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Tim Drake, former vigilante and infamous high school dropout, sat in some local coffee shop and stared blankly at his laptop, hesitating on the booking page for American Airlines. He didn’t know what was expected of him at that moment.
Expectations were definitely a thing for Tim.
‘Thing’ implies it was a bad thing. That wasn’t the case. It’s more of a neutral thing.
His entire life had been very much shaped by this abstract understanding that Tim had a lot of potential, whether based on his alleged intellect or his independence or even his parents’ money, and that Tim needed to meet this potential.
With Jack and Janet it had been really, blissfully, simple. Well, it didn’t feel simple at the time, it in fact felt overwhelming and impossible, but it was a known quantity. An extremely well trodden road to walk; get immaculate grades, go to an ivy league college, take over his dad’s role of CEO at Drake Industries, have a wife and 2.5 kids, etc, etc.
Maybe not Tim’s ideal life, but it was clear, and he never had to put much stock into more appealing alternatives because it would never come to that.
And then it did.
Obviously Tim had moved decidedly off that path, hell he hadn’t even graduated high school legitimately, but his parents were dead now, and so were their hopes and dreams for their only son. Maybe that was too harsh, but as his life had changed dramatically under Bruce, “I am the night,” Wayne, so too had the external expectations placed on Tim’s life.
B’s plans for Tim were harder to parse out, but finally, after years of miscommunication and pretense, he finally felt that he understood the man.
See, Tim had always felt that expectations were a good indicator of love, or at least strong familial bonds. His parents, for example, had always been distant and according to Jason “emotionally dead inside,” but they also had an extremely high belief in Tim and his abilities, and they made sure he didn’t squander it. They were always so proud of his drive and his intellect, and they pushed him to achieve the very best that he could. That unwavering support for Tim felt like the strongest implication of their love, even if it was never said aloud.
Tim very much felt this had worked as intended. Maybe he hadn’t become the picture perfect corporate shark they had wanted, but he had used his energy and skill as Robin instead, working alongside the Dark Knight himself to bring about peace and justice. Tim would never know if they would’ve been happy with his choices, but he could choose to believe they would’ve been. He had never truly understood his parents while they were alive, he certainly didn’t get the impression they liked him or even kids generally, but that unknowable quantity left a lot of wiggle room for the imagined ghosts of his parents. Either way, Tim was proud of his work, or at least he used to be.
Bruce, on the other hand, had no expectations of Tim.
Tim understood why. This wasn’t the root of the issue so much as it was a symptom. It was however the last push he needed to finally get out of the Wayne family's hair.
His mentor-slash-father-figure-slash-idol had never talked to Tim about his future, had never talked to Tim about university or employment or children. There had never been discussions or advice about being an independent superhero, or about living on his own, or even about how to not burn toast.
There had, of course, been Robin, and everything that entailed and it had been an objective challenge. Dick, and to an even greater extent the untouchable memory of Jason, had both left impossibly huge shoes to fill, but once that training was over, when Tim was operating as Robin on his own and doing good, solo work, there wasn’t much left. There was no external purpose presented to him past the age of fourteen, particularly as Tim Drake, not Robin. It was a complete 180° departure from his parents, who had always been very clear about the goals they knew Tim would adhere to throughout his life.
The real root was Tim’s general un-likability and inability to read a room.
See, the Wayne family were extremely close-knit and happy, and Tim knew deep down that he wasn’t entitled to it. It had taken them years to get to this point, years and a lot of near death experiences, but they were finally in a place where they were all relatively civil and enjoyed spending time with one another. Everyone except Tim, who only caused disappointment and feigned smiles.
The truth was, Tim should never have been Robin. He was a placeholder, a means to an end, and they all knew it. As much as Tim had forced his way into Batman’s life, he had always been extremely careful not to overstep with Bruce Wayne. He had enough dignity and social awareness to preserve that at least.
Professionalism had been a foundational pillar in his early childhood, a high standard to maintain at all times, and Tim liked to believe he had never strayed from that in his interactions with the Waynes, even if he knew that was objectively untrue.
So really, he had overstayed his polite but insincere welcome. By a lot.
If he had to compare it to anything, one might say he was like a BatBurger employee. Vital to operations, competent when motivated, understandable and necessary to society, but at a certain age there was just a general understanding that you had to move past it, do something bigger and better. And Robin wasn’t exactly paid minimum wage.
Tim liked to believe, even if it was childish, that he was at the very least competent. Well, maybe being competent at some things was more accurate.
Regardless, Tim knew it was his time to move on. Bruce had no expectations of him because he didn’t expect Tim to stay with his family this long. It was getting sad, but they had been too kind to say it to his face.
