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Sebastian Ives- preferably referred to as Ives- met Timothy Drake in the 7th grade where Ives was a year younger than their peers and Tim was two years younger. They got shoved to the back because the teachers didn't want to have to keep choosing the answering hands of the two youngest kids in the grade when a question was asked. Tim was small, even for his age and his eyes never seemed to blink all that much and Ives was gangly and cut his hair in broom-like short bristles and always seemed to have a sore throat. "Hello. You are Sebastian," Tim greeted, quiet and quick while the teacher rattled off a particularly boring equation that Ives knew already from self-study.
"Ives," Ives muttered, "Sebastian is lame. And you're Tim?"
He refused to say Timothy. It made the poor kid sound like a 78 year old bank teller. Tim didn't bother to correct him and nodded slowly, swinging his tiny, skinny little legs. Ives reached into his backpack and pulled out a small tupperware of grapes. He hated grapes but his Mom loved them, especially the cotton candy grapes. He had a little blue plastic box full of them and Ives decided that even for an 11 year old, Tim was too little. He slid the box towards Tim, who contemplated the box with his very wide, arctic colored eyes. It was a nice color, Ives thought, it'd make a good paint color. Thin fingers darted out and closed around the lid, popped it off, and snatched a single grape, all without making the slighest sound. Tim slowly bit into the grape, then smiled tentatively. "Thank you," Tim whispered.
That was how he met Tim Drake. Tim was a little freak, Ives would muse to himself at age 17 as he prepped his boxes for his room in GCU's on-campus student housing units. He followed Ives around for a full week, unnoticed, photographing Ives doing things he was interested in so he could obsessively research articles on the topic just so he could talk to Ives better. He stalked Ives to his new job and to his cancer support group later, when they were 13 and 14 year olds freshmans in high school. He busted into Ives hospital room when the cancer got worse and Ives had to start going to school online. He lied at least twice to every adult he had ever talked to and Ives probably only knew he was lying because Tim would spin around and suggest they do what they promised not to do. Tim could also quote Star Wars and Star Trek off the top of his head, ate all the grapes Ives brought him because Tim was lowkey obsessed with them, always had a spare tube of cherry chapstick for Ives to borrow as needed, and once, when Bernard dared Ives to prank call Tim by saying he needed help burying a body, Tim showed up in the car of the one science teacher that everyone hated with shovels, gasoline, lighters, tarp, multiple solid alibis, and a plan to successfully dump the body and get away with murder. Tim Drake was ride or die as all hell and Ives didn't care that any girl he had tried to flirt with hit on Tim instead (he did when he was, like, 14 but 14 year old emotions are awful and cringy) and it went right over Tim's head because Ives was never gonna find someone like Tim anywhere else.
Even when Ives had to move to a different city, one with cleaner air and more sunlight and less chemicals in the air, he still talked to Tim the most. Ives ran the group's online W&W campaign from his in-home patient room with his trusty laptop and when the whole group, Bernard, Ariana, Callie, and Tim were together, it was a blast. But Ives and Tim always texted at random times throughout the day. Sometimes they'd have short pauses because they both got busy but they'd pick up again easily when they could. And Ives couldn't really relate to the others in his new cancer support group beyond, y'know, cancer. Ives was pasty enough that one kid meanly called him Slenderman and it made Ives' whole day instead of insulting him. His black parasol and umbrella were drab and he used either every day, he casually suggested hairspray and a lighter as a makeshift flamethrower for self-defense, his multitool pocket knife and brass knuckles were threats instead of the latest most popular accessories for casual wear on a day off, and his gas mask was freaky instead of something everyone in the city had in spares and decorated at their leisure. Gotham was a Hellhole, a cesspit, and it was probably cursed, like, multiple times. But damn if Ives didn't belong there.
