InsaneJournal

Reset Verse: The Drake Heir
title: The Drake Heir
author: lisa roquin
rating: 13?
fandom: DC/Smallville (AU/Elseworld)
series/sequel: Reset Verse
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: Tim's attempt to settle into a changed world
author's note:
wordcount: 4557
previous in verse: Reset


~May~

Tim idly noted the slight tremble in his hand as he paid the cabbie and got out of the car, heading up the steps of the Drake Manor house, the property sharing a border with the Wayne Estate. Tim had been beyond relieved when he realized the different geography.

The history had been easily built. Frighteningly easy. Cheryl Bonny had been Michael Drake's personal assistant, and mistress. She'd left his employ pregnant with a son who had died at birth. The manipulations of records was almost child's play. The computer systems downright antiquated compared to what Tim was used to dealing with. The security systems on the networks were child's play. Even Dick could manage them, and he usually wasn't capable of sitting still long enough for the 'tedium' of working through firewalls and changing files.

Cheryl Bonny had lived almost as a recluse since her son's birth and death. It was so disgustingly simple to go through and build the identity, his identity off that. Homeschool records were worked into the files. SAT scores, college applications, a California driver's license. Tim Bonny was due to enroll as a freshman in Gotham U in three months time.

Histories for Dick and Kon had been trickier than his own surprisingly.

He mentally shook himself. What the hell had he even said to the butler? He didn't suppose it mattered. Rattled and uncertain and shaken, it only enhanced Tim Bonny's authenticity and identity. He had to keep focused. Had to keep it together.

~*~

Michael Drake frowned at Ellison's insistence he must see whoever it was at the door. Ellison rather looked like he had seen a ghost.

"What is your name!" Michael demanded harshly.

"Tim Bonny."

The boy looked remarkably like his son Jack. Jack had been fourteen when he died and already taller than this boy through. Still.

"Why are you here?"

"Mom wanted me to meet you when I turned eighteen. That's next week, but...mom's gone. House fire."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," Tim glared. Bruce had warned him, Michael Drake was known as the ice king for a reason. Respected, feared, despised, any personality he might have possessed had died over twenty years before with his wife and son.

He spun on heel and walked out of the mansion. The gauntlet thrown down. The next move would have to be Michael Drake's and from everything --everything Bruce and Alfred had said that the challenge, that an heir able to take over the Drake corporate empire wasn't going to be ignored.

The walk into the city was a long one but Tim didn't mind it. The sticky evening breeze less than sweet smelling as something particularly foul from the shore was caught on it. He managed to catch a cab and get back to the Comfort Inn he'd booked himself a room in.

He sat down on the bed and tried to think how different Bruce was from Dad. Bruce was just a damn kid. A year younger than Dick. Oh he was the Batman. But...not..not Dad


The coincidence of timing shouldn't make too many waves. Lex was going after Kon, Kon's finding could simply be Lex digging into Clark's past and voila...long lost big brother. That Clark was adopted wasn't a huge secret. That his older brother was separated from him and ended up elsewhere especially in the aftermath of the meteors was easy enough to believe and the resemblance between Kon and Clark was absolutely undeniable.

Dick was planning on riding up to Wayne Manor on a motorcycle and declaring who he was. And Brucie was going to do the hug him and love him and call him George and keep him forever routine, which Gotham society would expect. The long unlamented Stephen Wayne's reputation was enough that there would be plenty of speculation and gossip but the only real shock would be why hadn't one or a few dozen, real or more likely imposter, children of Stephen Wayne attempted the same.

Tim settled himself on the bed with his new laptop top and started surfing with little rhyme or reason, committing differences in current events and recent history to memory. He very pointedly didn't try to search for...anyone.

He and Dick both agreed to that, and Kon honestly wouldn't know where to begin to do that. Everything was too raw, differences could be god only knew what. They'd find everyone eventually, but...

Tim frowned and started searching with a little bit of purpose. Earthquakes in Gotham...

No Man's Land.

No Earthquake. No No Man's Land. Not yet.

