Chapter Text
Tim wakes with a start. He'd been having a wonderful deep and dreamless sleep after a night of rough patrol. No major injuries, just sore muscles and bruises. The night had been dreadfully long. It always is when Gotham decides not to sleep. Needless to say, Tim is a bit disoriented on what could have woken him. He stays still, regulating his breathing, and listening. Unfortunately, his back is to his door, so all he can see is the wall and a bit of the window.
Someone is in his room. They're rummaging through his dresser, uncaring of the noise they are making.
Slowly, Tim rolls over to check. It's dark but he left his curtains open so the half moon is providing some light.
A figure is raiding his dresser and stuffing clothes into a suitcase.
“Timothy?”
Tim can only blink as his mom’s voice filters through his ears. He must be dreaming.
“Timothy, get up.” It's a sharp order, breaking the silence like a knife.
Tim sits up, carefully telegraphing his movements. He isn't sure why his mother is back early and packing his bags. His mind tries to rationalize what's in front of him, but he can't find anything solid. Is he being kicked out?
Janet finishes packing, zipping the suitcase closed. She sighs, a harsh sound to Tim's sleep-addled brain, and reaches out to grab him. She all but scruffs him by his t-shirt's collar and drags him downstairs.
Tim hopelessly follows, stumbling as he goes. He should have grabbed his phone or the extra bo staff he keeps under his pillow. Maybe the watch Bruce gave him that serves as a panic button. His mom didn't give him much of a chance once she grabbed him. He should have been quicker on the uptake.
A car is waiting out front. Jack is in the driver's seat. The trunk is open.
Janet shoves Tim towards the door as she drags his suitcase to the trunk and slams it closed. Tim doesn't wait and scrambles into the back seat.
“What's going on?”
“Hush.” Jack doesn't turn to look at his son as he peels out of the driveway.
“Trust us, Timothy.” Janet keeps her eyes forward, nails tapping against her thigh.
Tim bites his tongue and watches as they enter Gotham from the airport. It's not the most direct route to take. He watches as lights flicker on. People are getting ready to go to work.
Eventually, Jack slows the car. He stops in front of a dingy hotel in Chinatown.
“Timothy, do as I say,” Janet warns.
Jack and Janet have a silent exchange before Janet steps from the car and motions for Tim to follow. He does as he's told.
As they walk inside, Tim makes note of the lack of security. No cameras inside or outside. There's two men playing cards at a table in the corner. They're armed and not bothering to hide it.
“We have a booking for room three.” Janet slides something across the red countertop. “My husband is parking the car.”
The receptionist drags the card across the counter with one long fingernail. She hums, unimpressed, before the card slips out of view. A single key slides across the counter.
Janet says nothing. She grabs Tim by his shoulder, nails digging in, and marches him over to the stairs. It's a short trek up and down a tiny hallway to room three.
The room is nothing to sneeze at. Golden wallpaper that matches the hallway, red carpet, and one queen sized bed.
Janet shoves Tim towards the bed as she heads to the window. A quick peek then she firmly closes the curtains.
“Sit down,” she orders as she keeps vigil by the door.
Tim reluctantly does as told. The mattress is lumpy and the thin sheets don't help. Even the pillows look flat.
He had time to properly wake up in the car. At first, he was confused, scared even. He managed to compartmentalize before they passed Coventry. No sign of being followed. Both of his parents appear skittish but are doing their best to hide it. The car isn't the one they usually drive. It's an older model sedan with cloth seating his mom would have never allowed. The hotel is some kind of front for mafia or gangs. A shady establishment but they're a dime a dozen in Gotham and nothing about this place screams familiar.
Janet is in her business suit. A cream color that she often takes for trips to South America. Her jewelry is gone except her wedding ring.
Tim's thoughts are broken at a soft knock at the door.
Janet uses the peep hole before shoving the door open with more force than necessary.
Jack joins them and Tim sees his dad is also in business attire more fit for warmer climates. His dad glances at him before inspecting the room. He curls his lip at the sight but says nothing.
