Authors Note: Ha, I suck! I won't go through all the details, just be glad I got un-suck-y and figured out how to make computers work? I'm the slowest writer, I think. I'll blame it on summer.

"You're full of hope, but with your head down. And you only have one eye to see, the other's closed, and too scared to peak. And silence of the heart can leave you shattered, and now you're torn, torn to tattered."

Carbon Leaf Torn to Tattered

Oh Silent Prayer of My Thoughts

By: The BatThing

Chapter Fifteen:

Tim Drake leaned against the wall in his room at Wayne Manor. He had been there for what seemed like too long. Bruce was happy though – well, happier. The man thought that their talk had made an impact on the boy's life, that Tim had taken it to heart and decided to start listening to the man. Well, that wasn't really the truth. When it came down to it, the boy was just staying out of sight.

Annika had gone to stay at Commissioner Gordon's house, which meant reporters and other people would be keeping a close eye there. And if they saw Tim then questions would be asked, that much was for sure. The girl's stay wasn't a permanent one, Jim had told Tim probably ten different times – if not more – that it was just until she found a better place to stay.

The boy hadn't fought the matter, rather he just let it go. He had hoped that perhaps if Annika was there with Jim things would be a lot better. Gordon would be focusing on her a lot more, giving Tim more freedom. That, and if Jim became attached to Annika then … the boy wouldn't feel so bad when he had to say goodbye.

Tim didn't want to think about that now, though. Not now. There was a lot that would have to happen before that day would roll around.

At least the cave was nearby, that was something that gave the boy a way to pass the time. He could sneak down there and work on repairing the mess. And it was awesome to have full access to all of Batman's stuff without getting in trouble … but that was hush-hush. Nobody would ever know about that, especially Bruce – when his memory came round.

"Master Timothy?" Saul's hand knocked against the door politely – waiting for an invitation inside or perhaps just an answer.

Tim dragged himself to his feet to go see his constant house buddy. Opening the door, the boy stepped back, forcing a smile and nodded at the butler. "Hey, what's going on, Saul? Something I can help you with?"

He meant that literally. Saul was always poking about, asking different questions about how something worked, or where something was located. It had started when Tim had found the butler putting all new cleaning products in a strange place in the kitchen. The boy had told him where Alfred kept such things, and oddly enough – there was still a full cabinet of cleaning supplies. Tim walked in a new light, in Saul's eyes, after that. Though, all the questions were getting a little annoying.

"I was cleaning this afternoon and came across this book. It was hidden very well. I considered giving it to Master Bruce, but thought perhaps, it would do better in your hands; considering the present situation." The butler handed over a small red journal and gave his head a slight tilt, then turned and left the room.

Tim flipped open the book, a few loose pages fell from the front of it to the floor. The boy bent down and stopped at the sight. Drawings, child's drawings, scattered the floor. There were just a few, but Tim couldn't help but find it a bit surprising. He smiled at Dick's name stretched at the top in the bad handwriting of a nine year old. He picked up the papers and then turned his attention back to the book.

Sometimes I think Bruce hates me. Sometimes I think Alfred hates me. I think that maybe I could be wrong. Mom always said that it was wrong to make up your own story for other people. I don't want to ask them if they hate me, though. They'll just say no, even if they hate me, they'll say no. Grown-ups lie. Bruce lies.

A new paragraph started with the words: Every day, every night – until you reach the light, I will send to you my love for you, and you'll be alright.

Mom never had things hard. She never was all alone. When she would tell me to keep trying to reach the light she didn't know. I don't want to try anymore. I just want things to go back the way they were. I want my mom. I want my dad. I want to go home. I hate it here! I want to play with dad like we use to. I want to put my clothes in my chest at home in the trailer. I want to learn how to do the triple flip, like dad said he'd show me. I want mom to tell me: every day, every night, until you reach the light.

It was different when she said it. Things did seem like they would get better. Now, all I have are books that Alfred shows me when we are in tutoring. I have the money Bruce provides so he can be a good mentor. But I don't want it. I live in the biggest house ever. But I want our trailer back. I want that small space. I want to be crammed together with mom and dad. I want to sleep without air-conditioning at night, just the sound of our old fan turning round and round. I want that. I want things to go back the way they were.

The page ended, and so did the entry. Tim took a moment and stared at the words, letting them blend. How the shit did a nine year old write that? There was no way in hell. Tim checked the date, then calculated, then rechecked. Everyone always said Dick was smart, but this?

Tim touched the page, wondering if he could actually believe it. He did. Deep down he believed every word was from Dick. That saying, he had never heard it from the older boy before. He reread the entry and found himself understanding why Dick always understood how Tim felt. Even now, reading his brother's journal, Tim felt like he was being understood – talked to - and by a nine-year-old, nonetheless.

He flipped through reading, and rereading entries. Getting into Dick Grayson's mind and discovering things he hadn't known, and feeling a little worse with each word. Dick had been gone for weeks, Tim hadn't cried much at all about it, or given it much thought.

