Chapter Text
The wind was fierce, the rain a heavy downpour. To some, the intensity of the weather would be considered a storm. But it was just another night in Gotham to the locals.
15 year old Tim Drake was clad head to toe in black. His beloved camera was secured in a waterproof pouch slung around his neck. But tonight, he wasn’t here for pictures. He’d been on a usual trail of Batman and Robin. The other vigilantes took various patrol routes. Tonight, Tim’s focus was on Batman.
Tim liked to think he was caught up in the dramas always ongoing in Gotham; he’d long since hacked a police scanner to listen in on the larger crimes, he followed Batman and his team every night and even tried to solve some of their cases in his free time. Sometimes he was successful, sometimes not. He even called in anonymous tips to the police when he spotted a Rogue attack before the Bats did.
Tim paid close attention to Batman. To Robin. Their dynamics. Like that time when he was younger, he noticed something off and sent in a tip. And well, he’d never actually know if it was helpful. But when Jason returned to school almost a month later with too many broken bones to be explained as a “bad car crash”, he was glad he did what he did.
Recently, Tim had noticed an influx in talks from the police over “unusual frequencies” and “inexplainable energy surges”. Upon further investigation, he found the same problems had been noted in other cities. Primarily ones where Superheroes were located.
This led Tim to a conclusion. There was a new villain waiting to make an appearance and what better place to do it than Gotham, the city where villains are born on the daily.
At first, he naturally assumed Batman had the same thoughts but as the days went on, the energy surges got closer to Batman’s patrol routes and the vigilante… never changed them. Of course this could mean he was drawing them out, luring the villain into a false sense of security so they would attack but… he didn’t exactly seem on the lookout. Tim had spent enough time stalking following Batman to know how he acted when he was paranoid. He knew Batman was always aware if he was being followed (as long as it wasn’t by Tim), so why wasn’t he on guard.
That could only mean one thing. Batman had no idea of the villain coming for him. As a result, Tim began to follow him closer. Instead of waiting on a few spots during his patrols to take photos, Tim jogged along behind the dynamic duo more and tried to keep an eye on them for as much of the duration of their patrol as possible. It was hard of course, when they had grappling hooks and a Batmobile. But Tim had access to taxis and determination.
Despite Tim’s constant hovering around the vigilantes like a strange helicopter parent, Gotham remained normal. The number of Arkham outbreaks hadn’t increased. The Rogues were pretty quiet. And he began to doubt himself. Perhaps the energy surges had been the Justice League’s doing and Batman knew of them all along. Or maybe he was seeing patterns that weren’t really there. Maybe this was all made up.
Until one night. The night. Batman was on his usual patrol, Robin and Spoiler by his side when Tim spotted a strange purple shimmer from a nearby alley.
The 3 heroes were gathered in a deserted street, having just stopped a mugging and were currently securing the criminals. That’s when Tim saw the lilac glow. It disappeared so fast, he almost thought he imagined it. Blinking fast to focus his vision didn’t seem to help because it gleamed again. Okay. Either Tim was hallucinating or someone was hiding in an alley to attack Batman.
He decided the safest option would be to check it out. On silent feet, Tim crossed the street and rounded a corner. He followed a route he knew would lead him to the alley from behind. If he could just sneak up on the assailant then he would… he’d… well he hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
He padded down the dirty alley, carefully avoiding the shards of broken glass littering the concrete. The sight of movement at the other side made Tim freeze. But it seemed the attacker was just shifting. He could hear the Bats were in contact with the police and now calming a victim. Damn. Tim really needed them to leave.
The unknown attacker raised their arm, angling the- was that a gun?! Oh crap. If asked at a later date, Tim would be unable to explain the feeling that came over him, he rushed at the attacker and launched himself with all his strength onto their back.
The person led out a startled curse and turned, still gripping the purple (magic?) gun in his hands. He tried to throw Tim off but the young boy clutched onto his shoulders, a hand yanking in his hair. The attacker clearly didn’t want to make enough noise to alert the Bats of his presence, but was trying to dislodge Tim as fast as possible. Unfortunately for him, Tim was stubborn.
