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There were few aspects of school that really managed to grab Tim Drake’s attention. A program highlighting the dangers of drunk driving was not one of those things. The only reason Tim even had to worry about it was that the classes at Gotham Academy were integrated. Which meant, despite the program being targeted at Juniors and Seniors, anyone could be a ‘victim’. Even freshmen, like Tim. Just because he was smart enough to take a couple classes geared towards the upperclassmen. Personally, Tim thought the whole thing was a waste of time. If his peers were going to get drunk after prom, they were going to do it whether they had a bunch of fake deaths one day a week before prom or not. The program, Every Fifteen Minutes , was supposed to be ‘emotionally taxing’, according to the pamphlets that were attached to the permission slips (he’d forged his parent’s signature, he’d done it a million times before). (Apparently, administration wanted to make sure parents were aware and that students were given the chance to opt out. Just in case they had prior trauma because of a drunk driver or car accident or something. Made sense) Anyway, Tim hadn’t bothered to think much about the program. He had a million other more important things to think about. He’d actually managed to completely forget about it. Until one of the school’s resource officers was standing at the front of the classroom.
“Timothy Drake? Could you come with me, please.” He directs. Tim suppresses a sigh and grabs his bag. This was part of the simulation part of the program. Every fifteen minutes throughout the day, a different student would be called out of class and put into a holding room. Gotham Academy would post obituaries around the school of each of the ‘lost’ students. At the end of the day, there would be a staged accident (weather permitting), before they all joined in the gymnasium to remind everyone how dangerous drunk driving was. Following the resource officer, Tim tries to look at the bright side. At least he would be out of class for the rest of the day. If only he had remembered his laptop. Or his phone.
---
Gotham Academy @gagazette
Timothy Jackson Drake, 14, passed away April 14th as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver. He was a beloved student at Gotham Academy, and will be missed. #everyfifteenminutes (attached image of Tim Drake)
Betty Wilde @xoxobetty
RT @gagazette wow, this is- I actually teared up in class #everyfifteenminutes #riptimdrake
Within an hour, #riptimdrake was trending on Twitter. And Tim Drake was none the wiser.
---
Dick Grayson liked to think he was better than he used to be. His relationship with Bruce, while still not perfect, was far better than it had been when Jason- when he lost his little brother. He tried to hang around Gotham every other weekend or so. Just so that he could hang out with Tim. And press down some of the guilt from not doing the same for Jason. Before he can spiral too much, a familiar ring tone cuts through his thoughts. Dick grins, immediately answering the call.
“Hey Wally-” He starts to say, but he’s immediately cut off.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Never mind that, are you okay? How’s Bruce taking it? Is Alfred okay? Are you? Who am I kidding- what about the kid’s team? Did you get in contact with them yet? Do I need to?” Wally rambles, and Dick blinks in confusion.
“Whoa, slow down Wally. What’s wrong?” He asks. Wally sucks in a sharp breath.
“What’s- Dick, have you talked to Bruce today?” He asks. Dick frowns.
“Uh, no?” Dick says.
“Oh god. I- Dick, I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this.” Wally says, his voice pained. Dick immediately thinks back to what Wally had first said when Dick answered. It was jumbled and too fast- something about a kid’s team? How Bruce was- Dick chokes on his next breath, clutching his phone as tightly as he can.
“Wally, please-” He manages to say, trying desperately to push down the panic. Nothing was wrong. Tim was fine. Dick was going back to Gotham this afternoon so that they could hang out before patrol tonight. He was even going to stick around until Monday, since he’d skipped out on his little brother last weekend. And the one before. Goddamnit. Not again.
“I’m sorry man.” Wally says, and Dick can hear the tears in his best friend’s voice. “It’s uh, it’s all over twitter. There was a drunk driver.” Dick barely registers the phone falling from his grasp. It feels as though the world around him just stops as he struggles to breathe. “Dick? Do I need to come to Bludhaven?”
“No. I- I gotta go.” Dick stammers out, hanging up. Falling to his knees, Dick lets out a scream. Screw his neighbors. Let them make a noise complaint all they want. He doesn’t give a damn. Dick sobs, repeatedly pounding his fists against the ground, ignoring the twinge of pain. Why didn’t Bruce tell him? Why didn’t he call? Why was his little brother taken from him again?
