Chapter Text
Tim wakes up to the consistent beeping of a heart monitor and obnoxious white hospital lights. The blanket covering him is surprisingly soft though. He feels very little pain, which Tim thinks of as unusual, because he very much so remembers getting in Batman's way. And paying the price for it. Mostly, everything feels heavy. Even his thoughts feel heavy and thick. Tim also thinks he may have woken up a few times before but can’t really remember details. The last thing Tim can remember well is being thrown by batman.
For the past 8 months, Batman has been on a one-man crusade. Which he used to be before the first robin, but this time it's different. This time Batman has been beating criminals closer and closer to death. Small-time criminals, purse snatchers, petty thieves. All of them were beaten so badly, when before, Batman would've just caught them, zip tied them, and left them for the police pickup. Tim has evidence that 27 people have been permanently damaged by Batman. Because Batman is out of control. Batman is losing control. He no longer cares to hold back. And he no longer cares to avoid injury to himself either. Batman is on a one-man crusade where the ending is going to be either a criminal's death, or Batman's death.
Because Robin is dead.
The light to Batman's darkness. The joy to his stoicism. The symbol of hope in the shadow of the symbol of vengeance.
Robin is dead.
Gotham is grieving him.
And Batman is losing himself.
And Tim got himself put in the hospital because he tried to be like Robin. Because Batman needs help. Batman needs Robin. But Robin is dead. And Tim can't be Robin. He learned that.
Tim looks down and takes stock of his injuries. His left arm is casted from wrist to elbow and is also in a sling, keeping the limb still, he can feel a lot of wrappings around his torso, his left leg is raised and casted heavily all the way up to his thigh. He winces when he swallows, his throat hurts and feels tight. He can feel some kind of bandage wrapped around his head. An IV is taped on the the inside of his right elbow.
Reaching up with his right hand, Tim feels around the bandage, finding it to be thick and also finding his hair has been cut shorter.
Tim lifts his gaze, sweeps around the room. He has the sudden realization that he is not in Gotham anymore. Posters that are on the walls are not in english.
Oh no. Oh no. What happened?
If I’m not in the US anymore, then my parents had me transferred, most likely to one of the hospitals that DI has trade agreements with. But that would’ve taken at the very least a few days to do.
Was I in a coma?! How long has it been? How badly was I hurt…
Tim, of course, remembers exactly what happened. Well, he remembers until he fell unconscious. He followed Batman chasing a small-time and terrified thief to the roof of a building where he beat the man into unconsciousness, and then kept going. Tim tried to call out for him to stop, afraid Batman was going to kill the guy (who looked like a barely 20 year old and halfway dead). But when it seemed Batman couldn't hear him, Tim had approached and tried to get his attention.
“Batman, please stop,” Tim cried. “Please, Robin wouldn't--”
Tim wasn't sure if it was his hand reaching towards the vigilante or the mention of Robin that caused it, but at that moment Batman had moved so quickly and had grabbed Tim by the throat and threw him across the roof with a roar of animalistic rage. Tim didn't have the time or good enough relaxes to try to catch himself as he smacked into the edge of the roof and tumbled right off the ledge. He remembers trying to grab the fire escape before landing on his left leg. He had tried to roll to distribute the force of the fall but couldn’t really manage it as he collapsed on his arm and shoulder. And finally his head smacked off the concrete of the alley. Then all he could process was pain. Pain. PAIN. Like stabbing and burning fire. Then he didn’t know anything else as he lost consciousness.
And that's where the memories cut off. Tim has no idea how he made it out of that alley. And now he’s in another country’s hospital.
Tim stares up at the ceiling as he tries to come to terms with everything that has happened.
After falling back asleep and waking up later in the day, Tim glances around and freezes as he catches sight of the person sitting in the comfortable chair beside his bed. His mother is reading something on her phone as she sits in a perfectly respectable position.
“Mom?” Tim says roughly.
Janet Drake looks up with her sharp eyes. She smiles, looking more gentle than Tim can remember in recent years. “Timothy, we have been worried.” She reaches out with a slim hand and brushes her fingers across his cheek.