He clung on with all his might and tried to kick the gun from his hands. In the distance, police sirens sounded and it was clear the Bats were wrapping up. The person suddenly tilted forwards with a new urgency, Tim tipped forwards, landing hard on the ground and praying his camera had missed the worst of it. He scrambled to his feet as quick as he could but the other person was faster. Just a few feet away, they were aiming the gun, locking onto Batman and pulling the trigger.
Tim let out an involuntary yelp at the events playing out before him and before he even knew what he was doing, he tossed his body weight in front of the ray exploding from the gun.
As the purple shimmer hit him square in the chest, all he could hope was Batman was okay.
He was falling, tumbling, unaware of what was happening. Then he was landing, hard. He hoped this wasn’t what dying felt like.
- - -
The insistent beeping of an alarm dragged Tim from his comfortable slumber. He groaned as he fumbled with the bedside table, slamming his hand around until his finger must’ve connected with snooze. He kept his head buried in his pillow. He was so tired. Why was he so tired?
With a great amount of effort, Tim dragged his head up from the pillow, blinking blearily. He rolled onto his back, reaching to grab his phone to see if he’d actually been successful in shutting off his alarm, or if in 10 minutes it would yell for his attention again.
His limbs felt stiff, uncooperative. It was more than the usual morning hell. His fingers slammed around on the bedside table before scooping up his phone.
Tim forced his eyes to stop squinting, the bright morning sun shining through his curtains was an unfortunate assault on his eyes. It wasn’t until he looked at the phone in his hand, he got a shock. That was… not his phone. Huh?
He dropped the offending device, sitting up quickly. Ah. Well he was definitely awake now. This sure as hell was not his room. And oh my god. Those weren’t his hands. Those weren’t his hands.
With one swift movement, Tim was on his feet, narrowly avoiding being swept up in the duvet he’d been previously tangled in. A sharp flare of pain in his side had him doubling over. What the fuck? This was not his room. It was a little bigger, definitely decorated with posters of films he enjoyed and organised in a way that was familiar. But this was not his room.
His breaths came fast and hard. Was he going into shock? This could not be happening. The boy stumbled his way around the room, leaning into an en-suite adjourned. His side heavily protested at the action. The insistent stabbing pain he was sure was going to consume him from the inside out could be dealt with after. He flipped open a cabinet and the mirror inside was able to clear a things up.
Well. That was not his face that greeted him. But in a creepy way, it was. But older. His hair was so long? What was that about? And did he always have a scar above his eyebrow. His eye bags were significantly pronounced and his skin pale. Was it even his skin? Oh my god. Was he in a coma for years? And this was him waking up? His parents!
When he wracked his brains for the last thing he could remember though, he quickly demolished that thought from his brain. Batman. The gun. The attacker. Oh. He has seriously messed up.
Did the weapon make him older? That didn’t explain the weird location though. The pain in his side hadn’t let up so he decided to table his theories and investigate his newfound injury.
He tugged his trousers down to his hips and let out a shocked gasp. Okay. Source of agony located. A line dragged down his side. It was bright red but stitched up. Well, good to know he probably wasn’t immediately dying. It seemed as though someone had at least tried to give him medical attention.
His eyes roamed over his torso slowly and widened at the large, ugly scar on his stomach. Time to freak out again. That was not there last time he checked. What was that?
He twisted so he could see the scar in the mirror. It looked surgical but the only surgery Tim had had was his tonsils being removed. And they definitely didn’t leave a scar like that on his stomach.
He was mildly aware that freaking out was not helping. But how could he not freak out? He’d woken up after trying to save Batman’s life, only to be thrown into the body of his older self in a random room he didn’t recognise.
A sharp, precise knock at the door had him freezing. Tim glanced around the room in his panic to try and locate a weapon to defend himself.
“Master Tim. You really should come get some breakfast. It is almost nine.” The voice was scolding.
Master Tim?! What was that about. Tim’s mouth moved frantically for a few seconds, no sounds coming out. He had no idea how to react to that confusing sentence. Eventually he settled on “uhh uh yeah! Yeah I’ll uhh be right on that.” Eloquent as ever.