Ives made his return to Gotham and got busy moving in and making sure he was all registered for his late start classes in the fall semester, acquiring shitty but comfy enough furniture that he only had to de-bug twice, and making sure he had at least two deadbolts on every door and window. GCU was, maybe surprisingly, a high quality school. Seriously, most of the super villains in the city had some type of PhD or medical liscence, sometimes both. This school seriously educated their people, even if some did turn out to be whack as fuck. Tim had been on radio silence since March after a brief text that his dad- the adoptive one, Bruce Wayne, not the dead one, Jack Drake- needed him overseas for a while and he'd be really, really busy. Ives, who'd long since become used to Tim's idiosyncracies, told him it was cool. He didn't hear from Tim after that, and the next time he sees Tim, it's on tv. Tim is dressed in a suit and his hair looks longer and suddenly, Tim's new haircut and professional business suit don't matter because as he's announcing the reinstatement of the Neon Knights program and its first long-running initiative called Project Rebirth, a blur cuts across the screen. Tim's body skids across the stage as he screams, and an error message suddenly blares as the blood starts to pool around his abdomen. Ives' phone starts ringing till it falls off the shitty crate he's using as a coffee table but Ives doesn't care. All he sees in his mind is 11 year old Tim Drake, too short and too skinny, juxtaposed at the side of Tim Wayne, 16 years old and maybe dead. Ives doesn't know.
Ives updates the news every ten seconds and doomscrolls until he literally gets sick in his bathroom. Seven hours later, the news breaks. Tim Wayne was shot, the laser bullet narrowly missing his spine, but he would live. The shooter had been apprehended, reportedly by a special unit of the GCPD, and was no longer a threat to the public. There's a blurry, faraway picture of Tim being rolled out of the hospital in a wheelchair by an employee or something, and Ives sags into his couch. Still, he doesn't hear from Tim until the last week of September, on a Tuesday afternoon. "Hey Ives," Tim greets, sounding guilty, "Sorry for being gone so long."
"I saw you get shot live on tv after presumably coming back from setting up some major stuff for your Project Rebirth thing," Ives said, "Dude, I could not give less of a shit about being on radio silence. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, no, I'm actually fine, more or less," Tim replied, "But I heard from Ari you're back in Gotham! You're in full remission?"
"Full remission," Ives confirmed, "No more chemo, I already grew some of my hair back, dude. And I'm starting late classes for GCU this fall. You still in high school or did you bail?"
"I took a proficiency test in February before I left," Tim admitted, "I'm done with high school. I'm taking, like, two gap years before I even consider going to GCU and if I do, I'm staying online. If I ever have to be in a classroom again, I might combust."
"Too busy changing the world," Ives teased.
"Lots of paperwork comes with it," Tim laughed, "So much paperwork."
"Well, now that I'm back, maybe I can tear you away from your beloved paperwork and we can hang out," Ives suggested, "With Callie, Bern, and Ari, maybe?"
"I can- oh boy. I'm free on Friday, but I kinda have some of my friends over all weekend but Friday is one of the only days until December I have time off," Tim mumbled.
"Uh, is it a lot of people," Ives asked.
"No, just three others. They're kinda my closest best friends outside of you," Tim responded.
"Then bring 'em," Ives told him, "The bigger the group, the less likely we'll get kidnapped anyways. Like what we learned in kindergarten."
"Really?" Ives could hear Tim's grin. "Okay, cool. I'll text Ari asking if she wants to hang out and my friends. You text Bernard and Callie. See you on Friday, Ives."
Ives wondered what Tim's friends were like.
There's something jarring about realizing how time has passed. He doesn't realize that it's Callie who slides up next to him outside the Pizza Bat until she says, "Long time no see, Ives."
Callie had dyed her hair bright orange just before he left Gotham and chopped it short to her jaw. Now it was dyed the colours of a sunset- orange, red, pink, purple, gold- and was half shaved on one side of her head and down to her shoulder on the other, and her glasses had been swapped to frameless half moons. "How'd your dad feel when you rocked up with that," Ives snorted.
Callie cackled, "He fainted, hand to God, fainted on his recliner. Conked out for a solid ten minutes and then when he woke up, he told me he liked my side shave."
"That meant he liked it," Ari clarified as she stepped up to Callie's side.
Ariana had gotten a little taller, but she hadn't changed much. Still beautiful, still grinning sweetly, and with her long, curly black hair twisted up in a messy bun. "I just got my hair back, I couldn't live with dying it," Ives joked.
"You'll be wanting to when you get more of it," Bernard said as way of greeting, and who'd have thought, he stopped slicking his hair back and let it sit untamed across his forehead.
"I don't exactly see you armed with hair dye, man," Ives pointed out.
