Ch. 1
…
Hard to believe it's been so long since he'd stepped foot in Gotham as Tim Drake. With the events of the last year's invasions and madness still fresh in everyone's mind, the earth's heroes had their hands full trying to clean up the mess. The Titans were cleaning up the west coast and helping with damages, and Red Robin was currently aiding the league in updating their analysis software to detect anomalies in the future. Then there were the new recruits, and new heroes that were showing up, and you've got yourself a tight schedule. Nothing Tim couldn't handle, he was great at multitasking and setting up an improved system to what the league was using was something Tim could do in his sleep. Still, all the activities had kept him clear of Gotham for quite some time, and with the date closing in Tim felt he needed to at least make an appearance. After all, he was taught to be proper, and it was something he still remembered of theirs.
"Good morning, Master Tim." Alfred greets him, opening the door wide for Tim to enter.
"Hey Alfred, where's Bruce?" Of course, he already knew the answer, back before he was even a stand-in CEO. It was Thursday morning and the board always had their meetings on Thursday mornings, a tradition started by Bruce's father when the company was first formed. Still, it kept their conversation going and delayed the real reason Tim was back in town after so long.
"Already gone I'm afraid. The board's meeting is today, and he had to be in bright and early." Alfred answered him, leading the way into the expansive kitchen area. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla clouded the air, masking the cold emptiness of the room and making it feel more welcoming. Tim slowly entered the room, watching Alfred over by the oven, disappearing behind the island before popping back up with a tray of cinnamon buns in his mitted hands. Laying them out on a cooling rack, Tim took a seat at the island, watched as the sugar popped and sizzled on the still warm pan. The room was quiet as Alfred worked, Tim lost in his thoughts staring at the drizzling of icing slowly succumbed to gravity and rolled down the buns to join the caramelized sugar stuck to the pan.
He could remember the Saturday mornings with Bruce and Alfred when they would have cinnamon rolls. Sometimes Dick would join them, if he was in town. They would talk about cases or something going on with the Titans or Wayne Enterprise, and it was nice. Damian never joined them, complaining none to quietly how he would not eat that garbage for breakfast since he had to be in his best shape to train. Not that it bothered him. It was one of the only times where it was just him, Bruce and Dick.
If Tim thought back farther, he could vaguely remember a breakfast before his parents left on one of their trips when they had cinnamon buns too. That time was nothing like the ones he had here; that was a sullen occasion; a treat before his parents left him again to go on some trip or something.
Someone cleared their throat, forcing Tim back into the land of the living. Looking up, he caught Alfred's gaze.
The butler stared into Tim's eyes, as if he could discern exactly what was bothering the boy. He quietly raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question.
He couldn't do it anymore, Tim lowered his gaze back to the cinnamon buns. He was the leader of the Titans, could calculate his way out of any problem, and had saved the world before. Emotions were not facts he could study. Not something he could trace back to a logical start and solve. Emotions only got in the way of work. But he couldn't shake them, and that was what drew him back to Gotham in the first place. He needed to work through them, and although he could do it alone (yes he was sure he could, he just had to think harder. The week before and the trip here didn't prove that he couldn't, he just had to try harder) he decided getting a second opinion from a confidante couldn't hurt. So he had said goodbye to his teammates and had returned to Gotham to find answers. His first stop had been Wayne Manor, and with that, the trusted butler.
"Master Tim," Alfred began, setting down the oven mitts he had been wearing, "I know the anniversary of your parent's death is bothering you, and there is no need to explain yourself if you do not wish to, but know that you are not alone in facing this."
"…. Everyone's families have been checking in on them over the past month or so. Starfire even traveled back to Tamaran last week to see everyone, Cyborg's dad called, and…. I haven't even seen Bruce yet. And it's been five years since my parents were murdered." Doesn't even feel that long, He mused, Or even like they're… gone. Just as if they're out on a trip or something.
Alfred was silent for a moment, "I see. Master Bruce will be back today. And I know he will be delighted to see you again."
Tim found himself smiling, "You make it sound like I'll be here that long."
Alfred didn't reply for a moment. "will you be doing anything in memorial today sir?" would you like some company?
"yeah, I think I'll go check on the house, I won't be gone long." Tim replied, quietly shifting off the stool and heading out the door.
"Very well sir, do call ahead if you will be late for dinner, I am making chicken marsala and donuts for dessert." Alfred called after him. Left alone in the room Alfred was left to return to baking the cinnamon rolls and coating them in icing. He's trying to hide it but Master Tim is deeply troubled about something. Although the boy has every right to miss his parents, he seems a bit more concerned about it now than I have seen him before, excluding of course, the day they were murdered. I do hope Master Tim will bring himself to talk about it. Although with any of them that may be a lost cause. Sighing, Alfred returned to the task at hand. Determined to make sure Bruce at least talked to Tim before heading out on patrol tonight. It would be good for you both to see each other again, alive and well, before you run off and try to get yourselves killed. He though, sliding the second batch into the over and shutting the door with a loud click.
…
The door to Drake Manor opened with a groan and a shuffle as Tim pushed his way into the old house. Everything was just as it was left, with an added inch or so of dust to them. Memorizing every detail of the opening foyer, Tim couldn't help but notice how vacant and un-personalized his old home's was compared to Wayne Manor. There were no photos of his family, images of anything that the Drakes enjoyed expertly framed to display of even a misplaced item laying around that may make the place feel used at all.