“It'll be okay, sport,” Jack fakes a smile. He walks over and cups Tim's cheek. “Just wait and see.”
Tim tilts his face out of Jack's light hold. His father frowns but moves away.
The only person Tim ever allows to call him ‘sport’ is Bruce. Jack isn't around much to use the nickname and when he is, he's never affectionate to use it.
Janet only sighs from where she leans against the wall.
“Can I know what's going on now?” Tim grips the sheets to keep from twitching. He's nervous and when he's nervous, something needs to be done.
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart.” Janet waves a dismissive hand. “Go sit down over there. I need to rest.”
Tim takes the chair and watches his parents fall into the bed. They're clearly exhausted from something. Running from the law? He keeps quiet even though he's frustrated. No luggage was brought up so he can't check if his parents have any phones or laptops he can use.
Once both of them are properly under, Tim heads for the window and peeks out. The view is nothing spectacular. A dingy alleyway in the shape of a T and their room is right at the junction. He can see the street. The cars that pass by. The camera that sits at the corner store, turned away to watch the sidewalk.
The window is sturdy but it's locked from the inside. A simple push of his finger and it unlocks. Maybe a little elbow grease to get it up. No screen. He doesn't have any oil to keep it from squeaking, but his parents-
Wait. His parents.
TIm steps away from the window. Without thought, he ensures the curtains are tightly closed.
He's trying to escape from his own parents…
Tim heads for the chair in the corner and curls up. He's acting like he's been kidnapped. He's just with his parents. Yet, his eyes keep drifting to that camera he knows is past the curtains.
He barely has a chance to doze before there is a knock at the door and his parents are up. He doesn't hear much of the whispered conversation between his dad and the stranger. It's not even a minute later that the door is shut and locked.
“Thursday. Rush hour.”
Janet nods as if expecting the news.
“What's Thursday?”
It's Monday morning. He's going to be late for school. He's not going to school.
“Hush, Timothy,” she dismisses him with a wave of her hand.
“Don't worry about it, sport.”
Tim prickles at the nickname, but says nothing. His parents return to bed. It's not long for them to be out like a light. He turns to the television in the room. There's no remote as far as he can tell with a quick glance. He searches the edges with his hands before he finds the power button. Thankfully, it turns on to a guide. He finds the mute button before flipping over to a news station. It's far too early for any real news. Instead, it's showing older videos from the day, mostly community interviews. He gets the subtitles on and sits back down to mindlessly watch.
It must be an hour later when the program cuts to black. Tim doesn't move, strangely content in his cramped position. Then, the studio is back with a woman standing in front of a burning home. He sits up.
It's a large home, with a clear front yard and a gentle slope. Firefighters are working hard to get the flames under control. The reporter has managed to get situated in a spot where the trucks don't block the view.
The words “Drake Estate” scroll across the bottom.
Tim is up and out of the chair in a blink of an eye. He hardly feels himself move as he presses close to the television. Despite the flames and dancing shadows of the night, he does recognize it.
He steps back, gasping for breath against seized lungs. He was just there a few hours ago. No one else was in the house. Just him.
Until…
Tim glances over his shoulder at his sleeping parents. He turns back around. His eyes narrow on the subtitles.
“No one is believed to be inside.”
“The Drakes are in Argentina for a historical restoration.”
“Authorities are unsure of the cause.”
“No foul play suspected.”
More is said, but Tim can’t keep up. It feels a bit like his mind is just slightly outside of his body. Disconnected but trying to hold on.
A stinging pain snaps his mind back into focus.
“Timothy! What are you doing?!” Janet whisper-yells as her nails dig into his shoulder and she shoves him to the chair. She doesn't bother trying to find the buttons and rips the cord from the socket.
The television goes black.
“Answer me!” she hisses.
“What the hell is going on?” He can see the flames in his mind's eye.
In the corner of his eye, Tim can see his dad sitting up from the bed.
