Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
AN: I came across an AU on Archive of our Own about Jack Drake marrying Catherine Todd and it was really great and awesome. I can't remember the title of it, but if you can find it, it is definitely worth the read. After I finished reading it, I wanted to read more like it, but couldn't find anything, so the wheels in my head started turning and suddenly I was writing my own based on a similar premise. This is an AU. I apologize if the characters are OOC. I'm trying my best to keep them as much in character as I can. Any advice or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I'll post chapters as I finish them, but I write the chapters when inspiration strikes so updates might not be frequent.
Jason Todd knew people like the Drakes. They were from the rich side of town. Father was head of some company. Kid went to a private school. Had five cars and a butler and big mansion. Money was spent without a thought on things that gathered dust for the rest of existence while the rest of the mucked-up town that Gotham was had to decide between a roof over their heads or a meal. Marx would have had a field day. They were stuck-up bastards who spent their time dressing up for social gatherings to show off who had the most.
"They lost something, too." His mom reminded him. It was one of her better days. Most days now seemed like one of her better days. And for that he was grateful. But this? He wasn't sure he could do this, not even for her.
She meant they lost the company. She meant they lost their billions upon billions of dollars. She meant they lost the flash and glam and lifestyles of the rich and famous. Drake Industries went under. They couldn't afford son's tuition. And, according to his mom, they were days away from losing their house. Well, boo-hoo. But if daddy dearest and his heir thought they'd mooch off him and his mother, they had another thing coming. He was not looking forward to two more mouths to feed.
"Jack lost his wife and Tim lost his mother." She laid a hand on his shoulder. He tried to ignore the slight shake to her boney fingers. She needed to eat more. Sleep more. "We know what that is like."
Except, no they didn't. Janet Drake was murdered on a trip with her husband in Haiti. It was all over the newspapers as well as the last fifteen minutes of fame the Drake family might ever see. Willis Todd was murdered during one of his stints out of prison by Two-Face. No one would know or remember him outside of the only two people who shared his last name. Janet Drake was loving mother and wife and business woman. Willis Todd was deadbeat father and a good for nothing husband and a criminal. There was a huge difference.
But then she met his eyes with her own, wide and pleading and, for once, coherent. She gave him the choice. All he had to say was 'no.' But she said she was happy, Jack made her happy. With a heavy sigh, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and figured he's survived worse.
Tim shrugs. He shrugs when they lost the company. He shrugs when he finds out they're moving. He shrugs when they sell off most of their belongings. He shrugs when they can't pay his tuition, when they have to let the house staff go, when they are going to lose the house. None of that matters much. He's been in and out of boarding schools since he was too old for a nanny. When he wasn't in school, he went to camp. When he visited home, it was normally just him, especially in recent years when he was old enough to take care of himself and the cleaning lady would come by once or twice a week at most. And in the scheme of things, material possessions felt trivial compared to other losses.
It isn't until he spots the woman and a teenager a few years older than him that the shrug turns into narrowed eyes. He looks to his father in confusion, but Jack Drake is grinning like a fool in the woman's direction. "Just a friend helping us out, Timbo," Jack laughs, hitting his shoulder like they are the best of pals. But Tim's not an idiot. He's the head of all his classes, with very little effort. He knows she's more than 'just a friend.
How soon? He wants to ask his dad. How soon after mom was gone did he go off to find someone new? He knew they had their arguments. He knew his parents weren't so happily married in the end, and there were many nights spent up late at the prospect of a divorce. He might not have been home much, seen them much, but it didn't take a genius to draw that conclusion, especially when they used him as an intermediary.
"Tell your mother to pass the salt."
"Tell your father it doesn't need any salt."
"Tell your mother it's too bland."
"Tell your father if he's unhappy with the meal he can hire the cook himself next time."
And so on.
They were sitting right across from each other, but then, he would take what he could get.
There are twenty different plans he can up with off the top of his head that does not involve moving in with his father's "friend" and her son who looks like he could beat him up with very little effort and looks like he wants to. Not that Tim can blame him. He thinks, not for the first time, perhaps the decision maker between the two of them should be him, despite what his dad says about being the kid.
But it's the first time since his mother's death, since they lost the company, that Jack is smiling. And it's not like he has much of a choice anyway.
His father gets out of the car. He greets the woman with a hearty hug and it takes a moment before he realizes what about that he finds so strange. When was the last time he's seen his father hug his mother like that? Had he ever hugged his mother like that?
