Chapter Text
Jack and Janet Drake were well aware that they weren’t the best or most morally upstanding people.
Jack Drake, CEO of Drake Industries, had inherited his company after his father’s untimely death. He wasn’t very upset about it, for his father wasn’t the nicest man, and his mother was perfectly happy to take the life insurance money and retire. Jack skimmed a little off the top of the profits of the company, fudged the taxes a little, and used the money to buy black-market archaeological artefacts to decorate his home with. At twenty-five, he married the most terrifying woman he’d ever met, who he loved dearly for her confidence and the fact that he knew that she wouldn’t mind his corrupt hobbies.
Even better, Janet Drake– nee Silva-Crowne– had her own corrupt hobbies. She had a direct matriarchal line to one of the five founding families of Gotham, the Crownes, and as such, had a seat in the Court of Owls. Janet wasn’t a fool, and she took full advantage of her name to wield power within The Court, helping her husband hide his criminal dealings and gain socio-political power.
Then, Timothy Jackson Drake was born.
This, of course, didn’t change a thing. Janet still ruled a group of assassins, Jack still practised tax fraud.
However, they didn’t want that life for their son.
Tim was supposed to grow up a normal child, and, if he wanted to, once he turned eighteen he could choose his own criminal path.
Too bad nobody told Tim that.
Tim, at the ripe old age of three, realised that his mom had secrets. Secrets that Tim really shouldn’t know.
Naturally, he wanted to find out.
He watched as his mom silently disappeared at galas to speak to other socialites, how she was fluent in far too many languages, how anyone in power she disapproved of disappeared or got demoted, and how she knew a lot about people, always with the best gossip ready on her tongue when talking to reporters.
That, and the way that she stabbed Scarecrow through the thigh with her Jimmy Choos when he attacked a museum wing opening (with a special donation from Jack Drake) and made Tim cry. The Gotham Gazette had called her the ‘Beautiful, Bold, Mama Bear of Gotham.’ Tim’s dad had framed the newspaper article and hung it in the family living room.
Tim was five years old when he finally connected his mom and The Court of Owls. Embarrassingly, it took him another year to realise that his dad was also a criminal, just into white-collar crimes instead of straight-up secret societies and assassinations.
So, at six years old, Tim decided to commit a crime too.
He pulled on his black leggings and layered black sweats overtop to protect against the cold, and grabbed his only black hoodie. Grabbing his camera, Tim snuck out the window and went in search of Batman and Robin.
When he got back home with the sunrise, his dad was there waiting for him, looking frantic.
“Tim! Oh my god, where have you been? We’ve been worried sick! Your mother has been searching the entire city for you!” He pulled Tim into a tight hug.
Tim just blinked, holding up his camera. “I was stalking Batman and Robin.”
Jack Drake stopped, blinked, and tried to process this information. “You… stalked… Batman.”
Tim enthusiastically nodded. “I got pictures! Do you think mom will put them on the fridge?”
His dad was still confused. “What.”
“I’m sorry I got home so late, I saw one of mom’s Talons, and I thought that if they caught me, mom would ground me, so I hid!” Tim winced, “Well, you caught me sneaking back in anyway, so I’m guessing I’m grounded, right?”
“I- yes?” It came out as a question. “Your mother… you know?”
Poor Jack was completely lost as to how his kid not only knew about Janet’s place in The Court– an organisation that not even Batman knew existed– but also managed to avoid them while he snuck out of the house to stalk vigilantes.
“It’s kind of obvious,” Tim said.
Tim’s dad just sighed, looking resigned. “Of course it is. Just… of course. You’re just like your mother.”
“Thank you,” Tim replied promptly, delighted.
Tim’s dad looked like he didn’t mean it as a compliment, but Tim ignored that.
“Can I have a bubble bath to warm up?” he asked.
“Sure, let me just call your mother,” his dad said as he stood up from where he had knelt on the floor to tackle Tim in a hug when he’d seen him.
“Can I play with my transformers in the bath?” The little plastic cars and figures were his favourite to play with at bathtime; the next favourite toys being his Justice League collectables.
“Only if you pick up after yourself!”
“Okay!”
Tim ran up the stairs, on hands and knees like he was a cat, and scrambled to start filling the bathtub with hot water.
Jack Drake stared off into the distance. This is his own fault. This is his own damn fault. He married the genius assassin, of course they’re going to have genius assassin babies. He really didn’t know what else he expected.