“Do not curse at me.” Janet turns from him, cold as ever and sits beside Jack on the bed. “There is nothing to worry about.”
“My home is up in flames. I'm more than worried!” Tim doesn't care about his volume, even as his mom shushes him.
“A necessary decision,” Jack tries to smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Everything is taken care of.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“Enough.” Janet leans forward to catch Tim's eye. “I am your mother and you will listen to me. No more television. No leaving this room. No. More. Questions.”
Tim crumbles under the weight of her glare and returns to his chair. He refuses to face them, just curls up and stares at the wall. His stomach churns at his cowardice. He buries the voice spitting venom at his easy surrender in the corner. If he examines it too closely, he fears he'll hear Jason's voice.
The grim light of dawn hardly breaks through the curtains. A very subtle shift and Tim knows the time is close to seven. His parents are sleeping. He peeks through his arms to stare at their limp forms. His eyes trail over to the window, to the curtains gently blowing from the A/C unit, to the camera he knows is watching the sidewalk.
He turns away.
Tim spends most of Monday in the chair. He watches his parents out of the corner of his eye. They are stiff and restless, switching between sitting on the bed and leaning on the walls. He doesn't dare say anything as his stomach growls low.
Around noon, Janet heads for the door. She turns to lock eyes with Jack. They have a silent conversation before they both nod once. She disappears for half an hour before returning. She's got a paper bag in one arm and a suitcase in hand. It's not Tim's suitcase.
“Here.” She gives the paper bag to Tim. “I need to shower.”
The bag is warm and when Tim opens it, his mouth waters at the aroma of sticky buns. He pulls out a small box and balances the bag on his legs. He nearly drops the box, still closed, as the bag is ripped from its perch.
Jack sighs and shakes his head before taking the bag with him to the bed.
Tim refocuses on the food. Inside are two thick buns. It's not enough to replace two meals but it's better than nothing. He takes a large bite and nearly moans. Barbecue pork. The buns are gone within two seconds.
“I knew we should have sent you to boarding school,” Jack grumbles.
Janet resurfaces some time later with her hair damp. She switched her business suit for a knitted sweater and slacks. She kept her heels.
“Clean up, Jack.” She grabs the bag, pulling the last box out and takes a seat on the bed to eat.
Tim curls his toes. The short fibers of the carpet scratch his skin.
“Can I change?”
“May,” Janet corrects, “and no. I could only grab one suitcase.” She glances at him and sighs, “maybe later.”
Jack is out much sooner than Janet. He's picked a simple polo and slacks with his loafers. He rejoins Janet on the bed.
Tim lifts his feet from the floor and shoves them under his legs. He doesn't leave the chair for the rest of the day.
When his parents finally decide they're going to sleep, Tim gets out of the chair and heads for the window. He angles himself so he can see the camera and keep an eye on his parents. Cars drive by without slowing. No familiar shadows pass overhead.
It's just Tim and the quiet shadows of a hotel room.
Tuesday passes much the same. Janet leaves to get food around noon. When she returns, she has a pack of water.
Tim's suitcase is forgotten and he doesn't ask. He almost manages two bottles of water before his mother snatches the second and tells him to save the rest. It barely has a fourth left but Tim does as he's told. He waits until night to drink it. He doesn't sleep, only zoning out on occasion. He watches the camera that night too.
Wednesday arrives like molasses. Neither Jack nor Janet seem too affected by hunger. They're snappy and irritated but mostly anxious.
Tim's anxious too. He's also hungry. His stomach gurgling is a point of irritation for his parents and he relegates himself to the bathroom. It works until noon rolls around and he’s summoned to eat.
Janet decides she needs to shower so Tim is forced back to his chair while his father stands rigidly by the window. The curtains are closed, so Tim has no idea what his father is looking at.
Jack also freshens up then tosses the shampoo bottle to Tim and orders him to do the same.
Tim doesn't mention his lack of clothes. He showers in record time and uses a spare hand towel to dry off. There are only two bath towels and his parents already claimed them. He makes sure to clean up any water on the floor before returning back to his chair. He rations his water this time, only drinking half of the bottle. When night returns, he drinks the rest and grabs another to chug. The camera keeps him company.
