It was a good thing that the rain had stopped, it was a long walk from the old Arkham grounds to the city and the last thing he needed was to get a head cold. The two walked slowly along the road holding hands; the little girl jumping in puddles. Tim looked up at the sky. The clouds started to break up, revealing the stars high above. He'd forgotten how pretty the night sky was, and the smell of the air after a rainstorm. It was strange, several hours ago he was confused and scared of everything and now he felt completely calm. It probably was best not to think too much about it right now, the other last thing he needed was another panic attack.
"How much longer do we have to walk?" asked the girl. He looked down, shaking his head and raising his shoulders. He really didn't know. He wished though that the city was right around the corner, he was tired and his feet were killing him. Stupid dress shoes weren't made for long walks. The girl suddenly stopped and started to pout.
"I can't walk anymore. I'm tired and cold." He rubbed the back of his neck, she was starting to irritate him and his nerves were already long gone. He bent down and pointed to his back. Luckily she understood what he meant and got onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. He struggled to stand back up, he just felt so weak. He started to walk on, trying to think of what he was going to do with this kid. He couldn't just walk up to the next person and ask them to take her off his hands.
"You're really bony," she said loudly right into his ear. He decided to ignore her, it was bad enough with everything else. He tried to keep walking with her weight, but after about two hundred feet he just couldn't hold her up anymore. He knelt back down and had to let her down. She let go and came around to look at him.
"Are you tired already?" He looked at her. She thought about it and said, "It's okay, I'll just walk on my own," and started to walk away. He went to get back up, but his legs just didn't want to move anymore. The girl looked over her shoulder and walked back over.
"I'll help you up," she chirped and grabbed his arm and started to tug. He got up and folded his arms in frustration. It was embarrassing, a four or five year old girl was helping him stand up. He was just grateful that nobody really used this road anymore after that new highway was built. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to do with her or himself. Maybe she's on the Amber Alert and the cops will be looking for her. He could find the nearest police car then...yeah that sounded like a good idea. It's not that he could ask her where she lived, or even if she knew her own address. After he gets her safe, then he'll find a place to sleep and stay until he was strong enough to leave town. That sounded simple enough at the moment. The girl seemed to have finally warmed up to him because she wouldn't stay quiet. She kept chattering on and on about her dog and her toys. He was starting to wish it was only a few minutes to the nearest cop.
Eventually, about two hours later the two came up to the outer city limits. It was a sight of relief for him because he was getting tired of hearing the same story over and over again. He looked around; now he had to be careful that nobody saw him. The longer he could stay hidden and not under Batman's radar the more time he had to prepare to leave. As he looked, he spotted a 24 hour diner, and would you look at that, a GCPD cop car! He grabbed her hand and pointed to the car. She looked up and smiled.
"Yeah, mommy says to go to the police when you're in trouble. They'll help us get home!" Oh crap, he hadn't thought about her talking to the police about what happened! She knew...everything. He looked down at her and pointed to himself and then made a shushing gesture. She looked up at him.
"What do you mean? I don't get it." He pointed to the car, then to himself and shushed again. She thought about it.
"You...don't want me to talk to the police?" He shook his head and pointed to himself.
"You don't want me to talk to the police about you?" He nodded.
"Why?" He sighed. He always sucked at Charade, and besides he really couldn't stop her from talking even if he wanted to. He shook his head again and grabbed her hand and started toward the diner. As they got closer, the smell of the diner got stronger in the air. His mouth started to water from it; he didn't realize how hungry he was. He had to ignore it for now though. They got to the other side of the street of the diner and he stopped and pointed to the car. She looked at him and started to tug at his arm.
"Come on," she said eagerly, "let's go see the police man." He shook his head; pointed to her and then to the diner, then to himself and the ground below.
"You don't want to go," she asked, he nodded, "why?" He didn't answer. She looked at him and gave him one last hug.
"It's okay, I'll go in, and I won't even tell them about you if you don't want me to." He chuckled and hugged her back and as she entered the diner, he turned and ran away from the street as fast as he could. He knew that the cops would soon be there and he had to get as far away as he could get.
It had been a long time since he had to walk the streets of Gotham alone at night, but it was late enough that most people were in bed or at least at a safe enough place to wait out the night. This time of night was dangerous to be out at all. He lurked in the shadows, darting out only if he had to. This sucked. He never had to be this stealthy before and now after smelling the cooking food in the diner, all he could think about was eating. He came up to a small mom and pop store and looked inside. It looked like it served the neighborhood with a little of everything from groceries to clothes. He walked to the back and saw a second door, probably led into the store's storage area. He walked over to it and saw it was only locked with a cheap lock. He picked up a rock and smashed it off with three strikes. He opened the door and peeked inside, looking around for security cameras or any other form of security. He didn't see any so he went inside.
The store was quaint, felt very eighteen hundres. There were stairs leading up to the second story of the building. 'Probably where the owners live', he thought. Dropping the rock midway in, he walked over to the clothing racks and looked for some clothes his size. There was no way he could go running around in a purple suit and not be noticed. He found a pair of grey sweat pants, a bit too large but it was the only one that would remotely fit him. Then he found a black hoodie; again too big but it would have to do. He put the pants and hoodie on right then and there; didn't want to get rid of the suit just yet. He'd have to burn it so Bruce wouldn't find it. He looked over at a display with some makeup for women. He walked up to it and picked up some skin foundation. He couldn't go around with white skin. He picked up several foundation creams and a couple of 'natural color' lipstick and put them into his bag. He looked over to the clothing again and picked out a hat and a pair of sunglasses and put the hat on and put the glasses into the bag. As he put the glasses into his bag, he pulled out one of the stacks of hundreds he had taken with him. He pulled out about two thousand dollars and placed it on the counter.
