Chapter Text
Tim’s relationship with family has always been a slightly confusing thing. Yes his parents were his family, but even before they died he also considered the various bats and birds to be as well.
His family tree had always been confusing, with various aunts and uncles and half-cousins all of which he agreed a long time ago to just refer to as auntie or uncle unless they were younger than him.
And now he knew that who he thought to be his parents weren’t actually.
Well they were in the ways that matter. They were parental figures in his life that loved him like parents should. But the point was that they weren’t his biological parents.
In hindsight it seems obvious that he wasn’t actually related to his mom or dad. They didn’t actually look much alike. Janet had blond hair, Jack had brown and Tim’s own hair was a lovely jet black.
However these small inconsistencies were easily brushed away. There was a large portion of the Drake family that did in fact have black hair. And any lapses in memory could be chalked up to memories slowly fading.
The truth is that Jack and Janet were the only parents he ever knew before he became Robin. Now that he knew that they weren’t the original set for his body… well could you blame him for being slightly interested in the people that created the body he lives in.
Especially when he happened to share said body with someone who remembered these people as if it was yesterday. Because to Ben his parent’s deaths didn’t actually feel that long ago, even if they were in fact over a decade ago.
It was funny. Tim had a few memories of Ben’s parents but even with them he never considered them to be his parents as well. The memories were there but it was like he could only watch them behind a sheer curtain. He felt none of the affection that Ben felt from them.
They weren’t his parents and would never be but Tim wanted to learn about them anyway. It would be nice to have a heads up in case any dangerous health issues run in the family.
Plus when he was grieving his parents it helped to talk about them. Maybe it would help Ben too, despite Ben’s own insistence that he was fine.
So that is why during one of their semi-regular “sleepovers” in the inner world, Tim decided to ask some questions. Nothing too invasive, or triggering. He did not need Ben flipping out on him.
The “sleepovers” (read shared bouts of insomnia) kept a light tone for a reason and Tim refused to be the one that broke it.
Besides, he already knew the more basic information. James Hailey 1974-2015, Ben’s dad. Died at 41 years old. English. He was an art teacher and in the years leading up to his death held a position at a school just outside of London.
His wife, Sarah Hailey née Warn, Ben’s mom. 1976-2015, died at 39 years of age. Dual nationality of French and English. She was a teacher of French and leading up to her death worked part-time at the same school as her husband.
Both of them were killed in an attack at an art gallery leaving their two children, Ben and Colette orphaned.
It felt wrong to leave these people as statistics and facts. They existed and they touched the life of someone he cared deeply about. Tim didn’t want them to be reduced to their deaths, even if he didn’t know them he knew that they deserved better than that.
And for that reason he decided that talking about them would be good for Ben.
That particular night neither of them could sleep, in the sense of what that word has come to mean for them.
Ben slept through the majority of the day and was close to acting like he just downed two pints of pure caffeine. Tim was just unable to sleep because of the thoughts racing around his head.
It was a relatively common occurrence for the both of them. And so the sleepovers became a thing.
Asking about Ben’s parents wouldn't have been too out of place anyway. They often talked about the past with each other as a way to get to know each other better.
That specific night they had both been talking about their school experiences. Ben’s clear hatred for his primary school seeping through while Tim shared his own anecdotes from his time at boarding school.
Funnily enough it was Ben who brought up his parents first.
“You know my dad went to a boarding school. He hated it and vowed to never send me or my sister to one.”
His gaze was distant as he sat on Tim’s bed, hugging a pillow that he stole close to himself. But deep down Tim was glad he didn’t have to introduce the topic. Asking someone about their dead parents from seemingly nowhere is not a good way to make friends.
He didn’t even need his mom’s gala etiquette lessons to tell him that one. However he knew that he still needed to choose his next words carefully.
“I didn’t know that. Though I do think the institution of boarding schools must have changed since then because I really enjoyed it.”
He tried to keep his voice neutral. No judgement, no over-interest. Just calm. He didn’t want Ben to recoil into himself. So maybe he was slightly surprised when he heard a small snort from the boy next to him.
“Yeah I kind of suspected that… he went to school ages ago now after all. Selfishly I’m still glad that we were never sent away for school, in hindsight it gave us more time together.”
Ben’s face was buried in his pillow and Tim couldn’t exactly see his expression but he also couldn’t hear any tears. That was enough of a sign to keep going in his quest.
“What were they like? You’re parents. Also you don’t have a family history of inherited illness do you?”
Slightly stunned Ben lifted his head from its resting place, wide eyes illuminated by the warm lamp light. For a while hanging out with Ben in the innerworld was a little bit freaky because if Tim zoned out too much he could almost think he was talking to himself.
Luckily he had gotten used to it pretty quickly. It was hard to think that the other person was him when his headmate spoke and acted differently to him.
“Umm… I don’t think there is. I wouldn’t really know, parents don’t talk to ten year olds about if their family has a history of cancer or not.”