All this to say, here Tim was, trying and likely failing to make concrete plans to move on, move beyond Batman and Robin.
He didn’t exactly know why this was the task he was struggling with. He had already applied and been accepted into a university all the way over in London, nothing fancy because Robin couldn’t exactly go on a personal statement, and had sorted out various logistics. The last step was a one-way ticket to Heathrow. This was objectively the right choice, the very much accepted way to do some soul searching and grow as a human being. Exactly what he needed, even if high school had been a slog by the end.
He desperately needed a change, a sign that he could grow beyond a role currently inhabited by a twelve year old. If he could find the strength to sever all ties with Gotham, overcome his stupid squishy nostalgia for the city and its inhabitants, his nostalgia for the Waynes and their overwhelming and entirely too mushy fondness for one another, he might finally find the space to grow. He would miss his Wednesday calls with Dick, and Alfred’s mandatory Sunday dinners, and playing games with Duke, and a whole host of other small things, but this was necessary.
This was that change. He closed his eyes and hit the button.
It felt anticlimactic and vaguely hollow to stare instead at the confirmation page. Objectively there was no real-world impact of this step, he didn’t know why he expected his life to suddenly implode, but Tim was nothing if not committed.
He looked at the door of the cafe. He really didn’t want to examine why he was waiting for a tall, broad, brooding older man to walk through the threshold, yell at him for making such a stupid decision, hug him and beg him to go home.
His coffee was getting cold. It was time to leave. Time to become an adult.
The Gotham International Airport Duty free, an overly complicated but necessary detour past security, had entirely too many varieties of candy. M&m’s specifically, which had been spread out over a full floor-to-ceiling shelf, each painfully colourful and expensive even to his spoiled rich kid sense. The plastic m&m Statue of Liberty was just tacky. They weren’t even in New York.
Tim felt only a vague sense of disappointment. Has anyone over the age of five ever purchased the family pack of crispy? It was objectively the worst flavour.
He was, however, moving on, trying to live a normal life, so here he was, passively browsing the labyrinth of perfume, luxury handbags, and copious volumes of alcohol. Late stage capitalism really had ruined everything, including air travel apparently.
Tim was now a university student. The summer had passed completely uneventfully, well, uneventful for a vigilante superhero, but now he was irish-exiting that life. Quietly slipping out the back. Making as little fuss as possible. This was really the best case scenario for everyone involved. A fresh start for all parties, but largely for Tim, who desperately needed it.
Sunglasses, cap, and noise-cancelling headphones on, he moved towards his gate. A universal requirement for a red-eye flight was copious amounts of caffeinated beverages, so Jitters Coffee it was.
Despite his late parents’ near constant travels and his night job involving frequent work trips, Tim had never really commercially flown all that often. The airport really just felt like a typical shopping mall with a weird veneer of stress and bureaucracy. Even so, Tim was not at all expecting a hand to firmly clap his shoulder from behind. He jumped a foot and spun around.
Bruce Wayne stood behind him. Of course.
He looked like he had been in a rush, for what Tim couldn’t be sure, his breath slightly heavy and his eyes bright and desperate. He simply stared at Tim like the world was about to end and he held the only solution to save it.
Tim had absolutely no idea what he was doing here.
He took a step back, failing to avoid the person standing directly behind him. The hand on his shoulder fell away.
Bruce looked crushed.
There wasn’t really a clear place for Tim to begin. He didn’t really know what was happening, could only grasp at straws for an explanation he didn’t have. He sighed. “What are you doing here?” Tim could only hope his voice held some confidence he didn’t feel.
Bruce’s brow furrowed at this, a reminder of his career and lifetime devotion to detective work. He looked as he did on a case, when a particularly tricky clue or witness didn’t fit within whatever narrative he had constructed about the crime. Tim was one of the select few who could recognise that look for what it was.
“I got an alert from your watch tracker that you were at the airport. I couldn’t find a return ticket. What are you doing here?”
Tim froze. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t hurt the man? This was a necessary evil, a move that would ultimately help everyone in the long term, but he couldn’t just say that outright, it would crush B. In all his planning for this step, he had never considered that Bruce wouldn’t understand why he was leaving. He had expected them all to know.
Time to spell it out for the older man. “I– “ he began, but he stalled, his brain empty, his mouth moronically open. He could almost hear the voice of his mother berating him for it. Nope. He couldn’t do this.
Abandoning his caffine dreams, Tim spun on his heel and walked away.
All sense of reasoning told him Bruce would only follow, could already hear him splutter before his delayed response. Bruce was not a man who accepted loss, had never been in any facet of his life. Of course he wouldn’t accept it was simply Tim’s time.
