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A small throat was cleared behind him. “Excuse me,” Dick looked down. “May I have a cake please?” It was Timothy Drake. His next door neighbor. Great. “Of course sir,” he deliberately kept the tray in the way of his face as he lowered it for the small child to reach up and politely take his dessert. “Good evening,” he said and pretended to amble away purposefully. Once on the other side of the room he glanced back. The kid was in a a chair now, gazing dejected and tired at the tablecloth before him as his parents started on new glasses of champagne. His hands were wrung in a napkin in his lap. Ouch… ow. Damnit! Maybe we were wrong. No. Maybe…Ow. Dicks chest hurt. He really was going to be sick at this rate. I just can’t. He breathed slowly. I don’t even have a reason. His vest was on the ground, tray perched on the edge of the bar. The bartender shot him an incredulous look. Moving, Dick shook out his hair, and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt. He passed old men, drug dealers, vacant eyed bodies...until a table stood before him. “Timothy right?” “Yes.” His dark hair fell away from his eyes as he looked up at Dick’s face. “You’re not a waiter anymore?” Timothy Drake asked. “No bud I’m not” “You were pretending?” “I suppose so… I work here sometimes” “You can stop whenever you want?” Dick shrugged, “I did today.” “Yeah,” Timothy hesitated, “oops! I mean YES. That makes sense.” The tiny kid sat straighter and wrung the napkin tighter. “You’re too rich to need to work here.” Dick blinked surprising himself with a grin. “Am I?” “Well Bruce Wayne is,” Timothy said decidedly. “Did he cut you off? Mother and Father did that with my uncle Carlisle because he is a ‘lazy, incompetent, b******’ and a ‘disgrace to the Drake name.’” Ouch. Kid hit it right on the head. Dick thought he was less transparent. Apparently not. “Well maybe,” Dick gave a theatrical pause, “but I can’t be a ‘disgrace to the Wayne name’ if it’s not actually mine.” “Oh. You’re right,” Timothy concluded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s good.”He yawned, “My uncle is in prison now.” Awesome… Dick looked around the room again. It was really late for a kid to be out. People were getting really drunk. “Hey Timothy…” “Tim.” Tim paused and then caught himself with wide eyes, glancing around. “Just Tim, please,” he corrected. “Tim,” Dick corrected softly. “Where did your mom and dad go? Aren’t you tired?” “I’m always tired,” he said brightly. “My Mother is making important new business connections and Father is ‘charming his rich and powerful’ friends” Okayyy. Dicks collection of red flags is growing at an alarming rate. “It’s very important, but mom says I’m less polite when I’m tired so I’m waiting here for them to be done.” “Oh,” Dick said. Ow, ow, ow, ouch, ow ow ow owwww. “Do you want to take a nap?” Dick offered weakly. “I can stand guard, just lay across the seats here.” Tim regarded him with critical eyes. “Are you a pedophile?” He asked. “I’m supposed to be really careful to avoid dangerous people who will take advantage of my age and venerability.” Dick blinked, suprised again. “Do you feel unsafe beside me Tim?” “No, but you’re still a stranger.” “That’s very wise to be careful, but you don’t need to be afraid of me. I promise I don’t hurt or take advantage of kids. Ever. No matter what.” Dick looked Tim in the eyes, “promise.” Tim stared right back. Reading his soul. “I have a…” Dick hesitated, feeling like he was about to be shot down “…little brother. If he were tired at a gala I would guard him so he could take a nap,” Tim narrowed his eyes, “oh and here!” Dick pulled out his wallet removing his drivers license and fingerprint card. “You can hold these. It’s my ID, and a card that confirms my identity that allows me to work with kids.” Tim yawned again. “You work with kids?” “Yeah, I teach gymnastics and tumbling here in town” Tim scooted his chair closer to Dick’s and hooked another with his feet. The child knelt on his chair and took Dick’s face between his miniature, and shockingly unsticky, palms. “I believe you. You look like you’re good.” He tilted his head forward and stared Dick down with his wide observant eyes. “If you do anything bad, my lawyers will make sure you never get another job or see another child for the rest of your miserable life.” The tiny kid in front of him smiled sweetly, “okay?” “Yeah” Dick nodded vigorously. “Okay.” Tim huffed tiredly, “Mom’s right, intimidation is exhausting.” Man this kid is cute. Tim shimmied down across the chairs. Watching Dick for approval. Dick patted his thigh invitingly. The boy laid his head down and drifted off quickly. …. A few uneventful hours later the Drakes stumbled back to their possessions only to find their seven year old napping against a stranger. No wait. Against Bruce Wayne’s son. “Oh my goodness Richard, I’m so sorry.” Janet grabbed her son’s wrist jerking him out of quiet dreams. Tim flinched on contact. “He is usually so much better behaved than this! I will make sure he understands how inappropriately he has acted tonight as soon as we get home.” She glared meaningfully at Tim. “No Mrs. Drake, really he’s fine! He was very polite,” Dick tried to keep his expression mild. “He’s delightful company, it’s just so late. I just didn’t want him to fall asleep on accident without a guardian.” Tim sniffled quietly as Jack Drake whispered harshly in his ear. He scrubbed his face with his jacket sleeve. Jack swatted his arm away from his face. Dicks heart lurched. “Well thank you for looking after our little trouble maker. Please, have a pleasant evening Richard.” They left. Tim glanced over his shoulder at his guard, pulled by his little arm toward the glass doors. His eyes were red. Dick felt all the emotions that he had carefully packaged and squashed tonight bubble up like vomit in his throat. The Drakes disappeared into the crowed and Dick felt his nose clog up and his face become hot and wet. Ow. Out. I need to get out of here now. When the tears faded and his head cleared he was crumpled beside his bed in his apartment. He messaged Batman on a burner. Confirmed suspicious activity by Jack and Janet Drake. May be linked to Buld smuggling rings. Investigate at will.