Tim had been fourteen when the bridges blew.

Steph had been the only one who had actually left Gotham of their family, and she only as far as Bludhaven, taking Jacy with her. Dick had been in and out of No Man's Land but Officer Grayson had remained in Bludhaven for the majority of it. Helena had come home just after the bridge's had blown. Staying with Dick. Spoiler and Huntress taking turns accompanying Nightwing and Azrael into Gotham, the other staying home with Jacy and Selene.

JeanPaul and Azrael were gone for good. It was for the best, the hell they had both endured due to Azrael's essence being forced into JeanPaul's body. Still it effectively meant that Dick had lost them twice in one day. Raven was gone, permanently.

Tim's mind immediately rebelled at the thought of searching for Roy. Terrified of finding out that Roy and Lian were already born and had died, he...


Tim nearly flew out of his skin at the demanding knock on his door. He glanced at the little travel alarm on the nightstand. Seven AM. He'd sat here all night?

He set the laptop aside arching his back as he stood, the stiffness of muscles said he had indeed let the entire evening and night get away from him searching, memorizing the history of his new world on autopilot.

"Can I help you, Mr. Drake?"

"It seems you are who you say you are, I've arranged for a DNA test in two hours time to remove all doubt. Please pack up your things."

"I--"

"I have no doubt of the results. You are the very image of Jack."

"Jack?"

"My son." Michael Drake said tiredly. "Your brother. He died before you were born."

Tim stood exhausted and almost weaving on his feet.

He vaguely registered the chauffeur/bodyguard pushing his way into the room and packing his things, barely registered a damn thing Michael Drake said.


~*~*~

Tim forced himself to pull it together.

A sister? Or Michael Drake's daughter at any rate, a youthful indiscretion adopted by her mother's relatives. She'd had a daughter who was twenty, and that daughter had a baby girl of all of six months old--Michael's great-granddaughter. Michael's orphaned great-granddaughter.

A car accident had killed his daughter, her husband and their daughter, leaving the baby alone in the world. Michael didn't say where this baby's father was, and Tim didn't bother asking.

A relative of some sort (again through the mother's family) was intending on adopting the baby girl, Barbara. There'd been a car-bomb two months before, a new presumably Meta lunatic trying to make his mark--The Joker. Ellen Gordon had been killed, Detective Jim Gordon was still in a coma and unlikely to walk again if he did. If he did wake Jim Gordon was facing months, if not years, of therapy and recuperation.

Michael had come to the conclusion Tim would raise Barbara for him. Michael himself was dying, cancer, inoperable and not too much longer himself before he would be unable to carry on as normal

Tim trembled a little as he was led into the nursery, ignoring the nanny and moving straight for the baby on the floor holding her teddy bear out in front of her and babbling and laughing at it. A few tufts of red hair sticking up on end and a huge grin with the very beginning of a single tooth poking through her gums.

"Hey," Tim managed kneeling down on the floor, reaching a shaky finger to trace along her cheek. Jim Gordon in a coma and at least partially paralyzed, his wife already dead, he'd never raise his daughter.

Barbara cooed, dropped her bear and reached chubby fists towards Tim.

Tim swallowed, expertly picking up the baby. "Hey," he managed softly.

Barbara babbled at him happily. Little chubby hands reaching for his ear and nose and eyes.

"That so, Babs? Already telling me what to do, huh?" Somehow he managed to keep the edge of panic and hysteria out of his voice. It wasn't every day you met the woman you considered your mother, and expected to raise her.





~June~

Michael Drake downed the painkillers hurriedly. His reliance on them to function had become a source of disgust over the course of the last month.

Tim.

His son was a remarkable young man. Cheryl had done a fine job raising him even if Michael wasn't sure he could ever forgive her for robbing him of eighteen years of his son's life. Cheryl hadn't planned on him dying of cancer so soon after Tim turned eighteen no more than she had planned to die in a senseless house fire.

He wondered how she'd convinced Martin Hutchinson of confirming her story. He supposed he would never know. Martin had suffered a series of major strokes over the last four years and didn't know his own name, let alone what had happened and why he'd agreed to tell Michael the baby was indeed stillborn.