Mentally Tim felt himself walk into a wall. He sometimes forgot that Ben skimped on the joys of being a teenager and got launched straight into the adult world; also known as hell.
He supposed he would just have to find that out the old fashioned way, reading through years of family medical records and looking for patterns.
Fortunately he was pulled from that train of thought by Ben trying to brush off the absurdity of the second question and answer the first.
“My parents… they were amazing. They used to drag me and my sister to these old stately homes, kinda like the manor but owned by some charity or something. We hated it because it was cold or too sunny but there was this one house I didn’t complain about visiting because they had horses.”
Sighing, a small smile appeared on Ben’s face and for a moment Tim thought that he was done but soon enough Ben had opened his mouth again,
“Of course we never actually saw the horses for more than five seconds because my sister hated them, but they were there.”
Tim often found it quite amusing how similar but different he could be from his headmate. They laugh and speak differently but occasionally there will be one shared interest.
“That’s typical. I remember once my parents took me to a horse show and they had an opportunity to feed the horses. We stayed for exactly six minutes before my mom was asking if we could go find our seats.”
Tim could feel a smile pulling at his lips from the memory. Despite his mom’s setbacks it was one of his favourite memories.
“I don’t even know why I like horses. I just have this stuffed animal of one and for some reason that was enough.”
Tim purposely leaves out the part about him still having the toy. As much as he loved it he knew that keeping these things past a certain age wasn’t exactly socially acceptable. So Sir Mike was having a nice retirement at the back of his closet.
“That’s bizarre, I also used to have a horse teddy. My parents bought it for me because they couldn’t afford riding lessons. His name was Cheval.”
Subconsciously, Tim made a mental note that Ben liked horses. It would at the very least give Bruce something else to chuck his money at. However more importantly:
“...You named it horse?”
The question came out through a fit of suppressed giggles. There was nothing wrong with the name of course. But it was rather obvious, was Ben a creatively challenged kid or something?
“Shut up I was like five when I got him. He was black with a little white spot on his arse and looked like the unnamed horse from some book. So my little five year old brain couldn’t think of anything better than horse.”
Okay so of all the reasons given that was actually rather sweet. But the description couldn’t quite leave Tim’s head. Every time he tried to picture Ben’s childhood toy he was met with the mental image of Sir Mike.
Each detail that his headmate described was reflected in the image of his childhood toy. But they couldn’t be the same.
Unless they were…?
Tim doesn’t actually ever remember receiving the toy, but he had always assumed that he had it since infancy. Lots of kids develop attachments to toys from an early age so it wasn’t too much of a leap.
Still he felt the need to bring it up.
“Ben, did Cheval look anything like this?”
As he spoke he willed the image of Sir Mike into existence. Soft fur brushing at his open palm until the full toy appeared before him.
At the sight of the toy Ben’s face twisted into a mix of wonder, nostalgia and confusion. Like he was stranded and caught a glimpse of a passing boat. A hope of returning to something he thought that he could never have again.
“Yes! How did ya know what he looked like?”
It was at this moment that Tim realised he backed himself into a corner of having to talk about his childhood treasure. He wasn’t embarrassed by Sir Mike. But he was also realistic in knowing that if anyone of his brothers found out he would at the very least be ridiculed.
A bashful blush set over his face. He knew that Ben wouldn’t care but he had been teased before because of Sir Mike by some kids at school. His mind knew to expect mocking even if that was illogical.
“Well, this is Sir Mike. He w-is my stuffie. But I don’t remember how I got him, and now I think Sir Mike and Cheval might be one in the same.”
It was plausible. If Ben decided to take the stuffed animal over from England when he was adopted then it makes sense why Tim would have it. What doesn’t make sense, at first glance, is the change in name.
However that can be explained away by the fact that they are ultimately two separate people. Their brain made them different nationalities, naming a children’s toy something different isn’t nearly as complicated.
The fire of teases never came. Instead Ben’s face lit up at the news that Cheval was okay and loved.
“Mate, that is so cool. I thought that Cheval might have been chucked away. I’m happy you still have him. Plus we can co-parent? Can you co-parent a teddy? Well we can both enjoy him.”
“Sure, just promise me not to tell anyone else about Sir Mike. The others would never let me live down the fact that I keep a stuffed animal in my nightstand.”
Unexpectedly Ben jumped up from his position against the wall and turned to face Tim, dramatically holding out his pinkie finger.
“Of course.”
Suddenly Tim could understand why Ben was so excited. It was nice to know that there was more connecting them than just the body they lived in. That before Tim even knew of Ben he carried a small part of his headmate around with him in the form of Sir Mike.
So repeating the pattern of the sacred promises he made all those years ago in middle school he held his pinkie out as well. The two of them shaking on the deal with the secrecy of the FBI.
“Though I just have to ask. Why did you name him Sir Mike?” Ben asked, voice dripping with curiosity and friendly judgement. Primarily judgement.
“You named him horse, might I remind you. You have no place to speak… Besides, Sir Mike was the name of a knight in an adventure book I read at the time.”