-N He drifted, still in his work uniform. This isn’t it Tim, he thought. I promised to be your guard.
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Batman landed lightly on a window pane at the Drake Manor. The wind picked up around him, tossing tapping debris against quiet glass surfaces. The rolling leaves whimpered and hissed as his cape billowed against whitewashed walls. The windows on the Drake estate are a lot newer than those at home. It felt a little surreal to be Batman so close to his own home but out of the cave…he felt wrong footed. Something in the air. He hadn’t expected to find much when Nightwing messaged him last week. He knew Dick though. There had to be a reason. The thing was, this case has been very straight forward. And though the Drakes were guilty of tax fraud and they had a lot of artifacts coming in and out of their possession illegally, not much about them said ‘dangerous criminals.’ Janet was cunning and Jack snide and merciless but such traits are pretty typical Gothamite attributes. Bruce couldn’t help but berate himself a little for not taking sufficient counter measures against local threats before Nightwing identified an issue. It’s been hard to take criticism from Dick. Bruce knows he’s done a lot wrong, it seems that everyday his incompetence is reinforced. Bruce tried the window, it gave easily; not even locked. The Drake family was supposed to be out of town for the next three weeks. A dig in Denmark and a small museum exposition. The manor was meant to be empty. And locked up. He entered the spacious master bedroom pushing out the screen as he went. It was neat, all sharp angles and priceless antiques, but a throw blanked on top of the king bed was disheveled. There were some small socks discarded at the foot of the duvet. He moved systematically through the room. Not a lot to see. No journals, or electronics, bathroom drawers were mostly bare, no sanitary or intimacy products. It was like a doll house. There was a safe and a file cabinet in the closet that looked promising. He moved silently to the hall. This area was clean as well though the wall decor had a thin layer of dust. A doll house or a hotel. Staged. The office and any technology would likely be downstairs… Bruce swept toward the staircase. His boot hovered above the first step. There is a small dark stain in the runner. He knelt, it was wet and coagulated. Someone has been here. There had been no cars in the drive. He backtracked toward the rooms. As he approached the end of the hall he heard a tiny clank. He entered a bedroom and under a side door was a gleam of a dim light. Timothy Drake was not in Denmark nor was he in his bedroom but in a childishly decorated bathroom. Sea creatures danced on the blue walls and a fluffy orange robe hung on the towel rail. Everything was bathed in the soft yellow of the overhead light. The cheerful imagary was darkened by the scene of obvious suffering before him. The Drake’s only son was alone, hunched over the toilet whimpering sickly and spitting bile into the bowl. His body was lurching and shaking and his breathing was ragged. A slow trickle of blood leaked down his flushed face. He heaved again but he had apparently run out of vomit to surrender. Blood dripped and puddled on the seat and in his tshirt neckline. Timothy looked up. “Batman,” he gasped. The child reached his hands out, pleading to be comforted and dissolved into wretched all consuming sobs. Bruce is a father. He could see the little boy before him needs one. Thick guilt blocked his throat. He was next door. This whole time. He takes Timothy into his arms and gently lays the boy’s head against his breastplate. “Shhhhh. Timothy. Shhh shhh shhh.” Bruce patted his back gently and scooped the boy’s legs against his side. The little child’s watery eyes attempted to find his. “It’s okay now. You are safe.”Tim seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, twitching forcefully. Bruce readjusted his arms, lightening his grasp. “I’m here to help you Timothy.” “Just Tim.” He gasped, eyes widening. “Please.” His chest heaved. He gasped for breath, when he couldn’t find it he dissolved into even more clammy shrill sobs. He tried to pull away as he retched again. Bruce leaned him over so he could keep the mess out of Tim’s lap. This is not ideal. He pulled a glove off to feel Tim’s forehead and neck. They were warm, but not feverish. He grabbed the trash can beside the toilet and hefted the gasping child closer to his chest carrying them out toward the bed. He shushed Tim gently on the way over. He sat carefully arranging his load. Comforting had always been the most