“Hey Dickhead, you should probably stop beating your fists against the damn floor.” Jason’s snarky voice is just enough for Dick to stop hitting the floor. Pulling his hands to his chest, Dick falls back on his ass and stares blankly at the memory of his little brother, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“I didn’t- I can’t-” He tries to say, but he can’t get anything else out before his sobs start again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
---
Bruce Wayne was a busy man. And he wasn’t someone who made time for nonsense. Sure, he loved his family, but he showed them by making sure Gotham was safe for them. Or as safe as he could make it without crossing the line. Frowning down at the stack of papers on his desk, Bruce can’t help but let his mind wander. Dick was supposed to come home this weekend, and although Bruce knew it was because his oldest wanted to spend time with Tim, he was sure to get at least two family meals out of it. It would be nice. His relationship with Dick had finally started to improve. A sort of bittersweet effect left over from…the accident. Shaking his head, Bruce reaches for a pen to start working through the paperwork when the shrill ring of his phone echoes throughout the room. Glancing at it, he raises an eyebrow at the caller ID. Answering it, he opens his mouth to speak but is immediately cut off.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Dick asks, and Bruce jolts in shock at the tone. It sounded like-
“Dick, have you been crying?” He asks, completely bewildered.
“Of fucking course I have, Bruce.” Dick spits out, the anger in his voice greater than Bruce had heard in years.
“I’m- Dick, I don’t know what I did-” He tries, but his son scoffs.
“You don’t know what you did? Seriously? How about the fact that, yet again, you weren’t the one to tell me my brother died!” Dick yells, his voice cracking. Bruce opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it. Blinks. He lets the words sink in and attempts to comprehend them. Fails.
“What?” Bruce asks, his voice cracking.
“Oh sh- you. You didn’t know either?” Dick asks, and Bruce can hear the pain in his son’s voice.
“No. Who told you? What happened?” Bruce asks, clenching his fists to keep his hands from shaking. Trying, desperately, not to imagine his youngest. Trying, and failing, from seeing Tim as mangled as Jason had been. Did it hurt, in the end? Was he scared? Did he die, waiting for Bruce to save him, only for him to fail again?
“Wally called. There was a uh, car accident. Drunk driver.” Dick says, his voice sounding hollow.
“No one called me. Why didn’t-” Bruce’s voice catches in his throat as he spots the papers on his desk. The half filled out papers for Gotham Academy so that he was Tim’s secondary emergency contact. The papers that he’d never finished. Would never have to finish. “Will you come to Gotham?” Bruce asks, unable to stand the thought of his only remaining son being so far away.
“Bruce-” Dick starts, but Bruce cuts him off.
“Please, Dick. I just-” Bruce sucks in a deep breath, trying to stop the horrific mental images. “I need to know you’re safe.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. How’s uh, how’s Alfred?” He asks, and Bruce winces. He’d have to tell Alfred.
“I don’t think he knows.” Bruce says.
“You need to tell him, Bruce. I’ll see you soon.” Dick says, hanging up before Bruce can say bye. He tries not to let it bother him. Bruce clenches his eyes shut, and drops his face into his hands as he tries to suppress a scream. Or a sob. The thought of going to another funeral for a teenager, for one of his sons, makes his chest ache. Bruce takes in a shaky breath, trying hard not to think about it. But also trying to hope at least a little. That maybe, just maybe, this son didn’t suffer. Maybe the world was merciful just once. How was he going to tell Alfred?
“C’mon, old man, pull yourself together.” A familiar voice says, making Bruce’s breath catch in his throat. It’d been awhile, since he thought he heard Jason. Since he’d seen him out of the corner of his eye. Looking up slowly, Bruce can’t stop the sob that breaks through at the sight.
“Oh. Um, we could uh, we could come back-” Tim starts to say, but Jason cuts him off.
“Nah kid, we’ve gotta stick with him for awhile. Trust me, I’m a pro at this.” Jason brags, a cocky smile on his face.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bruce keeps repeating, letting himself break down in the presence of his hallucinations. His boys who never met in life.