Tim’s lips quiver at the affection. “M-mom,” he says wetly as tears start to fall.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Janet says, her brows furrowing slightly. “Are you in pain? I can summon a doctor.”
“No,” Tim whispers and presses his cheek slightly more into his mother’s hand.
Tim is neither stupid nor oblivious. He knows that his parents aren’t the best. They value their archaeological work more than they should. They leave Tim home alone for long periods of time. Neither Jack nor Janet are overly affectionate people; they have not cuddled their son since he was a toddler. But they have never struck him. They have provided everything for him. And when they are in Gotham, they always made sure that there was a day that they would spend at Drake manor with Tim only. They would discuss school, hobbies, and anything else that Tim wanted. They always sent gifts on holidays if they weren’t there in person.
His parents have always wanted Tim to get perfect grades, but have never punished him for anything besides failing. They have taught him to have perfect manners and poise. They have never struck him.
Tim knows logically that what they do is a form of neglect. But Tim has never truly been bothered by it. He is very independent and likes the freedom of having no one watching him so he can do his nighttime photography.
So yeah. Not perfect. Probably not even good. But Tim has never doubted that they care about him. He just also knows that he’s not usually their first priority. Tim has made the decision a long time ago to be okay with this. He will accept it for what it is and do the best with what he can. And right now, all he can do is accept his mother’s rare affection and cry.
After a few minutes, Tim calms down and Janet wipes his face with a soft cloth.
“Where am I?” Tim asks.
After sitting back and straightening her skirt and blouse, Janet explains that once they had been contacted about Tim’s severe injuries, they had him transported to a hospital they have access to in Switzerland. Tim has undergone two surgeries to repair his heavily damaged left leg. Along with a complex fracture (he now has some bone screws and two rods, how fun) he also has a fractured ankle and some of the bones in the same foot are also broken, a fracture on his kneecap and a few torn ligaments as well. His left hip was also dislocated when he was first checked into the hospital in Gotham. Tim’s other injuries consist of: fractured wrist, broken collar bone, four broken ribs and three fractured ribs, a lot of deep bruising, many scrapes, and a severe head injury. The head injury caused a brain bleed that thankfully was small and slow enough that medication and time took care of it. Tim does have a row of seventeen stitches for the cut that spans from his left eyebrow to above his ear (that is why his hair is shorter now).
Tim stares at the opposite wall after his mother informs him that he’s been in a medically induced coma for five days and then three more days unconscious with him starting to regain consciousness in the past day.
Tim is very smart. He knows that these are the type of injuries at their severity that cause permanent mobility issues.
Tim starts to silently cry as he thinks about how recovery is going to take a long time and that his left leg is never going to be the same and that there is a good chance he is going to need a cane after he heals at the very least. He grieves for his mobility. He grieves for his dreams. Because there was a part of Tim that wanted to become Robin to save Batman and to honor Jason; now that is no longer possible. He lost his chance.
Now who’s going to save Batman? Tim wonders silently.
“Timothy,” Janet interrupts Tim’s spiral, “I must tell you that there was someone that called in an anonymous tip about a boy needing help in an alley at night. Whoever that person was commented that it was Batman who harmed you.” By the end of that sentence, Janet’s voice has taken on a cold, sharp edge, one that promises swift and merciless retribution. Janet Allison Drake nee Devonshire is well-known for being ruthless when provoked into action. She is the youngest daughter of old money and while she didn’t inherit her family’s vast network of companies and wealth, she did inherit a portion of that and then also married a rich man and made him richer by being an ambitious and cunning wife who helped her husband’s company become one of the leading medical equipment manufacturers in the world as well as other lucrative companies or affiliations here and there. Janet is the one who Tim inherited his sharp intellect from. It is Janet who taught Tim how to manipulate, threaten, bribe, and scare people. Tim is dangerous because his mother taught him how to be. Because Janet can be dangerous.
