Authors Note: Something about this fanfiction is really making me write like a demon. Well, not like a speed demon, but some type of demon. Like, it's in my mind all the time. I don't know when this will end, and if anyone will stick with it – but it's being written and thought about more than any other fanfiction. XD We're closing in on the end … in like, five more chapters? I dunno, I can't assume.

"There is a chance to bridge the line between to points ruptured in time."

Carbon Leaf – Torn to Tattered

Oh Silent Prayer of My Thoughts

By: The BatThing

Tim entered Wayne Manor practically empty handed. He made sure to bring his backpack, which he had filled with some clothes, money, and food – just so it looked like his lie was real. He even went as far as to make sure the backpack looked dirty.

"I'll bet you know the house probably better than me now." Bruce said as he closed the door behind the boy.

"No, Alfred didn't … um." Tim lowered his head. "He liked to keep things the same, you know that."

"I'm not sure I know anything." The man admitted as he glanced around, he looked lost, sad – and slightly exhausted. When he did speak again his voice seemed to waver. "Alfred's death – I don't know how you managed loosing him and Dick and, uh, me."

The teenager looked up at the billionaire and offered a sad smile. "I had help."

Bruce didn't seem to hear anything. "I'm almost afraid to remember anything else, knowing that it will be like this all over. That sounds selfish, and I don't mean it. I want to remember."

Tim didn't say anything, he just moved towards the stairs. "I'm going to my room."

"Alright – I need to make a few calls, try and get someone out here to give us a hand with the house. I doubt we'd be able to work Alfred's magic by ourselves."

Watching him go, Tim released a sigh. He had forgotten the fact that Bruce would hire another person to do the chores around the house. That couldn't be good. With a frown the boy started to climb the stairs, enjoying the fact that he was home – though at the same time – knowing he really wasn't. The building meant the world to him, things were put back in place by people Bruce had hired to clean up – things looked more normal, but still out of sorts. It was missing various items … and people.

Pushing the door to his room open, Tim tossed his backpack to the floor and sprinted to his bed, flinging himself on it and grabbing a pillow close. He rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm back."

There was no answer, the house didn't seem to notice, but Tim couldn't help but imagine that somehow – it did. He closed his eyes, listening to familiar noises, smelling that fading familiar smell, and feeling the best he had in a while.

"Tim?"

"What?"

The door to the room opened. "Oh, so this is your room."

It was an odd comment, especially looking at Bruce – the man who would have never said anything like that before. Tim couldn't help but crack a smile. "Yeah, this is my room."

"It's nice."

Once again, the comment was totally not something Bruce would say. "Thank you." The boy gave a shake of his head as he grinned.

"I was wondering. Do you want anything special to eat tonight? I can't cook, but I thought I might order out. I don't know what you would like."

"Anything's fine, just don't get anything totally bizarre."

Bruce replied with a nod and then took another glance around the room. "Can I ask you something, Tim?"

The boy propped himself up with his elbows and slowly nodded. "I guess so."

"What was I before? I remember who I was, but what I remember …" The man shrugged his shoulders and took another look around the room. He sighed and moved towards the large window on the opposite end of the room. "And what about you, what about Dick?"

Tim didn't reply to the question for a long time, he just looked at Bruce. How could he explain anything to the man without including the life of Batman? After all, that was the reason the man had adopted Tim in the first place. "You were different. You were – I dunno' – a little more on edge? A little gruffer I suppose. I dunno'. You took care of business, you weren't mean – you were just … you."

"Did we get along?"

"Sure." Tim made a face. "You'll remember soon enough."

"And you?"

"Huh?"

"How did we … how did I, you know." Bruce looked uncomfortable. "I read the articles, but they didn't tell me as much as you might think they would. I was just wondering about you. I read things, like you came from Crime Alley, and well."

Tim laughed. "That's old stuff. I just came from the slums of Gotham, my dad died and you took me in. That's really all there is to it, I guess you felt sorry for me, sometimes I think that it was more of the fact that you missed Dick."

Bruce strained to remember.

"Dick was cool, everyone loves Dick." The boy said, looking a little sad. "He was awesome. I always was jealous of him. I guess I still am in some ways – good ways. You always thought the world of him too; he was good at everything he did. Here!" Tim jumped to the floor and dug into his tattered backpack. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Bruce.

The man opened it and pulled out a picture.

"You can have it if you want." Tim told him. "I actually stole it from you in the first place, so I'd say it's fair. It's you and Dick, I think Alfred took it around Christmas or something – well, I know he did, seeing the tree and all."

Bruce smiled. "Thank you." He put the picture back in the envelope and pulled out another picture. "Who is this?"

"Oh, that's mine." Tim snatched the picture back from his mentor and shoved the picture into his back pocket. "It's just my parents."

"You look like them."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"How did they die?" Bruce's voice was soft.

Tim gave a chuckle and for some reason thought of Barbara. "Sorry you saw that." She had said when he discovered the identity of the Batman. "My mom left my dad and me when I was nine, she found another guy, and you know – that sort of thing happens all the time. Dad didn't like it at all, and his life was screwed up after that. He started working for different people, none of them good. I guess that's how he got into business with Two Face. He crossed Two Face, made the guy mad, and so Two Face killed him."

The man at the window lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's alright. I mean, I miss him and all, but not as much as you'd think. He left when mom did, if you know what I mean."

"You're mother is still alive?"