---
Alfred Pennyworth liked to think of himself as an important part of Wayne manor. Without him, he was sure that his charges would eat nothing but protein bars and coffee. He also had doubts that any of them would actually keep regular sleeping schedules, or pay attention to their health. As it was his duty to know what was happening in Wayne manor, he had a calendar on the inside of the pantry. On it, he had every event penciled in. For example, he knew that today, Master Tim’s school was participating in a program entitled ‘Every Fifteen Minutes’. He knew the young man was not looking forward to the program, despite Alfred’s best attempts at talking to him. Personally, Alfred thought the program had its merits, while having little room for negative consequences.
“Now boarding ‘A’ through ‘C’, flight 247 to London.” A woman’s cheery voice announces over the intercom. Alfred walks through the gate, nodding at the woman as he passes. Perhaps when he returns to Gotham next week, he and Master Tim could speak of the lad’s experience with the program. Hopefully he was able to take something from the experience.
---
“So I’m not allowed to go to my classes, but I still have to do the work?” Tim asks, raising an eyebrow as the resource officer walks back in with a stack of assignments. The man nods before passing the work out to everyone already in the room.
“Are these our assignments for the full day?” A girl, Miranda, asks. The resource officer nods before glancing up at the clock and sighing, heading out yet again to bring someone back. Glancing around the room already half full of his peers, Tim can’t help but appreciate the program, if only a bit. As annoying as he still thought it was (which had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’d forgotten his phone and there was always a teacher in the room to make sure the students didn’t just sleep or leave), it also made the statistic actually feel real. They weren’t even to lunch yet, and there were thirteen students in the classroom. Sighing, Tim grabs a pencil and focuses back on his English assignment. Maybe if he finished all of his work early, Bruce would let them start patrol right after dinner instead of making him spend time on homework.
---
Jason Todd enjoyed social media as much as the next previously dead young adult. In fact, ever since he started planning out his return to Gotham, he’d been all over social media. Under a fake name, of course, but he had to know. He had to see what Bruce was doing. What Dick was doing. What his Replacement was doing. He didn’t post a lot, but what he did post didn’t usually tell Jason anything. It was Dick’s posts, where he was actually able to see where Replacement went. Jason takes a deep breath, pushing down the green that he can feel bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t really wanna go on a rage and destroy everything. Not yet anyway. Flopping onto the broken down couch in his most recent safehouse, Jason opens twitter and immediately freezes. Despite never tweeting or actually following anyone on the app, his location was listed as Gotham. And his feed was flooded. With a hashtag about his replacement.
“Holy shit.” He breathes out, scrolling through the hundreds of tweets. A drunk driver. The kid was a fucking vigilante, and he was killed by a goddamn drunk driver? Scrolling to the next tweet, Jason feels as though his breath is knocked out of him. Because attached to this tweet is a picture of the kid. And the Replacement- Tim- really was just a kid. Not all of the tweets had pictures. The school had used the kid’s school picture- and god, this kid was a freshman, was Jason really planning on hurting him?- but the kid’s peers had used candids. Tim falling off a skateboard. Tim asleep in class. Tim rolling his eyes in the cafeteria at Gotham Academy. The longer Jason scrolls, the sicker he feels. Of all people, he knew that Robins aren’t invincible. He wasn’t dumb. He knew that just because you wore some body armor and had some training, you could still get hurt. You could still die. But for a Robin- a kid- to die like this? No warning, no notice. It wasn’t even his fault. Tim didn’t make the choice to drink and drive. That was someone else. Someone else chose to do that. Jason’s eyes widen. How was Alfred taking this? How was- he frowns, ignoring the pain in his chest- how were Bruce and Dick taking this? He’s only been gone two years.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” Jason groans, dropping his phone and then letting his head drop into his hands. This wasn’t what he planned. Not at all. He just wanted to mess with Tim. He wasn’t gonna- Jason grits his teeth, trying to make himself calm down before he does something stupid. Something like going to the manor. Now wouldn’t be the time. Bruce didn’t miss him. Not anymore. All it would do is distract them from the fact that Tim’s gone now. They didn’t need him. Taking in a deep breath, Jason lets it back out slowly. Maybe they didn’t need him, and maybe he’d just be a distraction, but maybe he could also help. He wasn’t completely sure how Bruce had reacted when he died, other than replacing him with Tim, but he also knew the man had decided to go out nightly in a freaking batsuit because of the death of his parents. Needless to say, Bruce shouldn’t be left alone in his grief. Even if it meant all of Jason’s plans would have to go down the drain.