“Mother,” Tim gasps, “please do not kill Batman.” Tim isn’t quite sure if it’s the drugs in his system or just the knowledge that while some underestimate his mother, he knows she could probably take over and run gotham if she wanted to (and it’s a good thing she is content to run her husband’s company, run archeological sites, and go to galas). “Mom, please.”
Janet frowns slightly as she once more leans forward to wipe her son’s face with a soft cloth. “Tell me why I shouldn’t ruin him.” Her actions are gentle; her voice is like harsh winter wind. “He hurt you. He almost killed my son. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Tim leans against his mother’s hand. “I was trying to save him,” Tim admits brokenly. “It’s my fault; I surprised him while he was in a fight.”
Janet’s expression doesn’t change. But there is knowledge in her dark eyes. And they bore into Tim’s light blue eyes. As she studies Tim, Janet cleans his face and tucks the cloth away, all without looking away from him.
And Tim wonders if his mother knows. If she knows who is under the cowl, who Batman is and who he lost. Tim wonders if she knows like he does. And he wonders what else she knows.
“Timothy, you are fourteen years old, it is not your job to save a grown man who cannot control his anger or grief,” Janet says, her voice hard without being cruel. “This is not your responsibility.”
Tim glances down, feeling guilty and fearful. He knows he’s hid things and has taken advantage of his parents’ neglect. That he has used them. Just like he was taught.
Janet removes her hand slowly and straightens once more. “Timothy, I taught you better than this.”
Tim flinches slightly and squeezes his eyes shut.
“If you believe in something, if you want something, you better be willing to fight for it. Now look me in the eye and do not flinch from this,” Janet commands.
Tim twitches but obeys. And he sees his mother staring back, one thin eyebrow raised as she continues to study him. What he does not see is rage, nor does he see disappointment.
“What?” Tim questions.
“Well, I taught you that you better follow through with your plans or have a back up ready if it doesn’t work. I taught you to not flinch at someone else’s words or ploys. If you are going to take someone on, you better be prepared to look them in the eye and prove your point. You keep your back straight, your smile up, your appearance perfect; and you never show your hand early.”
Tim cannot straighten with broken ribs but he does stop crying and relaxes his shoulders. “Mother?”
“I will not pretend that I have been a good mother to you, Timothy,” Janet begins, her voice softening. “I am not a warm person. But I hope I have raised you and taught you enough that you can take on the things you want to. DI will one day be yours and I know that you will make the company thrive as much as I have done. Whatever else you take on, is your choice. I will not judge what. But I will judge how. If you do something, be prepared to follow through.”
“Everything I planned went to hell,” Tim admits. I’ll never be Robin with a bum leg. I won’t be able to do things because I’ll be crippled. What could I do with how I am now?
“Well, time to follow your back up plan.”
“I didn’t really have one,” Tim whispers.
Janet hums. “Then make one.”
Tim gapes at his mother. Is she? Does she know? Is she telling me to become a vigilante?
“Mother, do you know who--”
Janet holds up a hand to cut him off. “Timothy,” she sighs. “My son.” A pause. “You will never be able to tell me about this. I will never ask about this. This thing, whatever you choose to do, and how you go about it, will have to be up to you. I cannot know anything.”
And Tim suddenly understands.
Janet must never be in the know for what Tim has done, what Tim knows, and what he is going to do. She must always have plausible deniability. That is the only way Tim will ever have any sort of safety net. If he worked around his parents, and they never knew anything, then they will never be accused of aiding him. And Janet will be able to help him if he does get found out. It’s what she taught him. To have a backup plan. To use everything and everyone to your advantage. And of course, the lack of knowledge can be just as useful as having the knowledge. You just have to be clever enough to place the pieces on the board exactly where you want them.
“But I’m,” Tim chokes. “I’m going to be permanently injured. What can I do with that?”
Janet scoffs before she gives a sharp grin, like a shark. “My great grandfather suffered a head injury that caused him to have many health issues, caused him to be disabled. But whether he was in a wheelchair or standing straight, people listened to him. Because he knew everyone and everything. He feared no one. They feared him. His men obeyed without question. You do not have to be perfectly healthy to be powerful, Timothy. But you must know how to use what power you do have. You will have to be smarter and ruthless and dauntless. But you are already those things, are you not? You are my child.”