The Board of Directors were balking at an untried boy of eighteen stepping up with full control of Michael's shares. Michael didn't give a good goddamn, if Drake Inc was ran into the ground by Timothy, well, then at least a Drake had ruined the company, and not a committee of money hungry idiots.

The society pages ate up that the boy was raised by his mother and nothing said of his existence due to specific threats all those years ago. So had the board of directors for that matter. The waves rolling through the gossip of Gotham society had nothing to do with Tim Drake, and everything to do with Dick Grayson-Wayne and speculation Bruce was getting taken by a con artist.

"It's about time, Timothy," Michael said with an arch raise of his eyebrow as his son came barreling down the stairs into the entrance hall. His eyes roved over Tim critically. The tuxedo was a perfect fit, and it certainly should be, custom fitted at Rodham's as it was.

One still could not put a sow in a silk dress and call it a lady either. Or a street rat in tuxedo and call him an heir of one of the most powerful men in Gotham either. Tim knew how to wear a tuxedo, no discomfort either real or boyish squirming, no fidgeting with his tie.

"Sorry, I tucked Babs in."

Michael's arch look softened. Tim wouldn't be alone, not like Michael had been for so many years. He doted so on Barbara. The two might not have the easiest of times but his son was a fine young man with a level head and adored little Barbara. The two would have each other.

~*~

Tim's eyes scanned the ball room of the Gotham Tower Hotel some faces recognizable, some not. He'd nearly panicked and ran when Gossip Gertie attempted to hit on him. Dear God! The woman had been a menace when Tim knew her as the reigning gossip columnist of the East Coast and a rather stately fifty something in years. She was all of a year on the Society beat according to his..father-grandfather-father.. no more than twenty five and gorgeous in a predatory bleached-blonde sort of way.

Brucie was holding court with a redhead on his arm who brayed like a donkey every time he said something remotely amusing.

He almost felt sorry for his dad--Bruce--having to put up with that annoying laugh all night.

Dick lounged against the bar looking downright dangerous and predatory, his long hair caught back in a pony tail for the evening, leering here and there at a few of the money-grubbing piranha types usually following their appraisals or eyeballing while whispering together. The looks he was giving the braying redhead were downright murderous.

"I suppose there is basis for that rumor." Michael murmured dryly taking note how the prodigal supposed Wayne scion watched his cousin like a very dangerous hawk.

"What rumor?"

"The speculation Dick Grayson-Wayne is no more Stephen Wayne's son than you are. That he's Bruce's lover moved into the mansion."

Tim choked on his club soda. That was...that was... Bruce--Dad--and Dick? Even if Dad was younger than Dick that...

"They look alike." Tim shook his head. "Coloring matches and they stand and move alike."

Michael looked down at his son and raised an eyebrow, but he watched further through the evening. Mannerisms were indeed similar. Changed slightly, and what appeared harmless in Bruce seemed dangerous and sensual in Dick but yes.

"I do believe you're right," Michael murmured. "Peter Willis and his wife Elanor. Their son is the blonde wastrel giving Bruce Wayne dirty looks every time Bruce isn't looking. Their daughter Ariel. She's a little viper."

Tim nodded and a moment later was smiling politely at formal introductions. Politely refusing Ariel's not so subtle hints for a dance by saying he'd never learned. When she wouldn't take no for an answer he managed to step on her toes five times in the space of thirty seconds and had her leaving him on the dance floor in a huff.

Alfred would have given him an earful for that sort of behavior. A gentleman did not stoop to that sort of behavior, no matter how unwanted the young lady's company was. Alfred probably would anyway if Bruce or Dick tattled on him. As soon as he could get away to visit the cave he was likely going to get a patented Alfred disapproving-look and headshaking. And, of course, "Young master, you certainly know better than such behavior."

Tim was nearing the end of his rope when Brucie made his way over, cheerfully inviting Tim over for a game of tennis or billiards the next afternoon.