---
Dick walks into the manor, unable to shake the chill that had settled over him on his drive to Gotham. There’d been three Robins. But only one had made it to adulthood and as bad as it may be for his mental health, it was hard to not hate himself for it. Why him? Why did he live, when his brothers didn’t? He’s barely outside the family room before Bruce is there, his eyes red and his face blotchy. It was jarring.
“Thanks for coming, Dick.” Bruce says, his voice hollow. “I don’t- I’m not sure what his parents are doing for a funeral.” He adds and Dick can’t help the scowl that appears on his face.
“We’re going.” Dick says firmly. He’d missed Jason’s funeral, and it had haunted him for years. He wouldn’t miss Tim’s, too. Bruce winces.
“I’m not…I don’t know if it will be public or not. In the eyes of Tim’s parents, we’re just neighbors.” He says, and Dick has to grit his teeth to push past the swirling anger in his stomach. The kind that wants him to just scream at Bruce and blame him, even though this isn’t his fault. But Dick wanted someone to blame. And despite the hunch in Bruce’s shoulders and the look on his face, he looked…calm. Resigned.
“How are you so calm?” Dick asks, eyes narrowed. It felt wrong for Bruce to not be whirling around the manor in anger. Where were the angry stomps and harsh words that followed Jason’s death? Bruce lets out a long sigh, brushing his hand over his face.
“With my parents and Jason,” Bruce begins, his words hitting Dick in his gut. “I had someone to blame. Someone whose goal was to hurt the people I lost. With Tim…it was- he wasn’t- it was an accident.”
“I don’t-” Dick starts to argue, but Bruce cuts him off.
“I have no one to blame.” The man says, sinking into a chair and dropping his face into his hands. Dick feels the fight drain out of him as he drops into a chair next to Bruce. He pulls his legs into the chair, holding them close to his chest as he lets out shaky breaths.
“What do we do now, Bruce?” Dick asks, hating how small his voice sounds. Hating that this was happening again. He needed guidance.
“I don’t know.” Bruce says, and Dick crumples, wishing for the nightmare to end.
---
The second the final bell rings, Tim is out the door of the classroom they’d been held in. It’s not like they were captives, or anything, but it was still uncomfortable. They’d brought lunch to them, and would only let them use the faculty restroom across the hall during the middle of class (apparently that was the time that they were least likely to run into other students). And being all but forced to stay in one room for almost eight hours was more draining than he’d expected. But it was fine. His homework was mostly done, and he’d easily be able to get the rest of it done before dinner if he headed straight to the Cave and focused. Unchaining his bike, Tim pedals towards Bristol, relishing in the wind in his face. Before long, he’s at one of the (many) entrances to the Cave. Quickly slipping inside, he frowns at the emptiness. Bruce was almost always in the Cave right after his return from WE until patrol. Shrugging, Tim slips his backpack off and starts finishing the outline for his essay. No sense in waiting around. The sooner he was done with homework, the sooner he could patrol and actually be useful. As he falls into a rhythm with his homework, Tim zones out of the world around him. Blinking, Tim glances down at his finished homework before glancing at the clock on the wall of the Cave. 5 o’clock. Surely Bruce wasn’t still at the office?
“Bruce?” He calls out, stepping into the man’s study through the clock. He frowns. Did Bruce forget that Dick was coming to Gotham today? And that they were supposed to order pizza since Alfred was on vacation? If it was just Tim coming, he could understand the lapse in memory. But Dick was Bruce’s son, and Tim had seen how excited the man was at the prospect of spending time with him. So where was he?