"You know my parents would never let me," Bernard groans, "My mom's paranoid that hair dye will make me into the next Joker and my dad thinks I won't get a good job with blue streaks."
"Oh jeez, not the blue streaks," Callie drawls sarcastically, fluffing her half head of sunset hair.
"God forbid the blue streaks," Tim's voice joins in, making them all jump.
Tim had snuck up on them, and Ives can see how much he enjoyed the jolts they all gave. "Hi Tim," Ari is the first to greet Tim, going for a side hug.
"Hey," Tim laughs, "Guys, this is Conner, Bart, and Cassie."
They're all varying degrees of pretty that would have made 14 year old Ives want to curl up in a ball and melt into the floor out if sheer depression and insecurity. Currently, 17 year old Ives tries desperately not to laugh as Callie bluescreens so hard at Cassie's bared, muscular arms that the girl's glasses slide right off her face. Bernard is physically shaking and Ives immediately decides to cut that off with, "Hi, I'm Ives."
"Oh, shoot, Tim's told us 'bout you," Conner replies, "He said your pizza taste is trash but I'm not trusting a word he says and I never will."
"That's a lie," Tim immediately argues, "That's a big, fat lie. You're a lying liar who lies."
"Oh Jesus, Ma forgive for taking his name in vain, pot meet kettle," Conner huffs, "That is- Tim, do you even hear yourself?"
"Actually, I only ever hear you because you never shut the fuck up," Tim shoots back.
"Oh my- I never shut up. 'Oooh, look at me, I'm Tim, I know everything, blehbleh-"
"Kon, I'm gonna kick your fucking face again and I won't even feel bad. I'll feel great-"
"That is abuse, this is Conner abuse, you sadistic-"
The funniest part has to be that Conner, in front of God and everyone else, visibly sticks his hand in Tim's back pocket as they're arguing and Tim doesn't even care about it at all. "Don't mind them, they're always like this," Cassie reassures, "Or they're being Bart's two moms or they're being, like, disgustingly happy just being near each other and I wanna crack their heads open like coconuts. But this is normal."
"Threats of violence included," Ariana asks, laughing a little in confusion because this is a very different kind of Tim than the one they've usually dealt with.
Cassie nods. "Threats of violence included," she confirms.
By the time they slide into the crinkly, black plastic-y seats of the corner booth, Tim's wearing the leather jacket Conner walked in wearing, one that looks like it belongs to a character in Grease or The Outsiders. Tim's slightly leaning his cheek against Conner's arm, and Ives amusedly thinks that they fit together a bit like puzzle pieces. "How did you guys even meet," Bernard asks casually like Ives can't see the Superboy article he's pulled up on his phone.
"I met Tim on a school ski trip," Bart offers, "It was cold. I hated it. I was super grumpy and I met Tim on a lift and I was thinking about how much the snow sucked. Then I wandered off and I got lost. I fell off a cliff. Tim found me and helped me back to the lodge and I almost had hypothermia and so did he because Tim is a reptile and we drank hot cider. Now he's my best friend."
"I'm not a reptile, Barthollomew," Tim hisses.
"You fell off a cliff," Ariana repeats in disbelief, "Were you okay?"
Bart bobs his head distractedly as he fashions a small castle out of parmesean packets. Amazingly, it's actually working out pretty well. "Yeah, I fell in a big snow bank," Bart chirps as he manages to get a lone parmesean packet standing up vertically on its side.
"Bart's a tough lil monster, he's fine," Conner dismisses, "Bart, c'mere."
Bart leans completely over Tim as Conner pulls out a packet of striped pink and white hair ties and begins braiding the ginormous puff of coppery hair out of Bart's face. He's kinda good at it? "My ma's shoulders ain't what they used to be but she said it took her twenty years to grow her hair out and she's keepin' it, so my Pa 'n I braid her hair in the morning these days before we head out for the morning to take the cows to pasture and check the forage and fields, and when he's down in Smallville, my brother Clark helps her too," Conner explains helpfully as he finishes pulling Bart's hair away from potentially getting in his mouth.
"I can braid it but Kon's a mother hen," Bart tacks on as Cassie slingshots a small black scrunchie into Tim's eye.