'There,' he thought, 'go buy yourselves a better security system.'
He chuckled as he started to make his way over the fridges to grab something to eat. He just grabbed a quarter gallon of milk when the door of the second floor opened up and the lights came on.
"Who's down here laughing like a helium-sucking hyena and is about to get their heads smashed in with a baseball bat?!" yelled out a angry man. Tim ducked down, luckily he was in the blind spot of the stairs, but he was ten feet away from the back door. The man descended the stairs in pajama bottoms and a baseball bat, ready to take a swing at anything. He slowly made his way around the store, not knowing what to run into. Tim looked around, hoping to find something to help him out. He spotted the rock that he had used to break into the place, it was only about three feet from him. He crept his way toward the rock and picked it up. The man was looking around near the store's front window, looking into the clothing racks. He raised his arm and aimed at the window.
'Batter up!'
The rock flew through the air and broke the window, causing the store owner to raise his arms up defensively. With him distracted, Tim ran out the back door and further down the alleyway. He climbed over the wooden wall and then ran across the street and down another alleyway. Hoping he had run far enough, he started to walk quickly down the road.
'Helium-sucking hyena' he thought to himself, 'got to admit, that's pretty good.' He laughed again, but this time he tried to keep quiet. He looked around; it seemed that most of this part of the neighborhood had died. Building doors and windows were boarded up, the buildings themselves looked old and tired. He knew better than to go into places like that. Scumbags and gangs used places like those, it wasn't safe. There was only a few places that seemed to have some life left inside them. One of them was a bakery. He looked inside the window like before and eyed the day-old breads and pastries and his mouth watered again. He looked around and again found a back entrance. This one however had a better lock and there weren't any bricks or rocks to help him out this time. He looked around, and called back to his days fending for himself on the streets, when he had to steal to survive. He lifted the doormat and sure enough, there was a key there. He opened the lock and placed the key right where he had found it and entered. The smell of bread and pies hit him as he entered, but it was faint. This area was part of the bakery, but it was used for storage. Large flour bags piled high and extra ingredients lined up neatly on shelves. There was a large old brick oven in the back of the room, it was covered in flour and dust and had a large crack down the front of it.
'The oven looks broken,' he thought, 'they probably have another one somewhere and just haven't bothered to take this one out.' He opened the gate and looked inside. It was surprisingly clean for a oven. The door was large enough to fit a small man inside and it was deep enough to fit a car. He looked around, hoping to find another way into the bakery to get at the food inside. Unfortunately, this door was locked and there didn't seem to be a key anywhere. He smacked the door bitterly; food was just right there and he was too tired to do anything about it. Running from the shop earlier took what was left of his strength. He turned and looked at the shelves, hoping that there would be...something. He did find something, it was a half of a loaf of sourdough bread. It was probably used for sandwiches for the employees but was left out so it got stale. He didn't care if it was stale, it was food and that was good enough for him.
He sat on the flour sacks that were stacked on a wooden pallet and took a big bite out of the loaf. The bread was hard to chew, but he opened the milk he had managed to take with him and took a swig of it. He didn't realize how bad his hunger was until he started to eat. His arms shook and he nearly choked from not chewing enough. He chortled between each bite, not caring if he was or wasn't, it was just nice to finally eat something. He ran out of bread before milk, so he swigged the last of it as fast as he could. He felt alive again. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of the hoodie and pulled the hood down, taking the hat off as well. He was still hungry, but what he had would do for now.
'I wonder when the bakery workers come in?' he wondered to himself. He didn't even know the time or date. He could only have a few minutes until they came and found him. He should look for somewhere else to stay, but eating made exhaustion catch up with him. He looked over to the oven and hope that the workers never opened it. He walked over to it and crawled into the brick oven and left the oven door slightly ajar. It was dark inside, but he didn't care. He crawled to a corner and curled up. He would plan the next step after he woke up, trying to ignore the hunger that was still there, trying to forget that he killed someone...forget everything like before. He tried not to, but right before he fell asleep, a bitter laugh came out again just to remind him of everything.
Three months.
Three long damn months and still nothing. He had used every favor at the Blüdhaven police station, looked under every rock and punched every face he had to, to find out anything about Robin and there was nothing. Bruce told him that he had everything under control in Gotham and for him to keep looking outside of Gotham. Bullshit. He wasn't staying away any longer; he should have come sooner. Dick was going much faster than the speed limit on his motorcycle, but he didn't care. He'd be lucky if he caught Bruce and Barbara returning to the Batcave at this rate.
He finally reached Wayne Manor, the place looked more dreary than usual and that was a feat in itself. He parked the bike and took off his helmet. He took two steps at a time up the stairs and rang the doorbell, trying to wait patiently. The door opened and there stood one of the only men in the world he had more respect for that Bruce.
"Master Dick," said Alfred, "it's so good to see you again; though I wish it were under better circumstances."
"It's good to see you to, Alfred," he said without a smile, "how are you holding up?"
He looked Alfred over. Alfred was always the gentle voice of reason and understanding. He always seemed to know what to do and what to say to make everything right again. He was the rock; the anchor of the family and the safe port for any emotional situation. He never looked tired or ever frustrated with any situation. He always had clean pressed clothes and his posture was always strait and proper, but now. He looked tired. It was the only word for it. Dick looked at Alfred's always pressed clothes and saw that they had been slept in. Alfred would have never done that in any situation.
"As well as to be expected, Master Dick," Alfred said with a sigh, "we all have been searching night and day for young Master Timothy."
