Chapter Text
“I still miss you
There's no goin' home
There's no goin' home
With a name like mine
I still dream of you
But everyone knows
Yeah everyone knows
If you can, let it go”
Ghost Towns
As a child, Tim sat curled up in his bed, legs drawn to his chest, the faint glow of the Gotham skyline seeping through the window. The world outside was restless, but inside the Drake household, it was quiet—too quiet. The silence stretched between the walls like something alive, pressing down on him.
He turned an old book over in his hands, fingers tracing the worn cover. It was one of his mother’s—filled with stories, myths, and folklore. A world far richer than the one he lived in. His mother used to read to him, before things started to become complicated. One night, before she had withdrawn entirely, she had told him a story about hungry ghosts.
“They are spirits with insatiable hunger,” she murmured in korean, their secret language from father, voice tinged with something between sorrow and understanding. “No matter how much they eat, they can never be full. They are bound by their yearning, unable to rest.”
Tim had listened, wide-eyed, absorbing every word.
“What do they want?” he had asked, his small hands gripping the edge of her sleeve.
“Everything,” she had sighed. “Desire, revenge, love, warmth, connection . But they can never hold it for long, their hunger can never be sated.”
He had been too young to understand the weight in her voice, the way her eyes had turned distant. But now, curled in his bed, he thought about those ghosts. Hollow. Hungry. Forever reaching for something just out of grasp.
Maybe he was one, too.
Tim didn’t remember a time when he wasn’t hungry. Not for food, but for something else . For warmth, for laughter that didn’t echo back in an empty house. For someone to look at him and see him. Not as an afterthought. Not as a quiet shadow in the background.
His mother had loved him, in her own way. He knew that. There had been moments of softness, touches of warmth in between the cold. But it was fleeting, slipping through his fingers like sand. His father? His father was a different kind of ghost—there, but never present. His words were sharp-edged and distant, his expectations a weight Tim was never sure how to carry.
And then there was the city. The way it breathed beneath his feet. The way it whispered to him. Tim had wandered Gotham’s streets as a child, slipping through shadows, offering small kindnesses where he could. A stolen meal left beside a sleeping kid in Crime Alley. A whispered warning to an old man before a gang fight broke out. The city had whispered back, and in time, people had begun to murmur about the little ghost that roamed the alleyways.
A child who appeared and disappeared. A spirit with sad eyes, offering quiet salvation in the night.
Tim had never corrected them.
It was easier, maybe, to be something not quite real. A ghost didn’t have to explain why he was wandering alone at midnight.
A ghost didn’t have to justify why no one came looking for him.
_______________________________________________________________
Tim remembered the first time he spoke to Bruce Wayne. He was only four, standing outside a gala, watching as Gotham’s elite waltzed inside. He hadn’t meant to be seen, but Bruce had turned, eyes locking onto him with an intensity that stole his breath. It was not common for someone to see him.
(Maybe, right there, was the moment that he started yearning for Bruce’s love as his father.).
“What are you doing out here alone, little one?” Bruce had asked gently.
Tim had hesitated before answering. “Waiting.”
“For what?”
Tim hadn’t known then, but looking back, he thought maybe he had been waiting for his parents to notice that they had forgotten him there. Or maybe it was for a place where he belonged. But belonging was never simple.
_______________________________________________________________
Years later, when he found the Bats, when he finally stepped into the light, he thought he had escaped hunger. Maybe he had found a place where he could belong. But even then, he had been an observer first, standing just outside the warmth of the fire, waiting. Always waiting.
And yet, despite it all, he loved them. He loved them fiercely, desperately. So he stayed, even when it hurt. He did what he always did—he waited. For them to notice. For them to love him back.
He waited.
Until he couldn’t wait anymore.
_______________________________________________________________
Tim was sixteen when he realized Gotham would kill him—not in battle, not as Red Robin, but as Tim Drake-Wayne. It would let him wither away, ignored, forgotten.
For months, his family barely spoke to him outside of the mask. Bruce was angry and had started to ignore him completely, as he often has done to show his displeasure. Dick and he had fought, and the rift between them only deepened. Damian didn’t know how to mend their relationship, and Tim was too exhausted to try. Jason had abandoned him when he needed him the most, Stephanie… they had chosen separate paths, and Cass had been gone for a long time.
Tim was alone. More than he had ever been, because now he knew what he had lost.
Then Ra’s took him.
It wasn’t the first time Tim had been kidnapped. For almost a month, he was trapped, enduring Ra’s’s mind games, subtle threats, and attempts to mold him into something else. He endured. He tried to not show how scared he was, while he waited for someone to come to his rescue.
No one noticed. No one searched. No one came.
Talia was the one who helped him escape before Ra’s killed him to dump him in lazarus water. She never explained why. Weak, injured, and barely hanging on, Tim made his way back to Gotham, back to the cave.
And nobody was worried.
They weren’t relieved to see him. They weren’t shocked at his state. Bruce barely acknowledged him. He was just there , like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t been missing for weeks . The only person who had been searching for him was Cass.
Cass didn’t say anything when she found him, still dirty and hurt, staring at the wall in his room in silent devastation, the realization sinking in that he truly had no place here. That Gotham, the city he loved, the city he bled for, would be his grave.
She hugged him from behind, watching sadly as he started to tremble in her arms. “Little brother, come with me?”
Cass was always there for him when she could. Without her, he would be gone.
