Chapter Text
The Drake family is an ancient lineage. Not one of Gotham’s own, but the world’s. Generations of Drakes, exploring the world untethered, digging their greedy hands into dust and dirt to pull up ancient and forgotten arts. Poking and prodding at old magic they couldn’t or simply refused to understand. Weathered stone tablets with words carved in long forgotten tongues. Pottery with the handles missing, and painted on images of a civilisation’s lost culture. Shields so brown with rust and blood their true colour is lost to the sands they were pulled from.
But eventually this family needed a place to rest. A place to store their stolen prizes and lick their wounds before they went off to rob the graves of ancients once more. Disturbing the long gone and waking that which is worse. The things that go bump in the night that swirled in their peripherals. Animals with too human faces and the things in the corner of your room only your cats ever notice. All watching, waiting. Ready to sink their razored claws in supple flesh and rip apart bone with needled teeth.
The Drakes chose Gotham, to the creatures’ dismay. Gotham was an entity of its own, a growling, gnashing, beast of a city that warned off any ghoul that tried to enter. But Gotham was growing weak, and they could be patient. Licking their teeth and sharpening their claws until they could sink them into flesh. Biding their time with planning the death of these thieves, images of blood flowing across the ground that temporarily soothed their aching hatred.
Then Timothy was born. The blood of the Drakes raised in the belly of Gotham. A young boy left abandoned by his own from the tender age of 1. The caretakers he had were useless, and the child could only draw comfort from himself. Sitting in front of his window and watching the city across the river with longing eyes. A gaze far too old for a human so young. The things under the bed watched him grow, saw how his kind had failed him. And that burning vengeance cooled into icy sadness. Eyeless faces shedding tears for the boy’s fate.
Gotham latched onto the boy, it’s heart breaking for the boy that could be so much yet felt so little. It tried its hardest to help him, little things it had control over. On days the boy would run through the gardens the stones would sink beneath the surface and he would return home graze free. On days his family came home there would be clear skies and less traffic so he could see them that little bit longer. But each act was weakening it, and the creatures started to creep in. With nobody to save Gotham, it started to lose the ability to help its people.
But Gotham knew what was coming, and it could be patient.
Timothy was 3 when he met his first monstrosity.Gotham’s eyes closed during the sun’s peak. A small creature made entirely of shadow that swirled in the dark Gotham evening. Tim hadn’t noticed it at first, too distracted with the new camera he had received from his parents before they’d left that morning. The being moved, black ebbing and waning with what could be called breaths as Tim tripped over it. The little boy fell hard, camera sliding across the carpet as he lay face down in the expensive material. When he finally looked up it was beside his face, two pinpricks of white facing him like eyes.
Tim blinked at the creature, and the creature mimicked the movement. Black covering white before quickly revealing them again. And Tim smiled. Gently scooping the small black being into his palms and walking to his room, the camera left forgotten on the floor.
Tim sat cross legged on his bedroom carpet, the small black ball a few feet in front of him. Those white pinpricks looking(?) up at him. Every time he blinked the whites disappeared for a second and reappeared. As if copying his motions. Mimicking. The thing didn’t move from where Tim had placed it, so Tim spoke.
“H-Hello?” His voice was quiet and soft around the edges. Not yet used to pronouncing hard consonants. The creature did not speak but it tilted, white shifting diagonally like it was listening. Learning. Tim blinked and the shadows mimicked. The quiet hum of the things in the closet encouraged the small speck to do something, anything to ease the poor child’s fears and loneliness.
“I um… I’ve never seen an animaw like you befowe, are you fwiendly?” Tim tried again, voice getting slightly more confident as the being continued to stare at him. The whites shifted again. Righting themselves before the thing started to make sounds. Clicks and squeaks Tim had heard on one of his animal documentaries. It rolled closer to him, gently running into his outstretched hand. Tim smiled, the fuzzy and slightly cold feeling of the creature was the warmest touch he could remember receiving.
After that day Tim took the little ball with him everywhere, it became his one friend. The only thing he could talk to to stave off his loneliness. He named it Susu, feeling like he’d heard that name being used in some strange film about a girl and saving her family from turning into pigs. And there was a dragon in it so obviously he had to use it. Something about dust spirits.