"I can see that," said Dick looking at his clothes again, "Alfred, you've been sleeping in your suit, haven't you?" Alfred normally would have been appalled at the very notion, but he seemed to sink into his own skin and said:
"While Master Bruce and Miss Gordon are out on the streets, I've stayed behind and monitored the computer in the cave to see if anything is referred to any information that may lead us to Master Timothy. I hate to admit it, but I have fallen asleep at the monitor a few times."
"We're all tired Alfred," Dick said placing a hand on Alfred's shoulder, "and you're doing an important job." Alfred seemed to perk up after that and smiled.
"Do you know when Bruce and Barbara will be back?"
"They often don't return for over forty-eight hours," Alfred said while leading him toward the Batcave entrance, "Miss Gordon's grades are failing, and Bruce Wayne has been on 'extended vacation' for the past two and a half months. Quite frankly, I'm worried for Master Bruce."
"What, for old Bruce," said Dick as they walked down the steps, "for the man who can do no wrong, the man who can solve anything, for the man with no heart or emotions?"
"Master Dick, please," said Alfred tiredly, "I know you and Master Bruce are currently not on the best of terms at the moment but do try to keep it to one insult at a time." Dick nodded, he didn't want to upset Alfred.
"Master Bruce hardly eats or sleeps," said Alfred calmly, "he barely talks to me or Miss Gordon, and," he said leaning in closer and lowering his voice, "he has been ignoring other crimes. He does not even answer the Batsignal anymore." Dicks eyes widened.
"He's never done that."
"I know," said Alfred sadly, "and he's also becoming more and more violent." Dick was going to say something, but stopped when he heard the Batmobile's engine echo inside the cave. He turned and walked toward where the Batmobile would park and calmly waited for the inevitable 'why are you here' speech.
The Batmobile roared one last time before silencing and the canopy opened. Batman jumped immediately out and marched toward the Batcomputer while Batgirl slowly exited the car, clearly tired.
"I thought I told you to keep looking in Blüdhaven," Batman said without even looking at Dick.
"I've looked everywhere there was to look at," Dick said trying to keep his temper down, "asked every favor I had on the force. There isn't anywhere else to look." Batman ignored him, too busy typing on the computer. Dick turned toward Barbara, saw how tired she looked.
"We've searched nearly the entire east side of Gotham," she said taking off her cowl, "and still no sign." She looked over at Batman as he continued his search on the computer.
"Bruce," she said quietly, "we've been up for nearly fourty-two hours. You only had a four hour nap before that and that was after fifty-seven hours of searching. We need food and rest." Bruce didn't say anything.
"Please Bruce," Barbara pleaded, "you need to rest yourself." Bruce turned toward her and shot her a look that would have made the Scarecrow wet himself.
"I will rest when Tim is found, until then I will keep looking."
"And what if you find him," Dick interrupted, "you find him and you're too weak and tired to do anything about it?"
"Master Dick is right sir," said Alfred gently, "you must rest yourself. It would not do any good for you to be at your worst when Master Tim needs you at your best." Batman scowled at all three of them, the lack of sleep was quite evident on his face, even for Batman.
"I'll go out and keep looking," said Dick, "you three get some sleep. We'll do rotating shifts. That way everyone can rest."
"That sounds pretty good to me," said Barbara, Bruce did not say anything. He turned back to the computer and kept typing. Alfred walked up to him and placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder.
"Pleas sir, for Tim."
Bruce sighed, removed his cowl and looked at his closest friend. Alfred always had a way with Bruce, one that everyone wished they could learn how to do it. Bruce slowly rose out of the chair and finally showed just how tired he was.
"Go check near the west docks," he said to Dick as he slowly ascended the stairs to the mansion, "the clubs and bars down there always secrete information." Alfred followed close behind, ready to help out his master and then rest himself.
Dick walked over to where the costumes were stored away, picking out a spare Nightwing suit. He quickly changed into them and was just about to put on his mask.
"Dick," He looked up and saw Barbara holding herself, tears flowing down her face, "I don't think that we're going to find him alive anymore. It's been too long. It's just been too long." He walked up to her and held her in his arms. She felt so limp in them, she buried her face into his chest.
"We'll find him," he said to her, "no matter what. We'll find him."
"I'm beginning to doubt that as well," she said quietly. Dick sighed, he didn't really know what to say to make it better.
"Has Bruce told the league yet?"
"No, he hasn't," she said sadly; anger started to swell in Dick's chest, "I don't think he is going to tell them either."
"Yeah, his damn ego and pride gets in the way for that."
"Dick..."
He let her go and waved his arm around in frustration.
"Barbara! He has friends that can see through walls, run faster than sound and other abilities that could have helped find Tim and yet," he said putting on his mask, "he doesn't want to ruin his precious reputation! He's Batman! Batman never asks for help! It's his damned fault for taking on another sidekick, a young sidekick! Tim is only ten years old! Yeah I was nine when I started, but I wasn't even allowed outside the cave and in costume for at least a year without extensive training, Tim started three weeks after he was 'recruited'!"
"Dick, stop," Barbara said sternly.
"No Barb, I'm not going to," he said angrily, "it has to be said. The only thing Bruce ever loved in his life was his parents. Everything else is disposable and the only thing he remotely shows any interest in, is if it is useful in his goddamned war. If Tim is really dead out there," he got on a bike and put on his helmet, "it's all on his head." He revved the engine and sped out of the cave. Barbara stood there, watching him leave the cave. She was too tired to do anything right now, she had to get some sleep. She walked toward the computer and looked up at the screen. It seemed that missing girl had been found safely after she had been missing for two days. She smiled, at least that story had a happy ending.