Michael merrily accepted for Tim. Bruce Wayne might be a bit of a twit but the man was far more genuine than most of the vipers of Gotham society.

~*~

"Master Drake," Alfred said formally as he opened the door.

Tim nodded. Same old Alfred, even if he was decades younger than Tim could remember him.

"Master Bruce and Master Richard are in Master Bruce's office."

Once the door was shut Tim flashed a grin. Sunday, the day help wasn't about, Alfred being the only employee of Wayne Manor that lived there. The day help was only there in the mornings anyway. Going through cleaning and vacuuming and leaving as soon as possible, many areas of the manor taken care of personally by Alfred--Bruce's office and the family wing which had been only Bruce's rooms until Dick's arrival.

"How ya doin', Alfred?"

Alfred gave him a slightly withering look. "Master Timothy, I am certain I would have taught you how to speak properly, please do so."

Tim grinned widely. "God, I've missed you, Alfred."

Alfred gave a little sniff of disdain and shook his head, his eyes warm. Alfred Pennyworth considered Bruce the closest thing to a son he would ever have. The barrage of images the month before by the being Azrael were undisputable. The two young men were Bruce's sons. Richard had already endeared himself to Alfred simply for his ability to keep Bruce from becoming so grimly focused on his other activities. Not that Richard dissuaded Bruce any. In fact, he joined him. Still, Bruce had someone watching his back.

"Heya, Brat," Dick said on his feet and grabbing Tim in a tight hug. "Holdin' on okay?"

Tim clung and shook wordlessly.

"Tim? Timmy.." Dick murmured into Tim's hair.

"Kon?"

"Talked to him yesterday" Dick said quietly. "He's...hanging in there. Supposed to be showing up next Sunday. He couldn't come today because of some...farmer's market Jonathon insisted he was helping with."

Tim snorted into Dick's chest.

"We have a situation I'm unsure how to deal with. Selena Kyle was arrested last night." Bruce said awkwardly breaking in. Tim sniffed once and turned to look at Bruce, Dick kept his arms tight around Tim, not letting go of his little brother for the world just yet.

"And?"

"She has a three week old daughter, Helena Mary Kyle."

"Have a Brucie fit and demand a blood test." Tim said with a swallow.

"Hel's yours, Dad." Dick said softly. "The only one of us that was your actual biological child. We can't let Hel get lost in the system."

"Really, Master Richard, Master Timothy, referring to Miss Helena as Hel."

"Hell on Wheels." Dick grinned. "Me, Tim and Jase combined had nothin' on Hel."

Bruce swallowed and nodded. "Well, I suppose we can arrange play dates. I hear that you have your great-niece with you."

Tim trembled against Dick.

"Bro? What?" Dick demanded.

"Barbara Sanders, as of Thursday Barbara Drake, Michael's great-granddaughter. The adoption fell through--she was supposed to be adopted by a cousin in her grandmother's family. Police detective named Jim Gordon, his wife was killed-bomb set off by the Joker evidently-- and he's been in a coma for two months now."

"MOM" Dick yelped.

"Yeah, I'm...gonna be raising mom.." Tim said shakily. "Michael's dying. Gonna..raise mom. And Grandpa.. Been to visit Jim. Didn't raise too much fuss, Michael actually approved. After all Jim's Babs' only other living relative now. Be too odd for either of you to visit him but I can. Move him to Drake Manor if I can, if he improves enough to be moved and I can find reliable staff. They seem to think he's likely to wake up. Changes in his CT scans and more responsive to noises and people around than he has been so they're cautiously hopeful as they put it even if it has been so long.."

"So is it Mister Bonny or Mister Drake?"

"Drake. The name change went through Thursday," Tim said eyeing Bruce. "If you tell me you didn't already know that, you are going to need some serious extra time downstairs training. And some remedial computer lessons, Dad."

