Chapter two
While Gotham believed her heroes to be supernatural and not capable of harm, the superhero community wondered how the Bats healed so easily. It was rare to see one of them actually injured with more than bruises and small cuts. For the initiated into the secrets of the Batman and his soldiers, the reason they appeared almost indestructible was simple. Between continuous training, the watchful eyes of their partners and the supernatural fear they inspired they did not get hurt as often as the superhero community thought they must.
However they were not strangers to injuries. Alfred already had the medical bay of the vast network of rooms which made up the Bat-cave ready when the partners returned home. Between him and Robin they carried the unconscious Batman to the bay and soon had him on a blood transfusion, an IV and Alfred had removed the bullet from the wound Robin had missed and stitched Bruce's wounds closed.
It would require at least a week of rest before Bruce would be back on the streets, so Robin was already in contact with Oracle to cover Patrols and preparing for a week on his own, only watched over by the Birds of Prey and likely Catwoman as well. He was trying to work out how to let Nightwing know without the older hero feeling like he had to come back to Gotham to watch out for Robin, when Bruce finally came to.
After Alfred had verified that a concussion was added to Bruce's injuries the Bat called his squire to his side.
"Good job on getting us out of there. Are you hurt?" He demanded.
"No." Tim replied, finally removing Robin's mask to let his mentor see the mask of Tim Drake beneath.
"What happened with our uninvited guest?" Bruce asked.
"He saved you. I don't know where he went. He found the tracer I planted on him very quickly."
Robin listed what little he knew of the man. "I think he was watching us earlier too." He finished.
"Interesting. An amateur." Bruce mused.
"He was good." Tim replied. "He's been trained in at least seven different martial arts that I recognized. He also carried a semi-automatic .357, but did not use it."
"We shall have to look into him."
"You are not doing anything but going to bed, sir." Alfred said in his inexorable way. "Master Timothy should likely get home if he wants to give at least the pretense of sleeping in his bed."
Both knew that Alfred would brook no refusal. Alfred bore his master away to put him to bed and Timothy snuck home.
LINE BREAK BRINGING MY BROTHER HOME LINE BREAK
Alfred was not quite right. Tim managed to sleep for two hours before his alarm woke him for the school day. Usually he managed five hours a night, but he had not wanted to leave until he knew Bruce would be alright so it had been much later than normal. He got up and went about his careful morning routine to remove the evidence of a near sleepless night. He was very good at playing the part he had wrote for himself.
As he came downstairs he heard Jack Drake in the study, yelling at someone. He knew it wasn't Mom. When Janet got yelled at, she yelled back. Since there was no other voice Tim figured he must be on the phone.
"MUST I do everything myself?" The fury in his dad's voice was unrestrained. He had a temper, which he never bothered to reign in.
Tim passed the open door of the study as he turned into the hall that ran from the study down to the kitchen, where good smells promised the housekeeper was making breakfast.
"IDIOT!" Jack screamed, and a moment later something hard struck Tim in the back, knocking the air from his lungs. He almost dropped the book he was carrying, surprised by the blow. Jack had been on the phone…
He caught his breath and turned around to look at the floor where the object that had been thrown at him lay in several pieces on the floor. Jack's phone. Carefully he knelt to pick the pieces up and put the battery back in and then the cover, before he looked cautiously towards the study where Jack stood watching him with a snarl on his face.
"Well? Bring it back." The man demanded. Tim obeyed. As he handed the phone into his Dad's hand Jack reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, bending his head to look down at his son. As Jack himself had been, Tim was a late bloomer. "How old are you now?" Jack asked.
"I'll be fifteen in three months." Tim said, his shoulders straightening proudly at this coming age.
"Fifteen. Right." Jack nodded. "How are your grades?"
Tim, who had brought home the quarterly report only last week, paused. "I think they're pretty good, sir." He answered.
"You like to read." Jack eyed the book in his son's hand. He took it from Tim's hands. "Arkham: A history of the criminally insane. Fascinating." Jack tossed it back into Tim's hands. "Odd sort of reading material. Looks pretty heavy stuff. You might like some books I've got on archeology better."
"I'm, uh, reading this for a project." Tim replied. He frowned a little. Once, four years ago, he'd tried to read those books on archeology, trying to understand his parents' hobbies. Jack had been furious that he'd touched them without asking. He'd whipped Tim's hands until they bled for doing so.
"Oh, alright." Jack said. "Better get moving."
Tim obeyed this command eagerly. He was starving after his long night. Mrs. Mac made good food.
Jack followed him to the kitchen to get his own breakfast. The two Drake's sat in silence, one with coffee and an egg burrito in front of him, the other with orange juice and a stack of five pancakes. Janet entered the room, and sat next to Jack, signaling for coffee and her own breakfast.
"What were you yelling about this time?" She teased her husband.
"Oh, Prinz is causing trouble again. He's an idiot. I'm not sure how he ever made CFO."
"Probably because he's the only one willing to work with you while you're in a bad mood." Janet laughed. Then she frowned. "Does this mean we're going to have to put off our trip to Libya?"
"I'm afraid so." Jack scowled. "I'm going to have to go clean up the mess he's made of the Canton Merger."
"Well, then." Janet huffed.