stressful part of parenting for him. Unfortunately it was typically what children needed the most. He removed the top half of his armor keeping a hand on Tim for as long as possible. He had quieted, the child’s body giving out. Tim stared with glassy eyes toward the open window, clinging to Bruce’s hand, trying to deepen his hiccuping breaths. He might have been sick for hours—for days and Bruce had only just now found him. The quiet was unsettling…this was clearly not a resolution of Tim’s distress. Nonetheless he took advantage of the moment of stillness to examine the wound above Tim’s eyebrow, which was still a bleeding mess. It wasn’t terrible but there would be a sizable bruise. He probably hit… or was his by a relatively blunt object. He would need to be checked for a concussion. So far on this ‘easy’ no-contact, incognito, exploit, Bruce had participated in a lot of noise. If no one had come by now, there was no one here or there was no one who wanted to be seen. He would have to go through the house’s security footage. He raised his hand to comm Alfred. “Agent A, send in Robin to sweep the house and then maintain a perimeter. If he finds anything, tell him not to engage.” “Understood.” “I will also be needing all house and property footage from the Drake’s system for the last twenty four hours.” “Sir.” Though he had not yet checked all the boxes, it didn’t seem like anything other than a child being a child had occurred in the house. That didn’t make sense though. A seven year old should have a round the clock nanny if left home alone. Tim’s extreme emotional state is also a distressing component. Bruce held a piece of gauze to the boy’s head. “Tim, can you hear me?” He was not responding well. His eyes were slow and out of focus and his breathing still irregular. Bruce could feel his heart racing. “Tim, you’re safe, you’re with the Batman.” He studied Tim’s face for any hint of awareness. “Everything is going to be alright now.” “Mr. Wayne?” “No buddy, Batman… remember?” Bruce would need to be careful associating his two sides with this one. “Do you know the Waynes?” The dark knight asked softly. He already knew that no. Tim didn’t. “Would you be comfortable there? I can take you to them.” Tim squeezed his eyes closed. “Hey kiddo, stay awake for me. I need to know what happened.” Tim bit his lip and shook his head, tossing off the gauze Bruce had been holding there. “What do you need buddy? How can I help you” There he went again, fighting himself. “Can I hug you?” Tim turned his face into Batman’s undersuit and redoubled his shaking. Bruce made the executive decision to hug him closer. He rested the boy’s head on his heart and leaned against the headboard. Tim fell asleep, his blood and drool soaking Bruce’s undershirt. The door creaked loudly. “Shit.” “Robin,”Bruce spoke lowly. “We talked about this” Robin cursed again muffled by the heavy teak wood door. “It’s not my fault these rich f****** don’t take better care of their doors.” Robin eased it open a few more inches. “And I was doing so g**d*** good. I swear B, I was quieter than you” Then he saw the kid and went pale. “Batman.”He whispered, “Oh my gosh.” Jason is still really new to the Robin thing. “Is he dead?” “No Robin. He will be okay.” He shifted back to his gruffest Batman voice trying to catch his partner’s eye. “Report, the house is empty?” “As far as I can tell,” Jason couldn’t draw his focus away from the still form on Bruce’s chest. “Hnnn.” “We will finish investigating after we get all civilians to a safe space.” Tim. Tim is the civilian. “Pick up my armor.” Jason trailed over and hefted the heavy plates by the straps and hooked them over his shoulder. Still while watching the boy. “We’re taking him to Bruce Wayne; the neighbor,” he tacked on just in case. Jason nodded a little too meaningfully and ran toward the master bedroom, presumably to take the window Bruce had entered through. He would go prep Alfred and put on pajamas. Bruce was feeling pretty proud of their unspoken procedures these days. Because of his sleeping cargo Batman took the stairs rather than the window and then walked the half mile through the woods back to his own property. ….. When Tim woke he was nestled against Bruce Wayne with an ice pack resting on his head and a trash can by his side. Early sunlight was peaking through the pearly curtain lining. “Tim,” Mr. Wayne’s deep voice rumbled beneath him. Tim jumped unprepared for the noise. His insides felt raw and unbalanced. “Hi” Tim said back. “How are you feeling?” Mr. Wayne asked. Already overwhelmed again, he didn’t dare say out loud. In a far room Tim heard a door slam into a wall. He twitched. Frantic footsteps came down the hall and something heavy and wooden fall over. A stern voice echoed behind them, and then his arms were full of Dick Grayson. “I’m so sorry,” Dick whispered like a prayer. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it…Tim I…” Tim pressed his face into the crook of Dicks neck. As Dick continued to mumble reassurances,“I’m so so sorry Tim,” turned into chants of “you are safe here with us,” and “we’re here with you,” and “it’s okay,” and “I promise.” Dick was crying suddenly, his breath hitched as he uttered one more firm blessing. “We will never leave you.” Really? That’s a big promise. Tim reached into his pajama pants pocket and produced a flat white card—his heart hammering. He offered it to the weeping teen. Dick’s fingerprint card. “I believe you.”