“Dick?” Tim tries, stepping out of the study. He should be back in town by now, right? Unless something had come up again. Tim starts to reach into his pockets, then remembers he’d left his phone at home this morning. Sighing, Tim resigns himself to just walking through the Manor until he finds someone. Surely Bruce and Dick wouldn’t have just left and gone somewhere without Tim when the three had plans, right?
---
Jason takes a deep breath as he glances at the door in front of him. He’d bypassed all of the cameras and other security measures on the grounds easily (he’d done it before). Now the hard part was right in front of him. The side door- not the front door, not yet- the door that would almost definitely lead him to Alfred. Straight into the older man’s domain. The kitchen. Jason pushes past the slight tremble in his hands, pushing down the lingering anger he had for Bruce and Dick. They were grieving and he- he had to help them. Even if he wasn’t sure how, he couldn’t sit this one out. He wouldn’t. Inhaling sharply, Jason pushes the door open quickly before he can change his mind. He frowns at Alfred’s absence. No dishes on the drying rack, oven off, kettle on the back burner- it’s as if the man wasn’t even home. Tentatively, Jason moves further into the kitchen. Not that he necessarily wanted to, but he was here on a mission. And part of that mission meant making sure Bruce wasn’t doing anything stupider than going out and punching criminals in a fursona. Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, he stops to listen, and immediately winces. Dick was crying. No, he was sobbing . Jason shoves down the remaining green (Dick was allowed to be sad, a kid had just died. Just because he didn’t care when Jason died didn’t mean-) and follows the sound. Quietly stepping into the family room, Jason flinches back at the sight. He shoves down the whispers from the green about how easy it would be to- he takes a deep breath before stepping closer to the couch where his older brother and Bruce sat.
“Dick.” He says without thinking, without planning a more eloquent speech, without thinking that this was the first time he was talking to his big brother in two years. But it doesn’t matter. Because neither Dick nor Bruce offer him more than a fleeting glance. Jason frowns. What the hell was that about? What was- a soft gasp from the opposite end of the room, the second entrance to the room, makes Jason’s head whirl around and his eyes widen.
“Tim?”
---
“Jason?” Tim breathes out at the same time that his hero says his name. What was happening? Was this why Dick was sobbing? Why Bruce looked almost catatonic? But then why was Jason standing so far away from them?
“I- you-” Jason stumbles over his words, clearly in shock.
“You’re home. I can’t believe this!” Tim blurts out, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. He pointedly ignores the slight lump in his throat at the thought that this means he’ll have to leave. Maybe he could convince Bruce that he could still be helpful? That he could still come over sometimes? Maybe.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Jason says, his eyebrows furrowed. Tim frowns and glances down at his body before looking back at Jason.
“You’re one to talk.” He says, crossing his arms before glancing at Bruce who was still worryingly silent. “Bruce?” Tim tries, stepping forward. He winces as Bruce barely flinches back. “Why’re they-” He starts, gesturing to them. Jason huffs.
“Because of you.” Jason says. Tim frowns.
“Me?” He asks. Why would they cry because of him? Why would Bruce look so…wrecked?
“Oh for the love of-” Jason yanks a phone out of his pocket and taps on it a few times before tossing it. Tim’s eyes widen as he lunges forward and catches the phone, frowning before he glances down at the screen. Reading the tweets, Tim shrugs.
“I still don’t understand.” He says, tossing the phone back. Jason’s jaw drops.
“You don’t- okay baby bird, who am I?” He asks. Tim raises an eyebrow.
“Um. Jason Todd? Robin? I don’t-”
“Right. And what happened to me?” Jason asks. Tim frowns, glancing at his mess of a mentor on the couch in front of him. “He’s obviously not responding to either of us, kid. Just answer me.” Jason says, sounding exhausted.
“You died.” Tim says. Jason nods.
“Yup. And according to those tweets, so did you.” Jason says. Tim blinks, trying to process what Jason was saying to him. And then it hit him.
“They think- it’s a program at school! Alfred signed my permission slip and everything! I didn’t- oh my god.” Tim rambles, his voice jumping an octave as he panics. He didn’t mean to upset Bruce and Dick! That wasn’t- he turns back to Jason. “Are you-”
“Yes. I’m really here. And definitely regretting my choices. Hey Dickface, stop the fucking cryfest and look at us.” Jason says, the frustration clear in his voice. Tim winces at his choice of words. Couldn’t he be a little gentler? Dick looked awful.