Gotham had eyed the little demon that had attatched itself to it’s child. But the boy was so much happier so it let them be. Making sure to keep an eye on the both so that no harm would befall Tim. The three eyed crows called Tim’s praise from the branches by his window, telling him he only needed to wait. That he would not be alone for long. He had a family of bumps in the night and blinking stars in the sky that were counting the seconds till they could meet him. To scoop him up in their tentacles and shelter him in the warmth beneath their wings. Hide him from the world that had hurt him so deep so soon.
And that time came far too soon for anyone’s liking. Gotham had grown far too weak, the horrors of imagination had started to run rampant in its veins, ruining the streets and agitating its villains. Its chosen protector, the bat of the night, wasn’t ready to face them yet. Too immature, unprepared. Returning to his home with injuries that would have killed anyone without Gotham’s protection. It was one of these days, when Gotham was trying its best to keep the dark knight alive, that Tim joined the underworld.
He padded down the cashmere carpets on silent, bare feet. Eyes trailing across the new artefacts his parents had stopped home long enough to unload. Not even staying a full 24 hours before they had another flight to catch and more graves to rob. The shadows around Tim swirled angrily, seeing their heritage put on glass shelves like some sort of display.
A small clay bear made the corners whine, silent tears as it remembered its time as a young girl. Scared and alone.
A stone tablet had the windows rattling in unheard rage. The message of a mother’s plea to save her children, lost, just like the language it was written in.
A shattered blade had the pieces all laid in a line, making the wind whistle by in agony. A man remembering the feeling of it plunging into his chest as he begged them to let him go.
Tim passed the last shelf, a slight chill in his spine as he finally turned the corner and his eyes landed on the large patio doors. The day had been unusually warm for Gotham, the sun peeking through the clouds to light up the skyline in a way that made the place look almost eerie. His eyes landed on the pool, the clear water sparkling in the light. It reminded Tim of the refreshing feeling of a cold shower after getting all hot and sweaty from running in the garden. Slowly sliding the door open Tim made his way across varnished wood and cold stone until he stood beside the water.
Sitting down Tim carefully dipped a foot in.The icy chill of the water made Tim shiver. He pulled his jumper tighter around his shoulders before slowly dipping his other foot in. Goosebumps appeared in seconds, coating his skin and making him feel colder despite the hot Gotham sun. He sat there for a moment, feet splashing in the crystalline waters and letting himself get used to the feeling. Tim glanced into the depths, but the lighting made the bottom endless, melding with the afternoon shadows and consuming the little bit of light that was left. With a gulp, slowly, ever so slowly, Tim pushed himself into the pool.
The first thing he realised was the way the water seemed to rip all the warmth from his body. An involuntary gasp was all he could manage before he grabbed the edge. He quickly kicked with his legs, trying to get any warmth back into the limbs. But every movement felt like lead, the slow response causing his heart to flutter in fear. Tim tried to pull himself out, but the ledge was too high and he didn't have the strength in his arms. He watched them turning pale, then blue. His appendages no longer doing as he wanted. He scraped his hands against the stone walls helplessly, feeling himself slipping under as his muscles gave out. In a last attempt, Tim held his breath. Even till the end he never broke a rule. He never screamed for help, he was silent.
Chlorine burned his nose and black spots danced in his peripherals. He sunk further into the unforgiving depths of the pool. His mind was foggy. There was no pain for Tim. The icy water numbed his nerves enough that all that remained was the faint burning in his lungs. Their ache to simply open his mouth and breathe. Tim thrashed under the water, trying fruitlessly to make his way up, to inhale lungfuls of sweet oxygen. But his limbs were too numb. Unable to pull him from his watery grave.
Timothy Jackson Drake was 5 years, 3 months, 7 days, 3 hours and 28 minutes old when he died. Died all alone with his Parents in another country and his nanny napping on the couch.
Timothy Jackson Drake was 5 years, 3 months, 7 days, 4 hours and 58 minutes old when he woke up. Woke up with his chest heaving and his body curled up at the bottom of the pool.