I didn't want to. I don't want to.

The boy closed the journal and sat up quickly. He shook his head. I don't want to think about it at all. He had Bruce back … no. YES! Even if Bruce didn't remember anything, that didn't mean …

Alone, alone, alone. Just like before. They're all gone, you realize. Barbara, Alfred, Dick …they all are dead. And Bruce? You can't call him back. You might have to live your whole life pretending to be something you're not, and he thinking it's who you are. He won't care about the real Tim Drake. He'll just start to care about Tim Wayne – or whoever you are now.

"God." Tim closed his eyes, hugging his knees. Gordon. I got Gordon.

You have Gordon? Robin has Gordon.

Tim Drake. "Tim Drake." The boy said his name softly and then shook his head. "God."

Remember me?

Yes.

Leslie had told him that this might happen. He hadn't been Tim Drake in so long. Just Tim, out in the open – cleared Tim Drake. The kid with the easy smile and quick remark that always got a few smiles. Steven Drake's kid.

Dick. Remember him? I know you do. You just don't want to.

"I want that. I want things to go back to the way they were." Tim quoted from Dick's journal. He put the book under his pillow and got up, walking to his brother's old room. It was still in perfect order – ever since the boy had left, running away from home so many years ago. Bruce never had it changed. Pictures, an old guitar, books in a cluttered order, the small coin bank settled beside a random pinecone, computer - an array of different things that were never rearranged. Dick still slept in his room at times, before the bombing, happy that there was always a place for him.

It had been Bruce's room, long ago, and then it became Dick's. Tim lay on the bed, turning on his side. He closed his eyes.

"I know what it's like; being Robin and living with Bruce, and well, if you ever need to tell me anything just go ahead. That's about all I have to say."

Dick's words – seemed like forever ago they had been spoken. Seemed, seemed so distant. Tim put the start of his fist in his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. "I want that. I want things to go back to the way they were."

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"Tim?" A firm hand shook the boy's shoulder gently. It was all it took for Tim to awake and force his eyes open.

The boy rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling, feeling drugged. He slowly sat up, feeling the chance of a headache, and then turned his head to look at Bruce. "What time is it?"

"Not that late, it's time for dinner. We couldn't find you, glad I thought to look here." There was a pause that included a smile. "It's such a big house. Sometimes I'm worried I'll get lost."

"Yeah."

"You alright? You seem … I don't know, different."

The teenager stifled a yawn and got to his feet. "I'm just fine, hungry maybe."

"I know you must miss him." Bruce nodded his head towards Dick's bed. "I can't really relate with you on this, I wish I could. Anyhow, I was just thinking … I've been thinking for some time now. You and I get along fine most of the time, and Saul never really complains about you. You seem to be agreeable, and you seem to be happy. I just can't – can't help but think that while you seem to be just fine th-that really you're not."

Tim opened his mouth to protest but his guardian kept going, not leaving room for interruption.

"It's the little things that I've noticed. You never seem upset, but anyone in your position would be … troubled. You're always trying to get along with me, even though I know you really have no respect for my control over your life. You're always missing at strange times, you lie, and while this is all going on you try your best to act like nothing is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong." The tired teenager hardly could help getting slightly stressed by the conversation. "What are you trying to get at? You want me to mope around? You want me to get stuck in the fact that Dick's dead, or the fact that you're not really you? I know that might be normal, but it's not what I want. I'm not going to waste my life in the slums, Dick wouldn't want that." His lie was pretty good."Dick's dead, Bruce, and there is nothing to be done about it. No amount of talking will ever bring him back."

"It could help you though."

"I'm all talked out. I don't want to talk anymore." The boy started for the door, and then paused, thinking about it. What he said wasn't really true. If Bruce were Bruce … well then, yes, he would have talked. If Alfred were still around, then there would have been many words exchanged. Things were different now, Tim was alone. He had to handle things without help. He looked at his mentor and offered a small smile. "Aren't you coming?"

The man nodded, thinking still about things. "Yes … but Tim?"

"Huh?"

"I didn't finish what I wanted to say."

"What else can you say?" The boy questioned.

A look of frustration came from the billionaire. He didn't scold, just gave a look. "Maybe you should consider talking to a physiatrist, you know? I've called up and found someone who seems real good – they're known for what they do. And Tim, they could help you out. I know you say you're good, that you can fend for yourself … but that doesn't mean anything to me."

The boy wonder was in shock. He just gaped at the suggestion.

"His name is Wallace McAllister."

"Nuh-uh." Tim swallowed and then started to chuckle a little. "There is no way that I'm going to go see someone and talk about what has happened to me. If I can't talk to you about it, what makes you think I'm going to talk to a total stranger? And I can talk about it. You want to talk? Let's talk. I miss Dick, I miss him like hell. I found out he was dead before I even knew you were alive. I cried. Alright? I cried so much, I hurt so bad I ended up getting sick over it. See, we talked. Happy?"

