So, Tim maybe hadn't thought this through all the way.
He was lost. He was really, really was one thing to decide to make his way home, and another entirely to actually do it.
He'd made it a good distance from the Hospital, but nothing looked familiar, and it was getting darker and colder all the time. The thin fabric of the clothes he was wearing didn't do anything against the cold, and the socks were already soaked through.
He slipped down the street, trying to stay unnoticed, and suppress the shivers that were wracking his body. Movement down the street caught his attention, and he turned his head to see a big man walking down the street opposite of him. As he watched, the man's head swung towards him, and he slowed his pace as he looked at Tim.
Oh, no.
******
John McKeirney had only been on the job for a year. It had taken him a while to get here, his goal interrupted by life, and an ill advised marriage. He couldn't regret that though, since it had gained him his son, who was the light of his life. Ricky was with his mother for the weekend, and though he'd only been gone a day John already missed him.
He'd wanted to be a cop his whole life, though. Except that brief time as a child he was convinced he wanted to run away to the circus and be a lion-tamer, but his family was kind enough to only mention that every so often. His family, all office workers and retail employees, hadn't really understood his desire to be a cop, but they were proud when he graduated from the academy. A bit older than most of the graduates, admittedly, but he'd always been in good shape, so he didn't struggle too bad.
His family kept pushing him to go for detective, talking about the better pay, and not being on the street every day. He wasn't sure that was what he really wanted, though. He liked helping people *before* the bad things happened to them, so he was okay staying as a beat-cop.
He still saw a lot of terrible things, but it wasn't as much responsibility. He'd seen the detectives burn out, exhausted from the awful grind of only ever seeing the worst of folks, of trying to bring people closure.
John liked being able to help people, prevent bad things from happening. He wanted to help make a difference for normal people. He knew he couldn't help everyone; he wasn't still the same naive 17 year old who had first told his parents he wanted to be a cop. That didn't mean he couldn't try. He volunteered with youth groups and helped out at shelters. He tried to get through to the kids before he had to be arresting them.
Sometimes it all seemed a bit pointless, though. Bad things still happened, no matter what he did. He still saw awful things, and it never stopped hurting. So, when he was walking home from the youth centre, sweaty from a round of basketball, and he saw a tiny furtive shadow slink through the edge of a nearby streetlight, he paused and looked closer. When that shadow resolved into a small child slinking down the street in oversized clothes and socks his heart clenched. What could possibly have happened to this child that he was walking alone in the streets in nearly nothing after dark in December? John changed direction, digging in his bag, so glad he had his badge on him. One of the kids at the centre had asked to see it, so he'd brought it in to show to them, but right now it was hopefully going to prevent this kid from running away from him.
Or not. The kid saw him change direction and head towards him and froze, staring at him wide-eyed and shivering, before he bolted. John cursed and ran after him, thanking his luck when the kid darted down an alley he knew was a dead-end. He didn't want to scare the kid, but he didn't want to loose him either. When he made it into the alley though, the kid seemed to have vanished. He looked for him wildly, disappointment swelling, before a clang made him look up, the kid was halfway up the fire escape, barely illuminated by the light coming in the alley from the street, and from the windows.
"Hey, kid, wait!"
When Tim had seen the man start to cross the street towards him, determination in his stride, he'd panicked a bit. He'd bolted, and quickly found himself in a dead-end. Thinking quickly, he scrambled onto a dumpster and launched himself at the bottom rung of the fire-escape stairs. He was silently and swiftly climbing when the man entered the alley and probably would have gotten away entirely if his sock hadn't slipped against a rung, and his too-cold hands hadn't failed to catch him.
"Hey, kid, wait!" Came from below him, indicating that the man had seen him. Tim peered down at him. It was dark, the man barely illuminated but Tim could see he was holding out his empty hands entreatingly towards him. "Hold on kid, please. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a police officer. My name is John. What's yours?"
Not more police! He never saw the police in Gotham, but here, wherever here was, he was running into them left and right! He looked up. He could keep going, but he wasn't sure what was at the top of this building. This wasn't Gotham. He didn't know his way around.
"I'm not going to hurt you." The man below him repeated. "I just want to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?"
Tim wavered. He didn't know where he was. He was tired and his hands and feet were aching with the cold. He knew better than to trust strangers, but the man sounded nice. He hadn't tried to follow him up the ladder. He asked if he could talk, rather than shouting or making demands.
Tim sat on the cold metal and looked down, not sure what to think. "Okay," he said softly, tucking his arms against his sides and trying to suppress his shivering.
"Are you cold?" the officer - John - asked. Tim gave him an utterly scathing look he was pretty sure was lost in the gloom. "I have a sweatshirt you can borrow, if you don't mind coming down a bit farther. I'll throw it to you, but I'm afraid my arm's not that strong."