The water was no longer ice against his skin, but a pleasant warmth he had only felt once. The kind boy at the circus who had lost everything. The once ominous shadows now surrounded him, brushing gently against his skin making ripples on the surface above. Tim reached out a hand and the shadows mimicked his movements, gently curling around his hands and tugging him away from his corner. They felt warm, like a gentle embrace of a parent carrying you to bed or a soothing hand on your back as you woke from a nightmare. And that was what this had to be. A nightmare.
The shadows held him tighter, tugging harder as they dragged his body further from his grave. Ever so gently the shadows cradled him like a newborn babe. Depositing him on the stone edge of the pool before disappearing back into the afternoon shade. Tim turned around to try reach them again, to feel that warmth he so desperately craved. But the door to the house opened and his nanny came out to check on him. She held his hand and led him inside, tutting all the time as she washed him and put him to bed.
Gotham wept at Tim’s demise. Having been unable to stop it. But it had been able to save him. To grant him the gifts of his hidden protectors. Gifts he could call when he needed, and eventually, wanted. The nanny didn’t notice the faint lines in Tim’s neck as she washed him off, getting him ready for bed. In the ocean behind the Drake manor, the horses made of seafoam let out a mighty roar. Waves crashed into the stony walls with fervour as they mourned the life of the boy. The boy who would sometimes sit by the water’s edge and talk to them. Who would run his hand across their silken hides and call them beautiful no matter their form. In return they had been able to save him. But Tim would never be the same again. For no longer was he a human of earth. He had been saved at the expense of joining his friends, truly becoming one with the shadows.
Tim watched his nanny flip the switch, watched her shut the door, and he was left in darkness. But it wasn't. The usual pitch black that had him hiding beneath his sheets was gone. Instead the nightmares stood at the edge of his bed, watching over him, offering their soothing hum. Tim didn’t need to ask to know who the shadows were. He could feel it, they were connected, deep in their souls. He was the shadows and the shadows he. Every move he made was mimicked, every silent request heeded. He could feel the shadows. Not just here in the manor but everywhere.
Down the street the Clarke family had just sat down for their dinner. Expensive china plates slathered in small showy foods as candles lit the table and deepened the shadows. Pompous words sent puffs of air through the room and made the flames dance. Shadows dancing in turn. They watched the family use their silvered cutlery to cut into crispy leaves. The large owl statue on the mantle saw all and told Tim such.
Across the waters in the Bowery, a man threw his beer bottle into the gloom. The glass slipped through the shade harmlessly before shattering against the bricks. Pale yellow liquid foaming into the wall and dripping down the wall. Staining the already red material even darker. The darkness stalked the man, eyeing his movements with caution. Ready to send out a feeling to Gotham’s protector should he try to harm its people. The wild look in the man’s eye had Tim shiver, but the shade promised his safety.
On the other side of Gotham, the city hall district, the mayor stood in his office and paced. His eyes jumped nervously from the clock on his wall to his door. A masked person melded from the corners and dropped a briefcase on his desk making the man jump. The mayor wiped his brow as he opened the case, sweaty hands running across the thick piles of cash before nodding to the person. But they were already gone. Tim could feel them running across roofs till they reached the graveyard. Slipping into the catacombs and joining the others wearing similar masks.
Tim could see, could FEEL, everything that happened in Gotham. Because now Tim was Gotham. Almost as if waiting for him to figure it out, a voice spoke to him from everywhere around him. Her voice was kind, loving, and had the heavy Bristol accent he did.
Tim, my chosen son. Tim, we are Gotham. And you shall help our future protectors. Our bats My Drake, my lovely Tim. Protect them, Protect us.
Tim smiled at the voice he heard. It felt so familiar, yet he had never heard it before. Something about the voice soothed a deep ache in his chest he had never noticed. She was silent now, but Tim could feel her through the earth, always in the shadows. Watching over him and ready to heed his every call. To wrap him in her embrace and protect him should he need it. To teach him the ways of the creatures and creepies and return her to her former glory.
Timothy Jackson Drake had been saved, chosen by Mother Gotham to continue living. And Mother Gotham had a plan for him. Something that involved giving Tim strange abilities. Tim had been chosen by the Deity that had been given life, given the name Gotham. and now Gotham would mother Timothy in the way he had always wanted.