn’t deal with. It wasn’t a suffocating feeling.
That is, until he had his first seizure.
He was seven, and his parents brought him along to a gala. It was his first time out of the manor in a few weeks, so he was grateful even if he wasn’t particularly happy about where he was.
His parents had just made a statement about his most recent illness. He wasn’t even sure exactly what it was. Just that he was bedridden for a week and a half and was only allowed liquids. He didn’t like the bed, and he hated being on liquids.
After their run in with the reporters, his parents had brought him to the table they had reserved. They always made him sit with them even though he wasn’t allowed to eat when they went out. He was just made to sit and wait for them to finish.
And usually he was good at it. But that night he was just so hungry. He had drained his water as soon as they made it to the table, but he didn’t even want to think about what his parents would do if he tried to go for his food. So he waited, as usual. It felt like they were taking their time on purpose on that night, even though Tim knew that wasn’t true. They liked to chat as much as they could, and eating stopped them from doing that.
When they were done, Tim was allowed a few moments to himself. This was his favorite part of any event. When his parents left to talk business, all he was instructed to do was not disrupt anything.
So he watched.
He watched anyone he possibly could. That night, Richard Grayson-Wayne was present. Mr. Wayne and his husband had announced that they had officially adopted the boy a few months back and the news was still shiny enough for the press.
Billionaire and reporter adopt tragically orphaned child.
It was the perfect story. Especially in Gotham.
Tim was sure the press would be hounding the young boy if Mr. Wayne hadn’t been standing in front of him protectively all night. That and the fact that Clark Kent-Wayne was one of the biggest upcoming reporters. No one really wanted to push their luck with either of them.
He couldn’t tell if the feeling in his stomach was actually there, or if it was just in his head. It was just, sometimes he wished his parents would protect him like that. Sometimes the lights and all the yelling was just a bit much for him to handle. Watching Richard hide behind Bruce’s leg while Clark yelled at the press just filled Tim with a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.
He didn’t think about it for too long. He was thirsty, so he slipped away from his lookout spot and wove in between everyone that was blocking the bar. All he needed was another water. He had never gotten an extra one before, but he was pretty sure his parents wouldn’t mind.
He climbed up onto a barstool and asked for his drink. He started to chug before he remembered his manners and started sipping lightly. Before he could finish it, someone had taken the stool next to him and ordered a shirley temple before turning to him.
“Hi!”
It was Richard, his brain supplied.
Tim wasn’t really supposed to talk to people at this kind of thing. He was mostly there for show. But Richard was another kid. Tim was pretty sure he had read that Richard was eleven, so only a few years ahead of him. It probably couldn’t hurt. Plus, he didn’t want to just stay silent. That would be weird.
“Hi.”
“You’re Tim, right?” Richard asked, feet kicking back and forth.
Tim nodded.
“I’m Richard, but everyone calls me Dick!”
Tim didn’t point out that all of the tabloids did indeed call him Richard.
“B said it would be good for me to talk to kids my age,” Dick said after he took a rather large gulp of his drink.
“I’m not your age though, I’m only seven,” Tim said quietly. He was surprised Dick heard him at all.
“Well, yeah, but do you see any other kids? Besides, that’s only like four years. That’s basically nothing!”
Tim also did not point out that a lot could happen in four years. It didn’t seem like the type of logic that Dick thought about.
“I guess so. I usually don’t talk to anyone at the galas.”
“Well, maybe now you can talk to me,” he said from around his straw.
Tim understood it anyway. His first thought was probably not, but maybe he could. If he just made sure Dick only talked to him when his parents couldn’t see, maybe he could-
“Hey, you don’t look so good,” but Dick sounds a little muffled.
Actually, everything was a little muffled. And also blurry. And, he might have been on the ground. That wasn’t good. He couldn't feel much of his body either.
The rest of that night was gone.
All he knew was that his housekeeper told him that it sounded like he had a seizure. He wasn’t sure about that, but he was sure that the weeks following it were very, very unpleasant.