“Um, Dick? Can you, uh, could you please stop crying?” Tim asks awkwardly. Jason snorts, and Tim glares at him. “It’s not like your method worked much better.” He points out before sighing. “Why’re they ignoring us?” Jason shrugs.
“Beats me.” He says before moving around the couch and crouching right in front of Bruce. “Rise and shine, old man. Get outta that head of yours before you do something stupid.” Bruce blinks a few times before turning to Dick and pulling him into an awkward side hug. Tim raises an eyebrow.
“Do you think he hallucinates you? I had thought he was just accidentally calling me Jason. But if he’s actively hallucinated you for two years-” Tim starts, but stops at Jason’s glare. In his defense, it made the most sense. Why else would the two men just sit there and ignore everything they said or did? Did this mean Dick had hallucinated Jason too? But why would they think they were hallucinating Tim? Even if he was dead, why would they want to see him? To remember him like that? Jason huffs and reaches out, pinching Bruce and Dick. It immediately sets them into action. Both men leap up and refocus on Jason, as they both truly see him. Not just the idea of him.
“Jason?” Bruce breathes out, hand shaking as he reaches out.
“Yeah, old man.” Jason says. Before he can say anything else, Bruce is attached to him, holding him tightly. Dick lets out a shocked sound before leaping forward, joining in the group hug. Tim starts to slowly back out of the room. He really didn’t need to be here for that. He freezes as Jason’s gaze snaps to him. “Well what do you think you’re doing over there? Get your ass over here, Timbit.” Jason says. Bruce and Dick both spring back from Jason and snap their attention to him. Tim waves awkwardly.
“Uh, hi?” He says. He doesn’t have time to move before Bruce is right in front of him, holding his shoulders gently.
“Tim?” He says, voice breaking.
“Er, yeah? I uh, Alfred gave permission for- oomph.” He’s cut off as Bruce pulls him into a tight hug. Tim panics slightly as he feels the man shaking. Before Tim can ask Bruce if he’s alright, Dick has yanked Jason over and into the hug. Tim shoves down the confusion and tries to relax. Apparently, this is what happened when he tried to participate in school things that weren’t homework. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“My boys. My sons.” Bruce breathed out, his voice cracking. And oh- Tim was included in that.
---
Alfred takes in a breath before pushing the front door open. He had high hopes that his boys hadn’t caused too much damage to the house, but then again, he had also known Bruce since the man was an infant. Thus, he knew to keep an open mind about the possible damage. After all, his boys were all vigilantes, and life was rarely simple for them. Stepping into the foyer, Alfred frowns at the smell of baking cinnamon drifting throughout the Manor. While he knew that Masters Tim and Dick were more than capable of opening a can of cinnamon rolls and sticking them in the oven without causing a fire, the smell was off. It smelled much closer to his own recipe. Had his charges suddenly developed the ability to bake from scratch? Pushing forward, Alfred makes his way into the kitchen. He immediately freezes at the sight before him.
“Master Jason?” He breathes out, eyes wide. And Jason, much taller than he’d ever been before, turns to him with a familiar smile. Alfred's breathing quickens as he tries to understand the situation before him.
“Heya Alfie. Welcome home.” He says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck in a painfully familiar motion. Alfred quickly feels his own pulse and glances around at the others in the room.
“Did you seriously forget to call Alfred?” Master Dick asks, the frustration clear in his voice. Alfred glances at Bruce, who looked properly chastised.
“I- Tim said he knew about the program.” He tries to defend himself. Master Tim groans.
“But he didn’t know about Jason, B.” He points out. Alfred takes a step towards Jason, reaching up to push hair out of the boy’s face. “My dear boy, is that really you?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Jason nods, and Alfred doesn’t hesitate before pulling the boy into a hug. He wasn’t sure how this was related to the program that Tim was supposed to participate in, but he couldn’t stop the happiness filling his chest. His charges, his family , were all together. And safe.