"No."

"What do you want from me!" Tim snorted slightly, his eyes getting sharp and his expression darkening. "What do you want to hear? What do you want me to say? What should I do to prove that I'm alright?"

The man didn't say anything for a moment, his eyes just rested on the young boy before him – his thoughts deep. A sigh came and Bruce took a seat on the edge of the bed, smoothing a hand over the comforter. "Sometimes I think I know what I want from you, and other times I can't even guess what it is. Something inside of me, something telling me that you're not alright, even though I shouldn't have a clue as to what is and what isn't alright for you. It's some sort of intuition, there is no explanation for it. I just know that I need to do what I think is best. I talked with Leslie about it, and well, she agreed."

"She did."

"Yes. She thought it would be a good idea."

Tim gave a scoff. "She would, wouldn't she? I don't think she'll be happy till I … till she can ruin my life."

A stern look came from the man. "Don't say that. She cares about you – a lot."

"She cares about herself. She wants to live a life without regret, even if that means ruining someone else's life."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just forget it."

Bruce looked at him and then gave a forced smile. "Saul's waiting, so let's get some dinner. We can talk about it afterwards."

Tim didn't say anything, he just looked at the man and then turned, leaving the room and heading towards his own. He knew Bruce was watching him, but he didn't care. What he wanted was his room. He closed his bedroom door and latched it, turning towards the window and not caring how childish it was. He wasn't going to eat.

With a flick of his hand he pushed the window open, leaning out a little and looking towards the city. There was nothing to see – nothing but the lights. Trees branched out, all around, blocking the view and making the manor worth a billionaire's money. Nothing could be seen other than the dark sky and the red glow surrounding the city. Nothing to see.

Tim breathed in Gotham's air and sighed, calming down a little. Well, no matter what happens I'll still have Gotham. The streets, the dark alleys, the constant change of faces, the pollution, the crime, the old buildings, the lack of plants, the lack of cleanliness, welcome home to Gotham. Tim's city, Tim Drake's city. "Tim Drake. Dick Grayson. Dick."

The boy lowered his head down, hiding it in his arms. He tried his best to think of other things, something other than Dick. It wasn't really possible. Tears started to swell and he could just see his past, feel it, hear it, and even taste it. They had all been there. Dick, Alfred, Barbara, Bruce.

Taking in a deep breath Tim got to his feet, shook his head, and turned to face the door. "It'll be alright. It always is."

To be continued…

Terra89: I adore Tim! He's really a great character, at least to me. I don't know why I find him so great. There are a lot more interesting characters around. You know? Oh well, Tim Drake forever. Thanks so much for reading, and I'm happy you made it past the first few chapters, they're so bad! LOL, hope you enjoy the story.

Delia Ra'Nar: Yeah, Bruce really needs to have the Bat moments, I agree with that. I've made him into a pushover type without meaning to. I had planned to make him sort of more … 'I don't care' and more of the playboy. Somehow he turned out this way. Oh well. But I agree, he should have spastic Bat-moments. Everyone loves the Bat-glare!

Annika – yeah, I wouldn't like her staying at the Wayne household. I don't know why, but that idea doesn't please me. LOL. I thought of finding her a family, but who knows, lets hope she lives through the story. How awful!

I finally got a good ending for the story. Like, I know how I'm going to do a lot of it, but I finally figured out how to tie it all together and make it work. So yea! The story actually is going somewhere, and not just tumbling around in the dark. Thanks so much for the review, lol, and it's alright that it was late. Look how often I update! You were fast compared to me! Summer is never a great time for me to write, I don't know why that is – I just can't concentrate.

Feartoxin: Thanks for reading! I'm so glad you liked it! Hope I didn't loose you in my long delay of not posting a chapter. I'm awful when it comes to summer and having a schedule. It just doesn't happen.

Oneredneckgoddess: I don't like Saul either! I'm trying to write him as nice as I can, but he has his moments where 'grr' I just want to be like: Saul decided Wayne Manor was too much work, and said his goodbyes. Or something. XD I love your name, btw, I never told you that. I come a town of hicks that try not to be hicks. We're pretty cool. Anyhow, thanks for the review!

Candleblaise: LOL! I really keep people waiting. It's been like, five years that I've been writing this fanfiction. Somebody should just shot me and take over. Really. Get an arrow and shot me. LoL. Thanks for reading, I'm glad you think it's worth the wait – but it's getting to a point where I'm so slow that it's just silly.

Trunksblue: I can't update SON! LOL. Always makes me laugh. So, I've been gone for four months, yes, I am still alive. All I can say is thank goodness for summer, I might be dead if I had to go to school all year long. You know? Now I'm back at college, dreading every day I have class, and getting only a little homesick, and wishing I were rich enough to drive all around the world. I need to check out deviantart, I haven't been there since I was a teenager. LoL, that's fun to say. Hope to talk to you soon! I mean – SON!