"He is," Tim agrees as he picks up the scrunchie and starts tying his long hair back, "It pre-dated him even moving to Smallville."
"Oh shit, yeah, you guys met before the rest of us did," Cassie says, "Me and Tim didn't meet till after he met Bart and Kon. So my mom's a curator and archaeologist in Gateway City, right? So Tim decides to just, I dunno, take his comatose dad's car one day and drive down to Gateway to donate the stuff his mother left him in her will."
"I didn't want to give it to the Gotham City Mueseum of Arts because I actually wanted them to have a chance of not getting stolen," Tim interjects, "And my mother loved the Gateway City museum."
"Yeah, so he shows up with a bunch of shit in a car and he's like hey how do I get this stuff back to its orginal countries because I'm a minor and I can't do shit so my mom flips her shit because Tim is like, what, 14 at this point but my poor boy looked 12."
"Fuck you, Cassie," Tim mutters.
"You wish, Goblin Boy," Cassie replies merrily, "Anyways, she calls me up and is like, hey, come nerd out over some artefacts for a while and I'm like, absolutely, okay. Except she sent me off with Tim to nerd off with and long story short, we talked about this one Song dynasty porcelaine dish for, uh, two hours. Then he handed me a roll of Ritz crackers, said bye, and took off twenty miles over the speed limit in his car."
"That reads like an NPC player interaction," Callie comments.
Ives nods, agreeing, "That's completely in line with a typical Tim interaction."
They turn their heads to Conner, who grins at them. He has to tell his Tim Origin Story now.
Conner slides his arm around Tim's shoulders, announcing, "It was the greatest day of his life."
"It was not," Tim denies with a wide grin, "That is 100% just not true at all."
"It was the greatest day of Tim's life," Conner repeats, "And we should make an anniversary out of it. A holiday, even."
Tim snorts, "It was a horrible day for me. Horrible, awful, detestable, one might say."
"Lies," Conner dismisses, "I used to live in Hawai'i before I found out I had a brother by blood. Skipped around the islands depending on the foster home I was with. But with the placement I was with at the time, I had a part-time job helpin' this tour around the island. I don't remember why Tim was even in Hawai'i at the time, but he was there and was a part of this one tour. Last tour for my shift, and Tim is on it."
"Bruce sent me there for a W.E. thing. Wanted to test how I did with business travel," Tim added.
"Right, he's a fucking weirdo. Anyways," Conner continues on like he didn't call Bruce Wayne a 'fucking weirdo', "Tim starts lagging behind and I see him and I'm like, oh God, vampire boy visibly carrying SPF 150, what are you doing? This moron had a camera and was using half his film on some of the flowers."
"Those particular flowers had a root that contains a necessary toxin used to help make antibiotics," Tim huffed lightly.
"By the time he's done, we lost the whole damn tour. We're in the jungle, Tim has a camera, a waterbottle, and his dumb SPF," Conner remembers, "And honestly? We just started bickering. Cats 'n dogs, at one point I get so pissed I grab his ankle and hold him upside down."
Tim bursts out laughing. "I kicked him in the face," he cackles, "And he still held on."
"That was a tickle, Wonder," Conner mutters, "We, like, go off the trail and we're still arguing and there was this one lagoon with a waterfall and somehow I talked him into going cliff diving. He actually did it. I dunno why, that coulda been a plot to murder him."
"If you wanted to murder me, you could have swung me around while you were holding my ankle and snapped my neck, bashed my head on a rock, or something like that," Tim says honestly, "They have mango Zesti."
"And after all that, after we went cliff diving and everything, he left before I could even ask for his number or email or anythin'," Conner finishes, "I only saw him again because his dad- the Bruce one- is best friends with my older brother. Oh cool, look, they have grape too."
"Wait, so you guys didn't hate each other," Callie asks.
"Huh? Nah, I never clicked with someone before like I did with Tim," Conner replies distractedly as he squints at the Pizza Bat drinks mini menu.
"Mhm," Tim hums as he starts hunting for something on the Pizza Bat side salad mini menu, "Yeah, no, it was the best trip of my life."
For all the time that has passed, Ives is glad to see some things, or people, just don't change. Tim will always be a weirdo.