Tim bit his lip. He knew what the man was doing, enticing him down, but another layer against the biting air sounded good. "Throw it first." Tim demanded.
The man nodded, and dug a sweatshirt out of his bag. It took two tries, but he got it stuck on the railing of the first level of the fire escape, and Tim practically threw himself down a level to snatch it up and bury himself inside. It was huge on him, and smelled fairly strongly of sweat, but it was warm, and fell past his knees, so he could sit and pull his knees up to his chin and be fully encased in it.
"Can I ask your name, kiddo?" John said, looking up at the small boy swimming in the sweatshirt.
Tim debated silently with himself for a second, then shrugged. It's not like he hadn't already given the police his name. "Tim." he responded.
"Tim. Do you know where your parents are, Tim?" John asked him slowly, like he thought Tim was a wild animal who would run away if he asked the wrong question. Well, to be fair, he might, but only if that question involved cameras, pictures, Batman, or Gotham.
"They're in Brazil." Tim told him. "Or at least that's where they sent their last postcard from." Only, that had been in April. It was supposed to be May, now, but it was so cold.
"Then who's taking care of you?" the cop leaned against the dumpster as he asked. Tim couldn't read his expression, but his voice was tight.
Tim sniffed indignantly. "I can take care of myself." He informed the police officer. "But Mrs. Mac normally takes care of me," he relented, to be fair.
"Does she know where you are?"
That would be pretty impressive, Tim thinks, since *he* still doesn't know where he is.
"No," Tim said, his voice small. "I don't think so."
"Will you come with me? I'll take you to the station, and we'll call Mrs. Mac to come get you. I'll find you some warmer clothes, and we'll get you some hot chocolate. How does that sound?"
That sounded fantastic, actually. He was so cold, even with the sweatshirt. He knew he needed to avoid the cops, needed to prevent them from making the connection between him and Gotham, and Batman and Robin. He needed to get back to Gotham and - his eyes burned and his throat clenched - burn his photographs before anyone found them. But he was so cold. He still didn't know where he was. He had no money, and no one to go to.
"You're really a police officer?" Tim's voice sounded so faint, even to his own ears. He tried to make it sound sharp and aware, suspicious. He knew that most of the cops in Gotham were to be avoided, but the shows on television said to trust cops. Batman and Robin trusted Commissioner Gordon. That meant there had to be some good cops, right? And this one had given him his sweatshirt.
"Really am, Tim. Would you like to see my badge?"
"Yes," Tim demanded. "Before I come down. You could be trying to trick me."
"Okay," John soothed. "I'm not trying to trick you. I'm going to throw it up to you. Do you think you can catch it?"
Tim nodded, then voiced a hesitant affirmative when he realised the man probably couldn't see him. He just barely caught the thrown folio, his fingers stiff from the cold and drowning in the sleeves of the pullover. Gold winked at him when he opened it, though, the familiar emblem of the police shining up at him next to a picture of a man with thin reddish-brown hair and a strong nose. Tim couldn't make out all the details, but he thought the eyes were blue.
John McKeirney, District of Columbia Police Department.
Hope flared. He was in DC! He wasn't that far from Gotham after all! It quickly dimmed though. He still didn't know how to get home from here. Maybe it really was best to go with him. He could call Mrs. Mac, and get taken home. He would hopefully be able to get rid of his photos before the navy police connected him with the camera they must have found with him.
"Okay," He said again, and clutched the badge tightly to himself as he eased down the ladder towards the ground. He was close to the end, when his grip slipped again, and he started to fall. John caught him, cradling him against his warm chest. While his instinct was to struggle, he was just too tired.
He didn't protest when the man carried him down the street, or into an apartment. He let him pull the soaked socks off his feet and replace them with dry warm ones, and let him bundle him into child-sized sweatpants. He only protested when John wanted to reclaim his own sweatshirt, holding onto it stubbornly. That got his hair ruffled, and a mug of hot-chocolate placed in his hands. When he asked shyly for marshmallows John pulled one from behind each of Tim's ears with a surprised expression that asked the small boy how had he managed to hide them there? Tim giggled tiredly, smiling shyly up at the man and letting the warmth soak into him.
He was nearly asleep when John picked him up again and took him down to his car. That woke him up a bit, and he looked a question at the big man, who the light of the apartment had revealed to indeed have blue eyes, and an abundance of smile lines around his eyes and mouth.
"Time to go to the station, kiddo." John said gently. "We'll call Mrs. Mac and get you home as soon as we can, yeah?"
*That* woke Tim up entirely. How could he have forgotten? He had to get home! The clock was ticking!
He nodded soberly at John, who chuckled at this odd boy who could be by turns adorable and so serious.
As he pulled out in the street, he thought about the words he planned on having with this boy's caretaker, to let such a sweet child wonder off.