He woke up screaming. He didn't remember the nightmare, but he woke up screaming. He felt utterly dislocated; didn't even remember where he was. He tried to stop screaming, but it was like the laughter, it just kept coming out. He somehow stopped himself from screaming and had to settle for the laughter that replaced it. The laughter was the worst, it hurt every time it came out and it seemed to have a mind of it's own. It lived deep within him and would only come out at the worst time, just to spite him. He tried to catch his breath again when he suddenly remembered where he was. He listened to see if the bakery workers had heard him. He didn't hear anything. He peaked out of the crack of the oven and saw that nothing had been moved. He crawled out and listened at the door of the bakery. Nothing. The Bakery was closed.
He looked out the small widows and could see daylight, so it must have been a weekend day or a holiday. He sighed, relieved that it was closed. He would have been surely caught otherwise. He got up and stretched, he felt stiff from sleeping on the hard bricks in the oven. He also felt hot with all the layers of clothes. He took off the hoodie and the sweat pants; and looked at the purple suit he was wearing. He hated formal clothes, they were so restrictive. He unbuttoned his green vest, pulled off his outer coat and the vest and tie, pulled off the Purple suspenders and unbuttoned the green dress shirt. He open it up and looked down. There were so many scars. Scars that were white, scars that were a light purple color and new scars that were still healing. They were all over his chest and stomach. He looked around for a bathroom, hoping that there was one in the storage of the bakery. Thankfully there was one. He went inside and looked inside the mirror. He turned to look at his back and there were just as many scars. Burn scars, knife scars; scars of all kinds. Why didn't he remember any of this? He remember bits and pieces, but the rest was a blur; locked away in his head. While in the bathroom, he did his business and as he washed his hands, he looked at his arms. Just as scarred as the rest of him. He would have to wear long sleeved shirts from now on or else people would think he was cutting himself.
He walked back over to the pile of clothes and went to put on the hoodie, but then felt sick. He just got a sick, painful feeling that if he didn't put the suit back on...
'It's just in my head,' he told himself, 'I don't have to wear it.' He put the hoodie on and took off the dress pants and put on the sweat pants. He started to gather up the clown costume, trying to think of what to burn them in. He started to feel itchy. His skin started to itch and burn as if he had rolled around in stinging nettle. He also started to feel claustrophobic and panicky. He took off the hoodie and pants and started to put back on the suit. As soon as he got the dress shirt and pants with straps back on, he started to feel better.
'Great, not only can't I talk,' he thought bitterly, 'but now I can't go without the stupid suit.' It must have been burned into his mind to wear the suit at all times. He felt sick without it. It took some time to put the bowtie back on, but he eventually was returned to his clownish glory.
'At least I can wear clothes outside of them,' he thought. He walked back to the oven and pulled his bag out. He dug inside it and pulled out the makeup he took and looked at it.
'I can put this on and get a bus or train ticket out of town,' he thought to himself, 'but I don't even know what part of town I'm in.' He felt his face and laughed. How stupid was he, he could put on gallons of makeup but he still had that stupid grin to cover up. In this town, it was always a bad idea to walk into any business with anything on your face. It was a miracle they hadn't banned Halloween yet.
He sat back down and put his head into his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought. He didn't really want to leave, but he also couldn't go back to Wayne Manor and face the others. He didn't want to think how they would look down at him. Faces full of disgust. Batman had a strict code. Anyone who broke the law had to face justice. He started to laugh at the thought; covering his mouth again because of it. They'd take one look at him and throw him in the nut box. He didn't want the Mad Hatter as a roommate. His head was still swimming, making him sick to his stomach again. He couldn't just sit here either, eventually Batman was going to find out about what happened. He'll know everything. He'll know he let him down, how weak he had been. The laughter started to get louder, making his stomach ache all the worse. He closed his eyes and tried to think what would be best to do.
'What were you thinking Tim,' said the voice that sounded so much like Dick, 'telling him everything like that!?'
'Guess you're just a little kid after all.' sighed the one that sounded like Barbara.
'Batman should have picked a stronger person for the job,' sighed the voice that sounded like Commissioner Gordon.
'Kid's a loser!' said the Bullock voice. The voices started to talk over one another and everything was just so loud that he just wanted it to stop. They suddenly fell quiet as one voice whispered:
You disappointed me,' said Batman's voice, 'you're not even fit to be called Tim, let alone Robin, JJ.' His eyes darted open and he panted as all the voices finally stopped. Batman was right. Tim Drake was dead. Robin was dead. There could only be JJ now. He felt more comfortable with that name now anyway. Bruce and the others would mourn the death of poor Tim Drake and they would move on, his old name honored for falling in the line of duty.
Yeah, he could live with that.
Police reports were the worst part of the job, there was no doubt about it. He had been doing them for over fifteen years, but they never got any easier to do. Harvey Bullock was no stranger to the fact that his choice of words were never favorable with the police board, but that never stopped him from continuing to write them his way. That never bothered him, in fact he sometimes liked having to have internal affairs take another stab at him; gave him a good laugh. What bothered him the most about it was that they just took so long to do when he could be out there on the streets doing some actual good and not doing this paper-pusher crap.
"You must be writing your reports," Renee Montoya said placing the cup of coffee and a half a dozen doughnuts she brought over to share.
"No, I'm doin' my taxes," he said sarcastically, picking out a doughnut and taking a bite out of it, "besides, how do you know what I am or what I ain't doin'?"
"You always look constipated when you do your reports," she smiled at him, "besides there really isn't much work out there right now."
"There's always work to do in this city." he said turning back to his report.
"Well yeah," she said, "but it's weird. Normally we would be out there hunting down a gang or trying to stop the next big drug wave, but here we are, trying to keep awake. Hell, you're almost caught up with your paperwork, I thought that would never happen." Bullock glared up at her.
"Your point?"