"We need someone we can trust to do our bidding." Jack complained. "Prinz gets high minded ideas and forgets his orders."
Tim finished his pancakes and his orange juice and excused himself from the table. "Tim, wear something else to school." Janet frowned as he headed for the door in jeans and a shirt with the Captain America Shield on it. "You look like a normal kid. You're better than that. Only the Wayne and Kane families have more influence than ours. Use that."
"For what?" Tim asked.
Both his parents sighed. "For power. Cultivate your friends. They'll come in useful to you."
"Right." Tim turned and headed to his bedroom, deciding he didn't want to battle for his clothes. He was already an outsider at school and appearing in the crisp slacks and button down shirt his mother usually insisted on would not make his image any worse. Drake influence. That was funny.
After school Tim skipped going home. His parents would be at Drake Industries, cleaning up whatever his Dad's CFO had determined to do that made Jack upset. Jack was president and CEO (and owner) of Drake Industries, but since he and Janet had a time-consuming hobby Neal Prinz ran the company for the most part. That did not mean they didn't keep tabs on it, sweeping in to implement new procedures at will, or suddenly determining a new product to create.
They were intelligent innovators with little grasp on the business world. Neal Prinz would smooth out their waves after they were done and they would head off around the world. Tim would also be able to smooth out any changes in his own life and his parents would forget any rules they had given him. He was smart enough to take care of himself. And his dual night-life made him confident in his intelligence, and his growing physical abilities.
With Bruce on forced bed rest by Alfred, all the work must be done by Tim. Of course Oracle and Batgirl would be helping and Spoiler would likely appear on his patrol, but in the Bat cave he would run the tests, search the vast database they had complied and organize the arms dealing case. In a day or two Alfred would led Bruce back into the cave to at least work on the more mental aspects of the affair.
That, of course, assuming Dick had not shown up in Gotham to take charge.
Tim both wished he would and that he wouldn't. He would never pass up an opportunity to be around his hero, but he also wanted a chance to prove himself going solo. Dick couldn't be there all the time and if Bruce trusted him to go off alone more there was more they could accomplish. He needed to know himself if he could do it.
"Ah, Master Timothy. I did not expect you until later." Alfred appeared with a tray in his hand. "However, perhaps you may join me in insisting Master Bruce stays in bed. He's come up with a theory that White Harry was not the final buyer and is almost about to get out of bed."
Tim grinned and followed Alfred upstairs.
Bruce was not in bed, but in a chair with a computer tablet that he and Tim had designed the year before. He looked better, his color no longer the bloodless white from the night before. Tim restrained a sudden impulse to embrace the man. That was Dick's purview and Tim did not have the right of a son to do it. However, his joy expressed itself in another manner.
"Hello Bruce! Alfred is talking about you disobeying your grounding." He bounced onto the edge of the vast master bed.
"Tim, are you bouncing on my bed?" Bruce inquired gravely.
"I'm glad you're okay." Tim answered, a wide grin lighting up his face with boyish glee.
"I'll be up in a day or two. However, I think I'll come downstairs for an hour or two."
"Alfred said you think White Harry wasn't the final buyer." Tim lay stomach down on the bed, surprising a complaint from the growing bruise on his back. "You're thinking Black Mask sent him to inspect and even purchase the weapons?"
"Well done." Bruce glanced up with a look of admiration. "You've seen the link as well."
"Yes, sir." Tim said.
"Sir? Tim, we've talked about that. I don't… want you to be my obedient soldier. I want you to be a partner."
"Sorry. I forgot. Dad likes it when I say Sir and they weren't too happy with my clothes this morning." He shrugged. "They want me to dress as if I had power in school."
"Are you in trouble at school?" Bruce caught the unsaid denial that Tim had any influence in school.
"No. I just don't fit in. I'm the youngest in my grade and I… well, it still is too easy for me. But I try to play it down. I don't want to go ahead any faster. It's just hard."
"Right. No bullies?" Bruce asked, remembering Dick's heroic attempt to let himself be bullied to conceal his position as Robin. Tim laughed. "Oh, the normal ones, but I've got black material on them all. Teachers marvel at the lack of bullying in the school. I mean, I keep the worst of it away. To have none at all would be abnormal, so I keep an eye on it."
Bruce was satisfied. Tim usually found the smarter way to work around his dual life problems. Dick had tried to be sacrificially normal and Jason had used his status as a former street kid to cover any unusual things about himself. They had both been very noticed in school. Tim was not noticed.
For a moment Bruce frowned at the thought. No one really noticed Tim, and there were times when Bruce suspected that even the Tim who grew more boyish with Bruce and Dick was not the one who inhabited Tim's most private thoughts. He brushed the thought aside, for he knew he was the same way. Tim would be alright.
He handed the tablet over to his Robin when Tim held out his hand. The teenager rapidly took in the information and no doubt had drawn his conclusions before he set the tablet on his lap. "I'll look into it Bruce. At least for tonight, will you rest? Alfred will feel so much better if you at least get a good night sleep."
"And you want a chance to prove yourself." Bruce laughed.
"You know I can do it." Tim said earnestly.
"Yes, Tim. Alright. But when you go on patrol make sure Oracle is on call."
"I will." Tim promised.
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