Bruce blinked. He'd somewhat acclimatized himself to Dick calling him Dad down in the cave on occasion. Tim, he'd only spent a couple days with before the younger of his--dear god his sons-- had gone to Michael Drake. Only long enough to make the necessary background for Tim Bonny. His sons. And a daughter? What the hell was he going to do with a daughter? Though the woman that his sons considered their mother was a baby and in Tim's care was even...

The whole situation gave him a migraine. He couldn't imagine what Dick and Tim must be going through. His...his sons.

Well, he had to have done something right somewhere, or Alfred had. They both seemed to be men he would be proud to know and call friend under any circumstance.

"I will call Mr. Jurgensen, Master Bruce." Alfred said. "Why don't you, Master Richard and Master Timothy adjourn downstairs, I'll be down with tea when I'm through with the call."

"Thanks, Alfred."

Tim fought the urge to laugh. Alfred was very very much still Alfred.

~*~*~

When Alfred reached the Batcave with a tray of tea, pastries and sandwiches his three charges were on the exercise mats, wearing nothing more than gym shorts, the scars on Master Richard and Master Timothy were disturbing to say the least. He quickly demanded they break for something to eat when Master Timothy looked very near tears at trying to show Master Bruce a particular move.

"DAMN IT! YOU CAN DO IT! YOU'RE THE ONE THAT TAUGHT ME!" Tim shouted in frustration at Bruce who was attempting to say it was possibly a fighting style that wasn't suited to him.

"Your father was some years older and more experienced then, Master Timothy," Alfred said gently. All three of his charges were on edge twisted every which way by this impossible situation, Bruce no less so in his own way than either of his sons.

"You looked for--"

"No." Tim cut Dick off. "Can't. Won't..."

Dick nodded.

"For Arsenal?" Bruce said carefully. "Roy?" Dick had been fairly guarded about how much he had said of the world before this, or simply, more likely, too painful to dwell on. Dealing with his own grief at losing JeanPaul and Azrael twice in one day.

Tim nodded. "I--I can't deal with it yet. Roy and Lian..."

"Lian is.."

"Roy's daughter. Her mother is out of the picture. Our daughter--I..Lian was mine too. Loved her like she was." Tim said quietly.

Bruce nodded. Grandchildren. That concept was even more bizarre than sons but.. "I take it this Roy was a bit older than you?"

"He was twenty four. Same age as Dick. He was twenty two and I was sixteen when we really got to be friends even if he and Dick had always been fairly close, both founding members of the Titans. Things progressed from there. Slowly. Very slowly. He was afraid you'd kill him." Tim snorted.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "I should say so, young master."

"Aw, Alfie, Timmy's always been a freak. He made Batman and Robin when he was five for crying out loud. He voluntarily watched the news when he was in Kindergarten. He's always been a freaky too smart old man in a kid's body."

"Shut up, Circus Brat." Tim snorted. "You ever gonna grow up?"

"Nope, you're grown up enough for both of us. And Brucie too."


~September/October~

Classes started at Gotham U without Tim Drake. Not that he had been relishing starting over as a freshman with only a bare bones grasp of the history and science of the changed world when he should be finishing up dual bachelor degrees in chemistry and economics about the time he 'met' Bruce and Dick Wayne at his entrance into Gotham Society as Michael Drake's son.

He heard a muttered, "That is the old bastard's kid no doubt about that," by a couple of VPs looking to advance themselves with the 'upheaval' of Michael's obviously declining health and a supposedly clueless, untried kid stepping in and taking the reigns of Drake Inc.

Sunday afternoons, the few hours he managed to get away to Wayne Manor easily explained away by a shared love for martial arts, sparring with someone who could give Tim a run for his money.

Tim had no idea what the hell Jonathon Kent thought he was doing when every last one of his calls to Smallville made from Wayne Manor were intercepted and Kon busy or not there or once--grounded--from the goddamned phone. That brought Tim to the point of willingly calling Lex Luthor. Something a few months ago he would have thought he'd never ever do and very loudly delivering a death threat to Lex over the phone if he didn't let Kon know come hell or high water that he had been calling every chance he got--Sunday afternoons when he managed to get away to Wayne Manor to be able to call. After all. Tim Bonny Drake didn't know anyone in Smallville, Kansas. He couldn't call from home, or from a line that the phone bill would be seen by Drake staff.