The Pizza Bat game area is the main attraction of the whole establishment, and it's huge. It's got blinking lights and tacky music and everything seems to have the slightest touch of grease on them. "Oh God, I am so fucked," Tim sighs as he pulls out a medical mask, sanitizing wipes, and medical grade rubber gloves.
"What's wrong," Ari worries because she's a nice girl and Ives would have just let Tim do as he pleased, unquestioned.
"So you know how I got shot with that stupid bullet," Tim reminds, "Well, it missed my spine. It did not miss my spleen. Did you know that thing actually does shit for your body? Anyways, I'm immunocompromised now and germs are the real, actual villains. Seriously, though, if the Clench ever comes around again I'm going dark because Round Number 3 is one I will lose."
"His scar looks cool though," Conners comments off-handedly, "Like a pirate's."
"Why did they aim for your stomach, anyways," Bart questions, "Like, come on, if you aim for the stomach, you aren't good at assassination. You're just dumb. I bet I could kill you better. I'd aim for the head because I'm not dumb."
"Just sneeze on him," Callie jokes, "That's enough now that he doesn't have a spleen."
"Holy shit, is that Whack-A-Joker," Bernard gasps, "Guys, they got Whack-A-Joker!"
Ives gets literally run over by Bart to get to the Harley Quinn-esque mallet although it's Cassie who ends up with the mallet in the end after a brief arm wrestle between her and Conner that leaves poor Callie looking very, very red. "Dude," Bernard hisses in his ear, "I'm pretty sure Conner is Superboy."
"Bern, man," Ives whispers, "No. No. Superboy is an alien who probably lives with Superman in his Fortress of Solitude, wherever it is. Conner's literally just a dude."
"No, no, hear me out," Bernard mutters as Cassie slams the mallet down on a Joker head, "Tim gets kidnapped and taken to Hawai'i. Local superhero Superboy rescues him, and when Superboy decides to make a civilian id, he goes to Bruce Wayne for help because Bruce Wayne would totally help Superboy, he helps fund the Justice League and he has the meta human charity. Tim and Conner meet again through this and they just end up being, like, actually connected."
"Why would Superboy want a civilian id," Ives points out.
"He wanted to see Tim again," Bernard replies easily.
"Why do you think Conner is Superboy," Ives sighs.
"Look at his piercing," Bernard points out as Cassie hands the mallet to Bart, "Gold ring, same side as Superboy. His undercut, long and curly on top but shaved close to his head at the sides and back. He's really built, and let's not forget the leather jacket. Sure Superboy's old one had the 'S' patch and the spikes on it, and this one is just a, like, S.E. Hinton-esque leather jacket. He looks like Superboy!"
Well, that's actually kinda true. But Conner might be a bit less tan than Superboy, and Ives knows those glasses Conner's wearing are prescription. The dude is probably just an unfortunate doppleganger. "To be fair, after Superboy showed up, the haircut became pretty popular," Ives says, "And a ton of dudes get piercings."
"That's true," Bernard agrees, "I wonder if Conner's ever won a Superboy lookalike competition."
"I wonder if he's ever lost a Superboy lookalike competition," Ives chuckles, and that was that for the matter, for now at least.
It's Tim who ends up winning the Whack-A-Joker game because his eye-movement tracking is actually insane. Ariana, though, smokes literally everyone at the Red Hood themed shooting gane where an assortment of caricatures of Scarecrow, Joker, The Penguin, and random creeps with outstretched grabby hands zip around. Bart wins Harley's DDR machine and holy shit, Bart, for how small he is and how big his feet are, is fast. "Okay, okay, Cissie taught me how to win air hockey, I've got this," Cassie giggles as she lays the puck out between her and Conner.
Callie makes a squeaky noise again. "Cissie cheats," Conner hollers as he desperately blocks the puck, "She taught you to cheat and I am not- No! Why'd you aim for my fingers-"
Neither of them won, considering Conner ended up just tackling Cassie across the air hockey table and Bart may or may not have taken the puck. "Greta would never do this to me," Tim mumbled.
Ives isn't surprised that they didn't get banned because unless you fire a weapon inside, he's pretty sure you can't get banned from Pizza Bat. "Do they actually make the pizzas shaped like bats," Bart asks, "Or do they cut a part out of the pizza in the shape of a bat? Either way, they're not maximizing their pizza surface area."