"No, she died too, the dude she ran off with." Tim blinked. "He turned out to be the abusive type."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

Gordon watched as Tim made his way through the front door. "How was working at Dr. Thompson's, did you get much accomplished on your first day?"

Tim nodded as he slid into a chair at the table. "We mostly talked, you know. She showed me around, told me what I'd be doing."

"I suppose you're hungry?" Gordon opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Tupperware. "Grilled cheese, I felt lazy tonight."

The boy shrugged his shoulder and pulled out the sandwich. "M'tired. And you know, you don't have to wait up for me each night, it's not like I'm going to sneak inside and tear up your kitchen while you sleep."

The man gave a humored look. "I just got off work about an hour ago, things have been going crazy, the Gauss murder – well, let's just say we aren't getting anywhere with it. Either the murder decided to take a break or he's dead. No matter what the cause of his break, we still need to find him."

"We will, I'll ask around, or something." Robin took a big bite and smiled. "I like this kind of food."

"What?"

Oops. Tim hadn't meant to say that, it just came out. Bruce couldn't cook, so the man would order out, and Alfred didn't really made things like grilled cheese or hotdogs. "I, uh, you know – easy food. Hotdogs, Macaroni and Cheese, pizza, hamburgers, spaghetti O's."

"Did you parents not serve 'easy food' at home?" Jim was smiling, as if he knew the boy was hiding something.

"Just 'cause I say I like it doesn't mean I don't ever eat it. It just means it's my favorite food." As if to prove his point, the boy took a huge bite.

"Well, I'm glad you like it."

A week came and went, and Tim was starting to feel the affects of living two different lives. It wasn't that he didn't get enough sleep, he did. He got to sleep a full eight hours every other night, and then those nights when he was out patrolling he made sure to get at least four to five hours. And it wasn't like he couldn't nap. It was just the mere fact that he was living a lie, and it was becoming exhausting. He had taken care of his school troubles, deleting his file from the computers and even contacting his two old friends, Li and Ron, to tell them he was going to be tutored. He even talked Ron into lying for him if Bruce called. Friends were great at times, the boy decided. Bruce had even given him a car, since the man couldn't take him to and from school. The vehicle was of great use.

It wasn't until Thursday, or the second week, that Tim ran into some real trouble. He was sneaking back into his bedroom window at Wayne Manor when Bruce walked in, looking gloomy.

The boy didn't say anything, knowing he'd been caught, and closed the window slowly – making sure to latch the lock. "Hi, Bruce."

"Were you out for a midnight stroll?"

"Something like that, yeah." Tim wasn't sure what to expect. He rocked on his heels and glanced at his digital clock, which read 5:30. "You're up early today."

"Or rather I'm up late."

"Y-you didn't sleep?" Tim couldn't hold back his surprise. "It's not like you need to worry, I was just … hanging out with some friends."

Bruce didn't look convinced, but at the same time, he himself looked slightly worried. After all, he didn't know how to handle something like a teenager sneaking out at night; this would be his first time. "Hanging out with some friends on a school night, staying out all hours, and not telling me about it? I hardly think you were working on a science project."

The boy frowned.

"I was about ready to phone the police, report you as missing." Bruce was starting to look a little flustered. "And how would that go over? I'd look completely incapable of raising a teenager. Just a week after I get back I've already lost you."

"I'm sorry."

The man looked confused. "You act like an adult, it's what I first noticed about you – you act twice as old as your age. So this confuses me, what were you doing skipping out?"

Tim frowned. "I was just visiting with some old friends, alright? I left a lot unsaid with some friends. Not to mention there are times when I just can't sleep, I need to clear my head, talk to some people."

"You could have told me."

"I thought you'd be sleeping, and things have changed – I'd be weird to just wake you up and tell you that I can't sleep."

"Well, no matter what the troubles might be – no more sneaking out, alright? I don't like discovering you've gone missing. You can tell me if something's bothering you, and if you need to talk a walk around the grounds, that's fine, but leave a note and don't be gone for more than an hour." Bruce sighed as Tim visibly glared.

For a moment the boy looked ready to snap back something immature, but the look came and went. "I understand, sorry to make you worry like that."

The mad nodded. "Thank you for apologizing. There is something else though, I think I found a new butler, and wanted to tell you he'd be here this afternoon. So when you get home from school, you know, he'll be here."

"…What's his name?"

"Mr. Saul Lane, he instructed us to just call him Saul."

"British?"

"No, American."

"Oh, ok." Tim looked at his unmade bed and then at Bruce. "I think I'm going to sleep, if that's alright, at least for an hour."

The man moved back towards the door and nodded. "Well, talk to you when I get home from work, Timothy."

"Right."

Saul Lane wasn't anything like Alfred. Tim entered the house to find the butler waiting for him. "H-hi, I guess you're Mr. Lane? Well, uh, I'm Tim."

"It is a pleasure, Master Drake. May I take your things?" Saul started from Tim's backpack without a moment's hesitation, as if waiting to prove himself worthy of working at Wayne Manor.

Tim sidestepped the man and shook his head. "Thanks, uh, but I'll just take it to my room. I gotta' lot of homework and stuff."

"Can I get you anything then? Something to drink – eat?"

"Oh, oh – nah, I'll be fine."

"Very well, young sir." The man then gave a weak smile. "If there is anything I can do to be of service, do not hesitate to ask."

The boy nodded. "Sure, thanks Mr. Lane, I guess I'll talk to you later?"

The butler gave a slight bow. "Please, call me Saul."

"Ok."

To be continued …