"I'm just saying that for Gotham to be this quiet is weird," she said taking a sip of coffee, "I've never seen the crime rates so low, and for so long before." Bullock was about to say something when he saw Commissioner Gordon walk in.
"Hey Commish," he said to him, "what's up? Got any new cases for us to work on? I'm itching to go back out on the street and busting butts out there." Gordon looked at him, and almost seemed sad to say:
"Sorry Bullock, but there's just nothing going on right now." Montoya looked at him. It was strange, crime was at a all time low and Jim looked like he wanted to jump off a bridge.
"Is something wrong Commissioner," she asked him gently, "you look like as if crime was at a all time high instead of a low."
"I'm just worried on why it is." he said sadly.
"What, your worried about the freak now Jim," Bullock said dismissively, "come on, even you got to admit the Bat was always nuts. It's not your fault that he's gone into overdrive."
"It is odd that Batman has been more active," Montoya said, "but are you really that worried about him?" Gordon looked at the two detectives.
"All I can say is if you knew him like I do," he said walking toward his office, "you'd be worried too." After he closed the door, Montoya and Bullock exchanged concerned looks.
Commissioner Gordon walked over to his desk and sat down. He should be happy, they were right, but it wasn't normal for Batman to flat-out ignore him or major crimes. Something was wrong, he could feel it and he didn't even know what it was or how he could help his old friend. He felt a breeze, and quickly turned to the window.
"Batman?" he asked almost eagerly. No, it wasn't Batman, but a friend none the less.
"Oh, it's only you Nightwing," he said sinking back down into his chair, "I was hoping it was Batman." Jim then thought about it.
"Wait a minute," he said turning back to him, "it's 4 o'clock in the afternoon; from what I understand is that you guys are practically nocturnal. What brings you here at this time of day?" Nightwing looked at him, his expression never changed from the cold seriousness that he came in with. Normally, even after he had grown up from the role of Robin, he usually had a smile or a joke to break things up. This was not like him at all.
"Robin's gone missing."
"How long?" Jim asked quietly.
"Three months."
"That's about when Batman started to get more violent. You know he use to break bones in the past, but lately he's been crippling them," Gordon said to Nightwing.
"We've done our best looking for him," Nightwing said, "and we've come up with nothing. I know Batman wants this to stay quiet, but..."
"I understand," Jim said, "I'd like to help in anyway I can. I can get the boys looking..."
"Keep the circle small Commissioner," Nightwing warned, "It's going to be bad enough that I've told you."
"Okay, I have just the two in mind. They'll be the only ones who'll know. I promise you that." Nightwing nodded and turned to leave.
"Before you go," Gordon asked, "can you answer me something?" Nightwing turned and looked at him. "Is there any reason why he didn't tell me sooner?"
"I don't know Commissioner," he said turning back to the window, "you'll have to ask him yourself." and with that he jumped out of the window silently. Jim turned back to his desk and pressed the intercom button on it.
"Bullock; Montoya...in my office now."
The first thing he was going to go do after this was go to the nearest hardware store and buy a lock pick set. He had been smashing the door handle for about ten minutes and had gone through about three bricks in the process. Hunger was driving him to break into the other side of the bakery and he was getting frustrated, he had to dig at the old oven's crack to dig out some bricks and that took some time to do so. He kept smashing and smashing, hoping to break the door handle soon. Finally, one last smash and the thing finally broke. He backed up and kicked the door where Bruce had trained him to, making the door finally pop open. He had tried doing that earlier, but all he did was hurt his leg. He looked around again to make sure that there wasn't any security of any sort and like before there wasn't. Finally, a little bit of luck in a long time. He picked out a loaf of bread and started to eat it, it didn't matter what kind to him. He only managed to get about six bites in when he started to feel sick.
'Must of ate too quick,' he thought to himself, 'better stop for now.' He put the bread down and decided to look around, away from the window. He looked in the kitchen and saw all the bread making equipment and saw something he didn't expect to see: surgical masks.
'Why would a bakery have these,' he thought to himself. It turned out that there was an employee allergic to gluten, and would wear them so they wouldn't get sick. It didn't matter though why they where there, but the fact that they were there was just perfect. It was still a bad idea in Gotham to ware a mask of any form, but a surgical mask on a kid would just make him look like he had a cold. He grabbed a hand full and ran back into the back of the bakery. He put all but one of the masks into his bag and pulled out one of the makeup foundations and one of the lipsticks and headed for the bathroom. He took off his gloves and then looked at the makeup.
'How do you put this stuff on,' he thought. It's not like he ever asked Barbara on how to do it. He opened the makeup and put some on his hand. It was runnier than he was expecting. He started to put it on his face, over his eyes and down his neck. Soon, his face was a normal color, but with the white undercoat, he looked pale. That was fine, it would help out with his mask. He put on (as best as he could) the lipstick because he was already feeling fabulous anyway. He laughed at the idea and in doing so, he smeared the lipstick on his face. After cleaning that up, he went over to his spare clothes and put them on, including the glasses and the mask he left out. He looked like a sick, gang-banger wannabe.
'Oh well,' he thought, 'it's the best I can do for now.' He tossed the bread he had been eating away into the garbage, he just didn't feel good enough to finish it. He also pulled out enough money he felt to repay for all the damages he had done and a little extra for a security system. He took one last look around the place to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything and then closed the door behind him. He made himself appear small, he didn't want to attract attention to himself as much as he could help it. All he had to do now was find out where he was.