To start, he wasn’t allowed to leave his room. He was completely bedridden. He was back on a liquid diet, which he had just got off of, and his parents had hooked him up to what he called ‘the bag’, so he couldn't even pee. The bag just emptied his bladder for him. He tried not to think about the feeling of all of the needles and tubes that had stayed in him for an unnatural amount of time. If Tim was being honest, he hardly felt like he was alive. Not that it really mattered how he felt. It never did.
He had just passed the two week mark when he got the news. Well, he didn’t even really get the news. He just saw one of the tabloids on the secret computer that he kept under his bed. All he really saw was his parents name and ‘plane crash’ and ‘premeditated’ to get the idea.
His parents had died and nobody had thought to tell him.
And of course he cared, but what was he even supposed to do?
His housekeeper had brought him to the funeral, because what kind of look would it be if he didn’t go to his own parents' funeral?
So he went, he stood there for a bit, and then he went back home. There was no one in Drake manor. He had the whole place to himself, but he mostly just stayed in his room. It had the best view of Wayne manor.
Tim was smart enough to know that Bruce Wayne was Batman.
He wasn’t sure how everyone else didn’t know, but he sure wouldn’t be the one to tell them. He liked having a secret to keep. It made him feel much less alone.
Tim spent the next few months like this. Alone in the manor.
The cans of food his parents reluctantly kept in the pantry ran out. He was doing his best to try and eat during school so he wouldn’t have to worry about dinner.
Three more months went by like that again, and he started brainstorming how he could start to make his own money to live off of.
Tim had just turned eight when Jason moved to town.
Jason Todd was two years above him, but they had a few shared classes. At first, he wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was pretty quiet, but he was one of few people that didn’t make fun of him at school, which was nice. Tim noticed that Jason mostly kept to himself. He was usually reading or writing. One day, he joined Tim on an assignment in English class. It was just a one off type of thing, they only really needed a partner for that day. He didn’t expect to talk to Jason again but then he started sitting with him at lunch. Tim didn’t mind. Jason was good company, and he always seemed to accidentally pack two of everything at lunch.
Lunch turned into spending free periods together, which turned into a friendship, which led him to his very first sleepover.
Tim would consider that to be the night that changed his life for the better.
When he found out Jason was staying at Wayne manor, and was the Wayne’s second son, he almost didn’t want to go anymore. He had been thinking about Dick Grayson for a long time. He was probably twelve now, and furthermore, he was Robin. Batman’s sidekick. Tim didn’t think figuring that one out was rocket science. He knew as soon as he saw Robin’s quadruple flip.
Would Dick remember him? Because Dick was the only child Tim had really had any kind of positive interaction with in his entire youth, so he wasn’t sure if he could handle being forgotten again. He definitely couldn’t face being forgotten by Dick. He was considering running away before someone opened the door.
Before he could go through on his escape plan, Jason swung the door open.
“Hi, Tim!”
He wasn’t used to people who sounded anything but bothered by him. Jason sounded happy, or excited maybe? He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew no one had ever sounded that way about him.
He tried not to dwell on it. He just stepped inside with his backpack and the blanket his parents had given him when he was a baby. When he was six they had told him he had grown out of it, but he could never bring himself to get rid of it. It usually stayed under his bed with his bunny plush and the computer he had stolen.
Jason grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen. Tim had almost forgotten he was there.
“Look! Alfie made us sandwiches and juice!”
Tim peered up at the table. It did indeed have an array of sandwiches and juice on it.
Jason dug in right away, but Tim wasn’t so sure. He usually wasn’t allowed to eat at other people’s homes.
“I- Am I allowed?”
The look in Jason’s eyes wasn’t one Tim could easily describe. If he had to guess it was somewhere between confusion and pity. There was more to it though. Tim had no time to further examine it, because Jason’s eyes flickered up to something behind him. He felt a strong presence behind him and suddenly he remembered who’s home he was really in. He quickly spun around and looked up to see Bruce Wayne.