Tim wasn't sure what the hell was going on with Dick and Bruce. The everything is fine on Sunday afternoons was getting to the point he was going to call them on it as soon as he had the fucking energy. He had enough dealing wtih the manuvers at Drake with Michael's health deteriorated to bedridden and barely coherent and conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. Toes stepped on by Michael Drake were thinking to finally get some of their own back and finding themselves soundly kicked in the teeth by Tim, metaphorically, though there was at least one he'd like to do just that physically to.

The corporate bullshit and backbiting ontop of the normal runnings of a business the size of Drake Inc was enough without Michael, or Babs, and if Dick and Dad had decided to lock horns and start going around, Tim wasn't sure he wanted to know. Alfred could surely keep them in line.

"Mr. Drake, she won't settle-"

"TIH TIH TIH!" ten month old Barbara shouted.

"It's alright, Alice," Tim said quietly taking the upset baby and settling back into the rocking chair next to his father--grandfather--father's bedside. The regular bed having been replaced three weeks before with a hospital bed. The rocking chair had been brought in a couple weeks before that when Tim began spending a good part of the night straining his eyes doing paperwork by the light of of his laptop monitor. A playpen had also made it's way into Michael Drake's bedroom suite for the simple fact that Barbara's favorite person in the world currently was her "Tih" and she preferred to be with him every second possible.

"Shh, Babs," Tim whispered and began to rock and softly began to sing Lian's favorite 'lullaby'.

"Wha--"

"Water?" Tim murmured. Up and transferring the mostly asleep Babs to his other arm reaching for the glass of water from the bedside table and holding the straw so Michael could take a drink.

"Thank you..What language.."

"Navajo." Tim whispered. "Navajo. Someone I..used to know taught me it. He..died" Tim swallowed. "Not too long before I came to Gotham."

Barbara began to fuss.

"Sing for her," Michael murmured closing his eyes again, and drifted off to sleep at the more rhymically whispered than sung foreign words.


~November~

"Tih!"

"Shh, Babs," Tim murmured cradling her a little closer to his chest as they stood at Michael Drake's graveside. Tim didn't glance back at the hand that reached and rested on his shoulder. Dick. Bruce and Lex standing with Dick. LEX Good. God.


The talk of Gotham in concern to Michael Drake's death was less his passing and the four young men and two baby girls standing at the grave-side. Tim Drake, Bruce and Dick Wayne, and Lex Luthor. Speculation rose further when it was remembered Mary Wayne and Lillian Luthor were cousins a time or two removed and dear friends until Lionel Luthor waged war on Wayne Enterprises.

Not a few businessmen present were a bit worried by that combination. Bruce was known to spend millions because he just liked the company logo design when it came to business decisions. Young Drake was swiftly gaining a reputation for being a shark, every bit as sharp and dangerous as his father had been already and just a boy. A little more fair and human than his father but all the same not one to cross as had been proven. Luthor was wild, his teenage exploits and the war he and Lionel had been engaged in the past couple years well enough known. The other Wayne gaining a reputation as something of loose canon but as sharp as Bruce was whimsical.

An alliance of that group could shake the world at it's foundations with what they were capable of and the bank accounts behind them, they were very much a group to watch closely.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Reset Drake Family

~Michael Drake--67, terminally ill with cancer. Owner/CEO of Drake Inc.

~Susan & Jack Drake--Michael's wife and son killed in a car wreck over 20 years previous.

~Margaret Sanders & Jennifer Sanders-- Jack Drake's biological daughter adopted by maternal relatives, and her daughter killed in car wreck.


~Barbara Sanders Drake--6 months, daughter of Jennifer Sanders, was going to be adopted by Jim Gordon and his wife (who was killed in the bombing that injured Jim)

~Jim Gordon--33, cousin of Margaret Sanders, Gotham PD Meta Unit Detective. Severely injured in a bombing suspected to be the work of the Joker.