Nightwing looked in every place that he figured Batman would never think to look for Robin, but still came up empty. He felt tired, not the good kind of tired when you've been smashing in faces all night, but that empty tired when you haven't done anything important. He parked the motorcycle inside the cave and removed his helmet, looking around the cave. Despite his anger with Bruce right now, he always enjoyed returning to the cave. Just something about it made it feel like home. Of course he would never forget the circus life he once had, but this was the second closest thing too it. He walked over to the Batcomputer and looked to see if any reports came in; nothing. He sighed, perhaps Barbara was right. Perhaps it was time to prepare to look for a body rather than finding him alive. It had been a long time, and most kidnapping cases rarely ended with a happy ending. He heard someone enter the cave and he looked up. Alfred descended the stairs with a dinner tray in hand and a small smile on his face.
"Welcome back, Master Dick," he said placing the tray down and lifting the plate cover, "I've taken the liberty in making your favorite dish for your dinner."
"Thanks Alfred," he said walking over to him, "you seem like you're feeling better." Alfred's smile seemed to drop some.
"It does one good to get rest, however mine was rather...hindered by my mind." Dick nodded in understanding. "I fear that you haven't found anything." Dick nodded again.
"Not a thing, but I did do something that Bruce should have done already. I told Gordon."
"You know Master Bruce will be most upset when he finds out."
"He should have been asking for help months ago Alfred," Dick said, trying not to raise his voice, "you know he should have. He's got so many friends that could have possibly found him the first night and yet he chooses not to use them! I'm sorry Alfred, but we need all the help we can get." Alfred didn't say anything, he always kept things to himself but Dick knew that Alfred agreed with him. They heard someone else come down the stairs and saw Bruce already in costume march down the steps.
"Anything?" he asked Dick.
"Nothing. I checked everywhere I though you wouldn't have already checked, listened for any hints about anything that could have..."
"Rest up and report back here to go check the north side with Batgirl in two hours," he said grabbing a fresh utility belt, "I'm going to go check the south side again; that's where most children end up when they're kidnapped."
"Bruce," Dick said walking toward him, "You and Barbara have checked and rechecked everywhere in Gotham. He's not here. If he's alive, he's probably not even in the country anymore." Batman glared over at him.
"Our best bet is to find out when and where he went missing, and there is always someone who talks."
"Bruce," Dick said finally reaching his limit on patience, "even you have to admit it's getting pretty hopeless that we'll find him alive. If you didn't have such a damn ego, you would have called for help earlier! What ever has happened to Tim," he said finally losing his temper, "is completely your fault!" Batman slowly looked at Dick, and for the first time in his life, Dick was slightly afraid of him and instinctively took a fighting pose. Alfred quietly cleared his throat to gain their attention.
"It seems that the sensors have picked up that the Batsignal has been turned on," he said in his gentle commanding tone, "perhaps you should see what the Commissioner needs of you." Batman didn't react at first, but then walked over to the Batmobile and jumped inside.
"We'll discuss this later." he said coldly to Dick. The car roared to life and sped out of the cave. Dick sighed and turned to face Alfred and for the first time he saw true anger in his face.
"I know we're all on edge Master Dick, but Master Bruce is teetering on that edge and I sincerely hope you just didn't push him off of it."
"You're taking his side," he asked in surprise, "really Alfred!? You of all people should know what he's done is all kinds of wrong! He took someone who wasn't ready out into the field and now look what's happened! Am I the only one who see's him for what he really is? Am I the only one who has the guts to tell him that he's wrong?"
"Master Dick..."
"No Alfred," Dick said, his anger finally released, "it's time to call him out on it. He's had his way for far too long. He's been enabled to do as he pleases!"
"Sir..."
"And you're just as much to blame for letting him do it in the first place!" Dick paused, then started to curse himself. He looked at Alfred and saw that he did hurt him.
"Alfred," he said quietly, "I...I really didn't mean that." Alfred straitened up, knowing his pride had been wounded but he wasn't going to let that stop him.
"No, Master Dick," he said proudly, "you meant every word. Do you think I don't question it myself," he said looking hard at him, "do you think I don't loose sleep at night, worrying about all of you, wondering if this is the night that you don't come home and I read about you in the morning papers? That I don't think about what I have done?" He looked away. "I have quietly wondered to myself all these years, wondering if I had done the right thing in letting Bruce become what he is today. So Master Dick," he said looking back at him, "you are right. In the end, it truly is my fault in the first place in allowing Master Bruce in becoming what he is, it's my fault that Tim is missing right now."
"Alfred..."
"Now if you'll excuse me," he said turning away, "I have my duties to attend to." He walked away, head held high and proud; only masking the pain that he felt. Dick watched him leave the cave and he sat down on the computer chair and held his head. He felt so stupid right now. He never meant to hurt Alfred. He sighed and looked back at the dinner that had been prepared for him. He felt so low right now. He quietly started to eat it, hoping to get some rest before Barbara came down to go out again, hoping that he wouldn't snap at her as well...again.
Gordon stood there, patiently waiting. He would wait all night if he had to, but he was going to talk to him. He looked at his watch, the signal had been on for nearly two hours. He looked back at the sky. He soon saw him, swinging toward him. Batman landed quietly like a cat, and walked over to him, from the way he walked and carried himself he seemed...agitated that he had been called.
"What is it Jim?" Batman coldly asked.
"It's about time you showed up," Jim said just as cold, "this is the first time in two months." Batman scowled at him and started to turn away.
"I know about Robin," Jim said, making Batman freeze, "Nightwing told me earlier today." Batman didn't move or say anything.