Bart takes his pizza very seriously apparently because he busts out the paper napkins and summons a sparkly pink gel pen from who knows where and starts doing actual math to calculate the loss of pizza potential and profit versus what could be made. "The pizzas are decorated, Bart," Tim says only after Bart has used up 6 paper napkins, "You better use those for something besides math."
"I'll eat them," Bart promises as he wads up the napkins and shoves them in his mouth before anybody can stop them.
"No," Callie and Ari yelp.
"Wha-," Bart hums as he swallows his actual, legit napkins, "It's fine."
"It's not the worst thing he's eaten," Cassie dismisses as the waiter sets down a tray of drinks, "Bart's eaten a lot of stuff that he's not supposed to."
"My teeth are sparkly," Bart comments happily, and yep, those are some literally sparkling teeth he's got.
"Hey, Tim," Conner says, "Look."
There's two straws in Conner's mango Zesti and Ives thinks for a horrible split second that he's gonna have to witness them share a soda with his own two bifocaled eyes before Conner shoves both straws into his mouth and starts chugging.
"You're gonna- oh God, you're gonna throw up, dumbass," Tim laughs.
Conner slams his fist against the table exactly 49.4 seconds later, according to Cassie's timer. "I did it," he coughs, "I- nope, I ain't gonna throw up, nope, not me."
Conner does not throw up, in spite of what anyone might think. Ives is a little impressed. Mango Zesti lowkey has a car battery-ish aftertaste. "Mango," Tim notes distastefully, "Actual mangoes? Delicious. Mango flavor Zesti? You're horrible."
"You know what's horrible? Your pizza," Conner says, "Nasty."
"I'm not hearing this from someone who likes green bean casserole," Tim replies as he picks up his personal vegan, no-cheese pizza with artichoke hearts and onions.
"Ma's green bean casserole is a gift," Conner huffs and bats Bart's sneaky hand away.
"It's mushy green beans, Kon, mushy green beans," Tim shudders, "You see these? They crunch, like veggies are supposed to. They don't squish like your goddamn green beans."
"I'll squish you," Conner mutters.
"And I'll take that, thanks," Bart cackles as he swipes three slices of pepperoni from Conner.
Ives watches on and guards his pizza.
They stay till closing time, around 8 o'clock because no semi-sane Gothamite stays out past then. Ives wins exactly two rounds of Cheese Vikings and a Poison Ivy themed game where he had to shoot at a fake seed till it popped open and a plastic flower sprouted out. His tickets get him a bat shaped key chain and a set of plastic vampire teeth. "I gotta be going soon," Ives yawns, "Bit of a drive back to the campus from here. You'll be alright?"
Tim nods sleepily. He's still huddled in the borrowed leather jacket that Ives is doubting Conner will be getting back. "Kon'll ge' me home," he slurs blearily, "He got a key. You be s'fe, Ives."
"Yeah, no problem. I'm dropping off Cal and Ari. Bern's got his own ride. It was good to see you, dude."
Tim nods, blinking fast. "I've got him," Conner whispers as he slings his arm around Tim, "It was nice to meet ya, man. Tim's talked about you. He said you were probably one of the most understandin' people he's ever met. You're good."
Conner is a bit taller than Cassie, who's about the same height as Ives, and his shoulders are double the size of Ives'. He could probably do some serious hurting with his fists if he wanted to. And Ives flicks his gaze to where Conner's fingers are gently playing with Tim's hair and stroking his thumb across Tim's cheekbone very softly. "You're good too," Ives decided, "I'm glad Tim's got you, and your other friends. Get him home safe."
Conner's mouth tilts up in a confident smirk. "Always will," he assures, hitching Tim around his back in a piggyback, "Drive safe."
Cassie and Bart chuck themselves into the back of Tim's car while Conner slides Tim into the passenger seat. Ives starts up his car, Callie snoozing in the passenger seat and mumbling about girls' muscular arms while Ari naps peacefully in the back. Conner gives him a jaunty salute as Tim's car pulls back and a hand reaches forward to slap a sticky gel bat against his nose. Conner gets the gel toy in between his teeth and Ives can hear a freaked out yelp through his slightly cracked open window. Ives chuckles softly. Tim picked weird ass friends. But he picked good ones.