That was partially why Tim had felt the need to return to his old home. With his teammates leaving to see their own families and mentors, Tim felt… well he wasn't entirely sure. Abandon wasn't right; he had work to do, and the others were busy trying to restore balance to the world and round up any rogues still out there. Dick had called to make sure he was all right. And Jason had been on the news a week ago so he knew he was alive. But seeing others with worried and proud families reminded him of his parents. I wonder how they would react to all of this. In the past, Tim hadn't thought too much about how his parents would feel about what he did. But with his new family too busy to talk to him, he was beginning to feel edged out; as if he didn't belong anymore. Or that he was being replaced and edged out of the timeline into a new person who doesn't share the same backstory. Walking around his old home, he was trying to remember the times he had with his family and what he remembered of them. Which wasn't much.
Sighing, Tim turned and gradually made his way towards the upstairs levels. At least there would be signs of an old life there. Tim made is way down the left hallway that came to his room. Opening the door, he found it just as he had left it when he left to live with Bruce. A small smile made its way onto his face as he remembered that day. He never could have guessed he would end up being adopted and becoming a hero. The wall adjacent to his bed was still covered in old photos of Batman and Robin, as well as news articles and his own notes on behavior, known patrol roots, and even details on who they were. Tim reached out and grabbed the page on identities, pulling it from the wall and crumbling it. No need to leave that up if anybody else ever came back here.
Not that there was anybody else to come back here.
Tim left and made his way to the opposite side of the upper level, towards his parents' room, his father's office, and the family area. Tim leaned on the door frame as he glanced around the silent room. The outdated computer on the mahogany desk in the corner, to the bookshelf wall across from the door and the soft grey couch facing a TV in the center of the room. This is the closest they would let me get to them, Tim mused. Mind flying back to the times he would spend in here while his parents discussed things in his father's office. He learned how to use a computer on the one in this room, using it to learn about the many places his parents were leaving him behind to go to, and the circus his parents had promised to take him to when they were back in town miraculously once. Then to dig up all he could on the Flying Grayson's his parents had taken him to see, and finally connecting the dots to Batman.
His father had never allowed him in his office, and always slunk back to that room whenever they were back in town. Sometimes guest would come over, and the Drakes would always entertain them in that room. They always made time for guest but never me. Mom and Dad lived their whole lives in that office, and never let me in. Clearly, he sneered, they never cared at all.
Tim pushed off the doorframe on that thought and turned down the hallway to the closed door. Hesitantly, he turned the knob to find the door locked.
Humph. Typical, crouching down he slid a paper clip from his pocket and started to picked he lock. Hearing the tell-tale sign of the lock being bypassed Tim slid to his feet and opened the door.
The room was smaller than he imagined, but probably the regular size for a home office. The walls were coated in a dark natural wood, with the wall across from him being made up of a large fireplace. To his right was a large amber wood desk, artfully covered in a computer, work mat, notebooks, pens, and neatly stacked papers, all perfectly aligned with not one element out of order. The grand window behind the desk displayed the once-kept backyard and woods. The opposite wall was concealed with an enormous poster of the world, with pins placed in specific places and photos immaculately placed next to the poster. The floor, a chestnut as the majority of the upper floor was, now camouflaged under an elaborately woven mat, with muted blues, green, and golds.
Tim stepped further into the room and walked over the wall atlas first. These must be all the places they visited. He recognized a couple of pins from the places he'd researched and a few he was told about, but some were places he never knew they went to. He studied the map for another minute before making his way over to the grand desk. Sitting in the large plush chair he first turned his attention to the computer. Hitting the power button, he waited for the system to start up and started to go through the drawers. The small one to the left of him held nothing of interest; some pens and a stapler, the one underneath of that faired just as poorly as did the top right drawer.
There must be something… Except I don't even know what I'm looking for, he thought miserably. I'm not even sure there's anything to find. Pulling on the second drawer down Tim was surprised when it wouldn't give. Now we're getting somewhere. Tim smirked to himself, pulling out another paper clip he make quick work of the lock before ripping the drawer open. For starters, this drawer was larger than it was supposed to appear. The wood encasing around it actually opened wide enough someone could fit a full size portfolio or laptop in there without anyone knowing. Inside were multiple Victorian style keys, a leather-bound burgundy notebook, and several lose-leaf notes. Picking up the first note, he skimmed it.
The nest will be in within a month. The picks are slimmer than before but there is a gem within the mix. Survey and choose your bird.
~thnames
Squinting, he focused on the name at the bottom of the letter. Too smudged to read, but I bet a microscope and some lead retrieval software on the bat-computer will be able to tell me. Instead, he leafed through the rest of the letters. Some were from trusted business accomplices at the time, others were notes scribbled in his father's handwriting about other mundane things. Eventually, he pulled out the notebook. Running a hand down the front Tim took a deep breath. Opening the front cover an insignia on the front page froze his blood in his veins and made the world around him jolt to a sudden stop.
It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. In fact, over the last year he had seen that same symbol over a dozen times and had studied it a dozen more.
It was a bird. With wings fanned out to arch over its head and claws out at the bottom. The detail work was simple, but it helped to map out the shape of the bird well, clearly making it out to be an owl.
The Court of Owls.
