Chapter Text
Fact 1: Genes may make one vulnerable to developing antisocial personality disorder (for example, sociopathy, psychopathy—commonly classified as ASPD)—and life situations, especially neglect and abuse, may trigger its development.
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The thing was, everything had, up until then, been fine .
Tim kept out of their business, was several grade levels ahead of his age, never reported the heinous amount of illegal artifacts in Drake Manor, and “emulated all the qualities a Drake heir should have” at galas and such- which is to say, he used his tongue like a calculated viper, and never let his mask crack, period.
And in return? Well, they hadn’t ever done much to begin with, and that was fine with Tim.
In return, they kept out of his business, so long that it didn’t harm the oh-so precious Drake reputation.
Life was perfect. Tim had been…well, happy wasn’t something he was familiar with, but he was content , and that’s what had mattered.
He had his independence, full reign over his parents’ credit card to invest in learning things that would exhaust even his mind. At night he was free to roam around Gotham, sometimes stalking the Bats, and other times scouting for good views to photograph.
Then, Jason died, and suffice to say, Tim was decidedly not content.
And then, to put the figurative cherry on top, Janet Drake died, and with her, half of the intelligence in the Drake family.
Well, perhaps that was not strictly true- Jack Drake was manipulative, ruthless, and cold.
But he was also violent, aggressive, completely without tact or decorum, and absolutely unfit to be in charge of a multi-million dollar company.
If it hadn’t been crucial to have someone male appearing to head the company in order for it to succeed, (stupid misogynists) Janet and Tim would have cut him loose long ago.
Yes, Tim seeths, Jack Drake is a bumbling, useless, fucking idiot , and I am utterly ashamed that he is my namesake.
Pointing the remote at the TV, he smashes the off button, and with it, the clip of a journalist reporting on the latest Drake scandal blipped to black.
Since his mother’s unfortunate demise, Jack had decided that he needed to travel less. He had also decided that he wanted to be more present in Tim’s life.
Jack was playing some sort of game with Tim, openly pretending to be loving and warm. It was disgusting. Tim didn’t want to play.
(The last time he had- tricked, fooled, a pawn to fiddle and play with for amusement. Tim was no pawn.)
When Jack had asked to play catch with Tim in the park, everything about him screaming soft and paternal , (except his eyes, his eyes had been like ice, they always were) Tim had almost snapped.
And of course, the shitshow with DI. It appeared that Jack had ceased to care about the company- the company that Janet had turned into multi-millions of profit, and had spent her whole life working on.
Oh, he wants to rip Jack to shreds .
Reclining back in his seat, Tim is abruptly calm again.
The solution was simple, after all. Jack would just have to be dealt with. Efficiently and quickly, preferably.
Most of all though, the task and its ensuing aftermath would be…interesting. Both to watch and manipulate. Tim is so bored- more than useful, this could be fun .
Maybe more fun than watching Bruce Wayne dress up as a furry and beat up criminals to the brink of death for the zillionth time.
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Spoiler: The fun is no longer fun.
It’s after attempt number five, and Jack and Tim stare at each other across the dining table.
Jack’s shirt is bloody, the collar of his suit is disheveled, his hair is a mess, and his left eyebrow is still smoking. The blood splatters on his face and neck almost make him look like Two-Face. His right arm is in a cast.
Tim is in better shape, but it’s still bad- he’s sweaty, the entire left sleeve of his school uniform has been torn off, and there’s a long, thin cut along his forearm, still weeping blood. He still has shivers from some mild hypothermia, and his shoulder might be dislocated.
The thing was, Tim had thought it’d be easy- set the scene, kill his father, create a fake uncle, and everything would be perfect again. At an acceptable age, he would get a legal emancipation, become CEO of DI, and keep the metaphorical ship smoothly sailing.
Unfortunately, Tim still hasn’t moved past step two, because his so-called father won’t fucking die .
How, Tim thinks incredulously, does one survive a hit from Lady-fucking-Shiva?
And he’d spent quite a bit on that one too- the woman was, after all, more than expensive. And often in want of a challenge , rather than a hit for money. Tim had had to give up so much information and blackmail he’d had on various higher-up people.
And to make matters worse, after the second attempt (which had been in quick succession after the first) Jack had retaliated.
Obviously, he’d known it had been Tim, despite his efforts to keep it on the down low. Who else could it have been, after all?
First, Jack had sent your run-of-the-mill merc- Tim had almost felt insulted. (Electrocuted to death upon forcing entry to his bedroom.)
Then, an actual assassin from the League of Assassins. (Tim had known he was coming- the poison in the assassin’s system made itself known just as he was about to slit Tim’s throat.) That one was the cause of most of his injuries.