He heard footsteps, the clack of shoes as the visitor walked away. Tim was beyond confused now. He distantly noted he was in pyjamas. Well, if he’d been kidnapped and wanted to escape, it’d be a good idea to have clothes on.
When he gingerly opened the dresser, he found the clothes inside had been sorted the same way as his at home. Underwear top left. Socks top right. Shirts below and pants at the bottom. He dug through the shirts. Why were there so many fancy dress shirts? They weren’t exactly gala suits, just formal attire. Tim hated formal attire.
He shook his head and settled on a plain orange tee and dark navy jeans. He yanked on a pair of socks and walked to the door.
His hand settled on the doorknob but he had to swallow down his nerves before very… very cautiously turning the handle. The door clicked, opening with a gentle creak.
Tim slowly popped his head out, peering both ways, but the hallway was empty. That was… good? Good yes.
He stepped out, one foot slowly. There might’ve been nobody in sight, but you could never be too careful. Once outside the room however, Tim met a new dilemma. Where was breakfast? And why was this house so big? The only other house this giant he knew was the Drake Manor.
On his socked feet, Tim tiptoed down the hallway. He didn’t actually know if he was going the right way, but if he hit a dead end he could probably just turn back. Unless it was a haunted house. That would suck. He liked the occasional horror movie and who wouldn’t - Gotham was enough of a horror movie as it was. But being stuck in a real life haunted house was not what he had planned today.
He reached the end of the hallway and saw it split off into two more. He turned left, peeking round first to ensure it was empty. Left. Yeah. That was what you were meant to do when you got lost in a maze he thought. Just keep turning left until you get out. Or maybe it was right. Too late now.
As he crept through the hallways, he considered the possibility this was all a hallucination. Maybe he was actually wandering through the streets of Gotham. Well that was even more alarming.
Finally, the seemingly endless hallways opened up to a grand staircase. And wow, Tim knew whoever lived here had money. But this was overkill. He was careful as he walked down the stairs. Mother hated him destroying the carpet.
Had he been paying more attention to his surroundings rather than not damaging the stairs, Tim might’ve noticed the paintings on the walls, but alas his need to survive overrode his curiosity.
When he stepped off the final step, his feet made a small thud against the hardwood floor and he felt his breath leave him. Thankfully, there was no following sounds and nobody seemed to have heard him, so he walked softly through this much larger hallway.
On either side were statues and vases Tim was careful to not get near. The last thing he needed was the owner of this ridiculous house to get mad at him. The further in he got though, the nagging feeling this was all familiar got to him. Something about the stairs really struck a nerve. It was probably their similarity to the Drake Manor. Maybe.
A murmur of voices had him jolting to a stop. He titled his head a little and strained his ears to listen. There was a young one, male. Grumbling. An older, deeper one. Okay. At least two occupants. Maybe they were having breakfast.
He drifted closer to the voices, slowly walking through the halls, keeping a careful focus on the location of them.
“Ah there you are Master Tim.”
A sudden voice had him jumping in place and turning on his heel to see the attacker. But he was greeted with an elderly man dressed in a crisp suit. His face was disapproving as his eyes roved over Tim.
Tim felt… judged. And confused. Because the man in front of him he recognised from his intense research on Gotham’s favourite vigilantes. That was Alfred Pennyworth. Batman’s butler. What was he doing here? Tim’s jaw literally dropped.
Mr. Pennyworth simply sniffed and placed a gentle hand on Tim’s shoulder, turning him back in the direction he’d been and pushing him towards.
Tim stumbled in the direction he was leaning, confusedly complying.
Mr. Pennyworth spoke again. His tone scolding. “Really Master Tim, you must cut down on the coffee intake. It is not healthy for your development.”
How’d he know about Tim’s caffeine habits?
Mr. Pennyworth reached forward and opened the door to the kitchen. Oh. This was where breakfast was. He ushered Tim inside. The boy made it 3 steps before he halted. All the thoughts seemed to tip out of his head. The blood drained from his face.
“Good morning Tim. How’s your side?” asked the man at the head of the table. Tim would recognise that face anywhere.
That was Bruce Wayne. Batman.