Jason recognized Jack Drake from his picture in the papers. He didn't like the person who greeted them anymore than the man he saw in all those photos. His laugh was as cheesy and fake and grating on the nerves as the smile he flashed the reporters. When he stuck out his hand it wasn't until his mother jabbed him with her pointy elbow (she really needed to eat more) that he returned the gesture. "You must be Jason, my boy. Pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you."
His lip curled back in a sneer, and, despite the look his mother was giving him, he really couldn't help it. "Wish I could say the same." His mother shot him a warning glare, but Jack seemed oblivious and that irritated him more.
The kid in the car stared at him and his mom in a daze. It took a few moments, a deep breath and shaking his head to clear it, for him to follow his father. It wasn't until he was in his peripheral vision that Jack even noticed him. "Timbo! Meet Catherine and Jason Todd."
Resigning himself to his fate, he stuck out his hand like the polite little rich boy he was, contrasting with the messy hair and 90's band shirt. "Ms. Todd, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you for letting us stay in your home." His glance keeps shifting between Jason and his mom.
"It's Catherine, sweetie. And we're happy to have you stay with us. Isn't that right, Jason?" His mom offered a smile, which was half-heartedly returned.
"Sure," Jason muttered. "Just peachy."
"Don't worry." Catherine mocked whispered to the kid. "His bark is worse than his bite."
Jason rolled his eyes and headed for the car to help with the suit cases. He figured it was a better idea to keep himself busy than give into the urge to punch a wall. They didn't have the money to fix a wall or his knuckles, especially with two more people living there. The kid apparently had a similar idea.
They didn't say a word to each other as they grabbed some bags and he followed Jason inside. They could hear their parents in the kitchenette, but neither cared to listen too closely. When they got to Jason's room, scratch that, what was once Jason's room and is now becoming lodgings for rich boys who lost everything, Tim stopped in the doorway. Bags still in hand, he sent an appraising look over the room.
Jason turned around to stare at him. He huffed and folded his arms. "I know it's not much," there was an edge to his tone but it didn't faze Tim, who kept eyeing his shelves and posters.
Tim probably should have been paying more attention, but he supposed some lapses of attention and focus was to be expected. He tore his eyes from the stack of library books and old CDs and blinked at the older teen. "Huh?"
"I said, probably a lot smaller than you're used to."
Tim shrugged. He was starting to think he was developing a bad habit. "Not really." He let his bag fall to the floor. "It's about the size of the dorm rooms." But he doesn't step further into the room because it's not his room. It's Jason's. And he doesn't really know Jason. It's not that he minds having a roommate. He's had one or more for as long as he's been going to school and camp, but this isn't boarding school or summer camp. There's no coming home to a big empty house for a week or two or those rare moments when they'd sit down for a family dinner. There's no family dinners anymore.
His throat constricts and Tim hastily excuses himself to bring in more boxes, declining any help. Once he's back outside and alone, he takes a few deep breaths of Gotham's muggy air. The neighborhood isn't the best. The apartment is small. And there are thirty better plans he can come up with for dealing with losing their home, none of which includes moving in with the Todd's, if only his father would pay attention.
Feet padding on the floor and the click of the door startles Jason from his sleep. He sits up in bed listening to the footsteps down the hall, the cry of the old floors under the weight. And his heart thrums in his ears. Because this all too familiar. All he can think as he tosses his warm blankets aside and tiptoes on the icy floor is she was doing so well. Too well, he thinks bitterly. He should have recognized something was up. It must had been the stress of moving the Drakes in. The stress when she finally realized he can barely support the two of them let alone two more people. It must have been the stress he added to the situation. His fists ball as he makes his way down the hallway, to the flickering light of the television.
He peers in from the doorframe and releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Curled up in front of the T.V., under the blankets he only just realizes were missing from his floor, is the kid. He glances back down the hallways where Jack Drake's snoring fills the whole apartment. He adds it to the list of reasons to hate the guy.
Anger boils below the surface because he scared him. He takes a step forward to really lay into the kid, but stops when he notices the tears trailing his face. He's staring at the T.V, but Jason doubts he's actually watching it. He watches the kid for a minute or two before withdrawing back to his room.
"Whatever," he mutters to himself as he climbs back into bed. He's got work tomorrow and can't afford to be sleeping on the job. Welcome to the real world, he thinks as he drifts back to sleep, where nothing is handed to you on a silver platter.