The Bruce Wayne.
The Batman.
Tim couldn’t have forced any words out if he tried, which was fine because Bruce beat him to speaking.
“You’re allowed to eat anything you want here,” he said as he looked over Tim.
What he was looking for, Tim wasn’t too sure of.
He tried his best not to shrink under his gaze, but it was hard. He wasn’t a particularly big child. As a matter of fact, last time he was weighed, he was severely underweight. His height wasn’t exactly where it was supposed to be either.
“Don’t eat dessert before dinner though. You’ll get grounded,” Jason said with his mouth full of sandwich.
“I don’t live here though,” Tim thought out loud.
“Alf would find a way,” he replied as he shoved a sandwich into Tim’s hands.
He just looked at it. Everything in his brain and body was saying no.
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
Stay skinny. Sickly. Small.
“Tim, your nose,” Bruce said gently.
He wiped his nose and his whole hand came away red.
He hadn’t had one in a few months. They had stopped after his parent’s accident. Though he couldn’t stop the blood from rushing from his nose.
“Sorry! I’m sorry,” he panicked.
He accidentally dropped his sandwich.
Tim backed up into Jason as he wiped ferociously at his nose.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
He felt hands on his wrists and couldn’t help but scream more.
He could feel the blood running down his face. He was ruining everything. He was bleeding and he’d made a mess in Bruce Wayne’s kitchen. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave his room again. He’d be on liquids. His parents would-
“It’s okay, I’ve got you Tim.”
It was a deep voice.
Bruce.
“I told you they did something to him.”
Jason?
“Go tell Alfred to prepare a room,” he heard fuzzily.
He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he heard Bruce through it all.
And that was it.
Bruce had figured out that Tim was living on his own, and had a room ready for him that same night. Tim had never looked back after that.
About a year later, on his ninth birthday, Bruce had taken him out to the park. Just the two of them. Usually, Tim would feel bad about taking him away from Alfred, or Clark, or Dick, or Jason. Especially Dick or Jason. He had gotten close to the older boys, but he still felt guilt pool in his stomach when Bruce would give Tim his attention.
But Bruce always told him that he had enough attention for all of them. Tim had recently started believing him.
So he didn’t let the guilt get to him that day at the park. He felt so free that day. He and Bruce had gotten ice cream, and he’d pushed Tim on the swing until his body couldn’t take it anymore. After the swing, Bruce had carried him over to a bench.
His parents would have told him he was too old to be carried, but Bruce didn’t share the same sentiment. In fact, Dick was thirteen now, and Bruce still carried him around when wanted to. He was also pretty sure he had seen Bruce throw Clark over his shoulder the other day, so it was safe to say Bruce would do whatever he wanted to.
So, he didn’t feel bad for occupying Bruce’s lap on the park bench while they watched the sun go down. He couldn’t remember the last birthday he spent with anyone, let alone where he actually celebrated.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Bruce said gently.
He must have tensed up, because Bruce held him a little tighter.
“It’s nothing bad, I promise.”
Tim tipped his head back so he could see Bruce from his spot in his arms.
“You’ve been with us for almost a whole year. I hope it’s been as good of a year for you as it has been for me having you,” he said.
As if it hadn’t been the most peaceful year of his life. He’s never had people care about him the way Bruce and everyone else had. Alfred always made sure he was taken care of. He was allowed to eat whenever he was hungry. Dick and Jason had been so fun. It was almost like having brothers. Clark had taken a liking to him right away. Not that there was anyone Clark didn’t like. Tim had never met anyone as kind as Clark. He thought it would fade at first, but he noticed it only seemed to grow.
And Bruce. Well, it was almost like having a father. No, not a father, but a dad.
He hadn’t said that though. He didn’t want to overstep. Dick and Jason were his real kids. Legally at least. He was just Tim.
“I want you to know that I love you. Tim, I love you so much, and if you’ll have me,” Bruce pulled out some papers from his jacket, “I would love it if you’d allow me to adopt you.”