Tim didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Before leaving, Tim tied up his loose ends. He formally resigned from Wayne Enterprises, leaving Lucius Fox as the sole authority over his shares. He visited Barbara, Ives, and Bernard, keeping his goodbyes brief but meaningful. He walked through Koreatown to see Granny, making sure she would be cared for. In Crime Alley, he spoke to the kids he used to help, ensuring Jason would pick up where he left off.
His cases, he sent to Jason and Stephanie. His patrol routes, he reassigned to Barbara, knowing she’d distribute them between Steph, Damian, and Jason. He stood outside Damian’s art exhibition, watching from the shadows, unaware that Damian had seen him leave.
And finally, he went to his parents’ grave. There, Alfred was waiting.
“You are leaving.” It wasn’t a question.
Tim swallowed. “Yeah.”
Alfred sighed, sadness in his eyes. “You will call?”
Tim’s voice was small. “Yeah.”
Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, my boy. But… I am proud of you. For knowing when to walk away.”
Tim nodded, blinking back tears. Alfred let him go, watching him disappear into the night. He didn’t say a word when Bruce finally realized Tim was gone.
Young Justice helped him pack. Bart and Kon cracked jokes to make the silence easier, but their hands were tense as they folded his clothes. They were out the world when Tim was at Ra’s hands again. They should not have to feel guilty about it, but they did.
Cass stood watch, silent but steady. Tim didn’t say goodbye to the Waynes. He didn’t owe them that.
The Batfamily didn’t notice he was gone until Damian asked about him weeks later.
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Settling with Cass was strange at first. Tim had spent so long being independent, fighting alone, that he didn’t know how to let someone take care of him. But Cass never forced it. She simply existed beside him, making space for him to heal at his own pace.
For the first time in a long while, Tim wasn’t Red Robin or a Wayne. Maybe neither Timothy Drake. He was just Tae-min. As his mother once wanted.
“I think I want another family name.” He confesses one night, as they lay together on the rooftop os their temporary home. Cass is a steady presence, as always. Nowadays they look even more like twins, despite their age difference. “Maybe… I could have yours?”
She took a long time to answer, making him nervous. Her hand took his to make him know that she was not angry with the request, but trying to find her words.
“Little brother. My family.” She reassured. “But… Cain is pain. For me it is a medal. I survived it. You…” She looked at him with love in her eyes, and some sadness. “Deserved something just yours. For once. New and yours.”
He understood what she was trying to say. She was making sure he knew that it was not a rejection.
All his life he lived as a legacy from others. He was a Drake for Jack and his expectations, with the price to not becoming Tae-min. Later he was Robin and Red Robin, two legacies of pain for him. And Wayne, even if he was not one now. Maybe he never was.
“I would like that.” He whispered.
He was Tae-min, for his mother. Her precious and strong jade . He was his mother's treasure at the same time that she let him know that he needed to endure, because maybe she knew he would suffer in this world. It was something for the past, something to mourn the love they had for each other, even if it only hurt them. “But… I want you to choose one for me.”
Tae-min was the love he could not have.
“Of course, little brother.” Cass smiled sweetly.
Weeks later, as they were ready to travel, Cass took his hand and gave him a card.
Shinryong (신룡, 新龍)
A new dragon. A dragon of rebirth and transformation. His new beginning for something that once hurt.
“ Tae-min Shinryong.” He whispered, his eyes shining with tears. "A great and steadfast new dragon."
Cass smiled. “Something just yours.”
His surname was the love he knew he would have forever.
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They traveled through Asia, taking time to breathe. Cass brought him to Taiwan, where she had once found solace, and Tae-min learned to enjoy the quiet moments—mornings spent drinking tea, walks through markets, and evenings watching the city lights. He wasn’t healed, not yet, but he was learning.
On their way through China, they encountered Shiva.
Tae-min tensed at first, unsure of her intentions. But Shiva merely observed him, her gaze softer than he had ever seen it. She followed them for sometime until he reached out, because he knew Cass wouldn’t. She made him know that she knew about his time with Ra’s, and she was glad that he got away. They had a difficult relationship. Not as complicated as she had with Cass.
He once was her precious student. Their time together was a memory that Tae-min was fond of. Now he could say that it was something that made him think of what he could have had with his mother.
“I received your presents.” He confesses. “I have it all with me.”
She did not respond, both of them could see the dagger on her waist. Something that Tae-min had sent to her years before.
“You remind me of Cassandra,” she finally said. “And I find myself caring for you the same.”
Tae-min didn’t know how to respond to that, but something in his chest ached at the words.
Cass and her mother didn’t talk as they parted ways.
Maybe they didn’t need words.
_______________________________________________________________
Eventually, the call of vigilantism returned. He couldn’t stop—not completely. He began crafting a new identity, one that belonged to him and not the Bat. Something freer. Eventually he settle for Gwidam (귀담, 鬼談), the Ghost Whisper. Something to match Orphan as an underground vigilante, at the same time something for his roots, Korean and Gothamite.
He once was a ghost in Gotham. As a kid and as a vigilante, he was known for hearing Gotham's suffering and acting on it. This name reflects his role as someone who listens to the city's lost voices and fights for them. Afterwall, he knew what it felt like not to be heard.
Eventually, his journey led him to Korea.
Tae-min’s mother had rarely spoken of her past, but he knew enough to find his way to her hometown. He visited his grandparents' graves, their names etched in stone, and introduced himself with the Korean name his mother had chosen for him and the surname that was a gift from his sister.
People who had known his mother as a child shared stories, memories of a girl who had once laughed despite the hardships. He mourned her, not just for her death but for the suffering they had both endured at the hands of his father.
Standing at her parents grave that she could never visit, he whispered, "You didn’t deserved it. Neither did I."
After so long, he let himself believe it.