Tim Drake oneshots

Tim's Sunday Criminal Family Dinner! (3)

The kidnapping was almost routine for Tim at this point. He barely even flinched when he felt the needle prick his neck, and the world around him blurred into darkness. When he came to, he was tied to a chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse—again. The space was dimly lit, with cracked concrete floors and rusted beams that stretched up toward the high ceiling. It was your classic Gotham kidnapping scenario, minus the usual warm welcome he’d gotten used to.

He glanced around, trying to figure out who had nabbed him this time. The sound of a heavy metal door creaking open drew his attention, and then, stepping into the light with that familiar swagger, came Red Hood.

“Seriously?” Tim groaned. “You know I have better things to do on a Sunday, right?”

Jason’s masked face turned toward him, and though the helmet hid his expression, Tim could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Oh, I’m aware, Replacement. But I figured this would be more fun than your usual ‘family dinner,’" Jason said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Besides, I thought it might get Bruce’s attention if his precious little bird went missing for a while.”

Tim rolled his eyes. "You really think this is going to make him mad? He barely notices when I’m gone."

Jason was about to retort when a gruff voice interrupted. “What the hell are you doing with the kid, Red Hood?”

Tim’s heart leapt a little. It was Big Sal, emerging from the shadows with a scowl that could rival Bruce’s. Right behind him was Lenny G, his usual cheerful expression now twisted into a frown. More familiar faces emerged from the darkness—Rico, the tattooed thug who had recently dubbed himself Tim’s "older brother," and a few others who were part of his extended “family.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Jason muttered as he recognized the men. “These are your—”

“Family,” Tim finished, grinning smugly from his chair. “Uncles, actually. And brothers. You’re interrupting our weekly dinner.”

“What kind of messed up Stockholm Syndrome—” Jason began, but Big Sal cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

"Let the kid go, Hood," Big Sal said, his voice low and threatening. "We don’t take kindly to anyone messin’ with our boy."

Jason's hands twitched, his fingers hovering near his guns, but he didn’t draw them. "Your boy?" he repeated incredulously. "He’s Tim freakin' Drake—do you even know who he is?"

Lenny G folded his arms across his chest, glaring daggers at Jason. “Don’t care if he’s the Prince of Gotham,” he spat. “He’s been part of our family a lot longer than you have.”

The other thugs grumbled in agreement. Rico stepped forward, looking about two seconds away from throwing a punch. “Look, Red Hood, I don’t know what beef you have with the Bat, but we don’t take too kindly to you treating Tim like some kind of pawn in your little game. He’s one of us.”

The sheer absurdity of it seemed to catch Jason off guard. He tilted his head, as if trying to process the fact that his former little brother was apparently on friendly terms with a group of Gotham’s low-level criminals. “Are you actually serious?” he asked, looking from Tim to the motley crew of thugs surrounding him.

Tim just shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Sunday dinners get a little lively sometimes,” he said nonchalantly.

Jason shook his head in disbelief, then turned to Big Sal. “Fine, I’ll let him go. But only because I’m curious—how exactly did this start?”

Sal exchanged a look with Lenny G before replying, "Kid’s been getting picked up by one crew or another since he was knee-high. We took a shine to him, figured he needed looking after." He shot a pointed glance at Jason. “Not that his other ‘family’ was doing much in that regard.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. "And you never thought to tell Batman about this?"

“Why would we?” Lenny G interjected. “We’re not snitches. Besides, the kid’s safe with us, and we make sure he eats.” He eyed Jason up and down. “More than I can say for some vigilantes.”

Jason gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Tim Drake, adopted by Gotham’s underworld.” He took a step toward Tim, pulling out a knife—only to cut the ropes binding him.

Tim stood up, rubbing his wrists. “Thanks,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just been tied to a chair. He glanced at his “family.” “So… are we still on for dinner?”

Big Sal gave a gruff nod. “Damn right, we are. Just because Red Hood tried to crash the party doesn’t mean we’re letting a perfectly good meal go to waste.”

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation as Tim strolled over to the dining area, where a large, rickety table was already set up with mismatched plates and bowls of food.

“You’re coming too,” Tim called over his shoulder.

Jason blinked. “What?”

Tim glanced back, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. “It’s family dinner. And you’re technically family, right?”

Jason hesitated, glancing at the thugs who were now pulling up chairs and serving portions of food. He sighed, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he muttered, walking over to join the oddest “family” gathering he’d ever seen.

As he sat down, Big Sal slapped him on the back with enough force to make him choke on a breath. “There ya go, Hood! Now, try the lasagna—it’s the kid’s favorite.”

Jason glanced over at Tim, who gave him a small, genuine smile as if to say, Welcome to the family.

And for the first time in years, Jason wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. But as the conversation continued and the meal carried on, he figured that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the worst kind of family dinner after all.

This is their  tradition.