"Listen," Gordon said, his voice melting from the cold hard talk to a understanding tone, "you and the others have done so much for this city and I could never imagine what I would do if my Barbara was gone that long. I was going out of my mind when Freeze took her, but that was only a few days. I can't imagine how you feel right now, but as your friend, let me help you. I owe you that much at least." Jim looked at him, his back was still turned toward him so he continued on;
"I've sent my best detectives on the case," he said "and I gave them strict orders on not to say anything to anyone and they are to report to me as soon as they find anything out of the ordinary. They're following up on an earlier case right now, but as soon as they're done with that, their only job is to help find Robin. I'll do my part as well. I'll pull favors if I have too; we'll do our best to find him." Batman didn't move for the longest time, he almost looked like a statue. Finally Batman pulled out a grapnel and fired it at the nearest building; swinging away. Jim sighed; Batman and his teammates were like family to him. He was always concerned when Nightwing was Robin and was just as concerned when this young spunky Robin came around. If it were his son, he probably would have never allowed him to do it.
"How is she adjusting," Montoya asked Mr. Fields about his daughter while writing down notes.
"She seems to be doing well," Mr. Fields said holding his wife's hands in his, "she acts like nothing happened."
"Yes," said Mrs. Fields, "the doctor said that there was nothing wrong with Casey physically and doesn't act like anyone molested her, thank God," she said rubbing her forehead, "but he thinks that she's not telling him everything."
"What do you mean," Montoya asked, writing notes down.
"Well," Mr. Fields said looking at her, "she won't go into details. She said a woman took her and a man watched her, but that's all. She wont say how she got away or how she got clear on the other side of town...It's just strange." Montoya finished writing her notes and looked over at Bullock, he looked barely interested. She wondered how he solved any case.
"Do you mind if I and Detective Bullock ask your daughter a few questions?"
"If it will help you find out who took her," Mrs. Fields said, "I just can't sleep at night knowing her kidnappers are still out there. What if they tried again?"
"I understand your concern Mr. and Mrs. Fields," Montoya said while standing up, "but we need to find out anything we can about it." They nodded in agreement.
"She's up in her room, second door to your right." said Mr. Fields. Montoya started to walk toward the stairway with Bullock close behind. Montoya knocked on the door.
"Casey? Are you in there," she asked, "Detective Bullock and I would like to ask you a few questions, can we come in?"
"Yes," piped up a small voice inside. Bullock and Montoya entered the pink and white room, toys and stuffed animals strewn about the place. Casey was near one of the corners of the room having a pretend tea party.
"Hello Casey," Montoya said sweetly, "do you know what we are?"
"The police," Casey said looking at them.
"That's right; we need to ask you some more questions about..."
"Here," said Casey giving Montoya and Bullock plastic tea cups and saucers, "we'll have a tea party." Bullock looked at the pink plastic cup.
"There ain't no tea."
"Well, it's pretend tea," Casey said to him, "you have to pretend."
"Yeah Bullock," said Montoya smiling at him, "haven't you ever played tea party?" Bullock glared at her and mumbled to himself:
"I hate workin' with kids." Montoya took a pretend sip of tea and then said:
"Okay, now Casey, we need to talk about what happened three days ago. When the bad guys took you away."
"Yeah, I was at preschool."
"That's right," said Montoya, "and your teacher said that a woman picked you up; she said that she was your mother's sister. She was a mean liar, wasn't she?"
"Yeah," said Casey, "I was scared."
"Why don't you tell us about her then," said Bullock, "and about where she took you?"
"Because I said I wouldn't," Casey said. Bullock and Montoya glanced quickly at each other.
"Who did you promise that too sweetie," asked Montoya.
"Somebody..." said Casey, looking away.
"Was it somebody nice," asked Montoya.
"Yeah, he carried me on his back."
"Can you tell us more kid," asked Bullock, "how he looked, what he wore?" Casey shook her head.
"I said I wouldn't say." Montoya thought of another tactic to maker her say something more.
"Was it fun when he carried you?"
"Yeah," she said, "it was fun walking in the woods. I splashed in the puddles. I wished we didn't walk for so long though; I got tired and my feet hurt after that."
"How long did you walk for," Montoya asked, having a good idea what she was talking about.
"I don't know," she said, "a long time."
"One last question," Montoya said leaning in close, "and it's really important that you're honest with me." Casey nodded.
"Did the bad man and lady look like clowns?" Casey was quiet, but nodded.
"You did a very good job," Montoya said, reaching into her pocket and pulled out her notebook to write everything down, "you're a very brave little girl." Casey smiled at her.
"Come on Bullock," she said, "I have a good idea where they took her."
"So do I," said Bullock, "I can put two and two together too you know, and I've been doing this longer than you have." Montoya and Bullock descended the stairs and went back to Mr. and Mrs. Fields.
"We have a pretty good idea where she's been and who took her," said Montoya, "we'll let you know more when it becomes available." Bullock and Montoya entered their squad car; Montoya picked up the scanner.
"Commissioner Gordon? Montoya here." There was static for a second then a scratchy voice.
"What is it Montoya, have you gotten any further in that kidnapping case?"
"Yes sir," she said, "we think we know who took her and where."
"Great, come back to my office so I can assign another team to apprehend them. I want you with me to work the Robin case." Bullock took the scanner from Montoya.
"It ain't that easy Commish," he said, "we think it was the Joker and his henchwench that took her, and we think they kept her at the old Arkam building. It makes sense because the road near where she was found leads up there." There was a pause.
"Commish?"
"I don't want you two to go it alone, let me call in some help. Wait ten minutes and then start heading toward there, but if you two go in there and they are there, so help me you're badges will be on my desk before the night's through."
"Copy that," Montoya said taking back the scanner.
