Summary: Tim is the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Janet Drake, and was born a metahuman. Watch how this affects the flow of the DC Universe.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
For Janet Drake, birth was absolute hell. She made little noise as the doctors moved around her, worried about her composure and silence. Jack is not present. No surprise there. Janet knew that he would never care enough to be present for the birth of a child he knew was not his own. Janet cared not, though. The man had grown very... unsatisfying. Minutes later, she has reduced two of the nurses to tears and the doctors have finally begun aiding in her delivery. She does not make a sound the entire time. She merely waits.
Less than an hour later, she's holding her son in her arms.
He's perfect. His soft cries bring a smile to her face. His face is smooth and when his eyes open, her heart melts when she sees those beautiful blue gems. The shade is so bright that they can in no way be her's or Jack's, confirming his true father. He is so small. So fragile looking.
Perfect.
"Timothy," she murmurs, holding the infant close to her chest. The baby's cries soften as he reaches up to touch his mother's face, calm. Smiling down at him, Janet listened to his soft breathing as she feels the wispy black hair that was sprouting from his head.
Janet is aware of the dark figure looming outside the window, watching the whole thing. The Batman's breath hitches as he makes brief eye contact with his child before Janet moves him so he's snuggled up close to her. Then, she glanced briefly out the window, and her eyes fall upon the father of her child.
Bruce cannot help but smile. It is not a smile of regret. But a smile of gratitude. A thanks for giving her this opportunity.
Janet looked at Bruce. "Jack's not home."
"I know," Bruce said. "May I see my son?"
Nodding, Janet let her old flame inside. She led him up the stairs to little Timothy's quiet nursery. The two-month old infant is snoozing peacefully in his crib, awakening moments after they enter, as if sensing their arrival. He looks up as his mother stares down at him, when he spots another man standing nearby. He doesn't know this man. He is frightened, and starts whimpering.
Bruce winces when his son makes that noise, and almost steps back, but Janet sends him a look that causes him to sigh and stop.
Janet gently picks up her son, cooing and calming him until his whimpers cease. He rests his head against his mother's shoulder, his eyes still studying the man. Bruce almost laughs. Those eyes are his own, and they hold too much awareness. An intelligence that shouldn't be normal for a baby.
It fills him with pride.
Janet looks at Bruce. "Would you like to hold him?"
Bruce immediately nods, and Janet gently hands Tim to him. Holding his son for the first time is scary for Bruce. He holds Tim in his arms, unsure if he is doing it right or if he might accidentally break him.
Tim just stares, cocking his head curiously. Bruce smiles. "Hey, there, Timmy. I'm your daddy."
Tim's face scrunches in confusion, before he reaches forward to touch the cheek of the man claiming to be his father. Tim's face seems to perk up, and he rests his hand on his father's cheek, giggling cutely. Bruce smiles, bring up his own hand and resting it on his child's. Tim's eyes go droopy soon after, and he lets out a yawn before resting his tired head on his father's shoulder. Bruce smiles as he rubs his son's back gently, rocking him back and forth.
Janet looks at the scene with a smile. The smile fades when she glances at the clock.
"Jack will be home soon."
Bruce sighs, and hands his son back to Janet reluctantly. She and Tim see Bruce off, and as he puts on his jacket, he looks at Janet.
"I'm sorry, Janet."
"I'm not," Janet retorts, squeezing Tim gently in her arms for emphasis.
This makes Bruce smile, and he gets into the limo where Alfred is waiting. The kind old butler gives Janet a wave, and she and Tim watch as the limo disappears down the street.
As Tim watches the man who is is father leave, he starts to cry. As he does, the clear blue sky suddenly darkens, gray clouds masking it completely. Janet looks up as it starts to rain, and she sighs, taking her son back inside.
Tim is three years old, looking up at his mother. She is the most beautiful thing he's ever known. He is three years old and looking at the man she married. He looks at him with obvious disdain. Tim pays him no mind. His mother always said he wasn't important. Just useful. He cares nothing for him. He only cares for his mommy, his daddy, and Grandpa Alfred.
Janet places her son gently on her leg, looking at him with so much love. "You're special, Timothy. Mommy loves you. So much."
She always says things like that. He isn't sure why. But he likes it.
Later, he winces when his mother and the man she married start yelling at each other. Their fights have been getting more and more frequent. They are about him. He knows because he listens. Ms. Clare, the ever trusting nanny, gently ushers him to his room. He can still hear them yelling. It makes him cry. Outside, it starts to rain again. It always rains when he cries.
His mother says its because he's special.
Soon after, the door to his bedroom slams open. The man who his mother married is standing there, a crazed look in his eye. He is holding a knife. He screams and rushes at him with it.
Tim's eyes grow wide with fear, not because of what the man is doing, but because his mother suddenly jumped in, grabbing the man by the throat with one arm and gripping his wrist with the other.
He takes the knife to her, and Tim screams. Thunder crackles outside, and the window slams open as a gust of wind blows through. The man who married his mother is blown back, his head crashing against the mantelpiece. There is a sickening crack, and blood. The man whom his mother married is lying motionless on the floor.
Tim pays him no mind. He rushes to his mother, whimpering. She is gripping her wound, and when she moves her hand away, there is blood, but nothing fatal. She gives Tim a reassuring smile, and embraces him. Telling him that it will be okay. He sobs into her shoulder as she runs her fingers tenderly through his hair. She orders Clare to call the police.
Batman comes in. There is a knowing look on his face, but he says nothing.
The next day, things were normal once again.
Batman is running as fast as he can, his lungs burning, his heart hammering in his chest as he rushes through the cold forest. He stops on a small hilltop, looking around, desperate. When his eyes fall upon a small form lying deep in a ditch, he freezes.
"No."
He's kneeling down by the form in seconds. He reaches forward, hand shaking, as he touches the woman's face. He turns it so he's looking into her face, and his heart feels like its been stabbed.
"No..." he murmurs, hands trembling as he cradles the bloody, butchered body close to him. So much blood. He cradled the woman as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. "Janet..."
The forest echoes with the howls of wolves and Batman's screams of fury and sorrow, cursing a thousand years of suffering upon whoever did this.
Tim sits in the GCPD building. The insesitive cops question him without remorse, pity present in the eyes of those that actually had hearts. The one man, Commissioner Gordon, offered him hot chocolate. Tim didn't drink it. He just held it in his hands. His eyes were puffy and red from all the crying, and there were still tears spilling from his eyes.
His mother was gone.
"Tim?"
Tim looked up, eye wide. "Daddy?"
Bruce, clad in his best suit, smiles as he kneels down to look at his baby boy. "Yes. I'm going to take you home."
Tim sobs, throwing himself into his father's embrace. He cries as Alfred drives him and his father to the manor. He cries as his father rocks him to sleep.
All the while, rain falls down hard all over Gotham, bringing with it a feeling of anguish that is felt by everyone, even the lowlifes prowling its streets.
This story borrows elements from the Young Justice TV series and the comics. Drop a review to let me know what you thought of it, and whether or not I should continue.