And then , fucking Deathstroke the Terminator. That had been the closest one. Tim had only found out he was coming with five hours to spare. He’d had to book it across the world to one of his contingency safehouses in fucking Antarctica. Hence, the hypothermia.
Tim had tried to get Slade Wilson before that, but had been promptly rebuffed. Obviously, he now knew why.
So, all in all, he may have completely underestimated his father. It appeared that Tim had not gotten all of his… flavorful traits from just Janet, even if she had still been the unspoken head of the family.
Jack is still an idiot, in Tim’s opinion, except his desire to see him dead was no longer just because he wanted him dead, but more because this was getting fucking annoying.
His eyes are starting to burn as he refuses to break eye contact with Jack. Without looking, he spears a piece of pasta with his fork, chews and swallows it.
He tastes…oh.
Just before the allergic reaction from the shrimp could kick in, Tim stabs himself with the Epi Pen in his pant’s pocket. He’d been waiting for Jack to try something like that.
He arches his eyebrow at Jack, now refraining from the food and drink at the table. His shoulder aches.
The only hint of displeasure at a foiled fourth attempt on Jack’s part is a slight downturned corner of his lip.
“So,” Tim says, the cadence of his voice almost bored as he pushes his chair back from the table. “We’ve gone from Deathstroke to shrimp , I see.”
Jack doesn’t respond at first, tightening his grip on the silverware, eyes colder than ice.
Then, he appears to soften, relaxing his grip and letting his shoulders drop from their tensed position. He grins, crooked and and almost fond . “Have to switch it up every now and then, don’t I kiddo?”
Jack shoves a bite of the shrimp pasta into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain glacial, the only hint that it was an act. (Besides, of course, the blood, broken bones, and obvious murder attempt that had just taken place.)
Obviously, Tim knew better than to fall for the loving-father act by now. Really, this wasn’t Jack’s best work- Tim was unsure as to whether he was even trying. Janet had always been the better actress. The better everything, really.
Pathetic. Tim had been right to think him an utter moron.
See, when Tim tries to kill Jack, he has elegance - for example, a watch that, once worn, injects a fast-acting paralytic agent. A favorite suit, with the insides covered in acid (which may or may not have been inspired by Heracles’s death).
In fact, he’d only resorted to using people , and therefore uncontrollable variables- he hated those- in the end in a stroke of desperation.
Tim still didn’t know how Jack had gotten away from Lady Shiva , and the mystery made him itch. Tim had wanted to contact her after the ordeal, but the woman made him more than wary. The less encounters he had with her, the better. Still, he had to bite the bullet at some point.
Finally moving his eyes away from his sorry excuse of a father, Tim stood up and went to his room, posture erect despite the stabbing pain in his shoulder.
Closing the door, Tim lets out a deep sigh.
Turning to the mirror, he glances at himself. His eyes are riddled with exhaustion, though the eyebags are covered with concealer. His appearance looks more haggard than he thought. His neck is covered in bruises from attempt #2.
Taking a deep breath, he encloses his left bicep with his right hand-
-before violently shoving his shoulder back into place.
And-
painpainpainpainpain-
Doubling over, he hisses through his teeth. Now in place, the joint burns.
He ruthlessly suppresses the tears that automatically come to his eyes. Drakes don’t cry, even if it's an automatic reaction. What would Janet say?
Glancing away from the mirror, Tim pauses. What would his mother say?
God, Janet would be so disappointed in him right now. And her opinion, Tim definitely cares about. She wouldn’t have cared about Jack dying, but for it to be taking so long is just- unforgivable.
Tim has had to skip school . His grades are still straight As, but missing assignments have made them drop into the A- category.
Not to mention, injuries like these cause questions . Not just his, but also Jack’s. How would it look if he kept getting injured before abruptly (finally) dying prematurely?
The longer this takes, the more impact it’ll have on DI and Tim’s personal life, and that’s absolutely unacceptable.
Tim is failing. He’s never failed at anything once in his life .
“Fine,” he snarls at the mirror, eyes dark with frustration and sleep deprivation. “I’ll just need to do it myself. ”
Personally. With his own hands. Preferably, before Jack gets the same idea.
And of course, that means-
-Tim needs to be trained.
But by whom?
Like a lightning strike, the idea comes to him. It’s so obvious .
Tim needs to be trained in order to kill his father. Tim is also bored with the everyday-life.
And if he's not mistaken, the spot next to Batman is not only open, but also more than capable of helping him solve both those problems. (Not to mention, it would get rid of his currently numerous physical weaknesses.)
Tim gives a considering look at his reflection, and grins , sharp and jagged.
This is going to be so much fun.