It had taken some time, but he finally was in familiar territory. JJ had finally found a newsstand that carried a map of Gotham city; he couldn't believe how long it took him to do so. It was getting dark, he wasn't going to make it to the train station tonight. It was still about ten miles away. He looked up at the street signs and then back down to his map, he was near Park Row, more commonly known as Crime Alley. This was one of the worst areas he could be in right now, this was practically Batman's hangout. He had to find some shelter soon, because if Batman saw him walking around the streets after dark, he would swoop down and ask questions that he literally couldn't answer. He looked around and soon found a building that was most likely a drug den, but it was his best bet on short notice. He looked around and saw the fire escape was still intact, but it required him to build a small tower to get to it. He moved some trash cans and built the best tower he could make. After getting a hold of the ladder, he kicked over the trash cans, so it didn't look like someone climbed up like he did. He got to about the third floor when he looked inside.
The building was abandoned, but it looked like nobody had been inside in a long time, at least the third floor. He tried his luck and tried to open the window. Success! He just hoped his luck would carry him out of Gotham at least before it ran out. He crawled inside and closed the window behind him, locking it. The building smelled dusty and like rotting wood. He took a couple of steps inside the abandoned apartment, feeling the floor wanting to give in. Perhaps this wasn't the safest place to say in. He tried to turn on the lights, but the power had been long gone in this place. He tried looking around, hoping the previous owners left a candle or something. No such luck this time. He would have to find a place to sleep in before it got completely dark. He looked around and soon came into a room that looked like it was a baby's room. There were faded cartoon characters on the wall and the only bit of furniture in it was a old crib.
'This will have to do,' he thought. He lowered the cribs side and flipped over the mattress so it wouldn't be so dusty. The window of the room was a perfect spot to look out for Batman or cops, just as long as he stayed away from it, he should be fine. He put his things inside of the crib and decided while he had some light he would explore the house. He looked inside the kitchen, it was bare. He looked at the old living room...there was a large hole inside of it. He crept carefully to it and looked down. It reached all the way to the first floor.
'Nasty fall,' he thought, 'better stay away from here.' He then found the bathroom. He tried turning the faucet to see if there was any water in this old dump. There was, but it wasn't preferable to drink. The water was rusty and smelled odd. He looked around and found a towel. He took off his mask, hat and outer clothes and decided to wash up. He put the towel under the water and rung it out as best as he could and started to rub the makeup off. The water smelled worse up close and the towel was itchy, but it did the job well enough to get the just as itchy makeup off. How could girls wear this stuff all day and every day? He looked into the broken mirror to make sure he got it all. He looked tired. He sighed and gathered his things and walked back toward the bedroom. He put his clothes by his bag and hopped into the crib.
If Dick saw him now, he thought, he would never live it down. He made a makeshift pillow out of his clothes and tried to relax. His thoughts were so hard to control anymore, they would jump around and come up with their own ideas. He tried thinking on where he should go to. Perhaps somewhere quiet and with a small population. Maybe like Smallville Kansas. Nothing seemed to happen there...except tornadoes, yuck never mind. He felt a pain in his stomach; he had forgotten to eat after leaving the bakery and he had only eaten six bites of bread. It was fine though, he seemed familiar with the pain now and soon it would go away and bother him later. He sat up, his head was running too fast for him to relax, so he looked inside his bag.
There was still plenty of money for him to get a train ticket of his choice. He would use the money until it ran out...then what? Maybe get a job of some sort? He couldn't go back to school looking like this. Thinking about that was a headache in itself so he put the bag under his clothes and tried to think of something else. He tried thinking of something good, something positive. He tried to remember a happy memory from the past. He recalled one of the only times he and his dad, his real dad were happy together. His dad had taken him to the park to eat a ice-cream cone. Not to the docks where he would have his 'business meetings', not down in a drug house where he would have to wait on the porch steps till his dad was done shooting up, but the actual park. They had a good time just hanging out and talking about the Gotham Knights game. He remembered that they laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed...no wait, that's not how it went. He opened his eyes and looked around, everybody was pointing and laughing at him.
Everybody in the park was pointing down at him and were laughing, he turned to his dad and he was laughing too. Their faces were twisted in horrible humor, looking down at him with contempt and they just kept laughing. He tried running away, but the laughter followed him where ever he went. People in the streets pointed and laughed as he ran by. He ran so fast that he tripped on something, and it made them wail all the louder. He got back up and kept running, covering his ears and closing his eyes, trying to block it out. He ran into something and fell down. He looked up and there they were; Nightwing, Batgirl and Batman all standing around him and laughing.
"Stop it!" he yelled out at them. Nightwing only folded his arms and laughed harder, Batgirl pointed and laughed too. Batman leaned in closer and said:
"It's funny because you're a joke."
"I'm not a joke," he cried out, "I tried my best Bruce, I really did." Batman laughed loud and hard.
"Stop," he said grabbing his head in agony, "stop it, please! I did my best! I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!" They just kept laughing and laughing. Soon he was laughing too, he laughed and laughed along with them, he looked up at them, seeing them Jokerfied as well and he laughed at that. He turned and ran away, laughing all the while. He ran blindly in the dark, stumbling over invisible objects. All he could see was people laughing at him and all he could hear was that laughter, until he heard the horn. He turned and saw two bright lights coming toward him. Instinct kicked in and he tried to dodge the lights, but he felt himself get clipped by something big and metal. He rolled for a moment and he was suddenly back into reality. He wasn't in the room anymore, he didn't even know where he was. All he knew was that he was in the middle of the road somewhere and that apparently he just got clipped by a car. He ran to the nearest alley way he could see and ducked into a wooden crate, hoping that whoever was in the car didn't see him. He heard the driver open the door.
'Damnit...damn, damn, damn!' He tried to not move or breeth. He saw a flashlight beam. 'Oh damn, damn, damn!' Then he herd it, the one voice he really didn't want to hear at all.
"Good lord," said Alfred in a panic, "are you all right? I didn't see you, you just darted into the road and..."
The beam of light blinded him. There was no hiding from it. No more hiding from everyone. He lowered his arms to look at a very shocked butler.