Everything played out almost exactly as he could have predicted it would, had Tim a functioning prefrontal cortex (in his defence, as advanced and mature as he was, even he couldn’t force it to fully develop before the ripe old age of 25. Being 19 absolutely sucked in so many ways). As much as Tim was motivated to get away, Bruce, apex predator that he was, was more motivated to stop his wayward mentee.
Broad shoulders blocked his path and eyesight, black, cashmere turtleneck pressed against his cheek and nose. He smelled like smoke and leather and coffee. The warm hands returned to his shoulders, trapping him in one place.
Tim knew he had to say something, anything to convince Bruce why this was necessary, why his departure was in his best interest. They both knew that he was only stagnating in Gotham, a washed up hero, a burden to the dazzling futures of his sorta-brothers, more-so-peers, but the moment he opened his mouth, tried to communicate this, only a quiet sob escaped.
Bruce’s arms only wrapped tighter across his back, gently rubbing his back and softly shushing him. It was only at this point that Tim discovered the dampness on the soft fabric near his face, an embarrassing signal of his inability to control himself and his body. He was crying.
A whispered “Shhhh, sweetheart, I’ve got you, it's okay, you’re okay,” could be heard distantly, but Tim wasn’t really in the right mind to comprehend it.
He tried to speak, to justify his actions to the man, but could only gasp for air, painful, stuttering heaves that did nothing to calm his mind. God he was pathetic. He pressed his face further into the older vigilante and failed to end his uncontrollable wailing.
Bruce began to rock him back and forth, and as much as Tim hated how childish this whole scenario was turning out to be. After several minutes he finally calmed down enough to deepen his breathing and sluggishly open his eyes. There was such a primal comfort to be had from such a simple act. It was embarrassing how much Tim needed it at that moment.
At some point it seemed Bruce had moved them to a separate, more private space, some office, but Tim had been too out of it in his anxiety and emotion to notice. Another example of why he was such a failure.
“I’m going to miss my flight,” he finally managed to choke out, gaze firmly on the wall behind Bruce and not on the man’s worried face. He didn’t actually make any move to leave.
If Tim had had the courage to look at Bruce, he would have seen the pain clear as day in his expression. “Honey, sweetheart, we need to talk about this. Why are you leaving? Why didn’t you tell anyone you didn’t want to stay in Gotham? We would have supported any choice you wanted to make, I just need to know what pushed you to make such a big choice completely alone.” His voice was rough. He had never been particularly good at expressing his feelings, even less so since Tim joined his crusade in the wake of Jason’s supposed death. His voice cracked, a pitiful “are you unhappy with me?” escaped.
Tim took a deep breath, unwilling and unable to answer any of that. “London.”
A moment passed. Bruce’s brow was furrowed, he once again tried and failed to make eye contact. “What?”
“I’m going to London. I got a visa and an apartment, so you don’t need to worry about me.”
“Well, if you wanted a vacation I’m sure we could’ve worked something out,” Bruce tried for a joke, but quips were and would always be a Robin thing, “and that's not what’s worrying me. You still haven’t answered why you’ve planned to leave Gotham without telling anyone, without telling me.”
A moment passed as Tim continued to stare at the wall. The clock was 8.5 minutes slow.
Bruce continued when he realised Tim wasn’t going to be forthcoming with the explanation. His tone was deceptively light. “What’s in London? We’d miss you too much to let you stay there alone very long. Who would watch period dramas with Jason or play Minecraft with Damian? You know what, maybe I’ll just have to go with you, if I remember correctly the old townhouse in Kensington hasn’t been used properly in several decades.”
This finally got a response out of Tim, although not a positive one. His despair at being caught was quickly being replaced with anger. Anger at Bruce for stopping him, for not knowing why he had to leave, for acting as if nothing was wrong. He let out a rush of air and rolled his eyes before his gaze finally sharpened on his mentor. He still couldn’t escape the firm grasp Bruce had on his shoulders. “Really huh? You want to just continue playing happy family abroad while I waste my life hanging out with your sons and doing nothing? I know I can do more, learn more, even if you never have. University is my only way to escape. To grow.”
If it were possible, the wrinkle between his eyes only became more pronounced. It was the clearest and possibly only sign he was unhappy with this situation, beside the permanent frown that hadn’t disappeared since Dick was swinging from chandeliers as a kid. “What’s this about Tim? Of course you can do more, you can do anything you put your mind to, my smart, dedicated child, but I don’t see what this has to do with running away? I’m incredibly proud of all my kids, and if you want to take the next step out of the nest like your older brothers did I’d be sad but I’d understand. What I don’t get is why you kept this a secret. If you want to go to London, live on your own for a bit, you must know I’d support you wholeheartedly.”