Tim can’t help but smile slightly. Janet’s grandfather on her mother’s side was an old-time gangster who ran a large organization and was feared and respected in equal measure. He used to have weapons hidden in his wheelchair as well as candies that he would give to his beloved granddaughters. But no one saw him as weak. And those that did, well, they didn’t last long. But they don’t talk about him, no one needs to know or it could cause some disrespect. But Janet and her sisters know. Tim knows. And that’s enough.
That’s enough to reignite the hope that shattered with Tim’s body the night he hit the ground and broke him.
Broken can be fixed. Hurt can be healed. Pain can fade.
Tim can be a hero. Even if he can’t be Robin.
Tim can save Batman. He can help Gotham.
He’ll just have to do it differently.
“I think I’d like to sleep for a while, Mother,” Tim says. I need time to come up with a new plan. I need to think of my next ten moves.
“Of course, darling.” Janet smiles, something that looks both dangerous and affectionate to Tim. “You get some rest. Your recovery is of utmost importance. Your father will be here next time you wake.”
Tim relaxes back into the pillows and closes his eyes as his mind begins to race.
If I’m going to help save Gotham. Then I will need to become something else. I can’t be a vigilante who breaks noses and cuffs bad guys. But Batman does investigative work. And that type of thing I’ll be able to do.
Hmm. What else?
Computers. I am good with computers and technology.
Coding. Hacking. Investigating. Information control and distribution.
I will become a hero in a support capacity and he will focus on investigation, technology and information. Gotham is my home and I will not let her fall. Robin, Jason, was my hero. And I will not let his legacy of hope fade.
Tim falls asleep as he begins his planning.
When Tim wakes up early the next morning, both of his parents are close to him.
“Hey, there, son,” Jack greets enthusiastically, though worry and stress can be read in his face and blue eyes. “Your mother said you woke up earlier. How’re you feeling, champ?”
“Hey, Dad,” Tim says. “Kinda hurting, really thirsty.”
After getting some water, Jack pats Tim’s uninjured shoulder and begins talking about the hospital (the food is very good, the doctors are competent) and other topics. Tim meets his mother’s eyes for a moment. She raises a single brow. Tim nods, lips tight with determination. Janet nods back once before standing up to fetch a doctor.
It takes a few hours for the attending doctor and head nurse to explain everything (injuries, what the surgeries did, current plan for healing, future plans for physical therapy, possible life altering situations, possible solutions to long-term health issues). The doctor smiles when Tim says that he will walk again and that he does not give up easily. After the staff give another dose of pain medication, they leave the three Drakes alone.
Tim looks at his parents and catches his mother’s gaze. “I wish to return to Gotham after my recovery. I want to do schooling online and I plan to graduate at sixteen at the latest.”
Jack frowns. “Now, son, I know you’ve been through something awful, but don’t you think you should think this through some more? And why would you want to return to Gotham?”
Tim smiles like his mother taught him. All lips and teeth, not reaching the eyes, no the eyes are sharp and intense. On Janet and her son, the look is chilling and charming in equal measure.
Before Tim can wield his sharp tongue, Janet interrupts with a chuckle. “Of course, Timothy.” She gives her husband a pointed look. “Our son is intelligent and independent, Jack. If he has a plan, then he has thought it through. Who are we to slow his momentum if he wants to do this. It will look great for all of us to have a brilliant son who graduates early and is successful.”
Jack glances between his wife and son’s smiles and, smartly (his self preservation is not lacking), laughs jovially. “You are correct, Jan, our son is brilliant and capable. And he deserves to do as he wishes after such horrible injuries.”
Janet hums as she goes back to her phone and begins emailing relevant entities.
Tim hums. He has a plan. And he’s going to make sure it works this time.
Heal. Recover. Get school out of the way. Gain all knowledge and information. Become the best hacker and investigator. Make Batman be better. Protect Gotham.
Honor Robin’s memory.
Tim has a plan.
Tim has a purpose.