Work Text:
Tim seriously regretted coming to this event.
He was exhausted, barely keeping his eyes open and dying of boredom.
He would have been asleep half an hour into the event, had the chairs not been so insanely uncomfortable. And that was saying something, coming from the guy who had managed to fall asleep on a roller-coaster in the middle of a date and was even nowadays known to frequently take catnaps in whichever odd, relatively obscured place he could find.
Hey, he was a busy guy and it wasn’t as if nighttime vigilantism was conducive to a decent sleep schedule, alright. He took advantage of the scarce few free minutes in his day to manage to get at least a couple of power-naps.
But these damn modern-art chairs wouldn’t allow for it, so he was stuck in the waking world, looking at the most ridiculous fashion show he’d seen in his life.
Now, don’t get him wrong, he was all about supporting local businesses and new artists but this guy? This guy was no starving artist, he was some old-money family’s third eldest son, wasting money on things that could hardly be called art, much less fashion. And Timothy Drake knew fashion, he’d been raised to have an impeccable sense of style by his mother, as much he preferred wearing loose band-tees, his older brothers’ hoodies and basketball shorts at home.
Point was, he’d been required to attend in order to keep face, as the current CEO of WE and one of the most prominent faces of the Wayne family, as well as the last scion of the Drakes. Most of the family didn’t quite understand why exactly showing up to these… less than pleasant events was so important, but Tim had been practically weaned into Gotham high society since before he could walk.
So, he was stuck here, completely miserable.
He prayed to whichever deity was out there for something at least mildly entertaining to happen, resisting the urge to groan as yet another model in a cut up t-shirt and chinos walked across the podium.
The chinos weren’t even bought from a decent quality store.
There was a loud discordant sound across the sound system as a pale gaunt man in his thirties ripped out of the tacky cloth curtain at the back of the stage and started screaming and raving about people not appreciating his art. Must be the designer.
“I’LL MAKE YOU LOVE MY GENIUS!!” the guy shouted, voice cracking.
And then his eyes started glowing.
‘Ah.’ Tim thought, pressing the panic button on his wrist-watch. ‘This is what I get for asking for entertainment in Gotham.’
It was the last clear thought he had before his mind got blurry and was entirely taken over by nothing but the sheer genius of the collection in front of him. He really wanted to get some of those.
.../|\ ^._.^ /|\...
Jason groaned and rolled over the couch to stop the offending noise interrupting his reading. It was already rare he got any time to read books and today was one of those oh-so-precious days when he got to spend a whole afternoon cozy at his favourite safe-house, bent over a book with a warm mug of tea on the coffee-table.
He rejected the call without looking at the contact’s name. Whoever was calling him on his day off could damn well wait until he was in the mood.
The phone started ringing again.
This time he grabbed the device and lifted it to his ear, accepting the call.
“What do ya fuckers want now?!”
“Really, Jason?”
He felt the blood drain from his face and gulped. Shit. It was Barbie.
“Heeyyy, Barbie, what can I do for you?” he tried.
The voice on the other end of the line hummed consideringly.
“Better.” She decided. Jason breathed a sigh of relief. It did not pay to be on Oracle’s bad side. “I need you to go rescue Red Robin’s civilian ID from a crazed meta with mind-control abilities.”
Jason cursed, looking sadly at the book he was leaving behind. There went his chill afternoon.
“What’s the kid gotten himself into now?”
He pulled out his gear from the closet and started putting it on as he listened to Barbara’s debrief.
Only in Gotham did you get crazy rich-kid designers who had superpowers.
“I don’t understand why I’m the one ya called on to go save him. Where’s the rest of the bat infestation?”
“Everyone else is either busy or out of town right now. You weren’t.”
Excuse him, he’d been very busy - with a hot date with Virginia Wolf.
“I’m going, I’m going. ETA about 20 minutes.”
He swung to the building where Tim-tam’s tracker showed him to be and just walked in through the door to the rooftop garden. It had been left unlocked. What kind of moron left a rooftop door unlocked in the middle of Gotham? That was practically asking to be robbed by Catwoman or any of the other, much less iconic burglars. Or you ran the risk of a Bat paying you a visit.
Either way, very convenient for Jason.
“Where am I heading, O?” he asked, making his way down the stairway.
“Go down another couple of floors and head to the left of the elevator. You’ll see it.”
Ominous.
He did as told and entered the room, only to freeze at the entrance.
He slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to bend over laughing.
“O, you seein this?”
“Sure am.”
Because Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, youngest CEO of WE, was posing in front of a gangly vaguely-French looking man, dressed in a hooped skirt and a cropped-tuxedo, with a fedora perched on top of his head.
“You got that on tape?”
“Who do you think I am?” Barbara scoffed.
He grinned.
“Great.”
Once he knocked out the meta, with a single hit to the back of the head, the younger vigilante shook off the confusion, taking note of his clothing and surroundings before his gaze landed on Jason.
Jason grinned wider as his brother paled.
“Tell. No. One.” Tim, the poof fucker tried.
Jason looked him up and down.
“You’re never living this down.” He promised.
He laughed joyfully, running out of the room as his younger brother cursed after him.
So worth it.