Tim took a moment to gather his thoughts about this. As quickly as his rush of anger had appeared it seemed to have died out, taking all his energy with it. He really just felt an exhausted sort of empty at this point, wanted to curl up in a ball on the gross airport floor and sleep. The tear tracks on his cheeks had finally dried down to uncomfortably salty streaks of disappointment and confusion.
It's not that Tim didn’t want to share with Bruce his plans, his desire to flap his wings and set out on his own, like the two other robins before him, it's just that Tim had always done things like this alone, and had never felt any indication that this time would be any different. He had never expected them to actually care about what he chose to do with his life. Bruce had never told him what he wanted Tim to do, so he had done it for him.
He finally said what he had been thinking all along, what had driven this entire stupid crusade; “Why did we never talk about my future as a vigilante beyond Robin? Why didn’t we ever talk about my future as Tim Drake?”
Bruce just stood there for a moment, staring at Tim with some look in his eye he didn’t want to decipher.
He waited until Tim made eye-contract again before speaking, “I made a lot of mistakes as a parent with Dick and Jason, fuck I’m still making mistakes with all my children. But one of my biggest missteps in particular was my approach to Dick’s future when he was a teenager. You remember how we didn’t have the… best relationship when we first met? When I was still trying and failing to get over Jason?”
He paused, clearly wanting Tim to respond. He gave him a nod.
“He was upset with me for a variety of reasons, chief among them that he felt my expectations of him and his potential were unreasonably high. I… pushed him to succeed me both as a businessman and as Batman, and it caused him a lot of undue stress. He felt his independence was stifled by this. He’s always had a strong personality, and it’s one of the many reasons I love him, but he needed to figure out his identity beyond me and my mission.”
“But… Dick dropped out of college. Isn’t that why he worked as a detective for a bit?”
“Yes, he did. And I was unfairly upset with him for it. Dick is so smart, all of you children are, and at the time I felt university was the only way to nurture that brilliance. My belief he would succeed me as Batman only deepened this resentment. His choice to strike out and form his own hero persona worried me greatly. What I’ve come to appreciate is that intelligence comes in many forms, and Dick has always been incredibly smart beyond just book knowledge. His work both as a detective and as a gymnastics instructor now has made him incredibly emotionally intelligent, something I’ve always lacked and undervalued.
“When Jason died, I missed those crucial years of development for him. We’ve had a, well, suffice it to say difficult relationship since then, but he’s always been extremely sure of himself and his ideals, and it’s difficult to make him stray from that. I’m much the same way. We’re stubbornly confident in ourselves and our abilities to help others. Jason has never had to manage my expectations because his disappointment in me and my methods revolve around our diverging philosophies about morality, not his sense of self. He has so much compassion and empathy for the downtrodden, I just think his anger has made it difficult for him to express.
“I guess what I’m trying to say, Tim, is that… Well, I wanted you to feel like you could make these decisions on your own, without my overbearing oversight. I have so much faith and belief in you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve always failed to show it, but I didn’t want you to feel you needed to become a specific person to make me proud. You, my son, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, have so much potential it stuns me sometimes to think about the things you’ll go on to do. I’m so sorry that you didn’t think you could come to me, find support and comfort in me. I can only promise and prove I’ll be better.”
Tim’s eyes progressively widened during Bruce’s speech, his mouth gaping like a fish. Eventually he blinked. “I… I don’t know what to say to that.” He closed his eyes, took a couple deep breaths, then continued; “I guess I just thought… I thought that you didn’t trust me enough to move out on my own, be anything beyond Robin.”
“Do you still want to go to college? I know this was a rocky start, and I’m sure you’ve missed your flight, but you are so brilliant and I know you’ll excel at whatever it is you chose to do.” Bruce smiled, his hand beginning to rub his back again.
“I actually don’t know. Is that bad? It just feels like the next step. What I should do. My parents always expected it of me. Even if I doubt I’ll ever get into anything super prestigious, or even that I’ll really learn anything new."
Bruce’s hand left his shoulder, and Tim only had a moment to mourn the loss of contact before the hand gently touched his forehead, brushing his bangs to the side. He needed a trim. “Well, why don’t we go home and work out your plans together? That way you can be really sure it’s what you want to do. There’s no rush, and I know Alfred is working on his award-winning lasagna. It's your favourite.”
Tim finally broke out a weak smile and allowed himself to be gently led out of the airport and to the carpark.
He still didn’t really understand what Bruce’s expectations of him were, whether he even had any, but Tim knew that whatever it was he ended up doing, his dad would be proud and supportive of him, and that was enough.