Jack and Janet are buzzing Thursday morning. They both shower and dress. Janet heads out earlier to get food and water. Tim gets sticky buns and his parents get a bowl of chow mein each. There's crab rangoon too. Tim gets two pieces and his mother doesn't complain when he drinks two water bottles in a row.
As the anticipation rises, Tim glances more and more to the window. He wants to get up and watch the camera. He wants to open the window and crawl out. He wants to crawl back into the husk of his home, despite the ash, and go back to bed.
Tim curls up in the chair and watches the corner instead.
At rush hour, Tim follows his parents out of the room and back to the lobby. A man waits for them with keys dangling from his fingers. The keys are given to Jack and the man watches them leave.
Tim slips into the backseat without being told.
Janet brings the suitcase along and sticks it in the trunk.
He doesn't ask about his.
There's accidents all over southern Gotham. It slows their escape tremendously. The sun is dipping beneath the buildings as they roll by Grant Park. Bumper to bumper. Honks are oscillating up and down the line. Shouts and curses follow.
They're heading to Port Adams. No one has said anything but Tim knows. He knows.
Jack sighs heavily and slams his head into his headrest as they slow to a stop once more.
Janet says not a word and stares resolutely out the window.
Tim watches as some kids run down the street, laughing with their backpacks swinging behind them. He can feel his muscles coil as the thought settles into his mind. His middle finger traces the lock. The wheels begin to move. The brakes are applied. They stop. He turns, watches as the break lights of the car ahead switch off.
His feet hit the asphalt. Shouts fill the air, but his mind filters it out. It could be other drivers. It could be his parents. His hand slams against the metal of the door. The shouts cut off.
The world blurs as he runs. He doesn't stop. He doesn't look twice. His feet switch between concrete and asphalt without stuttering. People are milling about in his path but he shoves them aside. He doesn't bother to apologize. His mind narrows down to where his feet should go, the clearest path, clearing any obstacles.
Tim comes back to the forefront as the hotel comes into view. He slows, going past and turning the corner to get to the alley. His legs begin to burn, or at least, he's now noticing how much his legs are burning. The air is dry as he gulps it down. It scratches his parched throat and he coughs on nothing. He tries to breathe through his nose but it's like inhaling a needle straight to his brain.
He stumbles down the alleyway, not looking at the window as he passes under it. He has eyes only for the camera. It's on, judging by the little red light on the side. No one is around. Yet.
Tim steps out onto the sidewalk and looks straight up into the lens. He pants as he waits and waits. Then, he stumbles to the side, back into the alleyway. With all the grace of a duckling, he slams into the brick wall and slides to the ground. He curls his legs up under his chin and rests his cheek against his knees. Eventually, his arms join, wedging themselves between his aching thighs and his burning chest.
Why did he come back here?
He must fall asleep because he jolts at a roar. Sunlight is dying. A gray is settling over the streets. The lights are about to turn on. His jolting sends pain down his neck. His muscles protest as he shifts. He settles again.
Tim's mind focuses on the roar that only grows increasingly louder. It takes a moment but he recognizes it. The engine. He felt its heat under his fingertips. He knows the weight of its parts. He can smell the oil on his fingertips.
He flinches as tires screech right next to him. A black behemoth of a vehicle halts at the opening of the alleyway. Its top slides back and a shadow launches out. Heavy boots slam into the concrete. He flinches again.
“Tim?”
The boy in question mumbles a greeting before tilting forward. His forehead collides into a solid chest. Warmth wraps around his shoulders.
“Tim?” The words rumble against Tim's cheek like the purr of a large cat. “Are you hurt?”
Tim shakes his head, then admits, “I don't know what's going on.”
“That's okay.” A warm hand rubs his back in a soothing circle. “I've got you, sport.”
Tim relaxes as he's lifted. He doesn't need to worry anymore.