Tim’s eyes went all misty, “What? Me?”
Adopt him? Bruce wanted him. Bruce wanted Tim Drake. No one had ever wanted Tim Drake.
“Of course you. Even if you say no, I want you to know that I”ll still think of you as a son. I was just hoping you would have me as a father,” Bruce says, and Tim hears him getting a little choked up.
Tim throws his arms around Bruce as best he can.
He was going to have a dad. A real one.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” he muttered into Bruce’s neck.
From that day forward, as far as he was concerned, he was Tim Wayne.
Tim had been with his family for six years now, and had been official for five. The best years of his life, without competition. Damian had found them three years ago now. That was a bit rocky at first, but they had figured it out eventually. Now he had a little brother too, no matter how difficult he was.
He had gotten much healthier too, even if he couldn’t really be considered ‘healthy’. If Jason so much as sneezed on him, he would be down for a week, but now he had people supporting him. Plus, Clark couldn’t get sick, so Tim never spent his sicknesses alone. Not that being contagious really stopped anyone else from sitting with him, no matter how hard he tried. Dick tended to sleep right next to him while he was sick, seeing as he had a pretty strong immune system. Jason usually just stayed with him after school, and if it was really bad, Damian would drop off some of his most recent art for him. Alfred, Bruce, and Clark tended to hover more than usual during the day if he was sick as well.
Bruce was hovering right now. Even if he was trying to be subtle, he never really was.
Tim wasn’t even really sick. His glucose was just acting up, which is probably why Bruce was allowing him to work on his most recent project while he was stuck in bed. He only needed to stay in bed for a couple more hours, and if he pulled out the sad bat eyes, Bruce might even let him go on patrol.
Probably not, but he could try.
That’s what he was thinking about while he was tweaking his quantum displacer. If he could get it right, it would allow for a form of teleportation. Well, it was obviously more complicated than that, but that was the watered down version he tended to give of project Zeta.
“You better be careful with that thing,” Bruce said from his doorway.
Tim jumped, “Jesus, B. Warn a guy first. Or you could try knocking. I know it’s a pretty big concept around here.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, “You spend entirely too much time with Jason. I’m just here to check on you.”
Which was Bruce speak for ‘I was worried you somehow managed to knock yourself out in the past half hour that I haven't been staring at you’.
“Well, I am all good. You could check on my project though,” he said as he offered it to Bruce.
Bruce always made sure to pay extra attention to whatever projects he had going. Last time Tim was working on something, Bruce liked it so much he implemented it in the security in the JL Watchtower.
“It looks good. It just needs some fine tuning in the lab,” he says, handing it back.
Tim lit up.
“No, you aren't cleared for the lab yet. Just rest up,” he says as he tosses fruit snacks at him.
Tim sighed, a loud one, to let Bruce know he didn’t like being stuck in bed.
“I know, I know, but it’ll be done soon,” he ruffles Tim’s hair, “Just sit tight. Maybe you should do that homework you've been putting off.”
Tim sighed. The big loud, ‘we both know I can do it in less than five minutes’ sigh.
“Or, you’re welcome to invite Stephanie or Conner over as well.”
Tim smiled. Bruce had just recently come around on Kon, after he fished Tim out of the harbour from when the Joker tossed him off the roof last month.
Bruce dropped a kiss on Tim’s hair and was just leaving his bedside when a loud clang followed by, “FUCK YOU, BRAT,” came from the hall.
Tim jumped again and the displacer fell off his bed. He couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted to. The bright beam of energy hit Bruce’s back, right in the middle. Tim scrambled up and out of bed.
“B?”
Bruce turned around slowly. Tim knew something was very, very, wrong before Bruce even said anything. He was too tense, and his hair was different. It was greyer, and he had an ever so slightly smaller frame. That and he was looking at Tim in a way he never had before.
“Who the hell are you?” Bruce asked.
This wasn’t his Bruce.
He might have accidentally sent his Bruce across universes.